#ichor got too fun to draw

[fycoren]

wuh oh-

[bleeding-hart]

changed my pfp to my own art

might take a bit for it to upload but at least I'm no longer just being a pintrest vampire!

Every time I think abt it I'm amazed that my blog name isn't taken like how am I the first one to think that its a great play on words?? Am I just the only one who knows archaic words?

Boygenius lyric there cause that one is just really powerful to me as a person

[shannara810]

Meeting the Gods, part 1

Poseidon: "What's the meaning of this, brother?"

The order had been to come on Olympus right away. The King of the Gods had gathered them: Ares, Demeter, Apollo, Athena... all had answered to Zeus' command. All the Twelve Major Gods.

Zeus sat on his throne, crown on his head and bolt in his hand. He was furious.

However it was not on them that his angry gaze was fixed, no. Zeus stared with scorn at something in the middle of the Throne room.

A Titan, a monster, even one of the Primordials: those were the treats Poseidon the Earthshaker expected to find that night, not... this.

On the floor stood... a child. Curly dark hair, red and plump cheeks, a sweet smile. The baby was wearing a blue onesie with a black pegasus on his chest.

The child was blissfully unaware of the danger he was in. He sat there, playing with his toes and gurgling happily. He looked no older than one year old.

However human the child was not. Poseidon could see them without any effort, those black wings of shadows and power that spread from the little one's back.

Zeus hissed words full of venom: "A new threat, brother. An abomination ready to destroy us. A child of the Sacred Ban!"

Angry voices filled the room. A child of the Sacred Ban: impossible!

Unlike the other Gods, scared and outraged, Athena was puzzled by the sight of the child: "Father, what's this being? I can feel a shard of us inside of it, godly energy in a body of flash and blood. However great is its power, but not one I can recognize."

While she spoke, the child got bored with his feet. He scrunced his nose, turning to look at them one by one. However when the kid's gaze fell on the God of Seas giving him a smile all dimples, Poseidon was struck by a sense of deja vu. He knew that smile, he knew it well. It was Sally Jackson’s smile.

Zeus: "He is..."

"Of my blood. You thought I wouldn't notice, brother?"

Zeus: "He is an abhorrence! He is..."

A voice rang out in the Throne room, loud and clear. "He is my son."

Suddenly bright meteors burst in, swirling furiously and destroying everything on their path. The Olympic gods stood up to fight, shielding their eyes but to no avail. The light of the meteors was blinding and a deafening whistle brought them to their knees.

Yet the child remained unharmed. He just laughed happily at such display of power.

"You're having fun, aren't you Luke?"

Hermes: "What?!"

When the blinding light finally faded beings made of crackling energy stood before the Olympian Gods, pointing weapons at their throat.

They were not ordinary monsters. Four animal faces whirled furiously for each being, while giant wings glowed with power and rage: Angels, the worst weapon their hated enemy, the Only God, had.

Regardless of the danger they were in, Percy Jackson stooped to take the child in his arms. The only thing he cared about was to make funny faces for him.

The demigod didn't even look at them when he spoke: "Uncle, you kidnapped my son and thought I would let it go?"

Ares: "Let's kill them both and end it this once for all!"

The blade at the throat of the God of War sank a little deeper, drawing ichor.

Zeus: "How dare you? You little half-breed, after all the favors you’ve been given! Plotting with the enemy!"

Percy kept smiling. "Now, uncle. I’d watch my words if I were you. 'Cause you see, my friends here have been ordered not to kill. But HIM... he might not have too much trouble with it".

Hermes: "You... you have named the baby after my son."

Percy: "More likely I lost a bet with his father. Luke's other father, I mean 😅."

Suddenly it was like all the light was drawn from the Throne room. The air started to sizzle with a power greater than the angels' as majestic wings of darkness unfolded themself, wrapping everything and everyone in their grip.

The Gods could not run, they could not talk. Their powers whitered as flowers away from the sun, away from the earth. Everything was pure Darkness and the Darkness was everything. There was no room for anything else.

For a moment it looked like the Darkness wanted to feed on them, as even Khronos had not been able to do. Then it opened like a curtain made of shadows and a man came out it.

A man wearing a leather jacket and with a murderous expression on his young face. The very embodiment of Wrath.

A man no one of the Olympians would ever forget.

That man was Luke Castellan.

@darkcrowprincess (not sure what the heck this is 😅)

[practically-an-x-man]

Acrimony (Rick Flag x Eris)

Word Count: 5.2k (got away from me a little) Content Warnings: angst, whump, parasitism, emetophobia

____ "Where the hell did these things come from?" Eris hissed, driving his spear into the stomach of one of the beasts and wrenching it upwards. The monster, a strange humanoid bug as sturdy as Rick was, crumpled as Eris removed the blade. He was splattered with thick, cream-colored ichor, and promptly spit it out with a disgusted grimace.

"Don't know. They just showed up." Rick shouted back across the field to her. Eris scoffed, slashing down another beast with a quick flurry of blows. The air was thick with gunfire as the more munitions-inclined members of the squad shot the beasts out of the sky.

At least Harley looked like she was having fun. She, with her bloodstained javelin, tore through battle with a grin on her face. It reminded Eris of himself.

There was a bang just over their head, and a chitinous brown body crashed to the ground at Eris' feet. She turned, startled. DuBois gave her a single nod. Eris returned it, then jumped back into the fight.

For every one they cut down, three more took its place. It was tough work, too: their bodies were covered in shiny exoskeletons, hard enough to turn away even Eris' enchanted blade. She was forced to aim for the gaps in their armor - a simple enough task for a skilled fighter like her, but tiring and time-consuming.

Pincers flashed out of the corner of his eye, and Eris turned just fast enough to catch the creature's mandibles with the shaft of his spear. Any slower, and the beast would've caught his arm instead. And judging from the way the thick wooden haft was already beginning to creak, that would not have been a comfortable experience.

Eris twisted her spear in a single brisk motion, and the monster's head popped clean off with a spray of the same pale blood. Disgusted, they peeled the beast's still-twitching mandibles off their spear, and the head dropped to the ground at their feet.

"That was disgusting."

"You've seen worse, Flag." Eris shot back, grabbing the disembodied head by its prickly antennae and hurling it like a shot-put. It clobbered a second bug-creature straight in the chest and sent it careening out of the sky. She grinned.

"Pretty sure you're responsible for that too."

"You're welcome."

A lower hum filled the sky, drawing eyes across the battlefield. Eris squinted to see past the sun, making out only a dark insectoid blur as it crossed her vision. Four buzzing wings chopped up the sky, carelessly catching a few of the other bug-creatures and sending them crashing down to earth.

The others had been largely humanoid in stance - albeit aggressive, pincered, and covered in thick plates - but this new nightmare seemed almost entirely insect. It was little more than a tangle of spiny limbs as it flew, clacking its jaws as its dark eyes surveyed the scene below. The smaller beasts had ceased fighting, and merely stared up at their leader with glazed, reddish eyes.

"It's got a queen." DuBois realized, muttering the words so low under his breath that Eris barely made sense of them. But he did, and he hefted his spear with gritted teeth.

"Let's kill it."

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Eris found herself springing across the battlefield. She leapt onto the shoulders of the tallest bug-creature she could find and kicked off, shooting into the air like a bullet. There was no feeling more exhilarating.

At nearly the same instant, the queen tilted into a steep dive and rocketed towards the earth. Eris twisted in midair, trying and failing to correct their momentum. One of the queen's buzzing wings clipped them across the stomach- it felt like she'd just received an all-star swing from Hank Aaron, and it sent her tumbling out of control.

He finally hit the dirt, bowling over a half-dozen humanoid bugs in the process, and curled around himself with a low groan. His shirt was slashed right down the middle from the sharp edge of the queen's wing... and his stomach was equally lacerated underneath. Eris shoved a tangle of intestines back into his abdomen, wincing at the sensation - like touching warm, underfilled sausage links. It wouldn't kill her, not by a long shot, but it was far from pleasant.

"I'm with Flag." DuBois muttered, and she glanced up to find him only a few steps away, "That's disgusting."

"It's grosser to see me heal around it. Then I just have to cut myself back open." Eris fired back, keeping their arm pressed to their stomach until they felt the skin begin to knit back together.

"Fuckin' nasty."

"Hey, I'm not taking any shit from a merc who's afraid of rats."

"Everyone's afraid of something." he muttered, sounding a little cagey about it. Eris scoffed, leaning on their spear as they worked their way back up to their feet.

"Think about who you're talking to." he challenged, already turning to spear another of the beasts as he spoke. His abdomen smarted as he twisted, the tissues still not totally regenerated, but he ignored the pain. "I'm a thousand years old. I've fought in just about every war you could name. I've seen shit you could never imagine. There's nothing that scares me."

"Bullshit, Eris, you- agh!" Rick's voice cut off with a strained shout, and Eris' head snapped up. They were moving almost before they'd even processed the scene: the queen having landed, pinning Rick to the dirt. He tussled with it, blocking its jaws with the barrel of his gun and attempting to kick his way free. Eris only caught glimpses as he ran, too much blocked by the queen's massive abdomen.

The queen snapped its jaws closed, and Rick's gun fell apart in two pieces. He ducked away to keep the former barrel from breaking his nose, now reduced to shoving the monster's lunging mandibles away with his hands.

Eris sprinted across the field as quickly as he could, using her spear to shove hoards of insectoids out of her path. She didn't spare even a moment to bother killing them. Not this time.

The queen shifted again, a strange gurgling sound rising from deep within its body. Its legs were locked around Rick's body, holding him in place even as he kicked and fought. Eris couldn't see any more than that, but they were nearly close enough. They lifted their spear...

Eris leapt, driving the blade into one of the thin gaps between the queen's chitinous plates. The creature roared and bucked, and Eris clung to the handle of his spear to keep from being thrown of its back. He found a single moment of balance and used it to drive the spear deeper, burying almost entirely in the insect's soft flesh. The queen shrieked, shaking its body wildly. With nothing more to grab onto, Eris was thrown from its back and hit the dirt with a cough.

But he'd done his work.

The queen let out another, weaker chatter, clearly beginning to slow. It shuddered once, managing to unfold its legs and take a few blind, staggering steps away. Then it let one more plaintive shriek and crashed to the earth, crushing easily a dozen of its minions.

With their leader dead, the humanoid insects promptly took wing. They were gone in moments, with a sound like a swarm of locusts. It left only the bodies, strewn across the battleground.

Eris jumped back up to her feet and scrambled up the queen's plated back. She tugged at her spear, managing to free it from the beast's flesh with one great heave. The queen did not move. Truly dead.

Satisfied that the threat had passed, Eris leapt down from the insect's back and cast her spear aside. She sprinted for Rick, still lying sprawled in the dirt. Dark liquid - too dark to be blood, at least - covered his face and chest. They dropped to their knees beside him and promptly stripped off their torn jacket, using it to swipe the worst of the ichor off of his face. Whether it was some kind of acid or whatever else... they didn't want it on his skin.

"Talk to me, Flag." they muttered, prodding his chest and realizing a moment later that their hand was trembling. Eris scoffed, shaking it off. "C'mon, this isn't a spa treatment. Get the fuck up."

Rick stirred, planting a hand and pushing himself upwards. A bit of Eris' tension softened even at that, though he still looked weary and disoriented. Unsure of what to say, she just held out a hand and pulled him up to his feet. She didn't quite know what she was feeling. It wasn't pleasant.

"You still with us, Colonel?" DuBois asked, coming up to Rick and clasping his shoulder tightly. Harley was only a step behind, and pulled him into a vivacious hug as soon as she was within arm's reach. Rick coughed, dazedly returning the hug.

"Yeah... still in one piece." he replied, pulling back from Harley's embrace to instead lay his arm across Eris' shoulders. They found it oddly comforting, even as he leaned a little more of his weight against them. His other hand he lifted in the vague direction of the plane. "Let's get headed back before any more bugs show up."

He moved slowly and stayed tethered to Eris' side, but he didn't seem to have too much trouble getting back to the plane. Even once they were in the air, he was strangely subdued - hardly speaking, just staring out the window at the clouds.

"You alright?" Eris couldn't help but ask. It was a little... gentler than they'd usually have put it, but something was strange here. He didn't like it. He'd known Rick for years: he could be gentle, he could have his quieter moments, but not like this. Especially not after the rampant adrenaline of such a tense mission.

"Hm?" Rick replied, turning his head to look at him, "Oh, uh... yeah. Little tired. Have the doctors check me out when we get back."

The conversation ended there, and he went back to daydreaming out the window. Eris suppressed his concern, though he allowed himself to lean against Rick's shoulder through the rest of the flight. Normally he avoided so much... well, any of this. She never knew if this one patch of weakness could be used against her. It would take a lot to try and kill her, more than most of these folks were able to bring, but Rick...

She didn't like to think about that. It was bad enough that she'd grown so close to him at all. Someday she'd have to give him up - to someone else, to steel and blood, to time itself.

That thought hurt. It was about the only thing that ever made them wonder about reincarnation, that someday a hundred years on they'd run into Rick's soul in another body, that even time couldn't truly pull them apart. Even that was little more than a daydream. But he could hope.

True to his word, Rick headed straight for the medical station as soon as they got back to Belle Reve. It left Eris to deliver the mission reports to Waller - he did so, as he always did, with a challenging glare on his face.

I could destroy you and everything you stand for, that expression said, I could raze this place to the ground if I chose to. You're lucky Rick keeps me on a leash.

He wondered briefly why he hadn't done it already. There were reasons upon reasons why Belle Reve deserved to be blown apart. It would free these prisoners from their capture, save them from having to bargain for free years in the Suicide Squad. It would open the world to new conflict, fresh conflict - and that was not always such a bad thing. Surely it was more exciting than the frenzy of bullets and drones that modern warfare had become.

It would free Rick from Waller's grasp. It would save him from being sent out along with the rest of them, as good as a prisoner himself, with nothing to gain except a paycheck and perhaps a bit of good karma.

That one was perhaps the most important.

But Rick seemed comfortable enough in this life, so Eris held his tongue and kept his weapons hidden. Still, though, that moment would come...

"They didn't find anything." Rick said, meeting her by the door, "Told me just to rest for now, might run some antibiotics if it turns out to be some sorta infection."

"Hm. Okay." Eris wasn't quite convinced. They didn't like how little the doctors had done. Surely they had to see that something was wrong here...

"Are you worried about me, wartime?" he asked, a faint smile cracking his face. Eris shot him a look.

"Don't get presumptuous, cowboy." he huffed, "You're just fuckin' fragile. We need to find a way to turn you into a meta. Gimme the keys, I'll drive."

"You haven't driven a car since the 40's," Rick fired back as the two of them crossed the parking lot, "And who says I'd want to be a meta to begin with? Maybe I like bein' human."

But he stumbled just as he reached the pickup, and spent a few long moments catching his breath. There was tension on his face, brows pulled tightly together. Finally, wearing a deep grimace, he held out the keys.

"Don't kill us."

Eris grinned, snatching the keys and hopping up into the driver's seat with ease. Rick made his way around the other side of the truck, one hand planted against its metal frame for support.

"I'll do my best." she promised as she readjusted her seat and mirrors, "Though that's what I'm saying. You wouldn't be worried about a little car crash if you were a metahuman. Think about it."

"I'm not gettin' struck by lightning. Or experimented on." Rick muttered, "Or whatever the hell it is you're thinking."

Eris shrugged and backed the car out of its parking space.

"I just want to keep you around, Flag. You're... fun." he said, "And it'd be a lot easier if you couldn't just get taken out by a tiny piece of metal. Or an alien bug."

"Nothing's taking me out, doll. I'm fine."

"If you say so..."

He was quiet the rest of the drive. Eris found herself following a few more road laws than usual. She'd been strangely jumpy, anxious, since the mission. That was unusual. Battlegrounds were her first home. She never felt more comfortable than in the midst of war. But here, even after a good hard fight, she couldn't relax. It was odd.

By the time they made it back to Rick's apartment, he'd begun to shiver. It was only two flights of stairs, but for once they took the elevator. He leaned on Eris the whole way. His skin was warm, close to feverish.

He downed a glass of water as soon as they got inside. Then he heated up a plate of leftovers from the fridge and ate about a third of it. Then another glass of water. Eris watched all this with silent confusion, unsure of what else they could do.

"Think I'm gonna turn in early," Rick muttered after a while, staggering towards the bedroom. Eris drifted just a step behind, not quite offering help but close enough to catch him if needed. The strange restless feeling still hadn't softened. She didn't like it.

He tried to distract himself with television and books. He nearly succeeded, though that odd flicker of worry still lingered in the back of his mind. The sky grew dark, and the clock ticked on, but he was still far to restless to sleep. There remained that same strange atmosphere lingering around him.

They lasted about three hours before they gave up. It was still early, much earlier than they'd normally have gone to bed - not that they really needed sleep to begin with, though they were stronger when they had regular rest - but they couldn't stand this odd anxiety any longer. Even if they couldn't find sleep tonight, at least it would be better to be beside Rick as they tried. If nothing else, it would let them know if something changed.

So she showered and changed and curled up beside him, and tried to pretend she didn't notice the fever rising from his skin.

____

He woke in the middle of the night. At first he wasn't sure what had pulled him out of sleep. Then he shifted, and realized the bed was empty beside him. Rick was gone.

Eris slid off the bed, blinking in the darkness until their eyes adjusted. They slunk through the shadows, resisting the urge to grab a weapon as they moved. She was sure it was nothing; Rick had gotten up for the bathroom, for another glass of water, to call off work so he didn't have to get up at five in the morning. Mundane, human things that she still wasn't entirely familiar with.

Probably.

But something told him to check. Just in case.

She found him in the kitchen, standing by the sink. Ever cautious, Eris stayed silent for a moment longer - long enough to hear him muttering under his breath. It didn't sound like any language he was familiar with, just clusters of hissing consonants and harsh syllables. It sent a faint chill down their spine.

"Rick?"

He whirled, too fast, and Eris took an automatic step back. He hardly looked like himself: pale and sweaty, trembling all over, managing to make even his broad frame look stooped and weak. His eyes, instead of their usual amber-gold color, were a vague pinkish-red. That alone set Eris' hackles up. That wasn't right.

He took another step and straightened his spine, fixing her with those bizarre reddish eyes. For the first time, Eris realized how much bigger Rick was compared to her. Six inches, almost a hundred pounds, he all but loomed when he was standing over her like this. She'd never been frightened by physical intimidation - after all, she could fell even the sturdiest fighters in a heartbeat - but this made her heart kick out an extra beat.

"...Rick?" they tried again, wincing at the uncertainty in their voice.

"Do it."

"Do... what? Rick, you're- you're not making sense."

"Do it." he repeated, the words so low they were nearly a growl, "Grab your spear. Take me out like you took out all the others. Fight me."

"What? No- hang on." they fumbled, caught off-guard. Cold adrenaline sharpened their senses, made their limbs buzz with energy that longed to be released. Eris restrained himself. "I'm not here to fight. Something- something's wrong. Come back to bed."

"You. Strife. Conflict. Fight me! Like you fought all the others!"

"No, I-" Eris stammered, taking a faint step back and finding the kitchen counter behind them. There wasn't much further to go. "I don't want to fight you."

"Of course you do. You always want a fight." he snapped, his voice harsher than she'd ever heard it, "You've been tellin' me you'll cut out my heart for years, so fucking do it. I'm done waiting. Fight me!"

"I wasn't- I didn't..."

Their eyes flashed to the knife block on the counter behind them. It was little more than an impulse from a lifetime of war, self-preservation at its finest, but their fingers twitched. Rick grinned like a shark.

"Go on." he taunted, "Take it. I'll let you strike the first blow. See how fragile I really am. You've always been wondering how much I could really take."

Eris closed their hands into fists, keeping their treacherous fingers away from the knives. There was a part of them, deep within, that did want a fight- that always wanted a fight, every moment of their immortal life. Every word out of his mouth was another chip against that armor, another twitch towards the blades, another memory of a hundred wars.

But he couldn't hurt Rick. He refused.

"How many people have you killed? How many lives have you taken?" he demanded, "You keep count, don't you? How many? And what's one more?"

"Rick, this isn't-"

"Fucking do it!" he screamed, loud and startling enough that Eris nearly jumped out of his skin, "Coward! You only like fights when it's easy!"

"That's not true."

"You only like it when you don't have to think about what you're killing. So do it. Think about it." Rick challenged, bending low enough to meet his eyes. "Watch the light leave my eyes and think about the life you're taking. Think about the kind of monster you are to snuff out so many of us."

Eris' heart stuttered wildly in his chest. He couldn't move. The words had frozen him. It reminded him of the day he'd been shot, years ago, the first time he'd felt his heart truly stop. It was his first real brush with death.

And even then Rick had been gentle.

Those red eyes...

The realization struck him all at once. She'd seen the same red eyes on the bugs. And they all had the same build, tall and brawny the way Rick was.

The queen hadn't been trying to kill him.

It had been trying to claim him.

She ducked just in time to avoid the blade swung for her face. She'd noticed the knife block... but not the empty hole, the missing paring knife. Rick twisted his body, aiming for another strike with the slim blade, but Eris ducked under his arm and slid into the nearest open space. There wasn't much room, a small kitchen for an already small apartment, but it was better than having the counter at her back.

"Rick, listen to me..." Eris tried, hating the way his voice wavered. He didn't like this. "This isn't you. This isn't right."

Rick snarled, then dropped the knife and kicked it across the tiles. It stopped at Eris' feet. It took a palpable effort not to reach for it. He wouldn't let himself have a weapon. Not now. Not with that temptation.

"Take it." Rick almost dared them, "Do what you do best. Cut me open and see what's inside. Do it."

Eris shook his head. His thoughts were racing. He had a few options. Not many, but... a few.

The first was to kill him. Get rid of the bug... but get rid of Rick in the process. He couldn't. He refused. As many times as they'd joked about it... they'd never seriously wanted to hurt him.

Option two, cut out the parasite where it sat inside him. That was marginally better, but only just. Rick might still die - Eris was good with a blade, but worlds away from being a surgeon - and she didn't even know where the bug had taken up roost inside him. She'd have guessed the stomach, that the queen had forced it in through his mouth during the battle, but that would mean cutting through a lot of vital tissue. Blood loss. Intestinal perforations. Even if he didn't fight her in the process... and he would.

Option three... expel the parasite without cutting him open. Make Rick throw up. Easier said than done. Especially when he was still rearing for a fight that Eris refused to give him.

But it was better.

A blur of silver pulled Eris from their thoughts, and they twisted just fast enough for the blade to pierce their shoulder rather than their heart. She pulled it out almost carelessly and dropped it - no blades, no weapons, none of that temptation. If he wanted her to bleed... let her bleed. It would take more than a kitchen knife to kill her.

A second blade struck him in the hip, glancing off the bone and sending up a shockwave of pain. Eris dropped that one all the same, though her steps lagged as she waited for the wound to regenerate.

"I regret teaching you how to throw those." she muttered, staring at the growing collection of knives at her feet.

Rick snarled again, a primal animal sound, and threw another. This one she caught by the handle, moving faster than any human could, and nearly drew her arm back to throw it back before she corrected herself. They let go of the handle as if it had burned them. Not him. Not Rick. She had to control herself. Only if there was no other way.

She skirted around the kitchen, mind still racing. If it were anyone else, she thought, she might've found this interesting. To incapacitate without killing, to give up his blades and weapons, to resist the urge to start a fight. The conflict still roiled within him, aching to be let loose. Anyone else would've been dead in a heartbeat.

He'd just reached for the cabinet handle when a deep pain lanced down his side. This one was a chef's knife, long and sharp, and it had gone in almost to the hilt.

"Goddammit, Flag!" he growled, tugging out the knife and wincing at the dark blood that coated the blade, "Gimme a break!"

"Finish it, then." he shot back, "I'm just another frail little human, ain't I? Just a flicker of life compared to you. You've killed millions of people like me. Without a goddamn thought. Monster. So what does it matter if I die too?"

"Because I care about you, cowboy!" Eris shouted, hardly even realizing the words had left his lips. He burrowed in the cabinet until his fingers finally closed on what he was looking for. "And you're gonna hate me for this."

Rick opened his mouth to respond- and Eris shot a stream of bug spray right down his throat. Safe? Probably not. But neither was the parasite, and that threat was decidedly worse.

And it did its job.

Rick gagged, barely managing to stumble to the sink before he upturned the contents of his stomach. Something came up almost immediately: a jet of the same black ichor and something dark and squirming. Eris promptly emptied the can of bug spray on it, feeling a sick pleasure at the way it writhed and shriveled before finally going still. He dropped the empty can at his feet, still staring at the mangled thing.

"Ugh... shit." Rick drawled, slumped over the edge of the sink. His skin was slick with sweat, and muscles tensed all down his bare back in discomfort. He flipped on the faucet and scooped water over his face, spitting what had to be a truly rotten taste out of his mouth. "Should've known those leftovers were past their prime..."

"Rick?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," he sighed, lifting his head to look at them, "Just a little- whoa."

He cut himself off mid-sentence, honey-colored eyes flicking up and down Eris' frame. His eyes stalled in three places: their shoulder, their side, their hip, all drenched in blood from the newly-healed wounds. His brow crinkled, confusion and concern.

"Shit, darlin', you're shaking." he muttered, taking a step towards her. Eris shuffled back, almost without realizing, and Rick's expression only deepened. His eyes darted back up to her face, and he frowned. "You're- you're crying, Eris, what the hell happened?"

Eris lifted a hand to his face and was almost startled to find tears. He couldn't seem to make himself speak. Rick was equally silent, awaiting an answer, though he stole glances at the room around him to try and fit the pieces together.

"The- the bugs." Eris finally managed, pulling those amber eyes back to him, "The queen, it... it put something in you. A parasite. I... I got it out."

Rick nodded faintly, though that crease between his brows never softened.

"Did it hurt you? Did... did I hurt you?"

"Like you could make a dent," Eris said, though their voice trembled too much to make the taunt stick, "You'd have to do better than a couple knives, Flag."

"Hm." Rick replied, though something almost like gratitude danced across his face. It only lasted a moment before the frown returned. "But I scared you."

She hesitated, then nodded. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse.

"Terrified."

Rick took a careful step nearer, and this time she didn't flinch away. He folded them into his arms, holding them tightly despite their shivering frame.

Normally Eris was not fond of hugs. They felt... restrictive, vulnerable, almost blind. They'd tolerate a hug from Harley (largely because they had no other choice) and enjoyed other forms of closeness, but an outright embrace was often just too much.

But this was nice. This was the exception to the rule - comforting rather than stifling. He could've spent years in this one spot, rooted to the floor with Rick's arms around him.

"It tried to make you into one of its bugs. One of its drones." Eris found himself mumbling, "I would've... would've had to-"

"Easy there, wartime, I'm right here. I'm alright."

"Those fucking doctors said it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, they've hardly got anything worse than stitches and broken bones most'a the time."

"Still think we should make you a meta. Would be... safer." Eris decided, turning their head to listen to his heartbeat. Rick's arms tightened around them, just for a moment, and he ducked his head to kiss their hair.

"Settle for the fact that I'm not kickin' it until I'm old and gray." he responded, voice dry but somehow teasing. Eris found her tension trickling away at just that, the familiarity of it all.

"I'll change your mind eventually."

"Doubt it. But feel free to keep trying." Rick said, then finally pulled back from the embrace. He looked a little steadier than he had before, like just being close to her was enough to give him strength. He crouched to grab a discarded knife. Eris couldn't figure out if his wince was towards the blood or the fresh dents in the blade. He'd just bought that new set.

"Here, hon, help me pick this up and we'll get back to bed." he decided, glancing at the clock on the counter, "Maybe get a couple hours in before we get back to Belle Reve."

"Call off work."

"I'm alright. And you know how Waller gets when she-"

"Call off work. Fuck Waller. She'll deal with me if she's got any problem with it." Eris demanded. Their voice was sharp, their posture sharper. They grabbed the remaining knives and scooped them into the sink to be cleaned later, hardly noticing when one of the blades caught them across the palm. The wound was sealed in moments, feeding off their flash of anger- or even just the argument itself. He was stronger in conflict.

Usually.

"I'm not sick. Couple hours'a rest and I'll be good as new. I'm not as fragile as you think I am, you know."

"It's not because you're fragile, it's just-" Eris huffed, shaking his head with a lot sigh, "It's because... it's because I care about you. And I want to... to keep an eye on you for a little while. Just to make sure."

A flash of soft amusement darted across Rick's face, and Eris ducked his head with a scoff.

"And 'cause I'm gonna poison your breakfast and see what it does to you. Of course."

"Of course." Rick agreed, never losing that faint smile. He took a slow step back towards the bedroom, his eyes lingering on her the whole way. "Better go give Waller a call, then. Be back in a minute."

[jones-friend]

So I looked through Strixhaven Commander earlier

Theres a lot of rad cards and weird things in that set. So much gets churned out, I wanted to bring up 10 cards worth pennies from C21 that are worth picking up for your binder.

These are NOT price speculations. These are cards I think play interestingly and are fun for the format.

Artifact decks LOVE cracking small artifacts open for different ones. There’s a kind of wheel and deal with them, using goblins or trading post to bust em open for something new. Audacious Reshapers is a great new card for the category, producing a new artifact with another left in the gy for recursion. Great for Ichor Wellsprings and the like to crunch em down for a random but likely more useful thing. And if it ain’t great crunch it down again!

The technique cycle is rad. I think white is the only one I hesitate on. Demonstrate is great and often well worth the extra copy. I feel using the word Interaction to describe removal is being a bit too broad. Removal does’t cover all of interaction, interaction can go beyond removal. I will creative technique a player who is behind and jumpstart their strat to keep from having to solo the stronger player. This card is a red Unexpected Results that can be discounted down to R and works well with Prosper and other cast from exile strats.

This is more interaction I think people should run. Ideally you use this if you can manipulate the top of your deck or have a high mv. You get more cards drawn in the game and you start chipping life totals faster. It comes out turn 2 and each turn after you draw 2 before you start playing things. I’m a big fan, plus you get insight on what your opponents are drawing.

This card is clunky at 5 and lots of things you’ll want to cast hurt your life total a good deal, AND its still (1)B. This card is not the most ideal. Its strong if you have life to spare like orzhov lifegain or life to waste like Greven Predator Captain. Not ideal, not perfect, but this card will enable something nutty in the future. Its gonna be bonkers when it happens.

Essentially a Epic Experiment in blue, Talrand decks get access to whats usually an izzet brand. Its easy to see only casting one card as a downside but really this card digs for a lot of spells then allows you to use one now and keep the rest for later. Great when your spells have delicate timings. Also less likely to be counterspelled than Epic Experiment is.

Paradox Zone is huge. The first turn you play it the card makes a 2/2 then next turn a 4/4. What makes this card stand out to me is its dual counter nature. The card itself doubles counters, then the tokens it produces have power represented in counters. That is NUTS with any proliferate. If you drop this and get a 2/2, then next turn Proliferate, you will double 3 counters into 6 and make a 6/6 then tick up your 2/2 into a 3/3. Proliferate makes this card pop off and it can be played the turn after you drop Atraxa. With how much counter based keyword tech there is its easy to juice these too. This card can make some wild tokens very quickly.

Reinterpret has quickly become my favorite counterspell. You can literally get a turn ahead of your opponent with it. The card you cast doesn’t need to share a typing, it just needs to be equal or less mana. This card is ideal for helping spellslinger set up key pieces before popping off, and it can be discounted to UR letting you counter with one blue mana.

We’d mentioned cracking artifacts earlier. Grinder is a 7/4 menace so you can swing big to deal damage. Its also got mountaincycling so you can discard it to pull a shockland with intent to recur this later. Most importantly you can crack it for a wheel. I find wheeling in monoR artificer to be HUGE. And as a creature you can easily slot it into reanimator builds or sacrifice builds. Its a multipurpose card that refills your hand!

Im shocked by how little I see this card. This is a card that ends games. This is a card I ended a game with tonight. Spellslinger is an archetype that’s perceived as being creature light, and I think that’s false. Talrand, Murmuring Mystic, Alandra, Unlikely Alliance, Shark Typhoon, Metallurgic Summons, Manaform Hellkite, Zaffai, there’s so many ways to spawn tokens off casts its nuts. Getting the damage buff is already good, getting to copy spells is great, getting to freecast is insane. That’s two magecraft triggers per spell. Tonight I exiled Magma Opus and Ignite the Future giving my dudes +12/+0. And the freecast triggers all your Talrand and Metallurgic Summons again! I prefer this over Mizzix Mastery. MM takes forever to resolve and doesnt move the game along unless you win with storm. Victory buffs your dudes, motivates play through combat, and can lead to a nutty level of casting. Also look at that pest. He’s goin so FAST.

Its simple. (2)U, copy a dude. Usually your opponent will stop playing dudes, but there’s a few cases where they’ll be unable to. Primal Surge, Genesis Wave, Sudden Disappearance, Living Death, Rise of the Dark Realms, and the best part is you don’t steal it, the threat level is lower and the game can continue. Theoretical Duplication is a great warding card, one that joins in on a crazy turn rather than stops it. I run it in my Riku hugs so I can copy the spell to get 2 dudes for each 1 you get. It is a potent and underrated pick at just 3 mana.

[campbluelake]

No Comfort in the Waiting Room || Trial 3.6 || Goku || RE: good lord

Johanna Doe sabotaged her prom’s homecoming ballot so she would win prom queen.

Leon had gone to Jo with this secret without further thought.  Even as she grabbed him, pinned him to the wall, pressed her forearm against his neck, demanding to know what was said… he was never sc███d.  He didn’t think anything of it as he read the slip of paper, even teasing lightly, like one would when sharing gossip.  A facetious tut, that suggests it’s a behavior one should be chided for, but wink wink nudge nudge, your secret’s safe with me.

But it wasn’t even her secret.  She’d never even gone to prom.  Leon hadn’t either, of course.

“We should have a prom here! Do you know how to ballroom dance?”“I kinda do! … But you just ran that dating event. You need to slow down, buster!”“Ehe… but it’s so FUN getting everyone together… I don’t have to run it, though! Maybe you can ask Tommy to dress up and meet you somewhere in the woods for your own mini prom!! Ohhh, that’d be so cute… or, you know, do whatever you want!! … Just saying… it’s never too late to experience things you never got to enjoy as a kid, you know?”

Luck of the draw.

If his and Warrick’s secrets had been swapped, somehow– if he’d just thought to ask, maybe he could have intervened.  Maybe he could have talked to Jo about murder; they were friends, right?  They could laugh it off together.  And nobody would have to get hurt.

But he didn’t do any of that, of course.  It didn’t even occur to him.

In a moment of discretion that he will regret for the rest of his life, Leon had decided to keep Jo’s secret– fake as it was– just that.  A secret.

“Hey Rick. Did you ever go to prom?”“I did. Why?”“Just thinking… what was it like?  … Would you wanna do it again?”

He wonders, now, if this has anything to do with Jo not going to prom.  He can’t say he pities her, anymore.

No, there’s a new feeling entirely.  An emotion he’d previously identified as excitement in the last two trials, gets swallowed whole by a miserable tar that sticks to his diaphragm.  It coats his lungs, seals his throat.  He’s never felt anything like this.

“… The point of prom is to go with someone. Right?”“Yeah. … Why?”“Then… I’d do it again going with someone. Since I didn’t last time.”

Saya says he’s devastated.  That’s probably a good start.

But, more than that, there’s an urgency that boils under his skin– it doesn’t buzz like usual, motivating him to dive into investigations, to trials. 

It does not yield, it does not sit patiently at his side, urging him to remain in character.  It does not empower him to humanize Jo, to find reason in the carnage.  It does not comb gentle, reassuring fingers through his hair, with the knowledge that he and Warrick would once again emerge unscathed.

“I never really thought about, you know, a label. Have you?”“Not like that.  It feels… the word boyfriend. That sounds juvenile.”“It does feel a bit high school… Prom is also kinda high school, though, right?”“………… so be my boyfriend at prom, then.”

It reminds him, cruelly, of what he’s lost.  It does not afford him the luxury of distance that he’s so selfishly enjoyed with each death before.  It grabs his hand, forcing it down and welding it to the hot stove he’s been avoiding for hours.

Days.

Years.

It also reminds him that there are thirteen other people here, each with complex emotional responses he couldn’t begin to parse.  Thirteen other people, grieving Julio.  Grieving Niko.  Grieving Kaede.  Grieving Lydia.  Grieving Tommy. 

And he’d smiled the entire time.

Their words are mostly just words to him, static playing in the background as he finds himself locked in his own brain– but Kyousuke gives voice to whatever ichor is brewing in his bones.  That seems to be a running theme, something he’s not sure if Kyousuke is aware of.  He’ll have to thank him later.  It’ll be a nice distraction.

His heart pounds valiantly against Abigail’s back, preparing for a fight that will never happen.  An outburst that will die before it reaches Leon’s tongue.  All he can manage, as he struggles with coherence long enough to write down a vote– two letters, this shouldn’t be so difficult– is one feeble sentence.

A question, broken by choked, pathetic sobs.

To maybe accomplish one small piece of understanding.  Maybe it’s a fool’s errand, trying to understand the workings of a serial killer.  To understand why she chose the weapon she did.  To understand why she played with Warrick, like a cat does a mouse. 

To understand why, or how, she chose to disguise herself. 

“… Where, the huh, the HELL, did you, p-put, all your, HAIR?”

[sketchy-entertainer]

Art tips?

Ayo, first ask? Dude, Thanks for asking! Never thought anyone would ask me anything, lmao.

Anywho, These are tricky to give out, mostly because there IS no solid way to do art. But, I'll give you some tips, alright? I dunno exactly WHAT tips you want, but here we go Quick Disclaimer. Do not take any of this advice as gospel truth. Art isn't about rules and limits, its about having fun and making whatever the hell you want. Have fun! Go absolutely bonkers! 1) Never be afraid to use refs. Refs are ichor. Dunno how to draw a certain thing? Get a ref. Need some colors? The ref's got you. The more refs you have, the more it can really help you make a character or design a scene. If anyone tells you that using a ref is cheating, you're simply using resources. 2) Proportions are really useful to make sure you know. I don't mean you ALWAYS need proportions to keep your characters are in shape and junk, I mean just so you generally know the idea. Get creative with how WIDE or TALL a character is. Do whatever you want. The MAIN idea of proportions is just so YOUR character doesn't look too wonky. 3) Here's a neat trick I kinda learned with cell shading(??). I drew a diagram this time around just to kinda give ya some pointers. Remember, this is merely ADVICE. You do not need to follow this to a T.

4) Final tip, when you make a sketch layer, make sure you PROTECT THE ALPHA. This will prevent you from drawing on the layer on accident, and then having your line art and sketch on the same layer. It's really annoying! I wanna thank you again for coming to ME of all people for art tips when there is DEFINITELY way better artists to get tips from. I appreciate that people are willing to come to me with that. I really hope I was of some help to you Anon! Thanks for asking, bud. If you have anymore questions, please ask me!

With that all being said, I hope you have fun drawing! Happy Summer!

Doodles, Sketchy Entertainer

[ichorai]

purpling trapeze ; c.s

pairing ; trapeze artist!san x trapeze artist!reader

synopsis ; you were a flurry of purple in the air, and that just so happened to be san's favorite color.

themes ; angst, fluff, circus au, trapeze artist au

words ; 2.5k

warnings / includes ; injuries, blood, hospitals, heights, mild cursing, san being a bumbling mess in the first bit

a/n ; requested by @aasthrielle with the color #887694 for ICHOR. i love circus settings so this was really fun to write ! i'm not very happy with the pacing bcs it's so short but who knows ! maybe i'll expand on ateez circusverse in the future <3

masterlist.

The first time San laid his eyes on you, he was hunched precariously on a wooden bench, fist clenched around half a dozen peanut shells, fixated on the way you were practically gliding through the air. The dark purple sequined leotard you wore made you look like a blur of glittery mauve, streaking through the spacious tent with seemingly effortless grace. You gripped on another bar, flipping upwards onto the thin beam hanging by two ropes, curling a leg around the knots before you raised a hand, bowing down to the audience with a brilliant grin. The crowd seated around him burst out in raucous applause, and San, still slack-jawed, accidentally dropped all the crushed peanut shells onto the ground in his haste to join the ovation himself.

You disappeared in flashes of wine-hued lights and a flurry of green confetti. The ringmaster had come out not too long after, a tophat perched precariously on his head and the tail of his maroon suit so long that it brushed the ground of the circus. San recognized this man to be Hongjoong, the esteemed organizer of the infamous traveling circus.

The show ended before his heart could recover from the damage that you had inflicted, still fluttering incredibly fast within his ribcage, like a panicked bird trapped in its cage. His palms were sweaty when he timidly approached the ringmaster once the crowd had thinned away, wringing his hands furiously.

“Hello,” he greeted Hongjoong, cursing the quiver in his tone. “I’m a huge, huge fan of your traveling circus, sir.”

“Oh?” The man arched a fine brow. “You want an autograph?”

It was concerning how long it took San to articulate a reply, only for him to choke out a meek, “No.”

“No?”

“I mean—!” San held his hands out, wincing at his own stumble. “I would love an autograph, sir, but that’s not what I wanted to ask you. I, uhm, I’m a trapeze artist myself, you see. Been practicing my whole life. I was wondering… if you’re looking for any new recruits.”

The ringmaster was silent for several moments, leaving San to shift his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. Drawing in a breath, Hongjoong dipped his head. “You know, you’ve got real impeccable timing, kid. I’ve been meaning to hold auditions for a while. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew. Then you can show me what you can pull out of your sleeve.” He tugged at the cuffs of San’s loose tunic with a wink. “Besides, Y/N has been complaining about their solo act for a while. They’ve been beggin’ to have a partner. Think you’d be up for it?”

Hongjoong gestured loosely to the right, and San spotted you speaking animatedly with the flaming-sword swallower, eyes alight with mirth.

Gods, San hadn’t even spoken to you yet and he was already in far too deep.

“Yeah,” he said, a little breathless, “yeah, that’d be amazing.”

With a flourish, Hongjoong called you over, and the way your head shot up with a small smile gracing your glossed lips made San melt just a tiny bit.

“Y/N, meet… What's your name again?”

“San,” he coughed out, flushing a ripe shade of crimson under your curious gaze. Up this close, he could see the gentle scintillation of purple glitter over your eyelids, matching the flattering hue of your trapeze costume.

The corner of Hongjoong’s lip curled upwards. “Right. Y/N, meet San. San, I’m sure you already know who this is.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said brightly, sticking your hand out. San didn’t take it, only staring at you with wide eyes. “Um…”

“Oh! Sorry.” He fumbled for your hand. If you had noticed how drenched his palms were, you gave no sign of knowing, to which San was eternally grateful.

“San here says he’s a trapeze artist himself,” declared Hongjoong, hooking his thumbs against the lapels of his tailcoat.

Tilting your head with a newfound interest, you mumbled out, “Oh? Well, I’d love to see what you can do, San. I’ve been dying to have a partner.”

San quickly found purple to be his favorite color. It was yours as well, and San loved just about everything about you. From the way you mumbled out a short countdown under your breath every time you took a leap from the swinging platform, to the way you would grin from ear to ear whenever he brought you those granola bars you enjoyed so much, and especially when you would snort at his lame jokes and lightheartedly call him an idiot. You were every possible shade of purple at once, and San was beginning to understand why it was such an expensive color.

It’s been almost a year since San met you, and it was safe to say that he was utterly infatuated. Tonight was one of the biggest shows yet, and he had already donned his violet garb, stretching his limbs and rolling his shoulders with a profound confidence that he lacked all those months ago.

“Howdy, pardner,” you announced from just behind him in a faux-southern accent, tipping a non-existent hat his way. “Ready for the show?” You maneuvered your way towards him, bumping his hip with yours with a beam.

San nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I mean, we only practiced like, what, twelve hours a day? It’s all muscle memory at this point.”

The look you shot him was enough for San to stop stretching, pivoting on his heel so that he’d completely face you, holding his hands out expectantly. Sheepish, you slipped your fingers through his, admiring the glittery sheen of purple eyeshadow over his eyelids, mirroring the same makeup look that you always donned for your show.

“Something’s on your mind,” he said, more of a statement than a question. “I can tell. Are you okay? Is something wrong? Do I have to tell Hongjoong you’re not feeling well?”

A light peal of laughter slipped from your lips, which made San’s tense shoulders loosen only a smidgen. “No! No, I’m fine. Well, I think so. I just…” You tilted your head slightly, a habit that San found awfully endearing, and puckered your lips to the side, observing him with an unreadable expression. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine!”

“Come on,” said San after a moment’s hesitation, gripping your hands tighter to lead you out of the dressing room. “We’re starting soon. You’ll tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

The soft smile you shot him seemed a little strained to San, but he reluctantly shrugged it off as pre-show nerves. It’d be alright, he internally consoled himself. Besides, you’d done this routine a million times before. What could go wrong?

Purple meant a lot of things to San. It meant the sweet chime of your laughter, the soft brush of your touch, and the breath-stealing glamor of your performances. It meant spending nights outside the circus tent with you, watching the setting sun spill reds over the blue sky, bleeding into lilac. It usually meant love for San—because purple was always associated with you.

Never had he been afraid to see purple.

The blood across the sand of the circus floor appeared so dark that his eyes saw purple for a brief moment. The ripped fabric of your performer clothes, tatters of purple everywhere at once…

The worst part was not being able to see you for hours after the incident, waiting outside the hospital operating room, unable to stay still. The rest of the circus crew was there as well; some of them had makeup running down their faces as they cried tears of fear. Some tried consoling others with quiet voices, and some paced the small space in agitation, San being one of the latter. Hongjoong had eyed him with growing concern, but quickly backed down when San shrugged the ringmaster’s hand off his shoulder with a low snarl.

He should’ve known something was wrong. He should’ve stopped you. What had even happened? It all went by so quickly One second, you were doing just fine, balancing your weight across one of the beams with a smile, eyes flickering to meet his for just a moment, and the next, you were falling to the ground with nary a sound, and he was left yelling your name, swinging down as quickly as he could in an effort to reach you. San could still hear the sickening crack of your body hitting the ground, immediately followed by the shocked, panicked screams of the watching crowd. Hongjoong had gotten to you first, but not before dark mauve started staining the sands.

It was hours until he saw you again—the sun had both set and risen during his wait and some of his other coworkers had bid him adieu with worried glances, but he never left the waiting room. The doctors were reluctant on letting him in at first, but Hongjoong had convinced them to allow him into your room, even going as far as to removing his top hat (that he never, ever took off in public), with a solemn set of his jaw.

For the first time, San hated seeing you in purple. All over your skin littered dozens of bruises of various sizes, ranging in different shades of violet. San fought away the tears, kneeling beside your bed with a clogged throat. He had little to say, so he could only whisper your name, as if that alone would make your pain subside. Of course, nothing happened, and you remained still as a statue.

It was a day later that you had stirred awake, groans rumbling from your chest. You glanced around, momentarily bewildered, before your eyes landed on San hunched over the couch in the corner, chest rising and falling slow and steady. It hurt to smile, but you did so nonetheless.

Not even a minute later, San had risen awake, blearily lifting his head from where his nose had been haphazardly tucked into the crevice of his arm. At first, he had thought he was dreaming, seeing you grinning up at him with bloodied lips and the whole right side of your face unevenly discolored. It was certainly a shocking sight to see through the haze of post-slumber. Blinking twice, San had to croak out your name uncertainly to make sure this was real.

When you tilted your head like you always did when you spoke to him, you hoarsely gritted out, “Howdy, pardner,” in that same faux-Southern accent before promptly dissolving into a coughing fit.

San jerked out of his seat to fumble for a water bottle that had been placed by your table, and gingerly helped you take a few gulps of water.

“Shit,” he sighed out, screwing back the cap on the bottle before kneeling back down beside you, hesitantly reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek, taking extra care to avoid the tender purple spots. “What happened, Y/N? I thought… I saw all that blood, and I thought…” San couldn’t bear to finish his thought, hanging his head in shame. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said firmly, furrowing your brows with a pained expression. “It was all on me. I’m sorry, San. I got distracted.”

Leaning forward, San grasped the rails of the hospital bed so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “By what? You’ve done this a thousand times before what… What was different? I can’t have this happen to you again, Y/N. You can’t just do that to me.”

Guilt flooded your features at the raw desperation in his tone. “I think,” you started, shifting with a low moan of pain so that you weren’t facing him, “I think I’m in love with you. I realized just a while before the show. It threw me off my game. And I got… I got nervous! I don’t get nervous during my shows, you gotta understand. Then I took one look at you and everything just disappeared. All I saw was you. Next thing I know, I’m in a hospital and you’re snorin’ away in the corner.” You smiled loosely, glancing at San to see if he was smiling, too.

He wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and San could tell that you were staving away tears. “I’m sorry, that was really unprofessional of me. We can just pretend this never happened. Go back to how things were before this mess. I’m sorry.”

It took several moments for San to respond. Not because he was affronted or disgusted or appalled in any way, but because he hadn’t ever expected to hear what he’s been dreaming to hear for the past year finally fall past your lips.

“You know,” he began, which made you curiously glimpse towards him, “I’ve been in love with you all this time and not once have I fell off the rope. You gotta come up with a better excuse than that.”

A shocked silence rippled between you. The incredulous expression you donned, personified with wide, glassy eyes, folded wholly over your features, as if waiting for him to bark out a laugh and say, “Just kidding!”

But San was serious, and you quickly came to the realization that this was no joke. Ironically, much to San’s dismay, you could only shake your head, smiling like a damned crazy fool.

“God,” you chuckled breathily, wincing at how your face pinched painfully with each small movement, “it hurts to smile but I can’t stop. Shit!”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know,” he muttered, huffing out half a sigh and half a chuckle. “Never do that to me again. Ever.”

“Never again,” you vowed, the smile slipping off your lips momentarily. “Because I’ve already fallen for you twice, I’m not adding another tally to the chart.”

Wrinkling his nose at your comment, San muttered out, “I was so scared. Everybody was. Hongjoong even took his hat off. That’s when you know it’s a big deal.”

You drew in a sharp, mocking gasp. “He took his hat off? Now that’s just overreacting.”

“I can’t believe you’re joking around right now.”

“Hey.” You fixed him with a pointed stare. “I’m okay. We’re okay. At least… I hope we are? You’re not actually mad at me, right?”

San avoided answering your genuine query, much to your growing concern, but he leaned forward to gently brush his lips against your forehead. Your stomach erupted with butterflies, but you determinedly kept a straight face. “Get some rest. I’ll go tell the nurses that you’re awake. Love you.”

“... Love you, too. We have a lot to talk about, huh?”

“Yeah. But we’ll do that later. You make sure you’re all healed up first. You’ll be swinging again in no time.”

The grateful beam that painted itself violet over your visage almost made San dizzy with delight.

Purple, San concluded, was both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. And that was love, he supposed. Love was purple, and purple was your color.

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[divinewhimsy]

Ichor Pt9 (DabixReader)

A/N: Sorry this took so long!! I’ve been busy and have been writing with every spare moment I could get. I hope you all still enjoy it nonetheless!! Also I’m running out of gifs for these chapters LOL

Don’t be afraid to message me if you want to be added to the Taglist or want to interact. I don’t bite, I promise! <3

Tag list: @velvet-kissesss @marydragneell @littleblackpheonix @holytacocactuscollector @ghostingtime @the-cosmic-dreamer @haylosx @too-old4this-shit​ @nightime-writer​

Part 7: X

Part 8: X

Part 10: X

You’re almost afraid to open your eyes when you wake up. If the bed is empty and Dabi’s gone again you don’t know what you’ll do. The previous day had been full of new and uncertain things. Boundaries that had been crossed and removed. Ideas and thoughts that you remember brushing up against in the waves of his energy beside yours. There’s so much you can’t forget, can’t let go. So if he thinks he can just leave you behind with nothing, he’ll be in for a rude awakening. 

Thankfully as you open your eyes Dabi’s still beside you. Arms wrapped around your body, holding you to him with no room to move. He’s snoring softly, chest inflating and deflating with even breaths. 

He’s so damn beautiful it hurts. It’s almost unreal. Even if he thinks he looks awful or monstrous you can’t help but see the beauty in him. It’s not something you can pin down but looking at him is like witnessing art come to life. Living, breathing art. You run the back of your hand down his face, caressing his cheek gently as he stirs. 

He blinks groggily and groans, burying his face into the pillow. Your fingers slip to his hair, running through the soft strands absentmindedly. You just want to keep touching him. It’s your reason to breathe- any moment you spend not touching some part of him is existence without meaning, although he’d probably make fun of you if you told him. Nevertheless you run a finger down the shell of his ear, jingling his piercings quietly as you brush past them. 

He mumbles something into the pillow and you fight off a smile. 

“What?” you ask with a slight laugh. 

He mumbles it again, his muffled voice still swallowed by the pillow, although it's a little louder.

“I can’t hear you.” you giggle and he rolls his head to the side.

“I said it's too damn early.” he sighs and you shrug. 

“I don’t even know what time it is.” you admit, tracing his jawline with your fingertips and watching the goosebumps appear in their wake. 

He catches your hand with his own, pressing his lips to your palm. You meet his gaze then, his beautifully blue eyes crackling with a foreign emotion. He presses each of your fingertips to his lips, kissing them one by one. It’s a surprisingly gentle gesture but you melt all the same.

“Dabi.” you breathe and notice how his ears twitch at the sound of his name. “You said something yesterday that's been bugging me.” 

“I said a lot. You’re going to have to be more specific.” he grumbles, eyes barely open as he looks at you. 

“Well, there were a few things I wanted to talk to you about.” you murmur and swallow the rising levels of anxiety that start to spear through you. “But we’ll start with this one.”

Dabi waits in silence but you can feel the way he’s holding his breath. Waiting, with a hint of your own anxiety bleeding into his emotional resolve. You don’t want him to feel nervous- you’re the one who should be nervous! You know he hates repeating himself and here you are, about to ask him to do just that. 

“Nevermind.” you curl your lips into your mouth and glance away from him. “I need to pee.” 

You try to wiggle free from his arms but Dabi doesn’t let you budge. Instead he holds on tighter, his eyes narrowing as you search his face in a fleeting second.

“We’re not doing this bullshit.” he sighs and you stop wriggling at the absolute order in his voice. How does he do that?! “If there’s a problem just say it. I don’t like to waste time beating around the bush with stupid shit. I get if you regret yesterday but just come out and say it.” 

“Regret… Yesterday?” you furrow your brows, your face burning a bright red. “Absolutely not! I don’t regret it! I was going to ask about some other stuff having to do with the bond-... why do you think I regret it?”

Dabi’s brows furrow. 

“You- I- You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking that just then.” 

“I wasn’t!” you pull back to look at all of his face.

The surprise in his eyes also forms a small ‘o’ on his lips. The way his cerulean eyes drink in your features, worry strewn about both your faces as you pause. The moment of miscommunication passes with an awkward sigh of relief and Dabi clears his throat. 

“What did you want to talk about, then?” he grumbles quietly, eyes avoiding yours as he loosens his grip on your body.

He really must be insecure. How many people had regretted time spent with him if that was his immediate thought at your unease? How many rejections has he faced the morning after offering himself up? 

The pain in your heart makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let go. No one should have to feel that broken- to feel that useless and awful and unwanted.

You don’t say anything but instead wrap yourself around him, hooking your legs around his. You press yourself to him, face burying into his neck and breathing in his natural smell of smoke and earth. A fire pit in the middle of a forest, a bonfire on a beach. The skies painted gray with the ashes of him. 

“Never.” you whisper and he sighs, running a hand down your hair and back gently. “I’ll never regret it.”

“Alright, alright.” he mumbles and pulls you away from him. “Go on and say what you wanted.”

At least he didn’t immediately push you away. There’s some progress there to be made still but it’s a start. One day he won’t tense or push you away. One day he’ll crave it and pull you toward him. You vow to make it reality.

“The bond.” you murmur and wrap yourself in the remainder of the sheets and blanket. 

You’d forgotten you were completely naked. Not that it matters after having spent last night with Dabi- he’d definitely gotten to see all of you. Just as you’ve seen all of him by now. Of course you wouldn’t object to always seeing all of him again. 

No. Focus. You wanted to talk to him about the bond.

“I- You mentioned you could see it that one day.” you spit out, flustered at your own thoughts. 

Dabi raises a brow and nods once. 

“Yeah. I can see it from time to time. It’s… I feel it more often than not, though.” he glances up at your ceiling. He reaches one hand up, drawing a swirling line up above. “It can get annoying.”

“Annoying?” you ask and he chuckles. 

“Yeah. When I left- after I got my quirk back,” he clears his throat, gaze flickering to your face after ‘left’ slips past his lips. “It became more apparent.”

You recall going after him when he had left with Charlie. You hadn’t known where you were going- but your body moved beyond your mind and brought you to him all the same. 

“If I focus on it,” he continues and turns his gaze to your arm. He runs his hand up it gingerly, timidly- almost- and draws shapes with his fingertips. “I can feel your heartbeat beside my own. I didn’t think it would affect me if I left. But when you woke up and realized I was gone, I knew I was wrong. I felt the strong, sharp pain in my own body. As if I’d been cut with glass and knives.” 

His adams apple bobs and you hold still as he continues to run his fingertip up and down your arm. It’s a pleasant feeling you never expected him to elicit but you’re not fighting it. Not when this moment is intimate in a way that makes your body blush more than when he’d been pounding into you. 

“I made it three days before I couldn’t take it anymore.” he laughs with a bitter note in his tone, “I was angry at you for not letting me go. For not listening and moving and getting the hell out of here. I knew others would guess you were involved with me- seen in public or private, it doesn’t matter. They know. That bastard- the green faced one with the Chameleon quirk- was one.”

“Charlie.” you frown and he shrugs. 

“He swooped in as soon as I left. He’d been waiting. I fought him in that last battle, the one you brought me back from. He trapped me in some awful building turning into rubble because he wasn’t able to take me on himself. Coward.

“He saw me leave. He’d been watching me- or, rather, you- the entire time. Probably before the League even knew where I was. His quirk made him excellent at hiding. So when I came back and saw him lurking around you, waiting for me, I knew I couldn’t just leave. I stayed and watched you. Waited for him to make his move when he thought I was gone for good. 

“I could feel your fear freeze you up.” he murmurs, hand sliding up to your cheek to cup your face gently. His thumb brushes under your eye again and he offers a small smile. “I’m just relieved he hadn’t gotten to you yet when I knocked on the window.”

“Why not just use the door?” 

“Then you’d be terrified even more.” he chuckles, “The window let you know at least one of the creepers in your home wasn’t there to hurt you.”

“That’s a terribly heroic thing to do.” you tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t go telling everyone. Might ruin my reputation.” 

“Pfffft, okay.” you laugh and place your hand over his, keeping his palm pressed against your face. 

“He mentioned that if you killed him in front of me that it would ruin me for you.” you frown. “That I was innocent.”

“He thought so.” Dabi shrugs. “I can’t say one way or another. He was just trying to save his sorry ass.”

“What was he going to do?” you ask quietly, afraid of the answer.

“We’ll never know.” Dabi shrugs. “I didn’t ask. I was too angry to even think straight until I felt you coming along.”

“You could feel me?” 

“Of course I could- I can. Every step I’m away from you is painfully obvious. My body burns when you’re farther- and my flames...It’s harder to maintain as much control as I had before. They’re wild and angry. Devouring everything, not a care for what's in front of them.”

“They did grow when I got closer. But they also let me through.”

He nods.

“I have a theory on that, too.” he muses, “I think this connection between the two of us has something to do with that.”

“How so?”

“You brought me back from the dead, babydoll.” he says quietly. “That defies all logic as far as I know it. I think the connection between the two of us gets stronger when we’re closer because of it. I’m alive because of you, after all.”

“Also dead because of me the second time.” you mutter, guilt spreading through your limbs. 

“Still alive now, though.” he shrugs. “But hey, who knows? Maybe if I get farther away I might die.”

“Then you’ll just never leave.” you frown and wrap him in your arms tightly. “Or I’ll just bring you back.”

“What if I’m draining you?” he asks softly, his words barely above a whisper. “What if you’re so exhausted because I take every time I touch you? Maybe I’m why you lose control-”

“No.” you say sharply. “You’re not draining me, Dabi. You’re not taking anything. I’m giving you everything, if anything.”

“Then fucking stop.” he says curtly. “I don’t want to have to find someone else-”

“Are you saying...that you want to continue being with me?” you blink and pull back to look at him.

“Shut up. Just learn to control your quirk.”

“You just-”

“We’re moving past that now. I want you to honestly work on your quirk control. You can’t give me everything every time. I don’t want you to.”

“I can work on it.” you nod quietly, slightly dazed at his words. 

“Good.” he sighs. “Because I’m not sure I’ll have enough control for the both of us.”

“What?” you scrunch your face in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“It’s fucking difficult! You don’t understand how much self control it takes. With you giving it all every time? It’s like you’re flooding my senses with this drug and I can’t get enough of it. It’s what brought me back from the other side. It’s like this… Impossible feeling. I feel invincible. Like I’m unkillable, unbeatable. It races through my senses and I’m always better than I’ve ever imagined I could be. You’re a drug, princess. I’m not going to be able to say no everytime.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Do you see how it drains you?” he cuts you off with a warning glare. “Do you even realize its not normal to be that worn out after sex? It’s hard to have the self control to take myself from it. Kissing you, eating you out, being inside you- even just touching you feels like everything in the universe came together to put me there specifically. Aligned and came together just for that. It’s a high I’ll always chase as long as I live if you keep offering it.”

You blush and he smirks.

“And with the way you look right now it seems you’ll keep offering it.” he chuckles darkly and brushes his lips against yours. “Every moment I devour a piece of you- it's a rush. It’s enough to make a man lose control.” 

His kiss is passionate and heated, tongue dominating yours as he draws you closer to him. Your body melts into his, letting his hands grasp and grip you any way he wants and he lets out a low growl.

“See? Like that.” he hisses and pulls away. “Makin’ me dizzy and shit.”

You pant and giggle, “It makes me dizzy too.”

“It’s dangerous.” he growls and presses his lips to your forehead. “Are you sure that your quirk counselor didn’t already know what your quirk could do? If they knew you had the ability to do what we’ve seen you do, it’s no wonder they told you to hide it.”

“I don’t think so.” you sigh. “They just knew I had...drained someone. I guess they just left it at that? I don’t remember them doing anything extensive. Why hide it if I can defy death?” 

“Hmm.” Dabi hums and presses a hand to the small of your back, holding you closer to him. “Maybe they thought it would protect you? I don’t know. Speaking of…”

You glance up at him as he brings a hand to your face once more, tilting your head back. 

“Huh?” you blink. 

“We’re not telling Shigaraki or the League about any of that. In fact, we’re not telling anyone. And I don’t want you to go to any more battlefields. You can’t use your quirk as openly as you did before. People are watching you.”

“But…” you start but Dabi stops you with a stern look. 

“You can’t.” he breathes, “we have no idea what could happen and until you get control over it, it’s easier to just not use it.”

He’s right but Shigaraki’s words ring through your memory. This is different. It’s not the same as the others before you telling you not to use it. It’s not the same. 

...Right? 

What are you thinking, of course it isn't the same. Dabi wouldn’t do that to you. You can’t even believe the thought that he would come up in your brain. 

Then again, Shigaraki is an intelligent man. His words will last longer than his presence will and the purpose behind them will grow. If you let him sow the doubt into you now, you’ll be playing right into his hands. 

“Okay.” you nod. “I won’t.” 

Dabi searches your eyes for a few seconds more before he lets out the breath he’d been holding. 

“Good.” he grumbles and releases your face as his finger slides to your lips. His gaze flickers there, watching as he traces the shape of your mouth. “I’m going to have to make an appearance at the League today or Shigaraki will show back up.” 

You nod, debating if you should bite his fingers or not. He moves them from your face before you can decide- teaching for his phone underneath the pillow with a sigh. 

“Speaking of.” he mutters as it starts to ring. He answers it with an annoyed look, his eyebrow twitching as the person on the other line immediately starts speaking.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I’ll be there.” Dabi grumbles and you stifle a laugh, smiling as he hangs up before the other person can finish speaking. “It’s almost sunset. I should get going.” 

He seems to hesitate as his hand hovers above your face, his warmth enveloping you before he moves. You decide for him, bunting your head into his hand and wrapping your arms around him. He releases at your touch, meeting your lips halfway as if he can read your mind. 

The kiss is quick but still packed with that same longing heat from before. Notes of regret twinge in your stomach as he pulls away, feeling the surge of your quirk rises up. You wince, toes curling as you look at his face.

“Control.” he growls and flicks you in the nose. 

You pout but end up smiling as he ruffles your hair and slides out of the bed. He pulls on pants and a shirt, donning his signature jacket. He pads out the room with a wave but keeps his gaze forward. You watch as he leaves, words lingering on your lips with the memory of his fingers. 

It’s too soon to say them. The three words may just very well damn this entire… situation. You’re sure at least feels how you do- or feels what you’re feeling through the bond, at least. Acknowledging it when it’s in its infancy is ridiculous. 

You dress yourself a little bit after, making some food and watching tv before your phone rings. It’s Lively- who’s already on her way over to drag you with her to some event by the school her new boyfriend works at. You groan but don’t bother arguing. It’s easier to just go along with her shenanigans than to try and stop the already in motion plan. 

**

It’s not as bad as you thought it might be. The event is off campus- which is surprising, given recent issues with UA and their security breaches. You don’t voice your concerns though as she blabbers on and on about various topics. You listen and add in but you know your heart isn’t in the conversation. Not when your emotions are still so twisted from the night before. 

You check to make sure the bond between you and Dabi is still there- and it is. It never once disappears, although you have an irrational fear it might. What if he wasn’t going to come back?

You could just track him down again. 

Or go to the league. If you had a deathwish. Dabi already didn’t want you there- not because he doesn’t like you but because he said he wanted what was best for you. 

The only issue with that is what if you want the best for him? Is the league really the best that can be offered? Is being a villain honestly what he needs? It’s too messy, too dangerous. 

Then again, you were the one who rushed to save him. You started this entire thing. Bound him to you with blood. 

Lively chatters away before squealing and dashing up to a dark haired man with tired eyes and a large tan scarf around his shoulders. He smiles softly as she wraps her arms around him and starts blabbering away just as you walk up. 

“This is my best friend, [Name]! The one I told you I work with.” she gestures toward you and the man nods when he meets your gaze.

“I’ve told Shouta alllllll about you!” Lively giggles and you wince, trying to play it off as a smile. 

“All about me, huh?” you mumble and she laughs.

“Well he has a few single friends who are pro’s like him! Sooo that’s why I brought you today! To meet them!” 

Dear god, no. You shake your head and swallow, taking a cautious step away from the couple. 

“I’m really alright on my own-“ you start but Lively isn’t having it as she’s hurriedly waving someone behind you over. 

“You don’t have to start anything- think of them as more friends or social outlets!” she encourages and you sigh. 

You can’t tell her you’re technically seeing someone. Not without her prying into who it is and when you met them. Unless Dabi didn’t consider you two being together...A something? Is it a relationship? Is it a fling? Is it because you two are bound by your quirk? 

You really should ask him but… would that scare him away? Are you even ready to define what the two of you are together? Sure, you’d slept with him but it wasn’t like you’d confessed your love for him. Granted, neither had he. You could be overthinking this entire thing. 

Emotional turmoil aside, you have to focus on the now. As Lively introduces you to a couple of the UA teachers, she tugs you and her boyfriend- Aizawa, as you’ve taken to politely calling him by his last name- around with her. You’re not sure which one is the one she’s specifically trying to set you up with but they all seem nice enough. None of them stand out enough to catch your eye but you’re not really looking for someone that is. Not when you just shared your bed with someone you’re connected to on a whole different level. A level beyond what any other being can even begin to offer you. 

Your quirk has ruined other relationships for you. Now that you know how deep you can connect with someone else by using it, it’s impossible to think of not being so...Intertwined with someone. And asking them to die so you can bring them back for that level of connectivity is insane. This is a rare, once in a lifetime thing you’re keeping secret and you can’t even hope to explain to anyone else why no past or future relationship will ever be the same. 

Lively babbles on about different things throughout the night. You don’t mind listening but you’re thankful when her and Aizawa step away with another teacher/Pro hero- Present Mic. He gives a friendly wave and you nod politely back before resting at one of the tables off to the side. It’s on the outskirts of the event and mostly private while everyone else is walking around enjoying the many booths and groups of heroes. 

You’re enjoying the quiet when your phone chimes with an incoming text. You blink at your screen in surprise- you’ve already told Lively where to find you if she needed you. Who else could be trying to reach you?

It’s a number you don’t recognize. 

The text is off putting, to say the least. 

‘What are you doing here?’

Who even…?

‘You must have the wrong number, I don’t have this one saved as a contact.’

‘Of course you won’t. I’ve never messaged you before this.’ 

‘That doesn’t help clear up who this is.’

‘It’s me, “Ichor”.’ 

You freeze, eyes locked down on your phone. The only person you’ve told to call you ‘Ichor’ is coincidentally the only person you’ve stayed in contact with after healing. Dabi. You can’t type his name out. If someone were to get a hold of your phone, they’d have his number and know it’s home by your guessing text alone. It would just be a burden if he had to get a new one. But if this is Dabi...Why is he messaging you now?? 

‘...D?’ 

‘Who else?’ 

You swear you can hear his snarky tone. Is he around here? With so many heroes close by? He can’t honestly think he has a chance to take them all down by himself. 

Unless the League is planning another attack. 

Your skin turns into ice at the thought. Here? Now? An attack? Lively is somewhere nearby- you have to get her out. But how can you without alerting the heroes of the villains? 

Shigaraki’s words simmer through your mind; ‘In the end it’ll come down to the choice you refuse to make- Who will you save? A hero? Or a villain?’

Do you honestly have to choose? Not that Lively is a hero by any means- she’s innocent in this. She’s dating a Pro, sure, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to be caught in the middle. Then again, the League doesn’t care about those caught in the crossfire. They’re not heroes who try to minimize damage and casualties. 

The thought makes you sick. How many people would get hurt just for the League’s statement? 

‘What are YOU doing here??’

You counter, worry bleeding into your features as you search the edge of the crowds. Do you leave? Do you stay? 

Why does it feel like the choice you make is going to impact your life in ways you can’t even begin to imagine? 

‘I asked you first.’ 

You can imagine his face. Squinting turquoise eyes, his lips pressing into an impossibly thin line. The distrust oozing from him in waves that make you feel sick. 

‘Lively dragged me here. The coworker I told you about from before.’ 

It’s the truth. And that’s always the best place to start. 

‘And left you by yourself?’ 

Of course he’s going to question it when you’re all alone. 

‘She went off with her boyfriend to do something. I just wanted a moment alone.’ 

Why oh why does this feel like you’re deactivating a ticking time bomb? Sweating before the open panel filled with crazy wires crackling with explosive energy. You have to stop this. 

Dabi doesn’t answer and you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. You need to talk to him face to face otherwise your mind is going to convince you he’s angry with you. If you can just see his eyes and get one moment with him… Then you’ll know this isn’t as bad as it seems. 

You stand from your seat and tuck your phone into your pocket, weaving out of the area and searching every shadow that you find. He has to be here somewhere, doesn’t he? If he knows you’re here, he must have seen you. 

You send a quick message to Lively explaining you went home and continue your search. No reason to get her worried or suspicious. Your absence needs to seem genuine for her not to worry. Giving some bullshit excuse about you needing to finish some research works well enough.

You’re not well traveled in this part of the city, unfortunately. It’s too much of a maze to properly figure out but you end up checking alley after alley, looking for him. You find bums and thugs, paying them only a quick glance before skittering off to the next alley. Some call out, others growl but you’re a safe enough distance away by the time they can even react. 

Where could he be? You’re turning down the next street when you’re yanked into a dark corner by a closed tailors shop. Firm hands are on your shoulders as they spin you to face their owner, your body trapped between the brick wall and your captor. 

You relax as you recognize the warmth from him, the heat rolling off his body and his glistening cerulean eyes. 

Dabi.

You’re always speechless when you look directly into his gaze but there’s something more to this. As he pins you against the wall, hands splayed on the brick on either side of your head, you can’t help but feel the beat of his heart against your ribs. His body is just barely touching yours but your skin burns for him, offering up a delicious rosy blush for him as yours recalls the memories of his body. His form pressing against yours, the feel of him within- it’s all a rush as he’s only inches from you. 

“Dabi.” you breathe, a relieved sigh escaping your lips. “I thought you had to go back to the group?”

“So you took the time to brush elbows with the pros while I was gone?”

Okay so maybe he is upset with you. 

You frown.

“You know that’s not why I’m here.” you sigh and he squints. 

“Do I?” 

“You can’t be serious right now.” you shake your head in disbelief. “Listen to yourself. Why would I want to be near pros? They’re loud, obnoxious and I don’t want any of the spotlight they bring. Being here doesn’t benefit me in the slightest.” 

“And what does?” he challenges, his hands warming up against the bricks. You can feel the heat roll toward you but you don’t dare flinch. You will not be afraid of him- he’s just trying to intimidate you. 

“You.” rolling your eyes, you open the connection between you two through the bond. You let a tendril of his soul slip through it, testing the metaphorical waters for any lie. “Feel for yourself.”

You don’t know if he can see or hear or feel it the way you do but it's worth a shot. Opening yourself to him isn’t as terrifying as it sounds although you still feel bare before him. All of his attention and essence sifting through your own to connect.

There’s only a fraction of him that visibly relaxes at the unseen action and you release the tension building up in your shoulders. At least it’s him. But why is he being so weird…?

“Do you really not trust me?” you murmur as he rests his head on your shoulder. The ends of his silky hair brush your cheek and you wrap your arms around him instinctively. 

“I don’t trust anyone.” he mumbles. 

It’s a lie but one you’ll let him believe. If that’s what he needs right now, so be it. But you know some part of him trusts you enough to expose different sides of himself. Or maybe it's involuntary? 

Your fingertips slip into his hair and gently run through the tufts of it, letting them slip through the spaces between your fingers. His head rolls to the side as his lips attach to your neck, a soft purr reverberating from his chest. You feel it more than you hear it but it doesn’t matter. Because the moment his lips are on your skin you’re melting into his touch all over again. 

You attempt control of your quirk, reeling it in until it’s locked tightly in your veins, ribbons of it swimming like eels trying to escape. It’s hard to focus on it and your attention slips as Dabi nips at your skin. With a yelp you jump and your control is snapped away and the ribbons of your quirk connect to Dabi’s veins. Surging with energy and the beautiful, steady melody of his heartbeat, you relax into his arms. 

Dabi catches you before your knees give out and he sighs quietly- a note of content burning through you can’t ignore. 

“You tried.” he chuckles and you offer a pathetic sound in response. You’re not even sure if you’re agreeing with him or not. It’s acknowledgment, at least. 

The sting of his mistrust still hurts but you don’t let it go. You hold it for a brief moment as he pulls his face away from your neck, a somber and lost look tracing his features. 

“Were you… Scared?” you ask quietly, brows furrowing on your face as you try to piece together why he feels… Different. His words and his actions are mixed, meaning and definitions clashing with how you’re deciphering them.

“Of what?” he sighs, bored tone returning to his voice. 

You. Betrayal. Rejection. Ever since earlier he’s been… strange. 

He must have been worried. With how drained you were after sex and then you being around so many Pro’s. You recall Shigaraki’s words about him being staked outside your apartment for a week before Charlie broke in. Even if he claims he was watching him and not you, you can’t help but feel maybe he was watching you all along.

“Nothing.” you mumble and press a hesitant kiss to his temple, holding his head still. He doesn’t object but the way he tenses up solidifies your suspicions. 

Dabi’s not used to caring or worrying about others. He isn’t used to the physical contact between people if it isn’t explicitly sexual. He’s well versed in the way of fighting and sex but for anything more intimate you can see the way he shudders. His sharpened edges spring from him in a defensive- and the fear is blatantly clear to you through the bond. 

Testing the waters of his emotional state only backs up your idea. He’s a storm of different feelings- none of it sorted and all of it bottled up until it breaks free. 

“Quit that.” Dabi grumbles and you pause, pulling away from his face to look at him.

His bored look doesn’t budge. 

“Quit what?” you blink, unsure of what he meant. Touching him? The gentle temple kiss? Or feeling his emotions?

“Saying it’s nothing.” he sighs. “I get really tired of those bullshit games.”

“Oh, well… I wasn’t sure you’d like what I had to say.”

“Does it matter if I do or don’t? Just say it.”

“I was going to say you were scared that I might betray you.” you admit sheepishly. “That you were afraid I wasn’t...genuine with you from the beginning.” 

“And?” 

He’s holding his breath.

“I’ve been honest with you.” you assure. “I’ve already opened myself up to you to search for your own assurance if you want. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t trust me but I understand the past may have proven that to be… difficult, to say the least.”

He doesn’t say anything but his arms slide around your waist, holding you to his warm chest. The closeness to him is somehow changed in the night but you don’t dislike it. Holding you more tightly than before, as if he’s reluctant to let go. It’s a new side to Dabi. 

“You don’t have to completely trust me.” you offer quietly, lips brushing his collarbone as you lean into him. “I understand. I’m not upset. I’ll do everything I can to help you trust again.” 

He presses a kiss to your hair and a smile blooms on your face, although it’s small. 

It’s a step in the right direction, at least. 

“Can we go home now?” you yawn. “Or do you need to go back?”

“I’ll walk you home first.” he says quietly and you grasp his hand in your own, threading your fingers tenderly. 

Dabi freezes at the action but doesn’t pull away. He settles on keeping his gaze on anything but you and you’re not sure but it must be the pink lighting of the festival that dusts his cheeks with a rosy hue. Or your imagination. 

By the time you’re safe and sound in your apartment, Dabi's face has returned to his normal pale and purple, piercings and all steeled into a bored tone. He drops you off at the door and you pause as he steps away, concern wrapping around your heart. 

“Are you not…?” you’re stuck between ‘coming in’ and ‘coming back’ but Dabi seems to read it.

He shakes his head, eyes scanning the sky above nonchalantly. 

“I have a couple of other things to do.” he says quietly. 

“But… You’ll come back… Right?” you murmur and he takes a deep breath.

“Yeah.” 

“Alright. See you later.”

He waves and starts stalking down the street, his pace set by his long stride. You watch as he retreats from your vision, a weird sensation building in your gut. 

He’s probably just thinking about something. You wish he would open up to you but you understand why he doesn’t. Dabi isn’t used to doing these kinds of things- and for him to be anything but his normal bored or flirty self is strange. 

Still, if he needs time alone to figure it out, so be it. 

You’ll be right here when he does. Come hell or high water.

[swordmaid]

Tagged by the lovely @samirant​​ <3

rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

a.k.a in which i try to write stuff that i haven’t already ranted about in the tags of the original post

1.it’s always summer in the songs ☀️ | AH YES. this one. the one that i will always bring up whenever i get asked these sort of things. i think i’ve talked about it in the tags but i like this piece even more because all the characters here (brienne, jaime, honor) were actually drawn in detail--as in--i drew everyone separately then joined them altogether--AS IN--the parts that are covered up by another character is actually drawn with its own detailing and all that jazz. this is specifically towards honor who a.) i’ve never drawn before and i had never been confident to draw animals so i actually had to draw a FULL HORSE this time which was daunting and had to size him appropriately b.) the outfit he wears, straps for the saddle, his belts, etc. they all have their own detailing! jaime’s sitting on it, but there’s actually a sash that loops around his back with the symbols of the seven pointed star. i was going to continue over on the front with the same symbols but it got cut out because of the crop. the little tree on the side/foreground originally had more branches and leaves but i just pushed it to the side else wise it would’ve looked awkward. i also designed j/b’s armor while i was working on this, and jaime’s detailing took me a lil while to figure out because i was referencing loosely off like, 5 images lol. brienne’s face angle was hard to get right and it looked awkward in my sketches but i got lucky with it in the end aaand this was also the first time i drew oathkeeper in detail. overall, i put a LOT of details in this one but it just took me a good three days to finish it. i loved it even more because i never felt like i was slogging through it when i was working on it, which is the most important thing haha. 

2. might i have this dance, my lady? | this one is particularly special for me since this is when i finalized their overall design i think. i used to always bring up this drawing as a reference when i draw my j/b (but now i use another one hehe.) anyway, this one was actually the starting point for the one i drew above because of the detailing on jaime’s armor--which i just drew freely and doesn’t have any symbolic meaning behind it whatsoever. this was the start of me adding more and more details into my art because i realized that they weren’t too hard to add and i do enjoye drawing them. i also like this one because i drew brienne’s body in detail and i spent the time drawing up silhouettes over it to find the most flattering dress i can fit her in, and i’m happy i struck with this one! oh and it’s subtle but i tried to make their outfits match with the gold detailing on jaime’s armor/the light yellow accents on brienne’s blue dress hehe. 

3. i’ve known the warmth of your doorways | my quiet isle riighhhtsssss. i screeched while i was thinking up of the concept of this tbh it hit me good. i particularly LOVE oathkeeper in this one because he looks like an expensive sword here and not like one of those pens with an animal topper. anyway, i love post adwd / post lsh fics so i tried to do a rendition of my own uvu i also love hand kisses---and honessstlyyyyy-- this one is just a mashup of my favorite tropes tbh LOL

4. ICHOR | oh my god a non jb art. i did this one a couple of years ago, and it’s a digital painting of my oc amara !!! i like this one because of how I rendered the hair. some of it reminds me of marble and i love it even to this day--which is particularly rare because i always end up hating my shit a couple on months after. this was the art style i had before, but i just changed it when i started to draw jb because this one was complicated to do + it took too much time, and i wanted to draw a LOT of jb lol (and i don’t think the style fits them as well to be honest)

5. that gym scene in modern aus | back to jb arts!! and AH yes from brienne’s physique, jaime’s slutty crop top, the man bun, mesh leggings, and their dumb rainbow guard and kingsguard designs, this one was incredibly self indulgent and i love everything it implies and represents. fun fact i had to go through so many thirst traps in ig just to draw jaime’s body properly LOL i do my research ok

tagging: @ayofandomthings​ / @fawnilu​ / @darcydash​​ 🥰🥰

[98prilla]

To The Dead

Previous

Next

AO3

TW talk of death, injuries, violence, blood, emotional manipulation

...

It was Roman, who had the next encounter with the newest ghost. He was drawing in the living room, when he heard a soft noise, a soft whoosh, the sound that usually accompanied one of them entering the space. He didn’t think anything of it, assuming it was just Logan, who tended to be quiet, or Remus, trying to sneak up on and startle him.

 After a moment of no other noise, he turned around, brow creasing as he saw no one there. He shrugged and went back to his drawing, only stopping when he heard another small sound, and he froze, catching a flicker of shadow out of the corner of his eye, from behind the couch.

 “Virgil?” He asked softly, careful not to turn his head, not to look directly at his hiding place, the shadows sparking slightly faster at his words. “Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’ll stop talking to you, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The shadows started to calm, and he could see his outline slowly stabilizing. He went back to drawing, letting the silence linger, letting them both settle, before he grabbed a pen and piece of paper, and slid it backwards, under the couch to the edge of the wall. “I know you like to draw. I always loved watching you. You made amazing things, Virgil.” He said gently, kindly, trying to convey all the warmth and empathy he felt for him in those simple words, wishing he could reach out to him. But that would only make him run.

 Instead he turned his attention back to his own drawing, those his ears were attuned to behind the couch, smiling slightly as he heard the tell tale scratch of pen against paper.

 It was hours later, when he felt something hit his leg. He looked down, seeing the pen and paper, hearing whoosh of Virgil vanishing as he picked up the ink drawing, if he had any breath, it would have been taken away. It was a portrait, of himself, his face drawn and serious, his cavalry sabre drawn and pointed skyward, eyes reflected in its sheen. He pressed it to his chest, smile tugging at his lips. Quickly, he scribbled a small thank you, and tucked it back behind the couch. Hopefully, Virgil would find it there, the next time he popped in. The drawing now hung front and center above the desk in his room.

Their astral space had shifted to accommodate a new ghost, of course. They did all still like a little privacy, a quiet space to call their own, to decorate with items summoned from memory, or copies of things that resided in the actual physical space of the house that they’d interacted with or seen, and their abode reflected that, creating rooms for each of them. A sixth now lined the hallway.

 The change was slow, at first, but by the next week, it was plain to see. The door was darkening, changing, a deep violet color creeping up the previously plain paint. It could only mean one thing, and that was that Virgil was actually using it, spending time in there, the space being influenced by his presence.

 But he still hadn’t come out. He refused to respond to them, no matter who it was at the door. Janus’s gentle words, Patton’s soft kindness, Roman’s stubborn talkativeness, Logan’s calm tone, did nothing to coax him out of the room. Sometimes, they heard him moving inside, heard him sniffling or crying, and it broke Patton’s heart.

 Virgil had been so young, just twenty, he’d had his whole life ahead of him, and one person had made him so sure he was an utter waste that he was convinced he’d done the best thing by dying. All he wanted was to hold Virgil in his arms, comfort the poor boy, his paternal instincts were kicked into overdrive and it was driving everyone, including himself, mad. It certainly didn’t help the tense worry that had settled over their odd little household.  

 Virgil was curled in the corner of what he supposed was ‘his room’, now. It was dark, deep shadows cloaking every corner of the space, walls a deep violet that was nearly black, ceiling unviewable through the cloudy smog that hovered up there constantly. A bed had formed against one wall, and he was wrapped in the thick purple black plaid comforter.

 Janus was right. It was easier to hold his form in this space, the astral plain, he’d called it. Whenever he did slip back to the physical plain, he turned into a pulsing orb of darkness, which was weird, and definitely would take some getting used to. It didn’t feel… bad. Just different. It was like his mind and thoughts and consciousness were all that he was, like he could see 360 degrees, everything around him all at once, but it wasn’t disorienting or overwhelming, like he would’ve thought. It was like his mind was in overdrive, processing everything, and he couldn’t focus on forming his limbs, making himself any kind of presentable. Not that he cared. Was easier to hide, keep out of the way, as a blob of shadow, anyways.

 It was quiet outside his door right now. They must have given up, for the moment. Hopefully for good. He wished they’d just stop trying. He didn’t deserve their care and attention, he wished they’d stop wasting their time and effort on him.

 His body was gone. He didn’t know by who or how it had been found. He’d probably been missing long enough He had called the police, or come looking, he hadn’t cared to check. He’d heard the disturbance, felt it, but he ignored it. It didn’t matter. They could throw his body in the dump for all he cared, it wasn’t like it meant anything, anymore.

 Not like anyone would come to his funeral, anyway. His family was all dead. He didn’t have a job. When he was in school he’d worked a few part time ones, but his anxiety kept getting him let go. And when he was with Him, he wouldn’t let him get one. Didn’t want him screwing up and having it all come back on Him. Of course, He’d also always complained about how little he contributed to their relationship, then got angry when he brought up the job thing, so he’d just stopped mentioning it, after a while.

 Just another proof of his cowardess.

 “Watcha doin?” He hissed, jumping five inches in the air, form wavering for a moment at the spike in fear, nearly slipping back to the physical plain from the startle. After a moment, he stabilized, glaring up at the ghost hovering upside down in the air, walking along the foggy clouds of the ceiling, green eyes aglow.

 “Which one are you?” He asked, and the ghost tsked.

 “Nuh uh, I asked you a question first, my miasmic musketeer.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, tugging on the ends.

 “Question for a question? Fine. But I reserve the right to pass on anything.”

 “Fine, but if you pass, I get a free pass on whatever question I want. Now spill it! Watcha doin? Cause it looks a loooot like moping.” He spluttered at that, scowling.

 “I’m not moping. I’m just… thinking. Now, who are you? I haven’t heard your voice through the door.”

 “Remus is what I go by. Don’t remember why I chose it. Probably just liked the sound.” Remus shrugged, slowly cartwheeling through the air. “Why haven’t you opened the door?”

 “Pass.” Virgil choked out, shadows sparking off his edges.

 “Boo, already? You’re no fun.” Remus pouted.

 “How’d you get in here? I thought no one could get in.” Remus shrugged.

 “They can’t. I can go wherever I want. And I wanted to see what you’d done with the place, so I came in.”

 “Wait, why can you-”

 “Uh, uh, uh, not your turn!” Remus sing songed, and Virgil groaned, sinking further into his blanket. “Now, why won’t you go meet the rest of them?” Virgil’s eyes flickered, voice echoing as he answered.

 “Pass. Why can you get in here and they can’t?”

 “They’re ghosts. I’m a poltergeist.” Virgil’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, surprised as with a flick of Remus’s wrist, his jaw clicked shut, stuck that way.

 “You are terrible at following the rules. Logan would like you, all those curious questions rattling around. He knows all about ghosts and poltergeists, if you’d talk to him, he could answer all your questions. Wouldn’t even make it a game. So. Why won’t you talk to him?” Virgil glowered for a moment, before Remus grinned, teeth sharp and eyes swirling, as he flicked his wrist once more, unclenching Virgil’s jaw.

 “Don’t do that again.” He growled, Remus’s smile growing. “and what do you care, whether I speak to them or not?” He asked, barely containing the whispering chorus behind his words.

 “I don’t, really. But it’s no fun playing by myself, and they’re all too torn up about you to pay any attention to me. I’ve made the walls bleed, ooze sticky black ichor, tentacles come out of the toilet bowl, flies hatch out of the floors, and nothing! Not a single scream, or scolding, or lecture, or anything! Do you know how frustrating that is? These things take time, people, is too much to ask for a little acknowledgement?!” Remus bemoaned, landing on the floor, angry scowl on his face. “And it’s all because you won’t stop sulking.”

 “Well I’m sorry I don’t feel up to socializing at their pity party for me, I don’t want their attention, and the sooner they get that and give up, the sooner everything can go back to normal for you!” They both paused as they heard a noise outside the door, likely Logan, based on the quiet hum of thought and sound of page turning. Virgil yelped as Remus’s eyes glowed, and he found his body moving without his permission.

 “What are you doing?” he hissed, feeling like a clumsy marionette.

 “If you won’t open the door, then I’m opening it for you.” He sucked in a breath as he took a stumbling step forwards, fighting the control.

 “Remus. Stop.” He gritted out, feeling dizzy.

 “Ummmm, let me think about it. No. Unless…”

 “Unless what?”

 “Unless you give me a good reason why.” He growled, trying to spin back around to face Remus, only succeeding in forcing himself to a standstill, his anger countering Remus’s power, his shadows finally exploding outward in rage after a long moment of silent battle as he rounded on Remus, sparks flying off him, his form growing and shifting, becoming a void of light as he glared, bared his teeth, growls and hisses and distant distorted screams echoing from deep in the growing shadows.

 “I don’t need a good reason. I don’t need to justify myself to you. I don’t need to justify myself to them. I don’t need their pity. I don’t need their care. I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it. So if you could tell them all to shut up and leave me alone, that would be great!” Virgil screamed, a thousand voices bouncing off the walls, the noise overwhelming, deafening, the growls turning to roars.

 Not much could overwhelm Remus. Not much had the power to. But the darkness that swept him up, consumed him in twisting, fracturing nothingness, the endless noise so loud it was silent, the empty, swirling void of dread that filled his stomach, clouded his mind, sunk into his soul, scared him, and with the force of a hurricane, he let the dark tide carry him, spit him out, hearing a yelp from Logan as the door slammed open, the tide smashing Remus against the wall before retreating, retracting, vanishing back underneath Virgil’s skin, his form solid despite the fear and anguish rolling off him, strong enough it made Remus shudder and Logan recoil.

 “what’s wrong, Remus? Am I scaring you?” Virgil asked, voice a duet of deep bass and high keening, darkness swirling just below his paper pale skin, his eyes dark voids of emptiness, head tilted to the side, a dark smile on his lips as he stepped forwards, tilting Remus’s chin up from where he had slumped against the wall. “Can’t take what you dish out?” Remus shuddered again at the wash of desperate fear that clouded his mind, transferred from Virgil to him.

 It set his mind aflame. It burned him up from the inside out, images and thoughts flashing through his mind so fast he could barely keep up with them. Fears, he realized. His fears. Roman, bayonet through his stomach, gurgling on his own blood as he slowly drowned on dry land. Janus, hands wrapped around his throat, crushing it, breaking it, until his airway collapsed and his eyes closed, lips turned blue. Logan, neck bent at an unnatural angle, eyes open and glassy, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth, body twisted and bruised and bleeding. Patton, his spirit slowly breaking, his heart cracked in two as his life faded into grays, colors draining out of his life, phantom laughter of a little girl echoing in the emptiness, cold emptiness beside him in a too large bed, until it devoured him completely and he took the pills, gave in to the darkness, clutching a family photo to his chest.

 “please. Virgil, stop. Please.” His voice was hoarse. He wasn’t sure if he’d been screaming or not, but it certainly felt like he had, gasping as Virgil’s hand drew back as if burned, tears tracking down Virgil’s face, mouth opening and closing several times, before he staggered backwards, clutching at his own head, shaking it vehemently.

 “you wanted to know why I wouldn’t open the door.” Virgil choked out, shaking as his eyes returned to their normal dark violet, arms wrapping around himself as the roaring, raging shadows vanished back to the corners of his room. He felt about two seconds away from collapsing, dizzy and weak, trembling from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. “well, now you know. I’m just… just a monster. Just… just stay away. It’s safer for everyone. Just leave me alone.” He near begged, feeling sick, at what he’d just done, what he’d made Remus see, what he’d seen from Remus, it was stuck on repeat in his mind, stuck on a loop, and his not necessary breathing hitched in response to the panic creeping up his spine. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, slamming the door closed, collapsing onto his bed, weakly managing to summon the comforter to him from where it had been discarded on the floor, curling into a tight ball underneath it, too numb and drained and dizzy to do anything else.

 Silent tears slipped down his face as he closed his eyes, dread haunting his every moment as the shadows of the room descended upon him, wrapping him in their cold embrace, purposefully drawing them to him so they wouldn’t slip under the door and go torment the others. He wouldn’t let them do that. They didn’t deserve to deal with his bullshit, if he was going to be the monster, the villain, the bad guy, he was going to be his own worst enemy. He was not going to hurt the others, not even Remus, not ever again.

[alexanderlightweight]

careless curses

inspired by this comic here

this is my last story for October!

ao3 link

Alec was born cursed.

Then again, being born cursed was nothing new, at least not for his family.  Curses ran in his lineage as thick and unnegotiable as angel blood did.  

On his eighteen birthday, death would come and steal his breath as it would do for every firstborn Lightwood heir ever born.  His father was a second son, who had only escaped fate by the sacrifice of his older sister. Once upon a time, the Lightwood line had been not only prestigious but bountiful with heirs and now those who bore its name dwindled in number.  

There were however ways to circumvent the curse and Alec learnt them all.

A thick iron chain to place around his neck, hidden beneath his shirts, a cold stark weight that reminded him every day of what awaited him the moment he let down his guard.  Salt to purify his room and herbs that he burned when he woke and before he slept, and every protective rune that he had access to was seared onto both his skin and the walls of his room.

Death comes for him on his birthday as death comes for all and Alec smiles dangerously when it does, he is ready.  

The iron is frigid against his skin and the salt thick under his quick of his nails but he stands strong and faces the tall shadow of a man that waivers and lingers but never truly forms.  A hand reaches out for him, nails dark as though already stained with his blood and Alec watches and doesn’t flinch even as death hisses and pushes against an invisible boundary.  

Death comes for Alec and it stays but it doesn’t take his breath, at least not yet.

A curse is a curse and putting it off cannot break it and while death is not constant, it is an inevitable cycle and Alec learns the cool dread that follows in the shadow’s wake.  Lights flicker and dance, the world waivers around him in an echo of confusion and Alec grits his teeth and closes his eyes and tries to sleep. It seems sometimes, as though his dreams are the only place he’s truly safe but even there, sometimes death visits.  

His father is astonished by his survival but proud, thinking that they’ve broken the curse and his mother is relieved but silent.  There are lines on her face that weren’t there even just a few months ago and he knows that while he daily battles death, his mother also battles fears.  She knows that all it will take is for him to step wrongly once and he will die.

It is a burden they share in silence and he thinks in another world she would be harsher perhaps, the stern line of her lips something cruel.  In this world, when Maryse purses her lips it is with worry and when her gaze follows him, it is not to pick out his flaws but to sear him into her memory, just in case.

He’s nineteen and exhausted, an iratze is healing his ribs but there is a lingering ache deep in his lungs and the chain around his neck is a heavy reminder that not only has he cheated death today, but that he cheats death every day.  

The presence is less loud tonight.  Still there but the coolness that it brings with it is soothing to how hot Alec feels, he groans and rolls from the bed and stretches out on the floor and it almost feels as if the darkness eases some of his pain.  Alec reaches out and for just a moment, closes his eyes and imagines a hand pressing against his own.

Death never speaks but Alec always listens.  

Sometimes there is much to be said in silence. 

Alec is twenty and his brow is furrowed more often than it’s smooth.  At this rate it’s more than likely that his sister and brother are going to be the cause of his death, which is saying something since he has a literal curse hanging over his head.  

Death is late that night and Alec finds himself growing maudlin.  There are times in the lonely night when he speaks, if only because Death seems to be the only being to ever actually listen to him.  

Once, when Alec was ranting and repeating what Hodge taught him, a message carved itself into his wall and Alec had stared at the ichor oozing from the wall; asking him who is truly the slave.  One who listens to their emotions and thinks for themselves or one who listens to their leader and has no free thoughts. After that, Alec began taking what Hodge taught him with more salt than he circled around his room and oh, the lessons he’s since learned.  

Now, Alec looks at the wall and sighs.  There is no message on the wall, no ichor dripping down the seams that he’ll have to scrub away and no glass from the many shattered pots and vases he’s gone through in the last two years.  

There is nothing, Alec tries not to feel abandoned and wonders when he began to rely on death.

One night, Alec awakens to the scent of whiskey.  It’s heavy and thick in the air and he wrinkles his nose at the taste of it on his tongue.  

When he turns on the light, he blinks at the harsh stains on the wall.  It’s splattered across in blood and what he knows is alcohol and he bites back a hurt noise as the word ‘kill’ forms in front of him.

As if realizing he’s now awake and watching, the world seems to pause and he can see the shadowing form of death reaching for him.   

“No.”  Alec says and he can’t help that his voice is low and hurt.  He'd almost forgot, almost lowered his guard and now he shores it up.  Draws up to his full height and shakes his head, a stubborn dismissal of the chill in the room or the curse in his blood, “enough.”

He leaves his room that night to pace the halls and train and while the lights flicker and the windows creak, death plays no tricks on him.

The room is dark, the only light the witchlight that Alec tosses into the air and catches at random when the shadows start to move about him.  He groans and flings an arm over his eyes, witchlight clenched tightly in his fist as he tries to drown out the shake of his furniture and the sudden almost ghostly chill of his room.  In a fit of anger, he sits up and throws his witchlight at the figure he knows is waiting for him.  

The small stone hangs, suspended in the air as the light from it flickers and then grows bold.  

It is not the warm, angelic and comforting light that Alec knows but a deep, encompassing crimson that paints his room with red light, as a slaughterhouse might stain its walls with blood.

He gets out of bed wary but curious as he walks over to death and when he reaches out, he touches fingers to the stone and the light melds.  Warm soft yellow meeting strong, powerful red and it marries his room into something deep and golden.

It’s a stolen moment, one that hangs between life and death and Alec lets it settle about him, knowing that whatever truce holds good tonight, might be gone the next.

Alec grows older, somehow.  He grows wiser though it takes time and the lessons are often harsh, the messages on his wall damning him for every misstep he takes and every wrong choice he makes.  Sometimes it praises him but those nights Alec always stares too long at his wall and wonders once again, just how bad would it be, to let go.

“I can’t, not tonight.”  He begs one night because he’s tired and sore and around him the world spins but Alec feels as though he’s going nowhere.  There is a dance, this intricate beat between him and Death but it can only ever end in one way and sometimes, when he’s tired on nights like this, he’s tempted to break a link in the chain and let Death take him.

As if it knows how he feels, the shadow settles close but it leaves him be and Alec aches with a sadness he doesn’t understand.  Despite a curse he lives but as he lives, he feels more and more cursed.

“My dad wants me to get married soon.”  He admits and the words are bitter on his tongue, “he wants me to have a kid as soon as possible.”  Alec laughs and he the tears he fights back burn his eyes. “Why can’t I have one thing easy?” He begs the darkness, “it’s hard enough just living, why do I have to hate that too?”  

The darkness has no answer for him and the wall remains clear.  Alec groans and sinks to the floor, rests his head on his knees and hugs his legs to his chest.  Even breathing feels exhausting and it’s not till he’s on the verge of a panic attack that his window rattles.  The clasp slips open and the cold, crisp breeze of a New York wind in February fills his room.  

It’s fresh and sends a shiver down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck rising as he lifts his head.  Snow flurries are in the air, gently settling on his window sill and floor and Alec huffs in annoyance as he gets up and goes over to slam it shut.

He pauses once there, staring in awe at the sight before him.  Every inch of the Institute’s hallowed ground is covered in snow.  Deep and untouched and beautiful with a strange clarity, the moon peeking through to light his vision.  

“It’s beautiful.”  He says softly, to himself and possible to death and he leans against the cold wall, fingers outstretched to catch a snowflake.  For a moment he forgets where he is and who he is and as he shuts the window, he whispers a soft, “thank you” into the night.

Death doesn’t answer, but Alec knows he's heard.

Alec is twenty-one and tired of the games and tricks that Death plays.  There are still days he wants to give in and let death have him and other’s still where he wants nothing more than to spite death for all eternity.  

Right now however, he finds himself furious with his siblings.  They got cocky, had to show off for absolutely no one and no reason and Alec had barely managed to keep them safe and alive.  Then, while he activated his iratze, they had laughed at his seriousness and made fun of his protectiveness. So Alec did something he’d never done before, he called his mother and explained in explicit detail their recklessness.  

Once, Alec might have felt bad but today is not a good day and he can’t handle pretending as though they don’t cause him problems.  

He takes a shower and the steam curls about his room and in the mirror is written just a simple, 'you did good'.  It makes the ache in chest less hollow and he leans his brow against the glass and lets his breath erase the words.

Death is a being whose presence lingers but lately Alec’s received more messages, small reminders that make his life easier and just this morning on his desk had been a bone dry rose, perfect in shape and full of color, even in death. 

As he dresses, he sees another message on his mirror, a reminder that his bow broke on his last hunt and he chuckles, having forgotten. 

“Thank you.”  He says and he reaches out and presses his fingers against the mirror, leaving an imprint of his hand to fade into nothingness when the steam recedes.  

Now when he makes tea in the evening he’ll bring back two mugs to his room.  He sips his in peace and when he takes them back to the mess hall, both are empty.  

When he reads and his eyes work just fine but his body aches, the pages turn for him and someone he can’t quite see lays against his side.  

Several times now, he’s come back from a hunt, covered in ichor and blood and taken a shower only to come out and find clean clothes laid out for him, the dirty ones in the hamper.  If he’s badly injured, there will be a reminder on the wall for him to take a day of rest and sometimes when he’s shaving death lingers close. No longer trying to startle him into cutting his own neck, but to helpfully hint when he’s missed a spot.  

Life settles into a pattern and Alec worries less about avoiding death and more about avoiding life.  The weight of responsibilities lies heavy on him but with death hanging over him, it doesn’t feel so burdensome. 

One day Alec is laughing at the strange faces the shadows can make and the next he’s blushing, just slightly, from the small heart etched into his mirror.  His heart beats double as he shakily raises a hand and instead of erasing it, like he should, he draws his own heart, entangled with Death’s.

Alec wouldn’t say he grows careless after that and if anything, it gives him a reason to live.  For the first time he feels something in his soul stir with excitement and hope and it’s because of Death.  

Then, despite his new desire to live and the lack of spite he holds towards the curse, the chain breaks.  

It’s just one link.  A weak link that cracked at some point and only held on till now.  

The iron slides free and Alec knows that Death feels it, his vulnerability.  

He can’t help the way his heart beats overtime, not in fear but in sorrow and when Death takes Alec’s face into his hand, he leans into the touch and slowly looks up to meet Death’s face.

He’s beautiful.  Just like Alec knew he’d be.

Gold eyes blink tenderly at him and the sharp nails are gentle as they press into his skin and then cold lips are pressed against his own and Alec loses his breath, just like he already lost his heart.

When he blinks his eyes open, the chain is coiled on the ground and Death is gone.  The only evidence Alec has is the chill of the room and the red of his bruised lips when he looks in the mirror.

Death is gone and with it, his heart.

Alec throws himself into hunting and life with an abandon that he lost with death and pushes himself in training until his knuckles bleed the tears of his heart. 

No curse hangs over his head but cursed he feels and Alec does everything he can to regain what he lost.  

Books speak little of the curse and the records of his ancestors only speak of evading or attempts on how to conquer death, not on how to find him .  

Alec feels hollow and at night he clenches his witchlight so tightly in his fist that he can almost pretend it glows gold.

Finally, he gets a lead.  Someone who can summon greater demons and darker beings and he goes to them.  In the dark of the night with sacrifice on his mind and a book read by death and a rose touched by him, to a loft deep in Brooklyn, a prince’s lair.

Alec’s heard the rumors of the High Warlock and how he’s been in a terrible fit of temper of late but he pays them no heed.  His concerns are all spent on another eldritch and immortal being.

When he knocks on the door he hears a voice he’s never heard and it’s a melancholy echo of a whisper lost to shadows.  It opens to a man dressed in fabric that mimics the darkest of shadows and eyes that bleed the gold of dragons hoard and Alec hears the breath that was stolen from him stutter on a gasp.

“Alexander?”  

Alec nods, he doesn’t know death’s name but he doesn’t need to and when they kiss, his lips are warm but his nails are still sharp and he holds Alec close with the grip of one who will never let go.  

Alec never wants him to.

[starlling-writes]

Bewitching Monsters - Deity (O’dos) Part 3

Series Rating: 18+ Chapter Contains: brief manhandling, drinking, minor swearing, drug use (psychedelic mushrooms) Pairing: f/fluid BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist

I ended up at the Laughing Grove—the brasserie Valzok took me to. Caera and Aleril had likely followed me but they were giving me room. My distant headspace must be that obvious.

Citra was working tonight. He brought me my first drink and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. He didn’t pry, but said if it was something Valzok did, he’d be happy to kick his ass for me. That actually made me smile.

The live music tonight was a lovely guitar and piano duet. Both of the girls sang too. Their music was soft and warm. Combined with the alcohol, most of my anxieties were lulled away. My gaze wandered around the room. A few couples were slow dancing on the dance floor. Many people were here on dates too. Seeing so much love muddled my heart. I finished off my drink and left.

“So melancholic.” I jumped and looked at O’dos. They were making a habit of just popping in today. This time, they wore the guise of an androgynous drow in simple clothing. “Are you truly that adverse to our agreement?”

“I don’t want to be a shitty mother,” I confessed. “I don’t wanna ruin someone else’s life because family is a foreign concept to me.”

“You have no need to worry, dear witchling. I know you. You will do fine.”

The sentiment was appreciated, but the words wouldn’t sink in. How could a deity understand when I couldn’t even articulate all my troubles? O’dos’s dark laugh echoed in my head. I flinched, noticing now I was no longer walking through town. We were in the void I often communicated with them in.

“For someone of your level, you hold much doubt over yourself.”

“Is this an intervention now?”

“No,” they answered a little too quickly and flippantly. “Your troubles are your own to handle. I am only concerned with those inhibiting our deal.”

I began wondering if there was a bit of fea in them—or maybe fae got it from the gods. “I wouldn’t say anything is inhibiting it; I’m just…hesitant, to meet this future. There are just so many unknowns.”

“Is that not life?”

I probably shouldn’t tell my patron deity to fuck off. Their smartassery was irksome, yet refreshing, helping to pull my mind from my worries. I met their gaze. There was more wisdom and knowledge swirling around in their eyes than I could ever wish to obtain. If they weren’t worried, then perhaps everything would be fine. Surely they knew better than I.

O’dos cupped my cheek and smiled softly. “One week, witchling.”

“And here I thought you were all out of kindness,” I joked.

Before I knew it, their hand was fisted in my hair, jerking my head back. They stepped closer, leaving half a breath between us. “Do not test me.”

I should have felt threatened. Not horny. Although… given the circumstances, being turned on right now was appropriate. It was ill timed, and influenced by alcohol, but fuck—it sent a delicious shock through me to be manhandled by them.

“One week,” O’dos repeated before vanishing and sending me home.

 The next few days I kept my work door closed and isolated myself from most everyone. I needed deep introspection. The first couple days I tried the simpler approaches: meditation, journaling, divination. Those efforts didn’t get me far. I was getting no sense of hardships in this endeavor, yet something was keeping my heart from being at ease.

I prepared some mushrooms for myself the following day. I was surprised to find I still had any lying around. Many disagree with such methods, but using mushrooms was the best way I found to connect deeply with myself.

“Don’t let me be outside for more than an hour,” I told Caera.

“I still can’t believe you’re going out in this cold, Mistress.”

There was a small flurry going on, but I needed to be out in nature. “That’s why I said an hour at most. Just… have some cocoa ready for me when I come back in, please.”

“Of course."

I took the shrooms and turned on some music. Might as well dance a bit and get myself loose while I wait for the come up. And now that Caera had a body, she could dance with me. We swayed and twirled. I couldn’t remember the last time I danced with someone. Was it with Aero during Brumalis? Maybe. Though I would’ve been drunk then; and I’m almost high now… I needed to dance with others again when I’m sober. I needed to dance more.

My thoughts drifted and soon geometric runes started to dance in my vision. The drugs were kicking in. Time to brave the cold. But the music was so nice. And dancing with Caera was—

No! I had work to do. This wasn’t the occasion for fun.

It was a challenge to pull away from her. Especially knowing I was about to venture out into the dark winter night. I made two small balls of light to float around me and stepped outside.

The snow was barely falling now; the light caught the puffy flakes in a magical way. I could still hear the music playing inside. So I danced. The snow floated around me like flecks in water. I started to feel like I was floating too. Closing my eyes, I saw rainbow light filtering down through ocean waves, breaking into beautiful patterns. The designs gradually turned into an array of strobing, bioluminescent sea life. Fish, whales, turtles, jellyfish—so many creatures danced with me now.

A deep rumble brought me out of my trance. Vérus stood before me. “What are you doing?” he asked while I was distracted by the fading light trails of a school of fish.

“Dancing.”

“I meant, why are you outside?”

“Cuz I’m tripping on mushrooms and being outside helps me connect to nature better which will help me connect with my inner-self better and I need to do that cuz I have a lot of thinking and introspection I need to work on within the next four days,” I rambled.

He slowly blinked. “Did you take my ichor?”

“No, why?—Wait!” I gasped. “Would that help? By the moon, your ichor is gonna be a lot more useful than I thought. How do I take it though? Do I make a tea, or a tincture, or bake it in bread or something, or burn it like incense—”

“Stop,” he cut me off. “That is the opposite of what I meant. You need to go back inside.” He walked to my house and was about to let himself in when he looked back and noticed I had gone back to dancing in the snow. With a heavy sigh, he came and grabbed my arm to drag me along.

“Oh good, I was just about to go get you,” Caera said.

“It’s been an hour already?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Huh, normally time felt slower when I tripped. I took the mug of cocoa from her and settled into the chair closest to the fire. My toes were freezing.

“And why are you doing all this?” Vérus asked dully.

That put a sharp damper on my trip. Why was he still here? I took a moment to stare at the fire before answering. “I’m going to be a mother soon.”

I knew what he had to be thinking. His unspoken questions made my skin crawl—it was like thousands of tiny spiders crawling over and nibbling at me. I immediately forced that imagery from my mind before the drugs made it worse. It threw me off a bit when he coolly asked, “And this required such… introspection, why?”

“I don’t know how to parent!” I slammed my mug down on the table, some cocoa sloshing out. “I don’t wanna fuck up. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Vérus knelt on one knee before me and turned my face to look at him when I tried to look away. He was so close now. Runes ran down in face in the most intriguing patterns. “Witch. I’m not in the habit of giving compliments. That said—your skills are greater than any witch I’ve seen before. Your consideration draws others to you. I do not foresee you failing such a thing.”

He left me truly speechless for a moment. I still wasn’t used to him being this friendly. “This… is the weirdest trip I have ever had.”

— — —

BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist Story:  Previous   —   Next Character Arc:  Part 1   Part 2   [Here]  Part 4

[sloshed-cinema]

Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

Ray Harryhausen’s earlier effort with director Don Chaffey, JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS, may not have advantage of the same technologies as Clash of the Titans, it somehow does that film one better.  While the interactions between actors and effects elements are tenuous at best, the stop-motion animation of itself is unimpeachable.  The attention to detail, intricacy of movement and articulated parts (the Hydra is a weird flex, but okay, Harry, animate all those necks and double-tail), and most importantly the personality of all the monsters.  These aren’t just brutes, they’ve got backstories and a certain degree of humanness to them.  Talos, for one, has a particular lumbering gait and language of movement unique to that creature, and the harpies have a slinking-to-shrieking shift.  As the ichor drains from his body, Talos clutches at his throat, moved from invincible destroyer to individual facing demise in an instant.

It’s this humanness that anchors Jason and rescues the film from utter camp.  The film is peppered with moments that feel small in a story that seeks an epic expanse.  Hercules becomes fast friends with Hylas and their departures from the group afford stakes to the proceedings in a way that a fleece MacGuffin hunt can’t by itself.  Hercules’ effortless roguish charm transformed into sobriety allows for some weight.  THe film seems, on some level, keyed into important themes that recur in Greek mythology: the importance of xenia and the ill fates those who betray that hospitality; man turning prophecy against himself due to his, well, humanness.  But above it all, the gods are just as human as any mortal, petty and fickle, easily injured and just as easily won over.  Sure, the spectacle is a fun draw, but it’s these character dashes that make things more engaging on a narrative level.  Not to say this is wholly faithful: to have Medea in her mythic role would give her a bit too much agency for the aesthetics of that film era.  

Bernard Herrmann offers a score that’s as broad and adventurous as the story.  While perhaps not his most brilliant work, it’s plenty of fun in its swashbuckling glee.  At a few instances, glimpses of his Hitchcock pictures—Vertigo in particular—can be found in the periphery.  He even pulls a Rachmaninoff at one point, quoting the Dies irae as Aeëtes evokes death for the remaining Argonauts.

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says ‘golden fleece’.

Insane expository dialogue.

A prophecy is made.

Violation of xenia.

BIG DRINK

Hera helps Jason.

A figure from Greek mythology is introduced.

[high-warlock-of-brooklyn]

Operation Retribution

This is for @khaleesiofalicante, happy birthday you wonderful waffle! And thank you @aria-lerendeair for helping with the prompt. This is my first attempt at well, this, so any feedback will be very helpful. Okay here it is, *hides behind Alec*.

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“WE DEMAND RETRIBUTION!” came screaming as soon as Alec stepped foot in his home.

“Well hello to you too, Blueberry,” Alec chuckled, untying his boots. He doesn’t go to patrol anymore, now that he was the Inquisitor, but the familiarity of the battle-worn pair gives him a sense of calm every time a bigoted Clave official tried to undermine his authority, so standing tall to put them back in their place was a little easier, not that he wouldn’t do it otherwise.

“Dad, we are declaring war, just wanted to let you know” Rafael said matter-of-factly, petting Chairman who was sitting in his lap like a king on a throne, and looked like he was having the time of his life.

Alec walked over to the hot pink sofa where Rafe was sitting, the sofa of course the newest addition to their drawing room, after a passionate argument from his husband, “We have children now, Alexander! I refuse to let them live in a home without a splash of colour to brighten their day!”

As if the three of them needed anything else to brighten their day other than Magnus himself. But of course, Alec couldn’t ever say no to Magnus, especially when he pulled the puppy-eyes on him, so there it was, a hot pink sofa in the middle of their drawing room, surrounded by equally quirky furniture.

“What happened this time? Did someone at the institute say something to you or Max?” Alec was slightly alarmed now. Rafael had always been the more level-headed of the two of his kids, so if he was in on this, this must have been serious. Then again, this wouldn’t be the first time someone had remarked off-handedly about his kids, and certainly not the first time that specific someone was placed in ichor duty for a month.

“Not at the institute, no, and it wasn’t like that”, Rafe answered hurriedly. “It’s just, tonight we were watching Star Trek with Steph, and he asked us if you and Papa share a toothbrush.”

Alec was thrown off track now. Jace and Clary’s son came round to their home for movie nights, he really wanted to stake Simon for getting these kids hooked to those shows, and play dates, and thousands of other activities that Clary and Magnus insisted on, with Alec and Jace nodding along. They were both whipped and they knew it, but they both just loved them so much, so sue them.

“Why would he ask that now?” Alec picked both the kids up in his arms. He may have activated the strength rune before coming in to do that, but he just wanted to cherish the years he could do that before they got too big for him to pick up. Chairman meowed loudly to air his annoyance at having his seat removed.

“She said that Uncle Jace and Aunt Clary share a toothbrush, that’s because they are in love. And when I said that you and Papa don’t, she said that Uncle Jace loves Aunt Clary more than you love Papa”, Rafe pouted, plucking at a thread on Alec’s jacket.

“And of course that isn’t true, so we demand justice!” Max replied from his other arm, puffing out his little chest in anger.

“They do WHAT?” Alec was still processing the news of his Parabatai sharing a toothbrush with Clary.

“They share a toothbrush.” Max supplied breezily.

“Who shares a toothbrush now?”

Alec looked away from Max’s face to greet his husband, and then had to remind himself to breathe again when he saw Magnus. Black leather pants that looks painted on, dark maroon silk shirt that accentuated his toned muscled perfectly, and his favourite jacket, a red one with black embroidery all over it, completed with black eyeliner, glittery maroon eye shadow, and a blazing red streak in his hair, with combats boots with rhinestones on. Even after all these years, he still loses his breath every time Magnus walks into the room.

“Welcome home Darling! I see you’ve already been attacked! You need rescuing or should I come back later?” Magnus smiled and walked up to greet him with a quick peck on his lips, quickly assisted by Max and Rafe covering their eyes and yelling “Stop it!”

“Alright, alright, fine” Magnus laughed taking Rafe from Alec, “now, who is sharing a toothbrush with whom?”

“Uncle Jace and Aunt Clary, and Steph said that it’s because they love each other and that you and Dad don’t love each other enough for that,” Max was now pouting too.

“Or, we love each other enough not to pass on our germs to each other,” Alec muttered under his breath.

“Well, kids, everyone loves differently. Like how I love your Dad by accepting his debatable wardrobe choices, because it’s his body and his life, and he should be the one to choose what to wear,” Alec just rolled his eyes at that, “and your Dad loves me by accepting the choices I make, no matter how weird it seems to him, because he trusts me.”

“Like the couch?” Max asked.

“Exactly like that!” Alec said, “But please never share toothbrushes. That is not hygienic, and I will talk to Uncle Jace about that as well.”

“But what about war? Stephen said his parents have more love than you two, and that means war!” Max was excited.

“Obviously that’s not true Blueberry, but I understand the need for it. No one disrespects the Lightwood-Banes!” Magnus decided to indulge in his son’s interest. That surely had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to get back at Blondie for introducing toothbrush sharing to his Biscuit, of course not.

“Okay, fine, I didn’t want it to come to this, but it has.” Alec sighed in mock-exasperation.

“The Herondales have one weak spot, one thing in this universe that can topple the mighty tower of the house of Herondale” Alec spoke in a conspiratorial tone.

“What is it?” both Max and Rafe perked up. Magnus already knew where this was going, but just watching his kids and his husband together filled him with warmth, so he decided to go along with it.

“Ducks.”

“Ducks?”

Max and Rafe seemed doubtful. How can someone fear such an innocent bird? Especially someone like Uncle Jace, who was the fourth best Shadowhunter they knew, much to his dismay.

“Fourth?! I mean I understand that Alec is their dad so they think he’s the best”

“Alexander IS the best!”

“You’re biased! But why fourth?”

“Of course they think their Aunt Izzy and Aunt Clary are better than you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t doubt guys”, Alec was already planning the prank, “Tomorrow, when they come by to drop Stephen off, we will execute Operation Retribution!”

Magnus just smiled at Alec, noticing the twinkle in the hazel orbs. Alec had never really done the normal kids stuff, where you prank your sibling or friends and have fun with innocent tricks, but Magnus knew that Alec has a prankster side of him that he hardly ever let out, and this occasion might have done just that, and well, Magnus was not going to say no to anything that makes his husband’s eyes sparkle like that.

“Let’s do this!” both Magnus and Alec spun their kids around and chased them, which turned into a tickle fight, and eventually the four of them got exhausted, and started planning the prank tomorrow.

Next morning, both Alec and the kids were getting antsy waiting for the bell to ring, too much excitement for the three of them to handle, which certainly didn’t help with the fact that this had to be a covert operation.

So when the doorbell did indeed ring, all three of them startled, prompting Max to spill milk in Alec’s lap where he was seated, and Magnus silently snapped his finger to clean up the mess, as well as open the door. He suspected that if any three of them went, they might spill the surprise.

“Good morning Magnus! How are you today?” Clary entered first, with her son’s bag over her shoulder.

“I’m bi and just wanna say hi!” Magnus chirped. It was their ritual, every time Clary wished him good morning, and Magnus just smiled and said something like this, making her smile.

“Hey Magnus, hope you’re ready for another Doctor Who marathon. That’s the verdict for today.” Jace said, carrying his son in his arms.

“I will never forgive Shaquil for introducing these kids to those shows. I mean, a screwdriver, really?”

“It’s a sonic screwdriver! It does everything! Well, except wood. It doesn’t do wood” said the little blond with excited green eyes from Jace’s arms.

“Stephen Alexander Herondale! One day I will introduce you to the better side of TV shows, one that doesn’t include a character sauntering around with a pointy stick!”

At this point both Max and Rafe joined them, excitement bubbling, and gestured Magnus to carry out his part of the plan.

“Steph! Uncle Jace! You’re here!” squealed Max and Jace put his son down and picked up the blue boy, gently booping his nose.

“Hey buddy! Hi Rafe! Ready for a Doctor Who marathon?”

“YES! We’re starting the Eleventh Doctor today!” Max was bouncing with excitement.

“Good for you!” Jace said. He didn’t understand the shows, but the kids were happy, so what the hell.

“Uncle Jace, we have a surprise for you” Rafe said, winking at his brother.

“Really buddy? I’d love to see it!” Jace was happy to indulge whatever stroke these kids fancies.

“It’s in the balcony, and bring Steph too!”

Jace picked up his son and walked over to the impressive balcony of the Lightwood-Bane residence, Max and Rafe followed them, quickly joined by their parents.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Quack.”

“BY THE ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!”

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

Both Herondale males could be heard screaming at the same time, making Clary run over worriedly, and making Alec and Magnus topple over with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Max and Rafe just jumped up and down, laughing excitedly. Jace and Stephen were visibly pale, and scrambled out of the way to hide in the kitchen. Alec simply picked the bird up and put it on the kitchen counter, scaring the two even more.

“This is for saying that your parents have more love than ours!” Max exclaimed.

“And for inflicting poor Biscuit with the same toothbrush you use.” Magnus helpfully supplied.

“That’s it! All of you are getting acid-washed jeans for Christmas!” Magnus’ eyes widened. Jace smirked.

“And I’m getting an umbrella with spiders on it.”

“JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER HERONDALE!”