#the only practical use i think is for expressing certainty (with perhaps just a bit of sarcasm).

[myothertardisisonthemun]

I have 3d printed some very special dice

It's a D1. It only has one possibility.

For when things are certain.

Although, thinking about it, usually 1 is the number people don't want to get, what they want is a 20.

So I also made this

(Also here are a bunch of earlier prototypes)

[hobidreams]

may 1869.

just this once, you let yourself be a little braver.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 1.4k contains: someone new, something new.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 20. start from the beginning?

A balmy wind drifts through the open window of your bedchamber, making ripples upon the freshly made spread. You stand in sunlight before the mirror, tracing the faint remnant of the bruise on your collarbone, left by the king’s hungry mouth too many nights before, and wish absently that the mark will stay for at least a few hours more.

As the days grow longer, his visits have become far less frequent, though the minutes he spends indulging in your heat seem to extend ever so slightly in turn. The explanation that leaves your heart intact is that he is occupied by overseeing the administration and results of the national civil exam, the gwageo that took place a few days ago and will bring a new group of eager scholars into the palace. You try very hard not to think about the possibility of his finding his way to another woman’s bed, even though he is well within his rights to. Even though it is expected of a king to have handfuls of consorts in his court. He has, thankfully, spared you of such truths, like he continues to spare you of any details about his life. Theoretically, that makes it easier to not get so attached. Theoretically.

With an exhale, you re-adjust the collar of your blouse to hide the mark and put on your hat before stepping out into the sun, holding a book that you intend to return to the king’s library.

As you walk towards the building, you soon realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before in green scholar’s robes in front of the shuttered doors, pacing back and forth as the dark samo on his head bobs from the effort. What’s he doing? While people may pass by here, they rarely linger.

When the man spots you, his gaze seems to brighten. “Excuse me, uinyeo-nim!”

You come to a stop before him, taking in the wane of his eyes that are like friendly crescents. “Good morning. How may I help you, Scholar…?”

“Park.” He smiles. “I’m one of the newly admitted scholars.”

“Scholar Park. Congratulations on passing the exam.” You return his smile with a small one of your own though you remain on your guard, no matter how kind he seems. Most of the current scholars treat you with disdain (though they at least attempt to veil it on the king’s account, you are certain), as you are a woman and thus beneath them, no matter if the texts you’ve read could rival theirs. This Park must be brilliant though, if he passed the rigorous exam at such a young age.

“Thank you. I’m excited to begin my work! But…” He bites his lip. “The head scholar asked me to obtain a copy of Bang Si-Hyuk’s latest text, and the royal library said that only the king has a copy…” His expressive face falls and you, with a twinge of endearment, think he might be an awful liar if he ever tried. “Would you happen to know how I might borrow from the private library? Should I request an audience with the king? Are there official forms to follow? I really don’t wish to misstep.”

You stare at him quietly, contemplating whether or not you should reveal that you have such access.

He nervously seems to take your lack of answer as confusion. “Yes, I am aware that I should have asked my fellow scholars but they are all so much older than me and I’m afraid that they will take me less seriously than they already do if I cannot complete such a simple task on my own... But no one else has walked by here and I do not want to go back empty-handed and…” He trails off, giving you a look of absolute desperation that warms your heart, despite your reservations.

“Scholar Park. I can retrieve the book for you, if you promise to return it within a few days.” The king wouldn’t notice that it’s missing anyhow, not with how busy he’s been. That, and you get the feeling that the older scholars have been playing a bit of an initiation joke on this poor boy.

“Really? You will? Thank you, uinyeo-nim!” He breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, but uinyeo-nim, how do you have access to the king’s libra…”

You can practically see the moment it clicks in his mind that you are that physician, the one who’s name is irrevocably tangled up with the king’s.

It seems palace gossip is not exempt even from those who have only entered the grounds the day before. You can literally feel the turmoil going on within him as he tries to figure out how to address you, whether or not he should give you the respect of the king’s consort even though you are technically not one in the slightest. Just a lowborn, a hole, even a witch doctor that has bewitched jeonha, as those less polite than this boy have put it when they thought you were out of earshot.

“Hm?” You prompt like a masochist, wanting to see what he says. Wanting to see if it’ll hurt you some more, or if you’ve finally gone blissfully numb.

“N-Nothing, uinyeo-nim.”

You were right. He’s an awful liar.

But you get the book for him anyway, and see him off with promises to meet you back here two days later for the return. Your reality is none of his fault, after all.

That night, the king drops by with little decorum. Opens the door to your chambers and strips off his robes, like he always does. Though this time as he kneads your bare chest in his calloused fingers, pinching the peaked nipples so hard you whimper, you are filled with a need for some scrap of certainty. You want to wipe that coolness from his eyes for even one second, to stoke some intimate fire from him that says he still remembers how you used to be together. How it used to be easier than this. Closer, even though now you know how thick his cock feels as he robs you of air.

“You—ah—you’ve been busy, jeonha?” It’s been getting marginally easier to talk to him like this in the moonlight, his hands making a mess of you. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve come.”

“What, are you that needy for a fuck?” He smirks, but it’s a look more dark and dangerous than playful as he reaches down and finds you soaked. You think you feel the ghost of that word lingering around his question, but it is a small blessing that has not said it aloud since that night in April.

Your face flushes hot. “I-I was just wondering…” You shouldn’t mention it. You really should hold your tongue, but you’re sick of being trapped in your own mind, going in circles with your own insecurity. Just this once. Just this once you want to let yourself ask— “I thought… That perhaps you had taken another conso—oh!” You’re cut off by an abrupt inhale as he sinks two nimble fingers into your cunt. One smooth stroke takes him so deep, only for him to pull out to use the translucent wetness he’s gathered as lubricant along his shaft.

“You think I have time for other women?” He snaps. His stare is intense, but you can’t see a single lie in their depths. “Never have.”

Then he takes you so roughly, you think the bed might break from all the rattling. You have to blink away white spots in your vision when you come and he doesn’t say much more to you for the rest of the night, but you’re smiling almost deliriously all the way through with your nails scratching faint red down his back, the bracelet he gave you dragging over his skin from its home on your wrist. Never, your mind echoes, again and again.

Against all the odds. Against anything you would have expected. Even if he keeps you at arm’s length to the thoughts in his heart, it’s still the chance three-step skip of a grey stone across a rippling pond.

You’re the only one.

a/n: wow. drabble 20. it’s taken us half a year to get here & it honestly feels like a dream that i’ve made it this far. yet there is still so much on the line. so much further to travel together. thank you, if you’ve been here since the beginning. thank you, if you’re just picking up the series 💜 please do come let me know your thoughts on the series as we slide into the present time, with all the tension of the past lingering too closely by. i truly couldn’t have gotten here without all your support ♡

[danddymaro]

Abbacchio Finding Out About A Secret Child With The Reader.

Reader insert // Your name // (Y/n)

Daughter’s name // (D/n)

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count :  3031

Abbacchio Finding Out About A Secret Child With The Reader.

Abbacchio stared down at the picture in his grip, and as he did, his hand trembled the entire time he tried to properly hold it, wanting to avoid having it fall out of his shaken grasp.

“She just turned three,” he read, trailing his eyes over the words. 

He instantly recognized the familiar writing scribbled on the white back of the image as he’d turned it over during his inspection of it, and it only made him feel more uneasy as he read the message out loud,

"Three…" Leone breathed softly.

He felt his heart tighten, and lifelessly, he let the photograph fall onto the desk, joining more which lay scattered across the surface.

“Three years,” he said to himself, his hands both slowly rising, pressing over his face as he sought to think rationally, attempting to pull himself together before he said something stupid, or much worse, picked a fight that quite possibly wasn’t even there to take part of,

“It just...No...There has to be...be a reason...an explanation,” He maundered incoherently.

He tried hard to keep himself together, but it was hard to when every bit of him shook with recollection of the memories that came forth, from the lovely ones that he kept locked in his chest, to the miserable ones that followed after his joy slipped through his fingers. 

‘I miss those days,’ He thought to himself, remembering her and the little things that had made his life feel worthwhile.  

 Her (h/c) hair felt soft as it slipped through his fingers, the little knotted bits eased loose by his gentle tugs, 

“I wish my hair was like yours,” (f/n) mused, a small smile over her as she did the same with his own much longer strands of periwinkle, “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, her eyes on it as she watched it slip between her fingers, every strand that flowed over her hand being soft and feathery,

‘If we ever have a child,’ she silently mused, her (e/c) colored eyes rising to gaze up at him, ‘I’d want them to look just like you,’ She thought with certainty, having always perceived the man to be beautiful, far surpassing her in every sense.

‘Especially your eyes.' She added as she found herself locked with them, ‘ Of all things, I’d love for them to have your eyes rather than mine,’ She thought with certainty, having thought about it so many times before, because all in all, there wasn't anyone else she'd love to settle down with.

But it wasn't like she could openly tell him she had been ready to settle down and have a family, not when he didn't seem so ambient about being in an actual relationship to begin with. 

Granted, they'd had their sweet moments, but she was well aware that truly, they meant nothing  but one thing ; 

He didn't want to be lonely,

not truly alone at least.

 Meanwhile, during her inner musing, he let a placid smile overtake him, hidden, yet present as he played with her hair, not having had a mind to do anything else but lay with her and enjoy the end of the day together. 

‘I guess we could have gone out somewhere,’ He thought with a little blue sigh, somewhat regretting not doing anything else but stay in, ‘But sometimes, I just don’t want to do anything but lay here with her,’ He mused, stopping his caresses altogether to enjoy her touch instead. 

 It was hard not to see part of himself in the image of the little girl, not when she looked like the spitting image of him,

"There is no mistaking it," he said lowly, knowing deep within his chest the truth. 

There was another image set before him, placed on the same desk the first one had been and had just fallen back down on. 

Swallowing down hard, he picked it up, seeing that within that specific photograph, the child was much younger, practically an infant, being incredibly small and wrapped by a soft, pink blanket,

 ' - She has his eyes, his hair, his smile, his everything.’ the back of it read, all written with the same hand from the first picture he saw.

“Abbacchio what was it you nee-” Bruno started, stopping as he entered his office, seeing his friend stilled as he read the written words on the printed image with hardened, darkened orbs.

“- Bucciarati,” Abbacchio started, his voice dropped down by a pitch as he turned to look back at his boss,

“What are these?” He asked, the hand holding both photographs shaken as he tightly gripped them, waving them before the dark-haired male, “Why do you have these?” Leone added, his eyes glazed, yet stern, “I want the truth!” he demanded, stepping forward, 

"And don't give me any bullshit lies." He added with venom laced within his words as little pinpricks stabbed and stung his eyes, the man somehow holding it all in, letting not a single tear slip out of his eyes.

It was then that Bruno sighed softly, “Yes...of course,” he said with a silent nod, turning to close his door for privacy, being careful in doing so, 

“ I’m sure you want to know,” He added, staying turned away to hide the pained expression fixed upon his own features, because he knew he’d inadvertently hurt his friend by obscuring the truth.

“....Just know that it hadn’t been my intention to harm you, nor for you to find out this way,” Bucciarati spoke earnestly, finally finding it in himself to gaze back at his friend and face the betrayal set over his features,

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Leone asked angrily, his tone rough as he addressed the other male, “ Why the hell did you never tell me I had a damn kid, huh?” The long-haired male urged on, “Why hadn’t it crossed your mind to tell me you knew where she was too,” he added as he referred to the woman who appeared in every photograph as well.

  "Well?" He said anxiously, wanting to know, waiting for an answer.

 “...By then we had already betrayed the organization and made it to Sardina,” Bruno started, his royal blue’s eyes looking forlorn as he mentioned the past,

 “ A kid?” Abbacchio asked frustrated, holding his abdomen in pain because while he had been healed, he still had to endure the aftermath of the wretched assault,

“You’re asking me about a damn brat right now?” He asked (f/n) while sounding thoroughly annoyed, glaring at her hazardously, most of it being a front to try and mask the pain he felt.

He'd just barely survived getting cut through and she was asking about kids…

‘Of all things,’ He thought bitterly.

“I don't mean now,” she started, sounding rather small, “ but perhaps in the future...Maybe... later…” She drifted off, biting her lip anxiously as she finally forced out the last word.

“Have you ever just sat there and thought about it?” She asked him, swallowing hard, “ Has it ever come to mind?” she added.

‘Have you ever thought about it...with me,’ She wondered, wanting to ask him specifically, but afraid of the answer and what pain it would bring, because she was certain it would hurt.

“Yeah,” Leone huffed, “ Yeah, I've thought about it...About how much I don't want one.” He muttered before hanging his head, “And it should be the last thing on your mind right now too,” He added, abruptly standing, wincing as he did so,

“Right now, we’ve got to find the Boss,” he reminded her, walking away from her and the conversation altogether, brushing right past Bruno without even a word of address.

With a frown, Bucciarati approached the woman, sitting beside her on the couch, joining the notably downhearted woman with the expression slowly melting down into soft, open kindness,

“Are you alright?” he asked her, concerned over the little tears that had escaped her, and that were then slowly falling down her face.

“Not really,” she admitted to him, offering him a small, broken smile.

“He’s frustrated right now,” Bruno stated, “...He just narrowly escaped death not a few moments ago,” he reminded her, desperately trying to justify Abbacchio’s behavior while simultaneously attempting to comfort the young woman altogether.

“I’m sure that during another time he’d be much more amenable and open to the conversation,” he said with a growing smile, assuring her as he reached out for her hand, warmly holding it.

“I know,” she responded, “I know he’s still hurt,” she added.

“ And you know... I was actually worried sick,” she admitted, “ I thought… I thought that he wasn’t going to make it,” She added with a harsh shutter, having felt her world begin to crumble as she caught sight of his bloodied body back at the beach,

‘And I thought I wouldn’t get a chance to tell him,’ She thought to herself, absentmindedly placing a hand at her stomach, something that wasn’t overlooked by the blue-eyed male,

“(f/n)...” Bruno started, deflating at the small movement, slowly coming to a realization. 

For just a moment he looked around, making certain no one else heard before he spoke, “ Are you pregnant?” he asked her, scooting closer. 

- It had only been a small hunch, one that could have simply been squashed had it not been for the grim expression that overtook her at the mention.

Nodding somberly, she confirmed it, “ Yes, but I don’t know how far along.” She admitted, “I only just found out today."  She added, not having known till after she boarded the boat and already made the decision to accompany them.

“ And now... I don’t know what to do,” she said while looking to him for guidance, “ I've wanted to tell him, but whenever I try, he shuts me down.” She informed Bucciarati. 

“ Whenever I try to talk to him about a future together, he simply brushes me away,” she went on, having gone through the same dilemma even before then.

“He doesn't want children,” she said sadly, “ He expresses it with distrain each and every time it's brought up,” she informed him.

“And what's worse is that, perhaps, I’ve read us all wrong.

I’ve been together with the man for months now and not once has he mentioned the possibility of a life together.

During all this time...he’s also never told me he loves me.

He’s also never been one to publicly hold my hand.

...He’s never introduced me as anything but his partner; someone who works alongside him,” She explained, "Almost as though we aren't really anything." she added with a small, bitter chuckle. 

“Maybe, all this time that’s all we’ve been, and he just doesn’t have the heart to tell me where we really stand...” She added with a small, wavering voice, continuing on before he could try and convince her otherwise, 

"Bucciarati, I promised to help. I did so with not only the intention of following Abbacchio, but also to aid you and save Trish,

But in the state I am now…

Right now…

I’m only a burden.” she said with dejection, uncertain on how long the conflict will last.

“And as much as it hurts me to say this, we have to part ways,” She told him, apologetically gazing at him, “Because even if Leone has no intention to love this child, I do.

I have to keep them from harm's way.” She determinedly spoke, rising to stand, staring down at the dark-haired man with sorrow, “ I have to go. So, before the morning comes I’ll be gone,” She added, knowing it was best.

“And absolutely nothing will stop me,” She said with tightened fists.

“- As both my trusted friend, and my capo, I feel that at the very least I owe it to you to tell you upfront.” She informed him.

“I see,” Bruno said nodding, also standing up, “ Then take everything you need,” he told her, “ whatever you need to hide and stay away, take it. I will not spare a single resource of mine to assure your safety,” He vowed, offering her a lax, comforting smile.

“...Thank you,” she said softly, bowing her head to him to hide her tears. 

She then leaned forward, her arms tightly wrapped around him, “Thank you for taking me in...As well as allowing me a way out.” she told him, truly grateful because, without him, she never would have stood a chance.

“- We will find a way back to each other,” He assured her. “ Once this is all over, I will make sure to let you know,” He said while beginning to part from her.

Nodding, she too pulled back, “Thank you, again.  For everything,” She said once more, it being the last words she exchanged with him before she disappeared into the night, leaving the rest of their group baffled at her sudden departure, save for one member, because all but Bruno remained unknowing.

And rather than answer questions, he chose to play the fool. Instead, urging them to continue their hunt, forcing them to move forward without another member.

 “And after that, as you know, our organization was left in shambles,” Bruno explained, “With A new boss there came new rules, as well as A new reform that many others didn’t agree with.

Only until recently have we been able to stabilize, but even then…

Even then it’s been a long, heavy struggle,” Bruno said with knitted brows, frustration showing.

“It wasn’t my intention to keep this from you for so long, but I couldn’t afford you searching for her, ultimately risking her location, and much worse, their lives,” Bruno explained, still feeling guilty nonetheless, regardless of his intentions being good or not.

“Right now, she’s doing well.

They both are actually, so there is no need to worry yourself. We’ve already agreed that in a month or two, they will make their way here, and then you can decide what you want to do." He said with a reassuring nod as he rounded his desk, walking over to his seat,  

" If you want to be a part of their lives, or if you’d choose to sever your ties with them completely;  It’s all up to you.” He went on, sitting down, his elbows placed on the surface of the desk as he lay his chin on his overlapped fingers,

“I just hope you understand that regardless of your decision, she is still a member of our familia. Whether or not you decide to take responsibility or be a part of their futures is your own choice. 

All in all, it doesn't change my own final say:

Her home is here. 

And I am her family, just as I am yours. ” Bruno said firmly, his voice low yet sharp.

“...Of course,” Abbacchio said back, his throat suddenly dry as he had a sudden question in mind, wanting to ask with unsettling desperation, 

“Bucciarati…Did she really say that?" Leone said softly, regret settled over his features, " Did she really think I... That we weren't together?" He asked Bruno. 

"From what I understood, that was her take on your relationship." He answered back, shaking his head, "Why? Was it otherwise?" He added as he tilted his head slightly, intrigued, because Abbacchio never shared anything that had to do with his relationship with her, making it all a mystery even to his closest confidante.

"Of course," Abbacchio said sadly, " And of course it hurt when she left... When she simply walked away. 

But then again,  how could she not?" He asked looking up at the ceiling, understanding how she could assume such a thing, having had too much time to maul over the mistakes he made with her, 

" I was a complete bastard to her; An insensitive jerk.  

Whenever she needed assurance I turned my back, all because I felt I didn't deserve her. I felt like she was asking for too much from someone that had too little to offer." Leone explained, shaking his head, 

"And when she did leave... When she did what I assumed was best, I broke down," He went on, remembering just how he'd pretty much gone back to square one, falling back into his miserable pit of depression he’d barely scraped past the first time. 

 "But now…

Two months…

Two months in comparison to never is nothing," He said with a little itching grin, his eyes tired and sad, yet having a soft glow of joy to match the little twitching smile.

For just a moment he gazed down at his daughter, realizing that she didn't look just like him. There was plenty she took from her mother, being the perfect harmony between the two, something he’d only then realized he wanted,

‘A kid of my own... with (f/n) nonetheless...

With the woman I  still love,’

 Absentmindedly, his fingers went down to fall upon the image, caressing the sight of them softly, lovingly, as well as longingly, 

' Until then, I have to make sure that I'm everything you two need.' He silently swore, promising to not repeat any mistakes, hoping that somehow (f/n) still loved him just as much as he did her.

“From her letters, she still thinks about you plenty.” Bruno nonchalantly informed him, growing surprised to see the level of enthusiasm that lifted the other man’s features to life, 

“She does?” Leone said with hopefulness, 

“ Certainly,” Bruno replied back, neatly gathering the pictures together, as well as pulling a small stack of letters within carefully opened envelopes to stack them all together, 

“You should see so yourself,” He advised, handing him the collection, “Any fool could see that through it all, she still harbors the same feelings for you, holding no true resentment.

And speaking on a  personal note; 

 If I were you, I wouldn’t ever throw away the opportunity to have something so precious within my grasp.” The don spoke with a little, longing look to his eye that made Abbacchio nod back knowingly. 

“Don’t worry,” the long-haired male said back, “I won’t let it slip past me, not again,” he added with the utmost confidence, willing to do everything it took to give his girls the world.

Following parts : 

The Reader Reunites With Leone

Leone Plays Teaparty with his little girl

(D/n) Meets Giorno

[ashbelero]

Obey Me!

~Theology Corner

So, we already know that the brothers all embody one of the seven deadly sins. But we also know that in the Obey Me! canon, they were (with the exception of Satan) angels before the Celestial War. With that in mind, could it be conceivable that they once embodied the seven virtues?

Well, let’s dig into that a little.

Warning: We gon’ be talking biblical up in this bitch.

Both the “seven deadly sins” and the “seven virtues” were penned around 590 AD by Pope Gregory, but were first mentioned less than 200 years prior in the epic poem Psychomachia by Aurelius Clemens Prudentia. There is no mention of either the virtues or sins in the Bible or the Torah, and prior to the “official” naming of them by Pope Gregory, the church recognized only four “Cardinal” virtues: Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance. These, along with the Theological Virtues, are what are actually known as the Seven Heavenly Virtues.

But those are technically not the same as the seven virtues named alongside the seven deadly sins, so for our purposes here, the virtues are Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, and Humility.

Lucifer

Pride - Humility

Humility is the quality of being humble, the obvious counterpart to pride. In a theological context, it means to recognize one’s self in relation to and hold oneself in submission to God. By standard definition, it can mean a feeling of being unworthy. Canonically, Lucifer was the angel closest to God before the fall, and that kind of expectation could easily lend itself to pride if humility isn’t observed. Ironically, the only person to whom he still affords this virtue is Diavolo.

Mammon

Greed - Charity

Picturing Mammon as an angel of charity is... interesting. Charity isn’t necessarily to do with money, however. It actually has far more to do with love - a love of God above all else, and a love of one’s neighbor and self in equal measure. To embody this virtue is to embody pure love itself. Perhaps this is why, as the avatar of Greed, Mammon is often held in contempt and near disgust by his brothers, as he’s unable to hold himself in the same regard as them.

Leviathan

Envy - Kindness

Kindness, or compassion, is pretty self-explanatory, but often hard to pin down to any one human value. It can embody itself as a positive disposition, as concern and care for others above oneself, and a tendency to help others without expecting or wanting anything in return. Personally, I find Levi’s personification of envy as a little vague, but there are few times that one could say he expresses any of the traits typical in kindness.

Satan

Wrath - Patience

Satan is a little bit of an outlier in this, for the simple reason that in the canon of both Obey Me! and Christian theology, he was never an angel. But, just for the context of our “what if”, let’s examine Patience. As a virtue, Patience means persevering in the face of difficulty and tolerating things that provoke us to anger. And in this, Satan becomes an interesting part of this discussion, because he exhibits this virtue more than his own sin - relying on Patience to bridle his Wrath - despite never being an angel at all.

Asmodeus

Lust - Chastity

While we normally think of Chastity as being synonymous with sexual abstinence, that’s not necessarily the case. Chastity in theology is defined as refraining from sexual immorality - put simply, extramarital sex. Asmodeus wouldn’t have had to work hard to embody this one. Marriage was a human concept, not reserved for angels, and an overwhelming majority of sources depict angels with no genitalia at all - after all, why would they need it? Now imagine growing a whole new appendage after the fall from heaven.

Beelzebub

Gluttony - Temperance

As mentioned in a previous post of mine, gluttony isn’t only related to food. In that vein, Temperance means practicing moderation and restraint in all things, and is therefore closely related to many other virtues like Chastity and Patience. That self-control can extend from abstinence to forgiveness and mercy, reeling in one’s desires and impulses. In the absence of this virtue, this might explain Beel’s tendency to anger easily as well.

Belphegor

Sloth - Diligence

Theologically, Diligence is tied in the closest with faith and work ethic. Intention and effort are meant to be done without absolute certainty of any reward or specific outcome - work for work’s sake, trust in a power greater than one’s own, and a persistence in seeing things through. Belphie is one of few instances where we see the boys before the fall, and we see in him a blind faith in his family and a drive to ensure their happiness... something that sadly seems to have faded.

So there’s my theories. Now, I have my doubts that the developers really looked that deeply into the background behind their lore, and I’m not complaining if they didn’t. But this was just a neat outside look at what might be making our boys tick.

Thanks for reading.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 24

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Keeping busy makes the day go by.

Martin and Jon discuss household chores.

Martin took great care to not make too much noise as he walked down the stairs. He still avoided the creakiest steps, and down he went as quiet as the house would allow.

He didn’t wonder whether the night before had been a dream. His dreams weren’t like that, so vivid and specific. They weren’t narratives he could make sense of, if he remembered them at all. On waking, he was usually left with the anxious certainty that he had made a horrible mistake or had forgotten to do something important. But that night had been real.

Still, when he made it to the ground floor he peeked in the downstairs toilet to make sure Jon’s clothes were hanging on the shower rod along with the small bag he’d been carrying. Those items were present. What he didn’t find was the seal skin.

Martin continued to the living room door. Curled up into a tight ball, Jon remained buried in the blanket and couch cushions. Martin let loose the breath he’d been holding. He continued on to the kitchen to make his breakfast in silence.

It was nothing to dwell on. Jon must’ve stowed the coat somewhere while Martin was asleep. They hadn’t known each other that long, so it wouldn’t do to keep something so important openly hanging in the shower when Jon had had such a scare with the thing. He’d trusted Martin enough to tell him the truth. It didn’t matter that Jon had squirreled the skin away in the dead of night.

Had Jon believed what he’d said about his mother leaving? Was it suspicious that she was gone?

Toast popped up hot and ready, making him jump. He looked back into the living room, checking if the noise had been enough to wake Jon, but the man was sound asleep in his little cocoon. Perhaps all of the caution wasn’t necessary with someone who was sleeping well for the first time in weeks. Longer, if his habit of calling without any thought to the time was any indication. 

He should’ve checked on Jon. Even if he hadn’t had reason to suspect anything it’s what he would’ve appreciated in Jon’s place. Just because he hadn’t felt like making the effort-

Would it have helped, though, if Tim and Sasha were ready to cover things up? What excuse could they have given except that Jon had lost his mobile or switched numbers and hadn’t given out his new one yet? He hadn’t had a real reason to pry into Jon’s business. A barely established friendship didn’t count.

He could have tried anyway. Hopefully letting Jon stay would make up for it, even if there was no bed to offer.

While he wasn’t against letting him use his own bed in theory, Martin knew he was too bloody tall to sleep comfortably on the old couch all night. If things went on long enough it could be discussed, but it was better for both of them to get sleep.

Hers didn’t count.

Thinking that far ahead wouldn’t do any good, so he pushed his mess of thoughts to one side and focused on eating breakfast and scribbling onto a small piece of paper.

‘Jon,

Help yourself to food. Be back in the evening.

-Martin’

Martin considered the note for a moment, then scribbled his number at the bottom. 

‘For emergencies.’

What emergencies he could help with he couldn’t say, but he left his number all the same. The chance of Jon having it memorized was slim to none and it wouldn’t have been fair to keep Jon with no contact at all. It was the best excuse Martin could hope for.

He gently laid his plate in the sink in one final attempt to keep the silence, and got ready to leave.

--

Jon didn’t call him at any point that day. And rightly so, following prior agreements of safety and secrecy. It was fine, no calls meant no emergencies, but as the hours passed it was easy to forget the outside world and its greater goings-on. The window on the front door wasn’t much of a reminder, not with how tiny and far away it was, and not with the crappy weather blocking any light other than what could seep through the endless grey. 

The wall clock was placed in an awkward location from where he sat, so timekeeping felt like guesswork. He’d stopped checking the clock often to avoid the disappointment of finding himself only five minutes closer to leaving. It could be any day of the week if he kept his mobile out of sight. 

But he could feel lunch time. He could feel when he was to climb the stairs and complete his tasks by muscle memory. And he knew in his bones when he was meant to leave.

In the dark of the evening the timelessness clung to him. It wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the cliffs and saw the windows lit up from the inside of his home that he felt himself settle back into the present. There was a person in his house, and for a while he stood back by the forest path and stared at the little square of light that was his kitchen window. 

He felt like an intruder, a spy peering in through his own kitchen window from afar, and it took a particularly large gust of rain-splattering wind in his face to get him moving again.

It was his house. There was just a person in it other than himself.

The smell of cooked food was the first thing he noticed when he walked inside, even before he saw the small and scuffed brown shoes on the rug, or the thin jacket on the end hook he normally used. Something was being cooked, fried, and he spent a minute on the front rug not knowing how to proceed.

From the kitchen, he heard a tentative, “Martin? Is that you?”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s me.” Finally placing the damned coat somewhere, he slipped off his shoes and walked toward the kitchen. 

Jon peeked his head through the kitchen doorway, wariness falling from his face as he saw Martin for himself. “Barely heard the door open over the wind outside. How were things today?”

“Fine, I guess? What’s-” Martin looked over Jon’s head and saw a pan hissing on the stove, alongside a boiling pot of water. “What’re you making?”

“Something easy and not made of fish,” Jon replied, heading toward the stove top. “Hope you don’t mind, I used some of the chicken in the freezer and box pasta. Should be enough for the both of us.”

Head running on empty, Martin could only nod and take a seat at the kitchen table, threading and unthreading his fingers in front of him. It felt wrong to be sitting there in his own kitchen without a task, but Jon had already put in the time and effort to make dinner. Still, his hands were painfully idle in his lap.

He said quietly, “Smells good.”

From the stove, Jon raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the pan in front of him. “I’d hope so. Can’t go much more basic than this.” He lifted the pan to show breaded chicken frying away.

“Still, it’s nice of you. Thanks.”

“Mm.” He flipped the stove off and went to strain the noodles. “Anyway, now that I’m awake, thank you for letting me stay the night. Hopefully this helps make up for my sudden appearance.” 

“It’s no trouble. Would’ve liked more warning, though.”

Jon frowned. “Well… I would’ve called if I could.”

It didn’t feel like a purposeful accusation, but it stung anyway. “Can’t change things now. Speaking of calling, though… Did you want me to get in touch with Tim or Sasha about this? I know you said you wanted to wait until they were here, but I don’t know when that’ll be.” 

“No, not yet.” Jon placed a strainer full of noodles back over the pot and leaned against the counter. “Call me over-cautious, but I don’t trust anything traceable right now. I’d considered calling Georgie over your phone line to pass on a message, but I don’t think her going in a second time would fly under the radar.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Martin said, “So until they get here…”

“Until then, I’d like to stay here. We can explain things to Tim and Sasha, figure out your situation, and then-” His face fell. “I’m not sure what comes after that.”

In the silence that followed, Jon busied himself with assembling two plates of food, turned in such a way that Martin couldn’t see his expression. It was an uncomfortable quiet that ate away at the composure he’d managed to pull together throughout the work day. 

When Jon set the plate down in front of him, he jumped in his seat.

Jon’s brows scrunched together. “Are you all right?”

“Just… tired, is all.”

“Right. So-” Jon set his own plate down and sat on the other side of the table, a perfectly natural choice of seating. “We didn’t talk for long last night. I know part of what you’re going through isn’t- it’s not by business, but if I’m going to help then I need to know if you’ve noticed any changes, with the lighthouse or with- with other things.”

Martin stared down at his dinner. It was plain, breaded chicken with noodles. Smelled a bit of lemon and garlic. 

“Everything’s fine. Nothing’s changed besides what you already know.” 

It was fine. The taste was about what he would’ve expected from the smell, and it was better than anything he’d been planning to make with his remaining energy. It was a nice thing for Jon to do. He forced each bite down through the sting of his throat.

“It tastes all right?” Jon asked casually. 

Martin nodded with a raise of his eyebrows, taking another bite of chicken.

“Good. I’m not out of practice.” 

After that, the only sounds remaining were those of clinking silverware and the beating of rain on the kitchen window.

It should’ve been nice, but as Martin ate the pain in his throat only grew, spreading through his head and upper chest. It was nice that Jon had made dinner, and he’d kept it simple enough that even Martin could pay it back in the future. Something as tiny as this shouldn’t have made him feel anything other than full. Instead his head pounded behind his eyes.

“You… You don’t have to eat it,” Jon said. When Martin looked up he was met with an expression of mild exasperation. “It’s fine if you don’t like it. I’m not holding you at gunpoint. Though if I’m going to be living here we should probably settle what we each don’t like.”

“What?” God, that wasn’t a pleasant sound, especially with food still in his mouth. Martin swallowed down hard, realized he had nothing to drink, and stood up. “I need some water. You?”

Thrown off somewhat, Jon sputtered, “N- Well, yes, but-”

“Great.” Martin strode across the kitchen and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet to fill in the sink. As he held one under the faucet, he noticed there were no dirty dishes underneath.

From behind he could hear Jon shift in his chair. “It’s really not a big deal if you don’t like it.”

With two full glasses he returned to the table, taking a sip of his own and then setting them both down. “What is? No, right, yeah, dinner tastes fine. Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Martin, that’s not very convincing when you were just staring at it like it was a lump of mud.”

“I wasn’t-” He took his seat and reached internally for some excuse with no luck. What kind of faces had he been making? Reaching for his fork, he said, “It’s fine. Good. It’s good.”

“There’s something else, then.”

“I… The food is good. It was very nice of you to make it.” His throat went tight and he said no more.

Frowning at his meal, Jon said defeatedly, “Okay. If you say so.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. If he made any other sour faces then Jon ignored them, and Martin did his best to be more aware of what his eyes and mouth were doing while eating as quickly as he could manage. 

It wasn’t soon enough, but he finally finished and put his plate in the sink. God, he’d barely gotten home and was ready to run upstairs and hide away for the night. Was eating dinner with someone always so exhausting? The answer came easily to mind, but this felt worse than meals spent with stubborn silence or bitter exchanges. 

Jon had wanted to be nice, and-

“So, we should discuss… things. Not the food-” Jon said from directly behind him, dirty dishes in hand. He inched around Martin to place them in the sink. “-but we need to talk about how it’s going to work, me being here. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

Martin cleared his throat, taking a step to the side to give Jon some room. “You’re not a nuisance. You didn’t have much of a choice in this, if any.”

“And you didn’t ask to have me knocking in your door. Here, let me-” Jon rolled up his sleeves and got to work scrubbing the dishes.

Martin bristled. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m the one who made dinner.”

Martin’s face scrunched. “I don’t think that’s how it works. You made dinner, so I should clean up.” He watched with some irritation as Jon continued his task.

“Next time, then. I already got a head start this morning.”

An even better reason for Martin to be the one to wash up after dinner, but that ship had sailed without him apparently. 

“Look, I’m-” He pushed through the tightness in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here, all right? Better than you getting eaten by a shark or something.” 

Jon squinted at him. “So… we’re fine?”

“What? Yeah, ‘course we’re fine!” In spite of everything, a laugh crept into Martin’s voice. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

A troubled look crossed Jon’s face. “No, you’re right. The last few weeks got to me I think, not seeing people.” 

With some hesitation, Jon continued, “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad to have something to do.” He paused, sudsy glass in his hand. “Sitting around all day doesn’t come naturally to me, and I’ve been all but useless for weeks.”

Ah. Martin felt the indignation seep out of his jaw and shoulders, leaving him rather deflated all of a sudden. All that bristling on his part and Jon had only been bored to the point of doing chores.

“That’s... not your fault,” Martin replied quietly. He leaned back against the counter top and tapped his fingers on the rounded edges. “But okay. Sorry.”

Resuming the job at hand, Jon kept his eyes down and stayed quiet. There wasn’t much to wash off of the plates, but he was diligent in scrubbing down the frying pan until not a speck of grease remained. His fingertips began to prune.

Eventually, he spoke up. “As I was saying before, we should talk about me staying here because of situations like this. If you have… particularities with housekeeping, I should know.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s not a- whatever, do what you like. I suppose it’s better to live with someone who keeps clean.”

“As much as the average person,” Jon said, rinsing off the last bit of soap from a plate. He reached out to grab a hand towel. “Don’t expect me to always be this eager for chores.”

“What, is the excitement wearing off already?” He’d been aiming for a light, teasing tone but ended with dry judgment.

“You know me, always looking for the next thrill,” he deadpanned.

Martin leaned back on the heels of his hands. “Jon, you’re a professional ghost hunter.”

Jon tossed the towel back onto the sink. “I am not. I research the paranormal and complete necessary field work.”

“By looking for static in recordings and breaking into buildings.”

“That’s not- your situation is a special case. I assure you, my regular days are based almost entirely around paperwork and fact-checking.” He walked into the living room and with a scowl plopped onto the couch. After a moment his mouth untwisted into a small frown. “They were, anyway.”

Martin followed behind and looked at him, looked at the lines on his forehead and under his eyes, at his bouncing knee. He looked better than he had the day before, but it would take more than a single good night to make up for weeks of wandering and disconnection. Another apology sat behind his own lips, but he let it die as the useless thing it was. 

There was one thing he could help with. Walking over to the ancient desk in the corner, he picked up a bulky old laptop from the drawer and brought it over to the couch with him. “Probably should’ve mentioned it in the note, but I do have wi-fi. Technically.” 

The laptop was old. He’d bought it for himself years back but with the weak signal he got it wasn’t easy to deal with, and in his mind the very concept of social media was never going to work for him. So, it was largely a clunky and underused alternative to his phone. It sat heavy on his lap and he remembered why he rarely bothered with it.

Jon’s eyebrows shot up, and he scooted closer on the seat. Voice dripping with relief, he said, “I’m shocked you can get a signal down here.” 

The sudden proximity made Martin’s heart skip. He opened the computer on his lap and focused on the screen. “Mind you it’s not good wi-fi, but it should help pass the time. Still has a disc drive as well.”

It took far longer than he would’ve liked for the thing to boot up, but against all odds it reached the desktop with its default background and sparse folders. He really hadn’t done much with the thing, had he? Perhaps when everything was done with he could sell it.

For the time being, though, Jon was clearly itching to get his hands on it, so after a quick check that it still connected to the internet he passed it over. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he immediately hopped onto a site for sifting through journal articles, but Martin stifled a laugh. Whether pushed by professional diligence or personal interest, Jon was too engrossed to notice. 

With a small sense of accomplishment, Martin pushed himself onto his feet and moved toward the hall. He made it halfway across the room before he was noticed.

“You’re not going to bed already.” 

The tone of the sentence sat between incredulity and a statement of fact, and it gave Martin pause. When he glanced back, Jon was still looking at the laptop screen. 

“I mean… no, I was just going to get into pyjamas?”

“Okay. There was a short documentary on architecture I found when I was still doing research at my flat. It might be helpful to our ends.” He typed something and made a face. “It might also be complete bunk, but I should be able to track it down while you’re upstairs.”

It was enough of a dismissal that Martin could only say, “Oh. Um, all right?” Then he left the room in a hurry, as he apparently had things to do that night.

Back upstairs he went with a new if unexpected purpose to change out of his work clothes, still skipping the loudest steps as best he could.

Around the time he’d managed to slip on some flannel pyjama pants and an old t-shirt, tears had leaked from his eyes and then ceased almost immediately. There were no sobs to choke back, just streaks of warmth on his cheeks that dried as quickly as they’d formed.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, grateful that his eyes wouldn’t be red and puffy, and then walked back downstairs.

[guccidishtowel]

The Viscount’s Secret

NSFW UNDER CUT (Warnings under cut)

Fandom: Dragon Age

Words:  3859

Pairings: Varric/Reader

AO3: The Viscount’s Secret

Warnings: Thigh-Riding, Blowjobs, Light Dom/sub elements, Light Degredation (use of ‘whore’)

Walking into the Viscount’s Keep that afternoon, the tension had been palpable. Guards gave their usual greetings, nodding their heads and a few of the more friendly lot offering smiles, but their eyes carried that familiar glint that was just as telling as the muffled voices coming from the office.

The merchant bit back a quiet grin as the reason for their sudden summons became infinitely more clear.

The Viscount was having a bad day.

Halfway up the stairs they heard the telltale sound of something heavy thump against hardwood. Seneschal Bran had no doubt avoided a heavy tome to the head by mere millimeters yet again. They’d mounted the last step when he came stumbling out of the office, chased by a few quills and--if they saw correctly--a paperweight. The poor Seneschal met their eyes just as he closed the heavy doors and practically threw himself upon their mercy.

“He’s impossible!” Bran cried. Upon closer inspection they could see where a blotch of ink stained his forehead. Apparently Bran’s evasive maneuvers had been lacking. “I don’t know how you manage to do it, but please calm him down. We have a stack of correspondence growing larger by the moment and this is certainly not helping!”

They gave him a sympathetic smile, complete with a pat on his shoulder and a subtle gesture to his forehead and sent him on his way--hopefully to clean the ink off. No one else populated the upper floor; apparently no one wanted to encounter the Viscount’s wrath. ‘All the better for me,’ they thought, a wicked smile darting across their face.

They approached the heavy wooden door to the office and lingered outside for just a moment. Even through the thick wood they could hear the telltale sounds of frustrated pacing and smiled to themselves. Perhaps it was self-serving, but when the Viscount was this worked up it always ended up far more in their favor. The familiar thrill of anticipation slipped up their spine like a lover's caress, lighting every nerve on fire. Being such an open secret was interesting. Officially they were just a merchant of some means and one of the Viscount’s personal favorites, often requested to help with balancing numbers or bringing in specialized shipments. Unofficially…

They bit their lip in anticipation, soft lips quirking upwards as they knocked once on the heavy doors.

“The next person who walks through those blighted doors is meeting the business end of Bianca!”

His rough voice sent tingles up their spine, and the quiet fury beneath the words only added to the flame. His threats weren’t always unfounded, but even as agitated as he was he wouldn’t turn his trusty crossbow on one of his own. Still, when they cracked open the heavy door they made sure to let their voice reach him before presenting any potential targets.

“Even when it’s me?” Finally poking their head inside, they were greeted by the sight of Varric’s office in even more disarray than usual. A few of the heavy plush chairs had been overturned. The desk was littered with half-open correspondence, the stains of splashed wax and ink evident on more than one. Even the curtains had suffered a few minor wounds; apparently Bran had led Varric on a merry little chase around the office before making it out to safety.

And then there was the Viscount himself. Standing by the roaring fire with his shirt half open and a glass of what was surely poignant draught in his hand, he painted quite the image. Varric Tethras was a handsome man, of that there was no doubt. From the charming gleam in his eyes to the aged lines on his face, everything seemed to blend together into a visage so breathtaking most men and women would give their right arm for just a night with him. That’s how this merchant felt, at least. But now, with the dark cloud of anger shading his handsome features, he looked...somehow more enticing. A familiar heat began to rise in the pit of their stomach and as Varric threw back the glass to finish off the alcohol they licked their own lips, suddenly quite parched.

“Sorry for the mess, Mischief,” he began, and they didn’t bother to hide their smirk at the familiar nickname. “Today’s just...been a day.”

“I could tell. I think you’ve scarred poor Bran for life. Or at least the rest of the day if he can’t get that ink off his forehead.”

Despite his obvious frustration Varric chuckled, the soft grin breaking apart the dark clouds on his face. He stepped away from the fire and set his glass down to instead rummage around in the drawers of his desk. Soon enough he found another glass, filled both, and turned to pass one off to them with a familiar gleam in his eyes.

“Come on. You know I hate drinking alone. Besides,” he paused, letting his gaze roam over their form. They always felt a pleasant little shiver when under his scrutiny, and they didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened before he brought his own glass up, but he didn’t drink. Not yet. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

The promise in his eyes made their knees weak and the burn of good Ferelden brandy only stoked the fire growing on their stomach. Still they drank it down, hoping to stave off some of the thirst long enough to at least try and find the root of their Viscount’s frustration.

“To what do I owe the pleasure this time?” They finally asked, setting their half-emptied glass aside. “I haven’t seen you this worked up in a while.” It almost felt a shame to bring up business, especially when it made that delicious look fall from his face, replaced instead with an aching weariness out of place on a man so lively.

“It’s the Maker damn day that won’t end. I’ve got nobles squabling like toddlers--which isn’t anything fucking new--along with a whole heap of new laws to look over. Then there’s tying up the loose ends from the Inquisition which is a headache in and of itself. Shipments to look over, palms to grease, and enough signatures to pen that I can already feel my damn hand falling off.” He punctuated his tirade by dropping heavily into the chair behind his desk, glass still clutched in one hand and the other coming up to thumb at the space between his brows.

They pursed their lips, sympathetic expression at odds with the hunger from earlier. Perching themselves on the edge of his desk they brought a hand up to his head, their fingertips massaging into his scalp. As they predicted he leaned into their hand, his sigh rumbling through his chest. It wasn’t the first time a long day had left him more than a little frustrated, and it certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been called up to help him deal with the stress. There was no doubt how the night would end, but sometimes the moments before were just as important. Watching Varric’s shoulders lose their tension as he melted under their fingertips, they knew this was one of those times.

“Definitely sounds like a shitty day,” they agreed, smiling softly at his snort. His eyes had long since closed as he relaxed into their ministrations. There was something empowering about this, about having the Viscount of Kirkwall turn to putty in their fingers. Emboldened by the thought they slid off his desk and instead found themselves comfortably nestled on his lap, prompting him to finally peel his eyes open to observe them. Grinning down at him, they trailed the hand in his hair down, brushing over his temple until they found his jaw. “But I bet I can help you forget all about it.”

Varric’s lips curled and he turned his head, catching the tips of their fingers between his teeth. The subtle sting prompted them to chuckle as Varric moved to settle his broad hands on their hips. “You know I love to gamble, darlin’, but I don’t make stupid bets. We both know you’re going to turn my mood around.” The certainty in his tone was a stroke to their ego. It was hard to think this had all started from a single trip he’d made to the merchants quarters in Lowtown all those months ago.

“I’m at my lord’s service,” they purred, grinning when his expression morphed to one of minor irritation. His hands tightened on their hips in warning and they chuckled, bending forward to brush their lips over his ear. “Oh, let me have my fun.”

“By all means,” Varric replied, his voice husky. “But know it’s gonna cost ya.”

They smiled against his skin. “Mm, promises, promises…”

Promises that would be paid in full, it would seem. Varric finally moved, his mouth finding the skin of their throat and painting it with bruises. They tilted their head to allow him access, helping themselves to the expanse of skin his shirt exposed. The damn dwarf never covered his chest and it was honestly unfair just how distracting it was. Their fingers smoothed under the halves of his tunic, carding through the hair and feeling the muscle beneath their palms. Varric chuckled against their throat, his tongue and lips soothing another love bite.

“No one can resist,” he teased, earning a pinch when their fingers found his nipple. He grunted, the sound tapering into a low growl at the back of his throat. “Brat.”

“Only for you, your grace,” they replied. He glowered up at them, earning himself another wry smirk. “Going to bend me over your knee?”

There was a sudden gleam in Varric’s eyes that made them wonder if, perhaps, they’d made an error in judgement. They knew that look well. Just the sight of it had them tensing, a shot of arousal rushing through them. Varric tilted his head back, leaving their neck for now and instead settling his hands a little lower, spreading their thighs on either side of his own. Realization struck just as he dragged his hands back to their hips, rocking them forward gently. The friction drew a soft, shaky breath out of them that had Varric smirking.

“Well, we can certainly use my knee, but I think I’ve got better ideas than what you had in mind.”

His hands tugged, bringing them forward again, until he settled into a slow and steady rhythm. It was too slow and too light, but they had a feeling it was by design. They brought their hands to his shoulders, marveling quietly at the strength as he guided their motions. The slow build of pleasure promised to be worth it, but they weren’t a patient sort.

“I thought this was about you,” they huffed, their cheeks already blossoming with heat. “I don’t see how this is giving you what you want.”

“You’re right,” Varric shot back. “ This is about me and what I want. And what I want is to see you coming apart on my knee like a good little whore.”

The acidic words brought a small whimper out, the surprise on their face turning to pleasure when he roughly jerked them forward, picking up his pace. Varric chuckled as their fingers dug into his shoulders. “You like that, sweetheart? Like being the Viscount’s whore?”

They groaned aloud, dropping their head against his shoulder, hips rolling again as they ground against his thigh. “Now we’re using titles? I think you’re just being petty--fuck, Varric!” In the middle of their complaints the grinning dwarf had brought one hand up and then down just as swiftly, slapping against their ass with enough force to have them jolt.

“Hey now, you were the one that wanted to be bent over my knee, weren’t you?” he teased. “I think this is much better. Especially when I can see all those cute little faces you make. And speaking of that…”

With their face buried against him they couldn’t see what he had planned, but when strong fingers threaded into their hair it became abundantly clear. He tugged, pulling their head away from his shoulder and forcing them to arch back, throat exposed for his waiting teeth. He bit down roughly and they cried out, the sound ending on a gasp as he sucked at the abused skin. Satisfied, he broke away to look up into their face.

“Don’t hide from me. I wanna see all those little looks. I wanna see how good I make you feel, Mischief.” His hooded eyes sought their own, dark and wanting. They shuddered under the look, their hips moving of their own accord now, chasing their release desperately. Varric noticed and hummed, his fingers threading gently in their hair now. “That’s it. Take what you need from me, sweetheart.”

They didn’t last much longer after that. Rutting against his thigh like an animal and clinging to him, they broke apart just how Varric wanted, muffling their cry of pleasure by sinking their own teeth into his neck. Varric groaned at the sensation and would no doubt sport the bite proudly for the next few days. He took a ridiculous amount of pleasure from seeing all the nobles blush and look away, tittering and hiding their comments behind hands and ornamental fans.

It took a few moments for them to calm, the rush of pleasure leaving them momentarily light-headed. Varric carded his rough fingers through their hair gently, his voice soft and soothing in their ear.

“There’s my Mischief,” he murmured, the tone of his voice making them blush anew. “Good. Always so good for me.” It carried on that way for a few minutes until finally they straightened, standing from his lap only to drop to their knees. Varric blinked in surprise and they relished the thought; it took a lot to shock the blighted dwarf, after all.

“You know I’m not selfish, Varric,” they purred, all traces of the gasping and blushing from earlier gone. “Besides, I have to perform my civic duty, don’t I?” They were here on a mission, after all, and as nice as it was letting Varric have his way, they knew the best way to ease his stress was with a more hands on approach.

He’d appreciate the pun, they were sure.

Surprise turned to amusement and Varric answered by spreading his thighs invitingly. They settled between and smirked at the sight of the bulge straining against his breeches. A few deft tugs of the laces and he fell free, heavy and throbbing in their hand. Varric hissed above them, the light touch already wreaking havoc on his self-control. Humming in delight, they lifted their eyes to his, fingers closing as they began to slowly stroke his shaft.

“Don’t you have some correspondence to attend to?” they asked, a little too sweetly. “I promised Bran I would help you see reason, after all.”

Varric groaned, in pleasure or at the thought of more work they couldn’t tell, and dropped his head back. “The damn nobility can wait,” he insisted. “It’s a waste of time anyway.”

They clicked their tongue disapprovingly. That wouldn’t do.

Varric all but jerked when their hand left him suddenly cold and aching. Eyes wide with disbelief, he looked down at them. Oh, they’d treasure that sight for a long time to come. “Sweetheart, you can’t be serious--”

“I don’t hear a quill moving up there,” they cut him off, lips curling wickedly. “Better get to work, Master Tethras.”

For a long moment he stared at them, disbelieving. They saw the moment he began to appraise them, likely considering if it would be worth waiting out their stubborn streak. He could, and perhaps they would, break, but when the mood took hold they could be quite firm. He seemed to be weighing the odds. And they could see the moment he gave up, sighing heavily as he scooted his chair closer to his desk, casting his shadow over them.

They heard him pick up his quill, begin to write, and leaf through the documents above.

And they heard the moment he sucked in a breath as they took his cock in their hand once more, warm breath ghosting over the tip as they brought it to their lips. His hand stilled for a moment, and so did they. Then he cursed and began to write again, and they finally closed their mouth over him, jaw already burning at the stretch.

What Varric lacked in length was more than made up for in girth, and already they could feel their jaw settle into that familiar ache as they began to slowly work their way down him. The discomfort was worth every moment they could feel him twitch in their mouth, hear every curse and sucked in breath above them. Settling their hands against his calves they began to work in earnest, their head rocking back and forth. The familiar feeling of his hand in their hair had them pause just long enough to make sure they still heard the scratch of quill on parchment before resuming.

Above them, Varric cursed, his shaky signature being scrawled across shipment orders and premade letters alike. “Andraste’s fuckin’ ass, you’re an absolute menace. I’m--fuck, you feel so good.”

The praise only fueled their movements. Just when they thought Varric was beginning to catch his breath they paused, dragged their mouth all the way back to the head of his cock, and hollowed their cheeks to suck against the skin. Varric bucked, his knees slamming into the underside of the desk. It was only by a miracle that he didn’t snap the quill in his hand.

“Shit!” His frustrated grunt had them smiling against him and his hand tightened in their hair. Their scalp tingled from the force. Satisfied, they set to work again, eyes closing as they felt him begin to guide them. His hand tugged them back and forth, the pace increasing as he slowly began to fall apart. They could feel the way he throbbed in their mouth and paused just long enough to trace a vein on the underside of his cock.

“Maker,” he breathed above them, his hips bucking into their throat. By now his hand was faster and jerking them along his length in a way that made their eyes water. “Sweetheart, you feel like you were made for this. I’ve never felt anything--fuck--anything better in my damn life.”

They would answer if they could, but by now the grip on his shins was just as much to steady themself as much as him. He jerked them forward once more and they gagged around him, eyes nearly rolling into the back of their head. The noise set Varric groaning, and his cock throbbed once more in their mouth. They heard his brief warning then, right before he emptied into their throat, his grip on their hair holding them tight against him. Even as they coughed when he turned his grip loose they felt more than satisfied, with the taste of him lingering on their tongue.

Varric pushed his chair back the moment he caught his breath, quickly looking down to meet their gaze. They heard his hands shuffling on the desk before he finally produced what looked to be an embroidered handkerchief. Likely a gift from some Hightown aristocrat. They wondered how they would feel knowing just what it was being used for.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softer than before. He reached to gently wipe their mouth. “Not too rough?”

They shook their head, still hazy from the pleasure. They thought their smile was answer enough, but Varric always insisted they use words. “Mm, perfect.”

Chuckling, Varric finished wiping their face. He then tugged them back to their feet to carefully guide them back into his lap. It was always this way. After they’d finished their business Varric would always insist on keeping them close by for a little while. They found it endearing, really; not many of their past partners had any sense of aftercare. When they’d told Varric, he’d scoffed.

‘Probably didn’t know how to actually satisfy a partner either, did they?’

They hadn’t disagreed.

“I think Bran owes me this time,” they finally said after a few moments of companionable silence. “I actually got you to do some work this time. Normally I’m distracting you.”

Varric laughed, the sound warm and vibrating through his bulky chest against them. They settled further into his lap.

“Just don’t tell him how you did it. I think he might die of embarrassment. But then again, without him around…” His conspiratorial look was met with a swat against his bared chest.

“Behave. You put the poor bastard through enough as it is,” they insisted. “If anything, I think he needs the vacation from you.”

Varric grinned and didn’t even have the audacity to look offended. With one arm still wrapped around them, he reached the free hand to straighten the letters he’d managed to sign into a neat pile, sighing at the sight of the rest. He’d made a dent, at least, but there was still a mountain to go. That, and the thought of them leaving threatened to kill what little optimism he had remaining. Of course that’s when a brilliant idea struck.

“Y’know, Mischief, I was thinking…”

“Dangerous thing, really.”

Varric smirked and shook his head fondly. “Always so rude to me, sweetness. Anyway, I was thinking. Instead of trotting out of here all rumpled like usual, how about...well. How about you stay the night? Make use of the bed this time instead of just my desk.”

They snorted. “You’re the one who always suggests the desk, Varric. I’m surprised my ass doesn’t have splinters at this point.”

“I mean, I could always check if you’re worried--”

“Don’t you have papers to sign?” they cut him off, their mockingly stern expression melting to laughter when he all but pouted at them. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. The thought had crossed their mind more than once. A night in Varric’s bed, of course, would likely have little to do with sleeping, but the idea was still...intimate. They’d always assumed the situation between them to be born of mutual attraction and necessity, but were they really opposed to something more?

Not in the least. But that didn’t mean they had to make it easy for him.

“Mmm, how about you make it through, say, half of this mountain on your desk,” they finally said, ignoring his sputtered indignation. “Do that, and I’m all yours for the whole night, serah.”

Varric paused, his eyes darting from the foreboding pile of correspondence back to the grinning mischief maker in his lap. It wasn’t even a contest, really. Varric had always been a weak man for a nice smile, and when they shot him one that promised nothing but trouble, he could never say no.

So instead he sighed, pressed a kiss to their forehead, and settled them properly in his lap as he picked up his quill.

“Only for you, Mischief. Only for you.”

[erricdraven]

lost and found

A fantasy au wherein alec is a guardian angel, magnus is a demon who makes deals, and maybe they’re not as different as they think.

written as a gift for @ladymatt for the malec secret santa 2020

As the flames at Magnus’ feet die out, he takes in his surroundings inquisitively. Beneath his boots are tentative chalk lines, thin and light in places, that connect into a pentagram drawn on a cracked cement floor. The room he is in is vast and all but empty, with high ceilings and exposed metal beams. A warehouse, most likely; the kind of place a human might deem a safe, neutral location for a demon summoning. As he turned to his left, a woman, young in years but with a heaviness weighing on her that belied her age, was staring at him from a few feet away with a tattered hardback journal clutched in one hand.

“You called me,” he stated, standing a few steps away from the barrier line. “I assume that because you did the summoning correctly and seem…prepared, that you know what it is that I do.”

She looked almost startled at being addressed, but the expression lasted only a moment before she held it back with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “I know what I’m doing,” she asserted, though her voice wavered slightly.

After analyzing the detailing of the pentagram, Magnus touched the tip of his boot to a symbol that had been incorrectly drawn. “It’s an impressive work, but I would suggest you study a bit more next time. This right here…leaves an opening.”

Now the woman looked terrified, frozen in place with her arms encircling her middle protectively.

With a slightly sardonic chuckle, he shook his head. “If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have pointed out your error.” He stepped closer to the edge line, closer to her. “After all, you wish to make a deal, yes? Which means you have something I would be happy to take. I don’t want to ruin that opportunity for myself just yet.”

read on ao3

For a moment, he just looked at her, observing. She had very short hair, so blonde it was practically white, and deep brown, almost black, eyes. Her pupils were almost swallowed up by the darkness of the iris. There was a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and dusting the tops of her cheeks, looking oddly childlike in the midst of her worn features. He was well-versed in reading humans after all these centuries, and he could see in her an authenticity that caught his attention. “What’s your name?”

“Alana. Alana Clarke. And I want to make a deal.”

“Well then,” Magnus began, steepling his fingers thoughtfully, “tell me, to what do I owe this summons?”

“I…have something I want to forget.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word.

“Someone,” Magnus stated in realization. “A deal with me requires specificity, Ms. Clarke.”

It took a moment before she hesitantly elaborated further. “My husband. He was…cold. And unable to love, in the end. I never felt like I could leave him. One day, he snapped and I…I didn’t have a choice. I can’t let the memory of him control my life anymore. I can’t bear to let him change me the way I’m afraid he might.”

Rubbing his fingers together contemplatively, he replied, “That is a very serious choice to make. And one that cannot be undone. As luck would have it, it would be quite easy for me to give you what you’re asking for, but it has a steep price. And not just your soul. Are you certain this is what you want?”

Her silence was only too telling.

With a firm shake of his head, Magnus took a step back. “You must be sure. I am neither judge nor jury; I will only carry out what our deal entails. I urge you strongly to consider this. Memory cannot just be given and taken on a whim. Once I remove it, it will be permanent.”

Alana shook her head with a tired sigh. “I just… I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t think… I don’t know how to go on without doing something. I—” Abruptly cutting herself off, she stood up a little straighter and schooled her expression into a carefully curated stoicism. “I have to take the responsibility, and I will.”

It had been a long while since someone with such conviction had come to Magnus like this. Often, those who summoned him didn’t understand the gravity of the situation they were making for themselves, but it was their mistake to make. This time, somehow, he couldn’t bear the thought of allowing her to follow them down that path of regret lurking in the future.

“For your benefit, I will not yet make the deal,” he began. “I require certainty, and I do not see that in you. I’m going to give you another opportunity to think very carefully about just what is worth the price of your soul before you sign it over to me.”

**

The next time Magnus found himself standing in the ash and last embers of unholy flame in the middle of the old warehouse, the person standing opposite him was not Alana Clarke.

Instead, it was a tall, dark haired man with a stern look on his face, standing stock-still with his hands behind his back. He was not entirely mortal, nor human, Magnus realized upon observing the presence of spiritual matter along the lines of his shoulders and down his spine. It also wasn’t lost on him that the man had a blade made of adamas tucked away inside the folds of his jacket. It was an ancient kind of weapon, not only priceless but rare.  

The pentagram Magnus was standing on was far more detailed than the one that Alana had used to summon him, rooted in much stronger magic. The kind of magic that could only be infused by a summoner of great power. “I’m impressed,” he mused, turning in place to observe the rest of the finer detail.

“You made a deal with Alana Clarke,” the man stated coolly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “For her soul. And you’re going to have to rescind.”

Magnus couldn’t help but be amused by the situation. “Demon-client confidentiality prevents me from discussing any of this with you, I’m afraid.” But his curiosity was piqued. Especially when he realized that the faint smell of angel blood had permeated the air around them.

Angel blood.

“Of course, I should have realized immediately.” He stepped up to the edge line of the pentagram to look closer. “Which one of Raziel’s guardians are you?”

A soft sigh of exasperation preceded one word: “Alexander.”

“‘Defender of man’, yes? Seems fitting.” If he didn’t know better, Magnus would have said that Alexander preened almost imperceptibly at his words. “And Alana is in your care. Interesting, given the fact that she sought me out.”

The shadows of tenderness that had lingered on Alexander’s face for mere seconds at the mention of her name disappeared altogether as his expression clouded over. “She never should have summoned you. Her grief has blinded her, so I have to be the one to protect her.”

“You almost believed that when you said it.” Magnus of all people knew what lying to oneself looked like. “The truth is, it kills you that you can’t save her from this grief. Your purpose is to protect her, but there are limits to what you can control, and now you have to face them.”

“You can’t undo the past,” Alexander countered, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes in consternation. “And that’s what she truly wants. Whatever you offer her, it won’t be enough.”

“You know what she went through. You know how greatly she mourns—both for what she lost and what was never hers to begin with. There’s no price too steep for peace that can heal that kind of devastation.”

The angel visibly gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping as it flexed. “Rip up the deal and give her soul back.” The slow cadence he spoke with betrayed the anger that he was sealing away inside.

“It might interest you to know that no official contract exists yet. Ms. Clarke hasn’t made her choice, so if you have concerns, you should take them to your charge herself.”

The anger stoked by Magnus’ words became increasingly apparent in Alexander, and he rolled his neck to the side slightly as if trying to shake free of something. “I won’t ask again.” When Magnus offered no reply, he took a few steps back from the pentagram. “Well, you’re welcome to rot here until you change your mind, then.”

If he were a different person, if circumstances were trivial, he would enjoy an indulgent show of his own strength. As it were, Magnus only gloated a little as he stepped over the brusque chalk line meant to confine him. “I have no plans to do any such thing.”

Alexander was speechless, his mouth slightly agape as Magnus moved towards him. “That isn’t possible. No lesser demon can—”

Reaching out with a dark red tendril of magic, Magnus held him still. “Pleased to meet you, Alexander. My name is Magnus Bane, reigning Prince of Edom and son of one of the First Hierarchy—a Knight of Hell.” When their faces were mere inches apart, he offered the faintest of smiles. “Ms. Clarke has sought my protection now, so I suggest you don’t try to interfere again.”    

**

The air in the Hunter’s Moon was thick with the scent of stale alcohol and sweat-slicked bodies, and Magnus relished it. Perhaps it was the hedonistically human part of him, but there was something magnetic about the raw electricity of bodies pressed flush against one another beneath the hot lights.

His attention was diverted, however, when he noticed the man who had just walked in and was making his way to the bar. Alexander stood out in a crowd even when he was dressed down, wearing a grey Henley and jeans.

With a subtle gesture, Magnus caught the eye of a bartender gathering empty glasses abandoned on a nearby table. “The man who just walked in—make him a Vieux Carre.” A neatly folded hundred-dollar bill materialized between his thumb and middle finger, and he offered it to her.

The woman’s bracelets made a delicate jingling sound as she plucked it from his grasp. “He looks intense. Ex of yours?”

With a chuckle, he brushed his thumb tenderly against her chin for a fleeting moment. “Discretion, Maia.”

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Courtesy of?”

“An associate.”

Despite looking thoroughly unconvinced, Maia pocketed the money and Magnus raised his drink to her in gratitude.

“An olive branch?” Alexander guessed a few minutes later, setting his glass down on Magnus’ table.

“Actually, it’s a black cherry garnish.” Magnus plucks the fruit from his glass and takes a bite of the tender flesh. “I figured a drink would be a good icebreaker.”

Alexander dropped down into the chair opposite him. “You don’t look surprised to see me here.”

“You’ve been following me on and off all day, angel. What am I meant to be surprised about?”

His expression darkens, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in consternation. “We haven’t struck an accord yet.”

Shaking his head faintly, Magnus downed the last of his Negroni. “There is nothing to negotiate. You have no claim on the contract between me and my client.”

“She is going to do this if I do not put a stop to it.” Rather than the burn of anger or the cold of hatred, Alexander looked pained to be saying those words. “I want to make a deal.”

Whatever he had been expecting Alexander to say, that certainly wasn’t it. Magnus sat in stunned silence for a beat. “Just to be clear… You want to give me your eternal soul to release Alana Clarke from a contract that she implored me to honor?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t know what he was agreeing to, and yet there was a fierce determination on his face that almost made Magnus wish that it were possible. “Let’s do it.”

“It is not possible, Alexander,” Magnus said somberly. His tone had gone soft despite himself. The desperation in the guardian’s eyes made something in his chest begin to ache. “Even if you did have a soul as the mortals do.”

It almost looked as though the faintest hint of vulnerable desperation was beginning to shine through the cracks of his façade. Instead, with a grunt of frustration, Alexander pushed back from the table and crossed his arms. “She is under my protection, Magnus.”

“In a manner of speaking, she’s under mine too.”

“If you control Edom, why even spend your time making deals for souls? Isn’t that beneath you?” he retorted heatedly.

“It’s not about the souls. It never has been,” Magnus found himself saying. It had never been in his nature to be transparent, and frankly he had never had a reason to try. The way that Alexander wore his feelings so genuinely compelled him to reciprocate. “The lesser demons who skulk around crossroads and manipulate the avaricious and covetous do so by nature. I choose the worthy summoners, the ones who want nothing more or less than resolution, and offer them peace.”

Staring down into his glass, Alexander heaved a sigh of frustration. “Indulging their emotions is not the same as protecting them.”

“That depends on who you are protecting them from, hmm?”

Something in those words seemed to reach Alexander in a way that nothing else between them had. His shoulders hunched wearily, as though a great burden had been dropped and left foregone. “I don’t know,” he surrendered.

**

Thunder rattled the window panes of the penthouse as the storm outside grew stronger, and Magnus could feel the glass shivering beneath his fingers where they were pressed on either side of Alexander’s body. They were both mostly clothed, but where their bare skin touched, it felt like fire. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the otherwise darkened living room, so Magnus used the cacophony of harsh exhales and soft moans to guide his movements.

It had to be the most profane act, because it felt like salvation.

“Nnnnh,” Alexander moaned, reaching up for Magnus’ hands blindly and intertwining their fingers.

More or less restrained, Magnus put more power into the movement of his hips. It was an inexplicable desperation that had led them to this, and now it was boiling in his blood and driving him forward.

The pleasure crested, and for one perfect moment, everything felt simple—they were just two people who found relief in wanting one another. That was how they had ended up here, after all; a categorically innocuous moment had somehow set Magnus’ skin on fire with how greatly he yearned to touch him, and everything between them had unraveled before he could do anything but follow in its wake.

For weeks the tenacious guardian had been nothing but a thorn in his side, but then all at once, something changed and Magnus could no longer remember how to simply dislike him. Perhaps he put too much stock in his heart—or whatever the son of a Greater Demon was capable of containing—to ever stay free of falling prey to the way of the mortal world. All he knew now, though, was that he felt dread like an ache in his chest at the unavoidable truth that Alexander would leave.  

“Don’t leave,” Magnus whispered breathlessly in Alexander’s ear. “You can stay the night. I want you to.”

In reply, Alexander nodded and pressed an almost reticent kiss to his lips. “I’ve already crossed the line, what’s another step?” Even pressed together in such an achingly intimate embrace, there was a hesitance in him. Perhaps he was telling himself this was a big mistake, and he would hate Magnus in the morning.

It wouldn’t be the first time, at least, so he would drink away the pain in the evening and be remade again in the morning.

Already in a sloppy state of undress, they both peeled off their remaining layers of clothing and let them fall in a heap on the bedroom floor before crawling beneath the sheets. Magnus had slept alone for so long that his heart twisted in his chest at the feeling of a warm body beside him.

Once Magnus had settled into the mattress and was lying still, Alexander slid his foot between Magnus’ calves and pressed their bodies closer. His hands were more diffident in their movements, slowly tracing a path down Magnus’ forearm and over the bone of his wrist before loosely intertwining their fingers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor this fragile piece of time, but when he opened them again, it was morning. The deep orange and red of the sunrise bathed the bedroom in a warm glow, and illuminated Alexander where he was perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you going somewhere?”

The muscles in Alexander’s upper back rippled beneath his alabaster skin as he tensed. “I didn’t want to wake you,” was all he said, but for just a moment, his eyes lingered on Magnus as if he were hoping for a rebuttal.

“We don’t have to keep doing this to each other, acting as though we’re so unalike.”

That made him look away, and he stood with his back to Magnus as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt sleeve absently. “Yes, we do. We have to be.”

“God himself created even the avenging angels in his image,” Magnus replied with the hint of a smirk on his lips.

With a wry, all but humorless laugh, Alexander shook his head. “That’s not the point, Magnus! What kind of guardian allows the ones he looks after to pawn their souls for resolutions?” He turned back to face him with hard resolve.

Magnus couldn’t help but be reminded of the volatile, at times impetuous, young man he was. He had been quick to anger, holding himself in contempt for all the things that were out of his control. “Alexander—this is her life. Do you truly prefer that she suffer through this mortal existence when that is all she gets?”

“I have failed spectacularly in the past to do the one thing I’m meant to do, and I won’t let that happen again.” Grabbing his jacket from the floor, he shrugged it on and stalked off.

**

“I’m ready,” Alana declared without preamble.

A smattering of Edom’s red dirt shook loose from the tread of Magnus’ boots as he strode over to her. “I told you that the next time you summoned me you would need to be certain. If this is your decision, then all that is left is your contract.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Magnus held up his hand and angled it above her chest. “All this requires is a mark left on your soul, like an earmark. It binds you to me.” With a languid flutter of his fingers, a deep blue energy emitted from them and seeped beneath her skin. The pulsing of her heartbeat was thrummed against his magic and he could feel it as if her heart itself were in the palm of his hand. With a final push, the energy ensnared her soul, wrapping around it like ivy on a vine and pressing in to leave behind an intricate lace of markings.

She shivered faintly and let out a short, sharp exhale. “It feels like ice.”

“It should not last long,” he assured her as he pulled his hand back. “Now, taking your memories will be painless; simply stand very still.”

As soon as he began to probe her memories, her eyes clouded over into a haze of milky white. In brief flashes, he could see through her eyes flashes of the past that she had hidden away. He could feel a tangled web of emotions, each vying for pride of place. He could hear a cacophony of her name echoing in millions of different tones and inflections. Each piece pulled at her, nearly tearing her apart from the tension about to snap. Extracting them was like sucking the poison from a wound, leaving a bitter residue behind. It had been left to fester for so long that in places the memories were like rot, but in time, they all came away. “You’re purely your own now,” Magnus whispered in Alana’s ear, and with that, he vanished from her side.

For a moment, he just stood in the alleyway behind the warehouse, breathing in the damp, cold air of the rain’s end. A few droplets dotted his face and neck, and he closed his eyes to savor it. In Edom, there was no such relief like a storm.

Suddenly, he felt a presence in the shadows, familiar and passive.

“Come to spy, angel?”

Emerging soundlessly, Alexander stood with his arms folded behind him like a soldier poised in wait.

Quirking an eyebrow, Magnus turned to face him directly. “Are you going to start a street brawl for what she willingly gave me?”

The guardian almost smiled at that, and it put Magnus more at ease. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Actually, don’t answer that. I have a feeling I would not like the answer.” Shaking his head, Alexander continued. “I was here when Alana summoned you. But I… I decided you were right, Magnus.”

“Sorry?”

Despite himself, Alexander chuckled wryly. “I could be cast out for what I have done, but protecting the mortals entrusted to me is worth any price.”

Magnus looked at him skeptically. “Forgive me if I am hesitant to accept your truce, Alexander.”

“Who said anything about a truce?” Though his words were antagonistic, his tone was peaceable. “But I suppose I should thank you for what you taught me.”

Holding up a hand to stop him, Magnus shook his head. “Please, angel. We are not obliged to such extreme shows of good faith. Besides, Edom would freeze over, and then where would I be?”

Alexander awkwardly shifted closer. “Here’s hoping we remain acquaintances from afar.”

“As if,” Magnus waved off, pressing in closer until their chests were flush. “You like me too much.”

“I never said that,” Alexander managed breathlessly before leaning in to join their lips in a kiss that could grow a whole garden from Edom’s barren desert sand.

**

For all of its flaws, Magnus decided that he liked Brooklyn. Edom was his domain, but perhaps this could be his home.

Penthouse One had become more or less a safe haven, oddly enough. The balcony provided the perfect place for his morning meditations, the living room could host a great many guests, and the apothecary was quaint and studious. And perhaps he was indulging in feeling like a mortal at times, but what else was he to do when he was topside so frequently?

The soft click of the door opening made Magnus set down his martini and move towards the entryway curiously. In the hall, he saw a figure cloaked in a long black coat with a hood concealing their face. Boots stained with dirt and dried blood left a faint trail on the wood floor, and the bow over their shoulder was battered with scratches and dings.

“Alexander, you’re home early.”

Shaking his head free from the hood, Alexander revealed his bloodied face. “I gave myself the rest of the night off.”

With a disapproving tsk, Magnus guided his chin away from him to get a better look at the trails of crimson oozing down from his temple and cheekbone. “No rest for the wicked, hmm?”

Alexander rolled his eyes as he allowed Magnus to steer him to the couch. “I think I may have broken a rib,” grunted as he lowered himself onto a cushion.

“Take your jacket and shirt off so I can see.” Magnus gingerly sat beside him and helped to maneuver his arms from the sleeves. His knuckles faintly brushed Alexander’s upper back and his whole body tensed in reflex. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully working around the cloth that covered two deep, distinct scars where Alexander’s wings had been ripped from his back some time ago. They looked much like his father’s. As soon as they worked together to peel Alexander’s t-shirt off, Magnus couldn’t help but lean over and brush his lips, faint as a whisper, against the point between his shoulder blades between the dark V-shaped scarring. “Now, let me take a look.”

“Here.” With some difficulty, Alexander rolled slightly to his left side, revealing a blossoming bruise against the side of his rib cage. After just a gentle probing of Magnus’ finger tips against the tender skin, he jerked away. “Fuck.”

“Was it worth the fight, Night Arrow?” Magnus asked with a faint smile, unearthing a package of alcohol swabs from the first aid kit they kept hidden beneath the couch for just such an occasion.

“Always. I have to do something, right?” The bitter edge in voice would likely always be there at the mention of his being cast down. The scars on his back were a reminder he would never need, because Magnus knew he could never forget.

Magnus himself would likely always be haunted by the events of the night Alexander fell from Heaven. The sight of him when he stumbled to Magnus’ door, drenched in sweat and pale as death as he bled through the scraps of fabric he had wrapped himself in still felt too unbearable to recall. Even as a mortal, he still found a way to dedicate himself to the protection of the innocent, and Magnus could never begrudge him that.

“There’s something else that might help,” he murmured, wincing as he scratched absently at the drying blood on his forehead.

Setting down the swabs, Magnus straightened up to look at him.

“A kiss.”

“A kiss,” Magnus echoed, a grin spreading across his lips. “What will you give me for it? Your everlasting soul?”

Alexander dropped his chin and his lips parted just enough to tenderly take Magnus’ finger into his mouth. His tongue was warm and soft, and Magnus felt that all too human feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Releasing him with a quiet pop, Alexander smiled. “That’s not mine to give anymore. It’s already yours.”

[blackenedwhite97]

Trials (An Erasermic x Reader Medieval AU Ch. 1-2)

Written: December 2020-Feb 2021

Total Word Count: 52.8 K

Wattpad link for easy reading: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/259612193/write/1029582306

Since it’s so long and organized into chapters.

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

https://blackenedwhite97.tumblr.com/post/643722830321696769/trials-an-erasermic-x-reader-medieval-au

I've been hacking away at this since just after Christmas, it's basically a novel at this point and I'm immensely proud of it.  Please enjoy! There are requests that are on the way, this longer piece just took precedence.  

This post includes: physical violence, mental health, traumatic experiences and the aftermath, use of pain-relieving medications, cursing, sexual content (not full smut, sorry kids), depictions of physical assault/ beatings and forced drowning, mild religious content, and a prominent polyamorous romantic relationship.

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Mental Health note: This piece touches on panic and anxiety born from trauma, some religious-based discrimination and trauma as well as physical captivity and assault.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 1

 Mid Summer

You leaned forward, tearing yourself away from the sun-baked iron bars that seared your bareback and slumped forward against the equally scalding irons bars in front of you. You had long since lost the ability to hold your body upright, resigning yourself to the inevitability of the burns that peeled away at your skin. It had been two full days since you'd been left in the cage to wither away under the blaring heat of the midsummer's sun. Your shoulder and legs were blistering under the constant exposure to the sun, and your rear was scraped and bruised from the rough iron bottom of the hanging cage. Your lips were cracked, any saliva to moisten them had long since dried up. The only shred of hope you had was that a particularly large cloud might roll by and shield you from the sun for a while or that the sun would set maybe a few minutes earlier today. The hunger and thirst were the most bearable part, the painful emptiness in your gut was little more than a dull ache compared to the waves of burning pain and delirium you were tormented with. At this point, you would admit to what the townsfolk had attempted to charge you with, anything to make this end.

End. You thought to yourself. The end had always been the most terrifying thing to you, where would you go, would it all just stop, would you have done enough? The end had once held no certainty and no solace for you, but now, in the face of the burning inferno in the sky and the flies that began to pick at your already decaying skin, you were sure that it had to have been better than this.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head against the bars, the hot iron pressing into your forehead. You tried to take small focused breaths; the air somehow felt cooler if you puckered your lips a bit. You breathed in place of crying, your body had no more liquid to give. You breathed with your eyes closed until a cloud came, dense and absolute. The redness of the light through your eyelids dulled and for the first time since it had risen the sun's unshakeable scrutiny peeled away from your skin. Mercifully the cloud had been lasting for a while, nearly a minute now. You blinked your eyes open so you could look up at this cloud and appreciate it in all of its merciful glory. However, when you looked up you were not met with a dense white puff of air far off in the sky, but a tall man dressed in all black and a face framed in a wild halo of dark curls.

He regarded you silently, his dismal expression unwavering. The only indicator you had that he had even registered you looking up at him was the slight readjusting of his eyes as he made eye contact with you. You instinctively looked away, no one looked kindly on any of the people who found themselves stuck in these cages let alone an alleged witch. He was taunting you; you were sure. There would be no other reason to get so close. Unless...all black, grim expression. Perhaps the executioner had come a day early. Perhaps, your suffering was to come to an end early.

    He crouched down until he was in your field of view and looked up at you. His dark eyes seemed softer than they had a moment ago as they looked up through his thick dark lashes. You started to turn your head away, but his hand reached out and his fingers brushed one of your dangling legs. You tensed at this touch, too exhausted and drained to be able to properly pull away.

"Look at me." He mumbled warmly. "It's okay, I'm- a friend."

A Friend. That sounded awfully good right about now. Even though you knew he was probably lying, trying to manipulate you in some sort of way you looked back at him. What was he going to do that was worse than what had already been done to you? Your eyes met his, and you held intense eye contact for a while. He seemed to be attempting to soften his gaze and you weren't quite sure what to do with yours.

"Can you speak?" he asked, his eyes running up and down your body quickly.

You tested out movement in your throat, only to be met with sharp dray pain. An arid gasping sound was the most you could muster. You slumped farther forward, looking at him pleading eyes that tried to convey how badly you wished you could speak. He wasted no time in twisting around and reaching for a leather bag closed with a cork that was fastened to his hip. He opened it and slipped it through the bars of the cage, looking over his shoulder for any onlookers. You grabbed the waterskin with a strength that you had doubted you still had left in you and managed to get it to your lips, tilting it just enough to dribble a small stream into your mouth. Perhaps this was his game, to poison you. If it was poisoned so be it, this would be a most merciful way to die.

You swallowed until the waterskin ran dry, your body still screaming for more water. You wanted more, you needed more. You tossed the waterskin downwards in frustration at the limited amount of water it was able to provide and in a show of impressive reflexes the man reached out and caught it before it could hit the dusty road. He snorted and affixed the waterskin to his hip once more, standing.

"Your name?" he asked, his voice was gruff but at the same time kind.

You agonizingly lifted your head to look up at him, your strength hadn't returned, it would surely take more than half a day's supply of water to do that. What the water had done was dull a pulsing nausea that sat in your gut and relieved you of some of the sharp pain in your throat. You tried to speak again, this time your voice, or rather a fraction of it came out. "Y/N."

He nodded to himself. "Family name?"

You blinked hard, the sun briefly flaring up behind him as he swayed slightly on his feet. The way his stray hairs danced in the sun was reminiscent of the portraits that hung in the cathedral, of the gold-leafed angelic halos. If it hadn't been for his grim attire you'd have thought him an angel; although perhaps he was an angel, an angel of death. "Need it for my execution papers, do you?"

"No." he sighed. "I need to know if you're who I'm meant to be looking for."

You looked him up and down. True, he wore dark clothes, but they were not formal nor those of an executioner, but rather a plain set of well-worn traveler's clothes. His hair was longer than most men's in the area, and despite his somewhat disheveled appearance he had at least washed within the last few days. Under one of his exhausted eyes, a long scar stretched across his cheek, no doubt from the edge of a blade. Two of which, you'd only just noticed, were strapped across his back, rather plain and worn leather-wrapped hilts and pommels peaked out over his shoulder. He was a traveler and possibly a duelist, however, neither had anything to do with you.

"W-what if I am?" you croaked.

"Then, you're coming with me." He stated casually.

"Which would entail?"

"No hanging in a cage to roast to death in the sun." he deadpanned. "Now, what's your family name?"

You looked into his eyes. There was no sign of deceit, but then again you were in no condition to be trusting your body nor your mind's capabilities. He was right, though. This was just about as bad as it could get. You swallowed for the first time that day, it felt good to be able to. "L/N."

The man's face lit up, if you could call it that. Compared to the dismal amount of emotion before, he most definitely was happy by your response. He looked over his shoulder, shoving his hands in his pocket, and whistled. He jutted his chin towards you while still looking at someone across the way. From behind him, you heard footsteps, sporadic and clumsy. Another man appeared from over the dark-haired one's shoulder, his hair was even longer, and he bore a well style mustache as well as a set of finer clothes. He had flaxen hair that was neatly tied back into a long ponytail down his back and his emerald eyes betrayed much more than his partner's dark ones. He smiled down at you, his expression pure relief and delight. When his eyes fully settled on you his apparent happiness wavered, but he collected himself quickly and was back to smiling at you.

"Hello!" he said in a sing-song voice, that you're sure you would have adored just three days ago. "You're our lady?"

You looked up at him, his positive disposition providing a strange sense of comfort. If he was also looking for you, perhaps wherever you were needed wouldn't be so bad after all. "I- I don't know, am I?"

"She is." The dark-haired man confirmed. 'I- I'm sorry to have to prolong your situation but, do you think you can last until nightfall?"

You looked up at the two men. Were they meant to be your saviors? If so, you most definitely could last until nightfall for salvation. But, if they weren't... you shoved that fear from your mind. Your suffering was inevitable any which way but trusting them, it was the only choice you had that could turn out better. The blond man's beaming smile shrunk into a less charismatic gesture and into a comforting genuine expression. The dark-haired man had softened once again, every time you looked back to him he seemed to become more human to you. It was as if he was evaluating you just as you were him, and every inch you gave he reciprocated.

You nodded silently, wanting to save what moisture you still had left in your throat after draining the waterskin.

"Good." The dark-haired man hummed. "Zash, do you have your waterskin?"

The blond-haired man reached around to the back of his belt and without missing a beat freed it from its tether and handed it to you. You took it readily, and as you did with the first one drained it slowly until not even another drop would come out. Even though you still felt cheated with the finite amount of water in the waterskin you decided not to through this one, it felt rude. The blond man took his waterskin back and tucked it back into its respective place on his belt.

"We'll be back after sundown," The flaxen-haired man started in a hushed voice, "just hold out until then."

They both started to turn away from you, towards the bustling market across the square. Fear rose up in your chest, a fear that had managed to subside in the last day or so as you resigned to your fate. You had just been offered an impossible sense of hope, and you didn't even know their names.

"Wait, wait!" you called out after them in a hushed tone.

They both stopped, the dark-haired one didn't turn back to look at you, instead keeping his eyes trained on the crowd in the market across the street. The blond-haired turned around, looking at you expectantly.

"W-what are your names?" you stuttered.

"I'm Hizashi," The blonde smiled kindly. "that's Shouta."

Shouta tugged on Hizashi's sleeve, looking towards a cluster of people, at the center an older woman who was unashamedly looking back and forth between gawking at them and staring you down. Hizashi turned away from you and the two men disappeared into the crowd, the flurry of villagers and merchants swallowing them entirely.

CHAPTER 2

4 Days Ago

The sun was low enough in the sky for the bugs to start buzzing again and the poor animals covered in fur to try and hunt some sort of game before it got too dark. The hot summer sun had given way to a cool night that smelled of rain and brought cool breezes from the west. The dried herbs that hung in bunches in your window cell swung to and fro, small pieces of brittle stem and leaves tearing away from the bunches and littering the freshly swept floor. You watched the bunches sway in the breeze until the wind grew strong enough to snuff out some of the candles around the window and decided that perhaps a storm really would roll through and that it would be better for both you and the drying herbs if you were to pre-emptively close the shutters. So, you plucked the bunches from their hanging nails and closed the wooden shutters. Locking them in place with small brass latches and placing a heavy stone behind each shutter for some extra hold.

The world grew darker and you found yourself lighting more candles, bringing them slowly towards the center of the room and away from any stray breezes as rain began to fall and cooled the air. It was the perfect night for a warm broth, and you had some fresh bones from the last day's meals. As the night wore on your meal came close to finished and you were able to finish wrapping the small medicinal pouches for farmer Wayland's boy and set them aside for the morning. You stood and stalked over to the pot atop the embers in the fireplace and lifted the lid, the broth was boiling but the roots you had tossed in had sunk to the bottom and could be burning. You looked around the fireplace for a spoon or stir stick but found you had left it on the opposite side of the small home. You turned back to the pot filled with golden liquid and held your hand out above it as if you were holding a spoon to stir it with. From your fingertips, a spectral spoon handle twinkled into existence, inch by inch until a spoon head appeared and you were able to dunk it into the pot and give it a quick stir.

Usually, you were a lot more vigilant when using your magic, but since your shutters were closed and a storm was raging outside you were sure there would be no spying eyes lurking outside your windows to catch you. You had never used your gift for harm, not that you believed you could begin with. You could conjure objects into a semi-realistic form, they acted the same as their real counterparts in every which way except that they appeared semi-translucent and were perpetual purple collar. You could make a knife, a stone, and even a dress if you so wished. You had tried fire and water once or twice, but it always turned out as if it were frozen in time, the way artists capture fire or water in their paintings. You supposed you could conjure up weapons with which you could wage violence and war against the poor villagers around you, but you were no witch and held no hatred of that kind in your heart.

The sound of something hitting your door sent a jolt up your spine and the spectral spoon blinked from existence. You stood in silence for a moment, wondering it had truly been a knock at your door or a piece of debris lost in the storm. You turned to your door slowly, scanning it for cracks or gaps that prying eyes could have spied through. You found none but you were not calmed in the slightest. A second knock came at the door, this time it was a clear series of deliberate knocks. You scanned the room around you for any items you may have injured up and left out.

You tiptoed to the door, hoping that if you took enough time your uninvited guest would leave. But just as you arrived at the door a third set of knocks came, these were powerful knocks, frustrated and ill-tempered to be sure. You took a breath and lifted the latch to the door, opening it just enough so that you could stand in the doorway but no one else could, and held the door tight to your side. Before you stood a man, his arm raised and ready to knock again, so soon. He was draped in a waterlogged cloak that looked like it could be a rich red tone if it wasn't soaked nor the middle of the night. The hood was drawn but you could still make out a strong chin, pointed nose, and dark brown ringlets dripping with water.

"Can I help you?" you mustered. It wasn't unusual for you to get customers at your door for medicinal help, but it certainly was unusual for someone would have enough money to be wearing fine red robes to show up at your door, let alone at this time of night. You eyed him carefully catching a glimpse of a rather gaudy crest made up of two swords and a great hunting hound with something in its mouth, his nose stuck into the air.

"I'm afraid we've got caught in a storm, miss. We're looking for a place to stay the night and wait out the storm." His voice was thick and proud, and he spoke as some with years of formal education might. At the mention of 'we' you looked past him to the gate of your front garden where four men were tying their horses to your wobbly fence post and trodding on your lilies.

"Apologies on behalf of the weather, traveler," You smiled warmly. "but my home is far too small and cluttered to house you and your men. You'll have better luck at the inn in town. It's just down the hill, not but a ten-minute ride; seven if you're swift."

The man's heavy brows knitted together, and his jaw squared, he seemed displeased with your answer. "We haven't any coin, no inn will take us."

"The Innkeeper is a kind man, prone to taking on charity." You responded, inching backwards into your home and getting ready to slam the door if need be.

The man's jaw twitched and his hands, balled into fisted at his sides, were turning white with exertion. No was not a word he had heard much of in his life, you gathered. He laughed a sharp cruel laugh that sounded more like a dry cough. "I'm afraid that won't do."

The man was fast, and indeed much larger than you realized as he lunged forward. One of his large hands grabbed your shoulder and the other shoved the door open with tremendous force. You stumbled backwards and tried to pull away from his firm grip but he clamped down even harder around your arm with bruising strength. His second hand clasped itself roughly over your mouth and he shoved you backwards until your back hit the table that lined the opposite wall. His hand was so large that he was able to clasp down on your nose with his thumb, cutting off your airflow entirely. "I'm not asking this time; we plan on taking full advantage of your hospitality. You can willingly give it to us, or you can find out what your lovely little cottage looks like painted in red."

As if to provide evidence of his cruel nature the man unsheathed a small dagger, one that reflected the dim golden light of the fireplace as it was brought towards your face. He held there, lightly trailing the tip across your skin as you shuttered. With a dangerous glint in his eyes, he flinched his hand, the very tip of the blade biting into the skin of your jaw and trailing up toward your ear. You froze, where the chill of fear should have gripped your bones, instead a flare of anger ignited. Who was this man to think he could invite himself into your home and make threats on your life? Something told you that even if you went along with his requests this would turn out badly for you. You closed your eyes and focused on the crushing grip your assailant had on your face.

It was in that darkness and growing fury that a spark of brilliant purple came to you. It was in the form of a long dagger, jagged and cruel. Your restrained arm pulled back with enough force to break free and met your other between you and your attacker's chests. You could feel the cool bulb of the pommel against your palms and suddenly you could breathe. There was a warmth running down your hands and soaking through your shirt now, a wet ragged breath sputtered in your face until the full weight of a dead man crashed down at your feet. You looked up forward through the doorway and saw the pale face of a small man, a hefty coin purse at his hip and terror glimmering in his eyes alight with purple light. Purple light. You looked down at your blood-soaked hands. A great spectral gnarled dagger blade shone out in front of you, thin ribbons of blood dripping from it.

And in your sudden clarity, the dagger blinked out of existence, the cottage falling back into the dull golden firelight of the fireplace.

"Witch!" he shrieked. You had never heard a man so full of fear. "She's a witch! She's a witch and a murderer!"

[anachilles]

» somewhere in the crowd, there’s you  ♪  julie/luke [ juke ]

If they weren’t already dead Julie swore she would kill them. Luke especially.

Actually no, that wasn’t fair. This time she couldn’t completely blame them for what was admittedly a dumb decision on her own part. But see it from her perspective - the boys hadn’t seen the Mamma Mia movies. They didn’t even know of their existence. That had to be remedied.

TL;DR - The boys are introduced to the Mamma Mia Cinematic Universe. Alex spectates, Julie sings ABBA, Luke falls further in love, and Reggie ends up reliving the horror of high school math class. Also BROT4 couch cuddles.

link to read on AO3: [x]

taglist: @wokealex @blueruby31

If they weren’t already dead Julie swore she would kill them. Luke especially.

Actually, no, that wasn’t fair. This time she couldn’t completely blame them for what was admittedly a dumb decision on her own part.

But see it from her perspective - the boys hadn’t seen the Mamma Mia movies. Didn’t even know of their existence. They had just been finishing up a group jam session when she’d made some off-hand joke about them hitting the big-time and having their music turned into a movie-musical series “like ABBA”. Reggie’s face had lit up and he immediately jumped on it, “Wait, they made a movie out of ABBA music?”

“Multiple movies?!” Alex had cut in, looking disbelieving but nonetheless delightfully intrigued.

Luke snorted with laughter, throwing his hands up as he turned to look at Julie. “That’s it - I know what we’re doing tonight” he exclaimed, and pointed at her “Do you have them on ta-”

He catches himself before he can finish the word ‘tape’, but Julie’s eyes still narrow, her own smile now challenging. The boys really weren’t that bad at picking up the basics of modern technology, but slip-of-the-tongues still happened and Julie loved to tease them about it. Luke most of all just because he always dogged the other two the most about it when they did it. Also, perhaps a little bit, because he was kind of cute when he got all defensive.

“On what, now?”

Luke floundered for a second, and Alex and Reggie traded a look between them. Suddenly though, a lightbulb dinged above his head and his expression turned smug.

“DVD! Do you have them on DVD”

Julie laughed, making what was meant to be a loud ‘buzzer’ sound. “Wrong answer! Not the most up-to-date form of media storage, but nonetheless thank-you for playing”. Her expression softened though when she heard Alex and Reggie hound him a little behind her, “However, we do have them on DVD because my dad likes having physical copies of stuff”.

She was about to leave to go grab them from the house, only the time on her phone caught her attention and her heart sank.

“Hey guys, I can go get them for you but I don’t think I can stay the whole way through both. I’ve got school tomorrow.”

All three boys erupted in protestations, Luke’s notably the loudest of all, though on Alex’s suggestion she conceded to stay for at least the first one, then they’d pick up the second one tomorrow or something. 

Honestly, it hadn’t taken nearly as much convincing as it should have. 

She just really needed to physically be there to witness the three of them watching Meryl Streep jump off a pier to the tune of ‘Dancing Queen’ and Pierce Brosnan absolutely butcher ‘The Winner Takes it All’ for the very first time. Also, talking to them about the movies had made her realise it had been way too long since she’d last watched them herself, and they always made her feel so light and happy. As silly as it may sound, the care-free, sunshiney tone but with genuine moments in them had helped carry her through some really dark days. Since then, they’d always been comforting to return to.

So that’s how she ended up squished on the beat-up old studio couch with three ghost boys from the 90’s, having the absolute pleasure of seeing them react to ‘Mamma Mia’ for the very first time. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, and required Reggie to be sitting with one leg straddled over the arm of the couch and the rest of him pretty much glued to Luke’s side, but they made it work.

Although just as she was getting herself comfy in her spot between Alex and Luke, something niggled at the back of her mind. Something she forgot to do? Maybe? She wracked her brain for a couple of minutes, but her attention quickly and all-too-easily drifted to the screen as the opening chords of ‘Honey, Honey’ sounded, like some sort of siren call, and she couldn’t help but mouth along to the words. She knew them pretty much by heart.

What certainly didn’t help with her cognitive functioning however, is when during ‘Money, Money, Money…’ she felt Luke shift where he was pretty much flush against her side and his arm stretch out behind her neck. His hand settled somewhere near her shoulder; teasingly close but not quite touching it. Her heart rate kicked up a notch, but she was determined to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her, daring not to look his way or even let on that she noticed.

The boys were touchy-feely and generally very physically affectionate with each other, she knew that just from generally being around them these past couple of months. Julie had always found it really sweet and endearing, how unashamedly tactile they were with each other, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel left out as her own friendships with all of them got deeper and she grew closer to them all. Now that they were corporeal, at least to her, suddenly she’d become privy to all that as well.

Now she couldn’t imagine not being able to do stuff like hold their hands during band circles, or not knowing the utter warmth of Alex’s hugs (it was undisputed that he gives the best ones) when he noticed she’d had a tough day at school, or even what it felt like to not have Reggie gleefully grab her hands, or arm, or shoulders when he got super excited about something.

She’d already been falling hard for Luke before when she couldn’t physically feel him under her fingertips. For all intents and purposes wasn’t fully there there, but now? When she’d felt the brush of his body behind her when he’d lean over her shoulder to look at sheet music, or his thigh press up against her leg as they shared a piano stool during their little lyric brainstorming sessions? When they could high-five, lean into each other’s side, playfully shove each other when one thinks the other is being annoying, grab each other’s hands and dance around the room in celebration when they manage to book another gig? All those little moments they could have now added layers to what she already felt.

However, even if she felt something between them, that spark,  and her gut told her Luke possibly felt so too, Julie also couldn’t deny that that kind of affection wasn’t any different to the kind he showed towards Alex and Reggie too. Plus, she didn’t really know how ghosts felt about having relationships, especially with the living, or if Luke would even want to go there. So she tried not to read too much into what kind of felt like Luke pulling that old “arm around shoulder whilst distracted by the movie” move.

So although she never really could forget how close he was, Julie let herself become immersed back in the movie. Her life was generally good, labels and certainty or not, she was happy. The happiness of the movie fed into that. The boys seemed to be having a hoot with it as well, if how much Alex especially was grooving in his seat was any indication.

Julie’s not quite sure what possessed her to say it in the moment, or what she expected to transpire when she did, but when they got to the ‘Super Trouper’ scene coming straight off of the, uh, heaviness of ‘Lay All Your Love on Me’ (during which Luke went weirdly quiet for some reason, prompting Alex and Reggie to share a fleeting look over the top of both his and Julie’s heads) and the opening chords sounded she blurted out 

“Oh, this used to be my karaoke song when I was a kid”. 

Luke’s eyes immediately went wide and she knew she was in trouble. He quickly urged Reggie to grab the remote and pause the movie, ignoring Alex’s soft “Hey, I was watching that!”, before turning his attention fully towards her.

“Well now you have to do the routine; get on up there and show us what you’re made of!”

Julie’s jaw hung open a little and she wasn’t sure whether she could really be annoyed at anyone but herself for practically handing this to him on a silver platter.

“No! I really don’t…” she tried to argue, though his mischievous smile was infectious and damn her lips threatened to twitch into a smile too. “It’s been years! And anyway, I only bust it out for audiences that are deserving of it”.

Luke met her with a challenging gaze. “Bet it’s cause you don’t know the words” he said, turning to Reggie, his tone dripping in antagonism. “Hey, did you hear that the great Julie Molina won’t perform because she doesn’t know all of the words to Super Trouper by ABBA?”. Reggie’s eyebrows shot up and he immediately played along. “Y’know what? I actually did hear that somewhere. Huh…”.

Julie shot a withering look at Alex, a wordless “Can you do anything?” shining in her eyes, but he has the nerve to just shrug (!) with a silent, smiling “I’ll allow it”.

She could’ve got them to drop it if she really had wanted them to, she knew that. Maybe Julie from three months ago would have. Actually, no, that version of herself definitely would have made them drop it; the darkness shrouding her life day-in, day-out smothering any semblance of silly, carefree happiness and convincing her that simply having fun just wasn’t for her.

But she didn’t feel like that anymore.

Julie pulled herself to her feet, eyes fixed with new determination. She crossed the room to the open space, taking a stance mirroring that of the one they’d paused Meryl Streep in and fixed Luke with a playful glare, even though she was addressing Reggie.

“Unpause the movie”.

The performance was one for the history books, if she did say so herself. The boys watched on in amazement as she remembered every word, near enough every step and dance move (the big sleeve shimmy was an interesting one though with sweater sleeves nowhere near dramatic enough to match Donna’s) and personally she thought she sold it.

About halfway through Alex snuck a glance at Luke by his side, and realised karma must be having a slow night given how fast it was paying the other boy back, because he was undeniably staring at Julie with what was clearly pure, open adoration.

“‘Cause somewhere in the crowd, there’s yooooou” she finished with a flourish, heart thumping, and lowered her arm to point at all three of them in turn, but finishing ultimately on Luke even though he was sat in the middle. His face scrunched up with a cheesy smile and he let out a loud whoop of appreciation, kicking off the round of applause before the other boys joined in, Reggie coming in clutch with the standing ovation and everything.

Julie felt breathless but joyful as she flung herself back into her seat, and Luke leaned forward to grab her soda, handing it to her with what looked like contrition.

“I guess I stand corrected, huh?” he said, defeated, but not entirely sorry to be so.

She shrugged, taking a sip of the drink. “I guess you are. It’s a good look on you”.

Luke snorted with laughter and they laughed together for a brief second, an apparent blush rising to sit on his cheeks (Could ghosts blush? How did that even work?).

Before the situation could get weird or questionable though, he turned back towards the movie, but slowly. Like he wasn’t quite ready to leave this moment just yet; like he wanted to stay looking at her just a bit longer. Julie just nudged him and settled back in, trying to go about it in such a way that would implore him to put his arm back around her like he had before.

It didn’t come until the scene where Bill confesses to Sophie that he thinks he’s her father, but eventually that now familiar weight settled behind her head again, setting off a whole herd of butterflies in her stomach.

The first movie came to an end, and things wouldn’t have been awful if she’d just called it a night there and gone to bed. But she was having so much fun and they were all so comfy, and the boys seemed very excited for the prospect of a half-prequel-half-sequel.

“Surely they’ve already used all the good ABBA songs in the first one though, right?” Reggie argued, causing Alex to swing round to look at him, scandalised.

“Are you insinuating that there’s a bad ABBA song?”

While they hashed it out in the background, Luke backing Reggie up just to get a rise out of Alex, Julie acted on impulse and jumped up, running towards the garage window. All the lights in the house were out, meaning her dad was already in bed and everything. As long as she was super quiet sneaking back in and remembered to bypass that squeaky floorboard on the stairs, he never had to know.

“Alright; Here We Go Again - let’s do this”.

Turns out Julie had kind of underestimated how late it was and how long the day had been. She could feel herself getting tired around the ‘Waterloo’ mark, eyelids growing heavier and heavier as she gradually sunk lower and relaxed deeper into the couch. By the time young Donna makes it to the Kalokairi her head had come to rest in the crook Luke’s neck, his flannel soft under her cheek as his cheek leans against the top of her head. Maybe it was a testament to how sleepy she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away. The posture felt natural.

She was so comfortable, surrounded by warmth and the soothing hum of the old second-hand TV they’d bought at a garage sale and moved into the garage, she was right on the verge of dozing off… when a realisation crashed into her mind, seemingly out of nowhere.

Julie shot up poker-straight, suddenly very awake. “Oh, crap!”

The three boys startled, most of all Luke when her movement meant he almost fell face-first into the couch cushion.

“What is it?!”

She groaned and fell forward into her hands. “I have a math test tomorrow. And I was going to study for it before bed tonight.”

So that’s how she ends up with Reggie hanging uselessly over her shoulder in the middle of math class, the exchange that came after the realisation still ringing in her ears.

“Hey, hey! It’s fine. Take Reggie - believe it or not, he was good at math” Luke offered up hurriedly.

Reggie himself looked a little stricken. “Yeah, 25 years ago, dude!”.

“Do the rules of math go out-of-date, or…?” Alex teased, though still placed a comforting hand on Julie’s back.

“No, Alex, they don’t - so relax, you’ll be fine, man! You can’t make the situation any worse by trying”

“Don’t give him that challenge, Luke”.

Though admittedly she loved him just for actually turning up and trying, he was staring down at the test with as much confusion as she was. Apparently math had changed over the course of 25 years. They exchange a mutually panicked look. Clearly, neither of them knew shit. Instead, Reggie just runs up to the front of the room and peeps on Mrs Ford’s answer sheet, Julie’s hopeful eyes following him as he dodges around desks and backpacks lying on the floor.

“Are you sure?” she mumbles to him under her breath when he gets back. Apparently not quite low enough though, when the guy next to her turns to give her a funny look, and she has to make a show of furrowing her eyebrows and counting on her fingers, muttering appropriately as she goes.

Julie can feel Flynn’s discerning gaze from across the room and she knows she knows there’s some ghost-like foolery happening. It’s a mess. She’s a mess.

Eventually the bell sounds and signals an end to the ordeal, and Julie takes out her (locked) phone to genuinely thank Reggie for his help all the same.

“Ehhh I’m not sure how much help I was, but you’re welcome” he says, laughter coloured with self-deprecation.

Julie smiles genuinely, and she would’ve nudged him if she wouldn’t have been nudging thin air in public. “Hey, I think we got about three quarters of those answers down and that’s 75% more than I would’ve gotten without you”.

Reggie looks pleased, and stands up a little straighter as he walks alongside her. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a while, by the way?”

Julie’s a little taken aback. “I mean, sure, but why would you want to? It’s just school”.

Reggie shrugs, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. It’s weird for him; he’s generally such an open book. “I don’t know. I never graduated, we were still going when we… y’know…” he trails off, eyes scanning the halls and the throngs of students laughing and chatting together at their lockers, going about their normal day. “Kind of miss it”.

“Well, you obviously have free reign to look around wherever you want. If you want me to show you anywhere in particular, just let me know. I’m meeting Flynn for lunch now though, so that might not be as fun for you...”

The way he says it makes something ache in Julie’s chest, and she wishes she could give him a hug. With the boys so real now, and so immersed and predominant in her life, it was getting easier and easier to somewhat forget that they were actually dead and had both led and left lives behind. Being reminded of that was starting to hit her that little bit harder.

Reggie nods sincerely, mirroring her slight chuckle. “Thanks, Julie”.

Approaching the cafeteria, Julie sees Flynn in the distance, and is about to put her phone away when she suddenly stops in her tracks, and keeps it held to her face.

“By the way…” she smirks. “If Alex or Luke ask, I scored a 95 and it was all down to you”.

[aineirisha]

What I confessed while daydreaming

It all started that night, that dreadful night. It all started with their threatening voices of fake silk. It all started with their eyes on you ready to devour you, ready to take away what was rightfully yours. 

It all started with ignorance. 

Myths and legends and things that are not human.

It all started...

Or perhaps it started centuries ago, you couldn't tell. You never really knew...

Things that are not human...

Stories that don't belong to humans...

And yet... 

You were...

Human...

...frightened by their energy, by the way they looked at you.

You couldn't trust them. No matter how they tried to convince you, you wouldn't trust them, your instincts told you not to. All your senses screaming at you, 

"RUN!!" 

But you couldn't move. You didn't understand. 

Why were you so scared? Why weren't your legs responding? Why couldn't you stop quivering? Why were those men...?

"Do not worry Hime-sama, we will not hurt you"

"We are just here to please you"

"Let us please you, Hime-sama"

"We are just going to play a little game, shall we Hime-sama?"

But they did not carry toys with them. No dolls or balls, no wooden horses.

What were four men trying to play with a seven year old girl?

Why are these men trying to play...

... With me?

You raised your eyes to meet theirs and fear took over. Thirst for power dripping from their gaze, running through their veins. 

You shed no tear, you voiced no scream, you made no expression. 

The moment their hands were over you, your chakra unfolded, piercing their bodies, breaking their bones, and exploding their organs. 

A lot of blood was shed that night, not one single drop was yours.

It all started that night with that dreadful feeling. 

The power of destruction. The drunkness that comes with it. 

 It started with you, with all that you never really knew... 

Urging you to flee...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working at that restaurant had turned out to be an excellent choice. It gave you enough money to sustain yourself and the opportunity to meet the daily life in the village. Every day you got the chance to practice all that you couldn't practice on the training grounds. Your power was about sensations and emotions. To recognize those emotions you had to be around living things, preferably humans, and what better place than a restaurant. 

Dozens of different chakras came into the restaurant daily. Each time they became easier to identify and distinguish. Bit by bit colors started to appear and, if you concentrated enough, you could even perceive each one of the 7 pools of chakra. 

It was very challenging at first. Allowing yourself to be affected by other people's energy was a burden really heavy to handle. Lots of emotions were mixed in that closed space. And it could hurt, to feel other people's feelings as if they were your own. It was overwhelming.

Some time ago you had found your peace extending your own chakra around you far enough so that other's energy couldn't reach your core, you strengthened your vibrations to a point they were stronger than everybody else's, preventing your energy and emotions from being polluted with those around you and prevailing over them. And now that you needed to move forward, that you wanted to learn about control, you had to make your peace aside to prioritize knowledge. Ironic. 

It was an exhausting exercise, way more exhausting than shinobi training. But it was rewarding, what for so many years you did by pure intuition, now you were doing consciously. 

Besides, it wasn't all dark and gloomy. Your power gave you the possibility to have things your way if the situation turned out to be more than you could handle. That usually meant, as a result, a feeling of tranquility, a feeling of certainty that it was all gonna be ok.  The power was way easier to bear when people's energy was bright, so it was kind of for selfish reasons but the results were convenient for everyone. If needed, making other people feel at ease was the easiest thing to do; it didn't hurt, it protected your core from other's pain or low-frequency emotions -usually negative- and it always ended up working in your favor.  All you had to do was extend your chakra and sync your vibrations to the ones of the human in question. Truth was, you didn't have to do it on purpose anymore, your vibrations were so strong everyone else just synced to them almost by accident. 

Lots of clients came to the place when you started working there for that exact reason. Unconsciously, everyone kept coming back to feel that lightness, that warmth.  

Nevertheless and despite everything, manipulating emotions wasn't your favorite thing to do even if it was for a good purpose. Life felt more real when you let others be honest. 

That and... maybe if you didn't fear your wounds that much you could... 

Maybe if you could let go of the past... 

Maybe if you weren't so scared of your own darkness...  

When it came to your power you were always careful. Perceiving chakra and observing its behavior was a safe zone and you found the way to work from there. It was like experimenting. Sometimes you'd try with certain words or phrases, other times facial expressions, and you awaited the reaction. It was particularly interesting when you found an energy that changed with the presence of another person, whether it was a loved one or a hated one. 

********

The afternoon was perfect. The sun was up, shining bright and warm, only cooled by the blowing of the wind. The sky was blue and eventual clouds floated miles above your head. The day went by at work without much to worry about. Megumi-san was kind of a weirdo and you two got along perfectly. She was teasing and playful. You were always joking and laughing. 

You took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. Some birds were flying by. You smiled. The sound of your steps on the ground made everything feel real. 

The buildings were all painted with messy patterns that seemed to have no order or purpose. Maybe there was going to be some kind of festival or something... 

No, the paintings were too messy to look good. That couldn't be for decoration. 

What happened here?

And then you bumped into him. Green goggles on his forehead, blonde spikey hair, evil giggles, with a bucket and a painting brush on his hand. 

 You had felt his energy a block ago. 

Was he trying to get revenge?

Was he just playing games? 

It felt like both. A dark type of amusement. A mischief. He knew he was doing wrong and he was enjoying it. 

As you approached him, the feeling of mischievousness increased. 

Intrigued by the kid, you walked towards him and stood by his side. With your hands in your pockets, you contemplated his painting. 

"Is that a hat?" you asked, tilting your head trying to get the shape of the drawing.

He turned around to see you with a defensive attitude, used to people scolding him for everything. 

"Maa maa, nee-chan, it's not a hat, it's a snake, see? It has an eye" he said while pointing at the spot on the lower edge.

"But why does it have a...That?" you were certain that you had never in your life seen a snake with a bulge, that looked more like a camel with no legs. 

Or a hat...

"It's fat cause it ate the entire bowl of ramen, dattebayo," the blonde said while nodding, a huge smile on his face. He seemed really proud of his creation. 

You laughed noisily, completely amused by the kid's imagination. 

A neighbor came out of the building, shouting.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, LITTLE BEAST?!!" He threatened as he started walking towards the child furiously.

The blonde stared back at him for an instant and panicked. 

"RUUUN!!" He shouted at you as he sprinted to get as far away from there as possible. 

You did as told not giving it a thought. That man seemed terrifying. 

When you two finally stopped, you were safe, many streets away. You paused to catch your breath. He was already searching for his next victim with a malicious grin. 

He was punishing the people, you realized, and by doing so he was getting himself into so much trouble. 

Punishing them for what?

"Hey kid" you called him. "I know of a fence that is in desperate need of some painting" your house wasn't that far away. 

He followed you ready to attack, wielding the brush like a kunai. 

Your fence was wide enough to keep him entertained for a while. 

You took the lead, dipped your fingers in the bucket, and started doodling on the wood. His mesmerized gaze fell on you like a stray of sunshine. Finally, he had a partner in crime, and it wasn't Choji or Shikamaru, it was an adult. 

He didn't feel like the enemy anymore. 

You two started playing. Your clothes were probably going into the trash after this, the paint wouldn't wash off. 

"Too bad we don't have other colors," you sighed, enjoying your time with the kid. He had a nice laugh and three marks on each of his cheeks that made him look adorable. It had been a long time since you last played with a child.

"Maa, maa; when I become the Hokage I will have all the colors I want and people won't tell me what to do" he smiled satisfied. "You can come paint with me"

The Hokage?

"Why are you painting fences?... and walls?" 

That's not exactly something the Hokage would do... or maybe but not like this.

"I want everyone to acknowledge me," he said decisively.  

His energy amazed you. It felt like he was... broken?... but more than broken, cracked. It was like cracked glass refusing to shatter. His determination and wishes holding him together, helping him stand (like a tape or a band-aid). There was no nostalgia in him. Only the hopes that things would be better in the future. No, it wasn't hope... it was... 

Certainty.

You smiled to yourself with a lump in your throat and resisted the urge to hug him.  

What could have happened for a child to be so fractured?

And yet he seemed so brave, so strong. 

For a moment you forgot about his malicious shenanigans. His vibrations were so strong they were competing with yours. 

"You missed painting here" you teased him, passing your dirty fingers over his recent doodle. 

He pouted. "You need a little color too, nee-chan" his brush painted over your lines. "Now it's a clown" he giggled.

You burst in laughter. He looked at you surprised by your reaction. You hadn't scolded him or criticized him once. You were definitely a weirdo. 

He started laughing too. 

The game began, whoever covered most of the fence would win. He was already winning.

"That's not fair!! You have a brush!!" you complained. He stuck out his tongue to mock you in response.

"Naruto!!" you heard Iruka shout at the kid. "What do you think you are doing??!!!" he quickly grabbed the child's hand. 

You signaled Iruka to stop, your hands over your neck telling him to cut it. Naruto didn't know that was your house. As far as he was concerned you were manging a mischief together. 

Iruka looked at you startled and let go of Naruto's hand. 

"Iruka-sensei hi" you waved at him. It was time for your lesson. 

"You know each other?" Naruto was suddenly very confused. He stared at you and Iruka back and forth.

"Yeah, he's my sensei" you smiled. 

"You are a student?!" he was shocked.

You nodded. 

"But you look old"

"Hey! I'm not that old!" you put your fists on your waist, pouting.

Naruto thought about it. Maybe you weren't that much of an adult, not of the same kind as Iruka at least, or as the villagers. Old people don't do funny things and they don't paint fences. 

"Naruto go clean yourself" Iruka took the bucket and the brush away from him and sent him home. 

"YN-san I apologize for Naruto, he's just... I'll make it up for you" he said.

"Don't worry" You giggled "I bumped into him while he was using the village as his canvas and a man came out to beat the crap out of him so I thought it would be better if I just..."

 Teamed up with him. Take him out of there. Be friendly. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated while looking at your dirty fence.

"Don't be. It has potential. This right here looks like an eagle, and if I fix these, they could be mountains, and these right here..."

He just looked at you and smiled. You were kind and tender. Not ruled by people’s ideas of how things had to be done. You always... behaved unexpectedly. It was as if you could see beyond things. Whether it was a landscape behind the doodles or a friend behind a missbehaved boy, you never settled with appearences. 

 There is always more than meets the eye. There are always things we don’t really know.

But you wanted to know...

"Is he the student you always talk about?" Of course Iruka had told you about him. Sometimes you didn't even train and all you did was talk about your lives. Whenever any of you had a bad day you would always put support first. It was pretty comforting to have someone to talk to. Iruka's energy was one of the warmest, sweetest, most compassionate you've ever met, you admired that. It made you feel safe. 

"Yeah" he scratched his head.

"Oh, I get it now" you laughed as you got into your house. 

************

CH 4  CH 6

Masterlist

A/N: Ok, guys so first of all sorry for my grammar, spelling, syntaxis, and everything that has to do with writing structure. English is not my first language and boi this is harder than I thought (I'm better at writing in Spanish I promise)

Second: reader has been through a lot and I mean A LOT. She's been through so much I have enough material to write an entire ff about it like hell maybe even two who knows, so I'm struggling with how to tell you all that information. Maybe you won't get to know everything, just the important things. Bottom line she's had a rough time. (I'm actually a little bit scared to write that part cause it's pretty angsty, like right now she chooses peace and nice feelings but back then she didn't and turned her life into hell but I don't feel my writing is good enough to do justice to all that so... hope I get better) that doesn't mean there won't be angst i mean, there's no way to avoid angst when it comes to kakashi, so wish me luck.

And third: I suck at drawing so I can't show you what her power, energy and vibrations and all look like. I hope I was clear enough to give you a general idea (I'll probably get deeper into it later) but if I wasn't please let me know and I'll explain it better, it would be soooo helpful to know what you understood. 

And last but not least: THANKS FOR READING. let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :3 <3

@femboyneji @spnningtop @strawberrycakesstuff @cosplayartponypoli @ren-hatake

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, ladymatt

For @ladymatt, wishing you a lovely, safe, and happy holiday with this little malec one shot! x

Fantasy au wherein Alec is a guardian angel, Magnus is a demon who makes deals, and maybe they’re not as different as they think.

Read On AO3

*****

Lost and Found

As the flames at Magnus’ feet die out, he takes in his surroundings inquisitively. Beneath his boots are tentative chalk lines, thin and light in places, that connect into a pentagram drawn on a cracked cement floor. The room he is in is vast and all but empty, with high ceilings and exposed metal beams. A warehouse, most likely; the kind of place a human might deem a safe, neutral location for a demon summoning. As he turned to his left, a woman, young in years but with a heaviness weighing on her that belied her age, was staring at him from a few feet away with a tattered hardback journal clutched in one hand.

“You called me,” he stated, standing a few steps away from the barrier line. “I assume that because you did the summoning correctly and seem…prepared, that you know what it is that I do.”

She looked almost startled at being addressed, but the expression lasted only a moment before she held it back with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “I know what I’m doing,” she asserted, though her voice wavered slightly.

After analyzing the detailing of the pentagram, Magnus touched the tip of his boot to a symbol that had been incorrectly drawn. “It’s an impressive work, but I would suggest you study a bit more next time. This right here…leaves an opening.”

Now the woman looked terrified, frozen in place with her arms encircling her middle protectively.

With a slightly sardonic chuckle, he shook his head. “If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have pointed out your error.” He stepped closer to the edge line, closer to her. “After all, you wish to make a deal, yes? Which means you have something I would be happy to take. I don’t want to ruin that opportunity for myself just yet.”

For a moment, he just looked at her, observing. She had very short hair, so blonde it was practically white, and deep brown, almost black, eyes. Her pupils were almost swallowed up by the darkness of the iris. There was a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and dusting the tops of her cheeks, looking oddly childlike in the midst of her worn features. He was well-versed in reading humans after all these centuries, and he could see in her an authenticity that caught his attention. “What’s your name?”

“Alana. Alana Clarke. And I want to make a deal.”

“Well then,” Magnus began, steepling his fingers thoughtfully, “tell me, to what do I owe this summons?”

“I…have something I want to forget.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word.

“Someone,” Magnus stated in realization. “A deal with me requires specificity, Ms. Clarke.”

It took a moment before she hesitantly elaborated further. “My husband. He was…cold. And unable to love, in the end. I never felt like I could leave him. One day, he snapped and I…I didn’t have a choice. I can’t let the memory of him control my life anymore. I can’t bear to let him change me the way I’m afraid he might.”

Rubbing his fingers together contemplatively, he replied, “That is a very serious choice to make. And one that cannot be undone. As luck would have it, it would be quite easy for me to give you what you’re asking for, but it has a steep price. And not just your soul. Are you certain this is what you want?”

Her silence was only too telling.

With a firm shake of his head, Magnus took a step back. “You must be sure. I am neither judge nor jury; I will only carry out what our deal entails. I urge you strongly to consider this. Memory cannot just be given and taken on a whim. Once I remove it, it will be permanent.”

Alana shook her head with a tired sigh. “I just… I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t think… I don’t know how to go on without doing something. I—” Abruptly cutting herself off, she stood up a little straighter and schooled her expression into a carefully curated stoicism. “I have to take the responsibility, and I will.”

It had been a long while since someone with such conviction had come to Magnus like this. Often, those who summoned him didn’t understand the gravity of the situation they were making for themselves, but it was their mistake to make. This time, somehow, he couldn’t bear the thought of allowing her to follow them down that path of regret lurking in the future.

“For your benefit, I will not yet make the deal,” he began. “I require certainty, and I do not see that in you. I’m going to give you another opportunity to think very carefully about just what is worth the price of your soul before you sign it over to me.”

**

The next time Magnus found himself standing in the ash and last embers of unholy flame in the middle of the old warehouse, the person standing opposite him was not Alana Clarke.

Instead, it was a tall, dark haired man with a stern look on his face, standing stock-still with his hands behind his back. He was not entirely mortal, nor human, Magnus realized upon observing the presence of spiritual matter along the lines of his shoulders and down his spine. It also wasn’t lost on him that the man had a blade made of adamas tucked away inside the folds of his jacket. It was an ancient kind of weapon, not only priceless but rare.  

The pentagram Magnus was standing on was far more detailed than the one that Alana had used to summon him, rooted in much stronger magic. The kind of magic that could only be infused by a summoner of great power. “I’m impressed,” he mused, turning in place to observe the rest of the finer detail.

“You made a deal with Alana Clarke,” the man stated coolly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “For her soul. And you’re going to have to rescind.”

Magnus couldn’t help but be amused by the situation. “Demon-client confidentiality prevents me from discussing any of this with you, I’m afraid.” But his curiosity was piqued. Especially when he realized that the faint smell of angel blood had permeated the air around them.

Angel blood.

“Of course, I should have realized immediately.” He stepped up to the edge line of the pentagram to look closer. “Which one of Raziel’s guardians are you?”

A soft sigh of exasperation preceded one word: “Alexander.”

“‘Defender of man’, yes? Seems fitting.” If he didn’t know better, Magnus would have said that Alexander preened almost imperceptibly at his words. “And Alana is in your care. Interesting, given the fact that she sought me out.”

The shadows of tenderness that had lingered on Alexander’s face for mere seconds at the mention of her name disappeared altogether as his expression clouded over. “She never should have summoned you. Her grief has blinded her, so I have to be the one to protect her.”

“You almost believed that when you said it.” Magnus of all people knew what lying to oneself looked like. “The truth is, it kills you that you can’t save her from this grief. Your purpose is to protect her, but there are limits to what you can control, and now you have to face them.”

“You can’t undo the past,” Alexander countered, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes in consternation. “And that’s what she truly wants. Whatever you offer her, it won’t be enough.”

“You know what she went through. You know how greatly she mourns—both for what she lost and what was never hers to begin with. There’s no price too steep for peace that can heal that kind of devastation.”

The angel visibly gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping as it flexed. “Rip up the deal and give her soul back.” The slow cadence he spoke with betrayed the anger that he was sealing away inside.

“It might interest you to know that no official contract exists yet. Ms. Clarke hasn’t made her choice, so if you have concerns, you should take them to your charge herself.”

The anger stoked by Magnus’ words became increasingly apparent in Alexander, and he rolled his neck to the side slightly as if trying to shake free of something. “I won’t ask again.” When Magnus offered no reply, he took a few steps back from the pentagram. “Well, you’re welcome to rot here until you change your mind, then.”

If he were a different person, if circumstances were trivial, he would enjoy an indulgent show of his own strength. As it were, Magnus only gloated a little as he stepped over the brusque chalk line meant to confine him. “I have no plans to do any such thing.”

Alexander was speechless, his mouth slightly agape as Magnus moved towards him. “That isn’t possible. No lesser demon can—”

Reaching out with a dark red tendril of magic, Magnus held him still. “Pleased to meet you, Alexander. My name is Magnus Bane, reigning Prince of Edom and son of one of the First Hierarchy—a Knight of Hell.” When their faces were mere inches apart, he offered the faintest of smiles. “Ms. Clarke has sought my protection now, so I suggest you don’t try to interfere again.”    

**

The air in the Hunter’s Moon was thick with the scent of stale alcohol and sweat-slicked bodies, and Magnus relished it. Perhaps it was the hedonistically human part of him, but there was something magnetic about the raw electricity of bodies pressed flush against one another beneath the hot lights.

His attention was diverted, however, when he noticed the man who had just walked in and was making his way to the bar. Alexander stood out in a crowd even when he was dressed down, wearing a grey Henley and jeans.

With a subtle gesture, Magnus caught the eye of a bartender gathering empty glasses abandoned on a nearby table. “The man who just walked in—make him a Vieux Carre.” A neatly folded hundred-dollar bill materialized between his thumb and middle finger, and he offered it to her.

The woman’s bracelets made a delicate jingling sound as she plucked it from his grasp. “He looks intense. Ex of yours?”

With a chuckle, he brushed his thumb tenderly against her chin for a fleeting moment. “Discretion, Maia.”

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Courtesy of?”

“An associate.”

Despite looking thoroughly unconvinced, Maia pocketed the money and Magnus raised his drink to her in gratitude.

“An olive branch?” Alexander guessed a few minutes later, setting his glass down on Magnus’ table.

“Actually, it’s a black cherry garnish.” Magnus plucks the fruit from his glass and takes a bite of the tender flesh. “I figured a drink would be a good icebreaker.”

Alexander dropped down into the chair opposite him. “You don’t look surprised to see me here.”

“You’ve been following me on and off all day, angel. What am I meant to be surprised about?”

His expression darkens, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in consternation. “We haven’t struck an accord yet.”

Shaking his head faintly, Magnus downed the last of his Negroni. “There is nothing to negotiate. You have no claim on the contract between me and my client.”

“She is going to do this if I do not put a stop to it.” Rather than the burn of anger or the cold of hatred, Alexander looked pained to be saying those words. “I want to make a deal.”

Whatever he had been expecting Alexander to say, that certainly wasn’t it. Magnus sat in stunned silence for a beat. “Just to be clear… You want to give me your eternal soul to release Alana Clarke from a contract that she implored me to honor?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t know what he was agreeing to, and yet there was a fierce determination on his face that almost made Magnus wish that it were possible. “Let’s do it.”

“It is not possible, Alexander,” Magnus said somberly. His tone had gone soft despite himself. The desperation in the guardian’s eyes made something in his chest begin to ache. “Even if you did have a soul as the mortals do.”

It almost looked as though the faintest hint of vulnerable desperation was beginning to shine through the cracks of his façade. Instead, with a grunt of frustration, Alexander pushed back from the table and crossed his arms. “She is under my protection, Magnus.”

“In a manner of speaking, she’s under mine too.”

“If you control Edom, why even spend your time making deals for souls? Isn’t that beneath you?” he retorted heatedly.

“It’s not about the souls. It never has been,” Magnus found himself saying. It had never been in his nature to be transparent, and frankly he had never had a reason to try. The way that Alexander wore his feelings so genuinely compelled him to reciprocate. “The lesser demons who skulk around crossroads and manipulate the avaricious and covetous do so by nature. I choose the worthy summoners, the ones who want nothing more or less than resolution, and offer them peace.”

Staring down into his glass, Alexander heaved a sigh of frustration. “Indulging their emotions is not the same as protecting them.”

“That depends on who you are protecting them from, hmm?”

Something in those words seemed to reach Alexander in a way that nothing else between them had. His shoulders hunched wearily, as though a great burden had been dropped and left foregone. “I don’t know,” he surrendered.

**

Thunder rattled the window panes of the penthouse as the storm outside grew stronger, and Magnus could feel the glass shivering beneath his fingers where they were pressed on either side of Alexander’s body. They were both mostly clothed, but where their bare skin touched, it felt like fire. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the otherwise darkened living room, so Magnus used the cacophony of harsh exhales and soft moans to guide his movements.

It had to be the most profane act, because it felt like salvation.

“Nnnnh,” Alexander moaned, reaching up for Magnus’ hands blindly and intertwining their fingers.

More or less restrained, Magnus put more power into the movement of his hips. It was an inexplicable desperation that had led them to this, and now it was boiling in his blood and driving him forward.

The pleasure crested, and for one perfect moment, everything felt simple—they were just two people who found relief in wanting one another. That was how they had ended up here, after all; a categorically innocuous moment had somehow set Magnus’ skin on fire with how greatly he yearned to touch him, and everything between them had unraveled before he could do anything but follow in its wake.

For weeks the tenacious guardian had been nothing but a thorn in his side, but then all at once, something changed and Magnus could no longer remember how to simply dislike him. Perhaps he put too much stock in his heart—or whatever the son of a Greater Demon was capable of containing—to ever stay free of falling prey to the way of the mortal world. All he knew now, though, was that he felt dread like an ache in his chest at the unavoidable truth that Alexander would leave.  

“Don’t leave,” Magnus whispered breathlessly in Alexander’s ear. “You can stay the night. I want you to.”

In reply, Alexander nodded and pressed an almost reticent kiss to his lips. “I’ve already crossed the line, what’s another step?” Even pressed together in such an achingly intimate embrace, there was a hesitance in him. Perhaps he was telling himself this was a big mistake, and he would hate Magnus in the morning.

It wouldn’t be the first time, at least, so he would drink away the pain in the evening and be remade again in the morning.

Already in a sloppy state of undress, they both peeled off their remaining layers of clothing and let them fall in a heap on the bedroom floor before crawling beneath the sheets. Magnus had slept alone for so long that his heart twisted in his chest at the feeling of a warm body beside him.

Once Magnus had settled into the mattress and was lying still, Alexander slid his foot between Magnus’ calves and pressed their bodies closer. His hands were more diffident in their movements, slowly tracing a path down Magnus’ forearm and over the bone of his wrist before loosely intertwining their fingers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor this fragile piece of time, but when he opened them again, it was morning. The deep orange and red of the sunrise bathed the bedroom in a warm glow, and illuminated Alexander where he was perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you going somewhere?”

The muscles in Alexander’s upper back rippled beneath his alabaster skin as he tensed. “I didn’t want to wake you,” was all he said, but for just a moment, his eyes lingered on Magnus as if he were hoping for a rebuttal.

“We don’t have to keep doing this to each other, acting as though we’re so unalike.”

That made him look away, and he stood with his back to Magnus as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt sleeve absently. “Yes, we do. We have to be.”

“God himself created even the avenging angels in his image,” Magnus replied with the hint of a smirk on his lips.

With a wry, all but humorless laugh, Alexander shook his head. “That’s not the point, Magnus! What kind of guardian allows the ones he looks after to pawn their souls for resolutions?” He turned back to face him with hard resolve.

Magnus couldn’t help but be reminded of the volatile, at times impetuous, young man he was. He had been quick to anger, holding himself in contempt for all the things that were out of his control. “Alexander—this is her life. Do you truly prefer that she suffer through this mortal existence when that is all she gets?”

“I have failed spectacularly in the past to do the one thing I’m meant to do, and I won’t let that happen again.” Grabbing his jacket from the floor, he shrugged it on and stalked off.

**

“I’m ready,” Alana declared without preamble.

A smattering of Edom’s red dirt shook loose from the tread of Magnus’ boots as he strode over to her. “I told you that the next time you summoned me you would need to be certain. If this is your decision, then all that is left is your contract.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Magnus held up his hand and angled it above her chest. “All this requires is a mark left on your soul, like an earmark. It binds you to me.” With a languid flutter of his fingers, a deep blue energy emitted from them and seeped beneath her skin. The pulsing of her heartbeat was thrummed against his magic and he could feel it as if her heart itself were in the palm of his hand. With a final push, the energy ensnared her soul, wrapping around it like ivy on a vine and pressing in to leave behind an intricate lace of markings.

She shivered faintly and let out a short, sharp exhale. “It feels like ice.”

“It should not last long,” he assured her as he pulled his hand back. “Now, taking your memories will be painless; simply stand very still.”

As soon as he began to probe her memories, her eyes clouded over into a haze of milky white. In brief flashes, he could see through her eyes flashes of the past that she had hidden away. He could feel a tangled web of emotions, each vying for pride of place. He could hear a cacophony of her name echoing in millions of different tones and inflections. Each piece pulled at her, nearly tearing her apart from the tension about to snap. Extracting them was like sucking the poison from a wound, leaving a bitter residue behind. It had been left to fester for so long that in places the memories were like rot, but in time, they all came away. “You’re purely your own now,” Magnus whispered in Alana’s ear, and with that, he vanished from her side.

For a moment, he just stood in the alleyway behind the warehouse, breathing in the damp, cold air of the rain’s end. A few droplets dotted his face and neck, and he closed his eyes to savor it. In Edom, there was no such relief like a storm.

Suddenly, he felt a presence in the shadows, familiar and passive.

“Come to spy, angel?”

Emerging soundlessly, Alexander stood with his arms folded behind him like a soldier poised in wait.

Quirking an eyebrow, Magnus turned to face him directly. “Are you going to start a street brawl for what she willingly gave me?”

The guardian almost smiled at that, and it put Magnus more at ease. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Actually, don’t answer that. I have a feeling I would not like the answer.” Shaking his head, Alexander continued. “I was here when Alana summoned you. But I… I decided you were right, Magnus.”

“Sorry?”

Despite himself, Alexander chuckled wryly. “I could be cast out for what I have done, but protecting the mortals entrusted to me is worth any price.”

Magnus looked at him skeptically. “Forgive me if I am hesitant to accept your truce, Alexander.”

“Who said anything about a truce?” Though his words were antagonistic, his tone was peaceable. “But I suppose I should thank you for what you taught me.”

Holding up a hand to stop him, Magnus shook his head. “Please, angel. We are not obliged to such extreme shows of good faith. Besides, Edom would freeze over, and then where would I be?”

Alexander awkwardly shifted closer. “Here’s hoping we remain acquaintances from afar.”

“As if,” Magnus waved off, pressing in closer until their chests were flush. “You like me too much.”

“I never said that,” Alexander managed breathlessly before leaning in to join their lips in a kiss that could grow a whole garden from Edom’s barren desert sand.

**

For all of its flaws, Magnus decided that he liked Brooklyn. Edom was his domain, but perhaps this could be his home.

Penthouse One had become more or less a safe haven, oddly enough. The balcony provided the perfect place for his morning meditations, the living room could host a great many guests, and the apothecary was quaint and studious. And perhaps he was indulging in feeling like a mortal at times, but what else was he to do when he was topside so frequently?

The soft click of the door opening made Magnus set down his martini and move towards the entryway curiously. In the hall, he saw a figure cloaked in a long black coat with a hood concealing their face. Boots stained with dirt and dried blood left a faint trail on the wood floor, and the bow over their shoulder was battered with scratches and dings.

“Alexander, you’re home early.”

Shaking his head free from the hood, Alexander revealed his bloodied face. “I gave myself the rest of the night off.”

With a disapproving tsk, Magnus guided his chin away from him to get a better look at the trails of crimson oozing down from his temple and cheekbone. “No rest for the wicked, hmm?”

Alexander rolled his eyes as he allowed Magnus to steer him to the couch. “I think I may have broken a rib,” grunted as he lowered himself onto a cushion.

“Take your jacket and shirt off so I can see.” Magnus gingerly sat beside him and helped to maneuver his arms from the sleeves. His knuckles faintly brushed Alexander’s upper back and his whole body tensed in reflex. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully working around the cloth that covered two deep, distinct scars where Alexander’s wings had been ripped from his back some time ago. They looked much like his father’s. As soon as they worked together to peel Alexander’s t-shirt off, Magnus couldn’t help but lean over and brush his lips, faint as a whisper, against the point between his shoulder blades between the dark V-shaped scarring. “Now, let me take a look.”

“Here.” With some difficulty, Alexander rolled slightly to his left side, revealing a blossoming bruise against the side of his rib cage. After just a gentle probing of Magnus’ finger tips against the tender skin, he jerked away. “Fuck.”

“Was it worth the fight, Night Arrow?” Magnus asked with a faint smile, unearthing a package of alcohol swabs from the first aid kit they kept hidden beneath the couch for just such an occasion.

“Always. I have to do something, right?” The bitter edge in voice would likely always be there at the mention of his being cast down. The scars on his back were a reminder he would never need, because Magnus knew he could never forget.

Magnus himself would likely always be haunted by the events of the night Alexander fell from Heaven. The sight of him when he stumbled to Magnus’ door, drenched in sweat and pale as death as he bled through the scraps of fabric he had wrapped himself in still felt too unbearable to recall. Even as a mortal, he still found a way to dedicate himself to the protection of the innocent, and Magnus could never begrudge him that.

“There’s something else that might help,” he murmured, wincing as he scratched absently at the drying blood on his forehead.

Setting down the swabs, Magnus straightened up to look at him.

“A kiss.”

“A kiss,” Magnus echoed, a grin spreading across his lips. “What will you give me for it? Your everlasting soul?”

Alexander dropped his chin and his lips parted just enough to tenderly take Magnus’ finger into his mouth. His tongue was warm and soft, and Magnus felt that all too human feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Releasing him with a quiet pop, Alexander smiled. “That’s not mine to give anymore. It’s already yours.”

[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes". 

It would seem that Viscountess Violet Bridgerton could not wait  for the arrival of Duke or Duchess's much anticipated bundle of joy to add to her family.

It is reported Lady Portia Featherington seems to have finally rid herself of one of her daughters.  While this Author, cannot be certain of the circumstances, it has been reported that not only has said daughter has been seen coming and going from Bridgerton family home quite frequently but household staff have been spotted with taking personal effects from one home to the next…

 LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 30 SEPTEMBER 1813

 --

A few short weeks ago, she’d been practically dragged back to the home to warm up and get something to drink.  The next thing that she knew, Violet Bridgerton was telling her mother in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t be returning home that night or ever if she didn’t desire it.

Penelope had been appreciative to sleep in a guest room, to feel part of an actual family at their meals and to have a mother in her life that actually saw it fit to care about what she wanted. 

She was never judged for reading a book and more often than not she encouraged to have more to eat.  She’d taken to barely eating in her own home to attempt to stave off comments that implied she was some sort of a pig. She never felt shamed for just existing here.

It was becoming increasingly hard to imagine ever going back even if she knew she inevitably would have to.  This wasn’t her family and she didn’t want to become a burden to them.

No one felt that she was a burden though.

Her presence had managed to bring some small joy to a mood that was very much morose.  They’d managed to memorialize Colin without his body and it had helped them.  The house still smelled of the flowers that once filled it but the wake had passed and his brothers had handled the delicate matter of religious ceremony.

 Even though the grief wouldn’t entirely fade away, they were all weren’t standing still anymore. They might have all still been in black but there was the slightest glimmer of joy there.  The dark clouds that had enveloped them for weeks seemed to be leaving.

Penelope felt a bit guilty for starting to think that things could actually be okay.

--

Benedict hadn’t exactly bridged the subject since the night of his failed proposal. 

To say that he was surprised when his mother had all but moved the girl into their home would have been an understatement.   He had spent the first few days waiting for something to be said but he had the sneaking feeling she was avoiding being alone with him and while she never indicated anything was amiss at family meals, the fact she wouldn’t meet his eye said plenty.

Anthony had advised him to leave it be for now. Eventually things would boil over and they could make another go of it.  Was it really smart to let her integrate into their family like this only to eventually leave it?  Surely, she didn’t intend to stay there, unmarried for the rest of her days.  It was hypocritical to think when he didn’t particularly mind if he ever did himself but still, there was concern.

After pilfering a cigarette from his Eloise, he’d stepped out to smoke it.  A part of him wondered if he could slip away, spend the evening expressing himself in the only method he knew how: his art. Everyone else was starting to act like themselves again and he just felt useless.

Long legs swung in front of him cigarette moving between his hand and his mouth as he let his mind drift between the various things he currently saw as shortcomings.

“I owe you an apology,” he heard before he even realized he wasn’t alone anymore.

His eyes flickered up, finding Penelope standing there in front of him. There was something determined in her voice like she’d been building herself up to even speak to him.  He was caught so off guard at an apology that he wasn’t about to argue it.

“You don’t,” he told her simply, gesturing to the vacant swing, welcoming her to join him.

In some ways, this was most inappropriate but he didn’t think there was anyone who would say anything. He’d spent plenty of nights sitting out with Eloise and talking about their lives but Eloise was his sister.  Penelope, as much as people seemed to have forgotten, wasn’t.

“I do,” she told him honestly. “I just want you to know that it’s not you that I’m against.”

He stubbed out the cigarette, deciding to focus on the conversation at hand.  His jaw tightened slightly but his eyes softened.  There were plenty of reasons that he could think of for her aversion to his proposal but it was at least nice to know that he wasn’t the offensive part of it.

“Do I dare ask what you are against?” he couldn’t stop himself from inquiring.

“Entrapment, sympathy -  I love your family and while I know I’ve always been closer to others within it, I respect you too much for that,”  she confessed, giving him a valid reason.

“It’s not entrapment when you go into it with your eyes open,” he said honestly. “I stand by my offer though I know I cannot force you into it.  Surely, the past few weeks have made you see that you belong with us though.”

It felt a bit like a betrayal to nod at the words but Penelope knew nothing he was saying to be a lie and Benedict for his part meant it. Penelope did feel like part of the family.

“I don’t need to be married to you or anyone else to be part of it though,” she said after an extended moment of quiet.  “I know that you think the certainty that such a marriage would offer me but you would be miserable.”

“You say that as if I won’t be miserable regardless of who takes my name,” he said with a shrug. He had the find the balance between sincerity and areas where he might find himself in danger. “If I could change places with Colin, I would in an instant but I cannot do that. If you would only consider my proposal though you would see that I could be more than kind. You would be financially cared for -- you would have freedom to do as you please. Most importantly, you could officially become part of our family. Remove any potential stain from this … estrangement with your family.”

It was a hard bargain to turn away but also one that made guilt bubble up in her.  

They were doting on her, making her part of their family and they didn’t even know that about the money she had hidden away. She had more money than she would ever need to independently care for herself.  With everything happening in recent weeks, Lady Whistledown’s identity hadn’t been a topic of conversation.  Penelope didn’t even know how she’d continued to write about little tidbits she managed to hear through it all.

“I have to confess something,” she finally said after a long moment, deciding that perhaps it was time to unburden herself.  She could tell Benedict and maybe then he could understand.  Maybe once he knew he wouldn’t even think the prospect of marrying her was such a good idea anymore.

“I’m listening,”  he told her clearly prepared to hear her out.

“I’m –“

The words were cut off and anything she intended to saw after wouldn’t have been heard.  Eloise had apparently decided to come look for the both of them and thought it would be funny if she pretended to be someone chastising them for breaking the rules of society.

“You know that you shouldn’t be alone without a chaperone,” she said, making a mockery of the whole thing, crossing her arms as she played it up. “What will people say?  They might think that you’re corrupting our house guest, Benedict.”

It was Benedict who rose from his seat, shaking his head to make room for his sister to take possession of his swing. 

“I’ve been trying but I’m afraid she isn’t as debauched as you and I, Dear Sister,” he said musing Eloise’s hair with his hand. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

He did pause before moving to depart in order to address Penelope again.

“We can finish this conversation some other time but think about it,” he said with a nod and then he was gone.

Any prospect of revealing her identity as Lady Whistledown went out the window.

"Well now that he's gone I can steal you away. You have a package," Eloise advised.

Penelope certainly wasn't expecting anything.

[thanatophobia-thoughts]

I touched on socialization a little bit, but now I want to touch on simply getting out. While generally speaking, I find this to be better with another person, it can be enjoyed on your own, too.

A couple of weeks back, I went out to look at some small towns nearby with my dad. We saw an outdoor art exhibit, some large Czech eggs, and a “castle” of sorts on the trip. I do love with him, so this wasn’t a COVID-19 risk situation of travel, and much of it was outdoors.

Yet, I still had the thought, as we were passing through the mundane landscape, over a bridge, over some water: Would I be okay if we went crashing down into that water and we all died? Would I be okay dying right now?

Obviously, the answer is no.

Of course, the answer is ‘no’ if I stayed at home, too.

What do I gain by going out, compared to staying in?

I’ve seen more sights. That’s a given, but it’s something I think many of us do take for granted. I have added to my general knowledge bank. I have observed more than I would have. I have also interacted more with a loved one, and taken part in something they wanted to do, and strengthened that bond. I have pictures to show for my adventure. I also have a very dark chocolate bar, and a shot glass, to show where I was.

Thinking about things in terms of “Would I be okay if I died doing this” isn’t very helpful, because I’m not going to be okay if I die doing my job, but I don’t question that every single day! I go, I make money, I pay bills, rinse and repeat. Of course, I don’t question it because the likelihood of death is much smaller, whereas traveling contains its own set of risks. I face these risks when I go to the grocery story – perhaps not over a river risks, but nonetheless, the risks of crashing are present.

This thought of “would I be okay if I died now” is not helpful, but I see it pop up often, in some form, in the groups I’m in. I see people expressing how they don’t travel, or do certain things, because their fear of dying during this is that extreme.

But what about living?

Do you want to live a life, where you avoid these things, forever?

If you do, then okay! More power to you! I’m not that much of a hermit, even if I am a homebody. I really do enjoy seeing things, and expanding my horizons. I know that partaking in this activity, is going to trigger the thought “but if I died now…”.

Well, then I died.

I don’t know what’s going to kill me. I can’t predict it. It could be something at home, at sleep. It could be a violent car wreck. It could be a drawn out process in a hospital bed. I really don’t know. Avoiding things just because there’s a risk of death, would mean avoiding life.

Death is the only certainty of life.

We’re not getting out of this alive.

I’m not encouraging dangerous practices, of course! If you can avoid it, don’t travel when it’s bad weather, and maybe don’t jump out of a plane without a parachute – but the everyday risks of mundane travel, and going somewhere new shouldn’t be that scary.

You have a risk of dying at any moment.

We don’t know when that moment will be.

Traveling may help ease some of the fears and regrets you may have. A lot of people want to see more, as part of their bucket lists. It can even be things close – you never know what you may find nearby. I’ve been to a Soda Festival that I never would have known about, had I not looked into what the small towns were doing. I’ve seen the Garden of Eden, and the world’s largest Czech Egg. There was even a lovely Lake celebration in the summer.

(Pictured, not the world’s largest czech egg, but one I liked)

It may not be the place you’d like to see, as anyone reading this knows I still crave Disney, but it may be something you didn’t know you wanted to see, until you see it.

It will enrich your life, somehow, someway.  

[cruelfeline]

I’ve been thinking about choice again. In relation to Hordak, of course.

It’s been debated to death, but I still think about people’s insistence that Hordak confirmed himself an evil, irredeemable person once he decided, upon arrival, to conquer Etheria rather than living peacefully. I think about the nature of this choice from our human perspective and his clone perspective. I think about how these perspectives differ not only in terms of morality, but in terms of what making a choice really means. And I think of how all of this affects my personal judgement of him.

To most of us, the moral difference between “live peacefully” and “conquer the innocents” seems very clear. It seems a natural, obvious distinction, but something that I often consider is whether this distinction seems obvious because it is an irrefutable, natural law, or because of the heavy social conditioning each and every one of us, as fairly average human beings, undergoes from the moment we are born.

I think of our conditioning, which is pro-social and generally geared towards empathy, compassion, and equality, versus Hordak’s. I don’t know what Hordak’s conditioning was like. Not really. Not with any true certainty or accuracy (though I can make some really disturbing guesses). But I can pretty much guarantee that it wasn’t anything like ours. We are social animals raised to live in cooperative societies. Hordak is a manufactured clone soldier made to fight someone else’s war.

And I think that’s an important thing to consider, y’know? I think there is a difference between an individual raised with our understanding of good and evil choosing to do what Hordak did, and an individual raised as he was doing the same. Being taught, extensively, that an action is evil and doing it anyway is different from being taught that the same action is expected and acceptable before choosing it. That, to me, is the huge difference between us and Hordak, and indeed between Hordak and characters like Shadow Weaver and Catra: characters who had some level of socialization and guidance that adheres to our idea of morality rather than whatever fuckery Horde Prime instills in his clones.

Going further along this train of thought, I often consider what Hordak internally understood to be valid options. To you and me, “live peacefully” and “conquer the innocents” are, besides being morally opposite, both workable choices. “Workable” meaning that both can result in a stable, livable situation with an acceptable quality of life. Essentially: neither one means instant death when chosen.

Is this true for Hordak? 

In my opinion: no. Knowing what we know about him, knowing where he comes from and whom he answers to, it’s not.

From Hordak’s perspective, whether due to conditioning via socialization or just plain programming, failing to serve Horde Prime in a satisfactory manner isn’t just dishonorable or shameful. It’s akin to death. And I don’t just mean in the practical “if you’re useless, you’re thrown away to die” sense, though we physically see that during his backstory. I mean in the mental, emotional sense. 

Hordak makes it very clear that, in his mind, being useful to and valued by Prime is imperative for feeling at peace with himself. He needs to be accepted by Prime because otherwise his life isn’t just worthless, it’s... hm. I don’t truly know how to express the severity of it. It almost has the air of a deeply religious person being rejected by their god. Especially when one notes how reverently Hordak speaks of his Brother, how he borderline worships him. Essentially, failing Prime carries the weight of intense moral, almost spiritual failure. Which makes sense when considering that Hordak is a clone manufactured with the sole purpose of serving Horde Prime. 

This is why I don’t buy the whole “he had a choice” argument as truly valid. It seems logical on the surface, but I think that once one really understands Hordak’s mindset, one can see that, to him, there isn’t really a choice at all.

And I understand that this might be hard to really grasp. Many of us, during our socialization, are taught again and again that we have many choices, many options in life. That as long as we try hard and apply ourselves, we can direct the courses of our lives. We can be whatever we want to be. Make of our lives whatever we wish. Hordak likely never received this sort of education. In fact, he likely never received any encouragement in making choices and directing his own life, if Horde Prime’s outburst upon hearing of Hordak’s will and self-naming is any indicator. Hordak wasn’t born into a life of possibilities. He was born a tool, manufactured to perform a task for his master.

To Hordak, there is one way to live life, one direction that leads to an acceptable existence: servitude to his Brother. Hence why he elects to conquer Etheria. And why he makes the abysmal, life-threatening decision to return to Horde Prime rather than... well, honestly, literally anything else would have been a safer bet.

The idea of his “choosing” to conquer Etheria rather than living a civilian life is a bit of an illusion. It exists to us, but to him, a defective clone woefully trapped in whatever abusive web Prime has woven, it’s simply not there. To Hordak, the choice is between “impress Brother” or “die in disgrace” and thus not a real choice at all.

Now, it is worthwhile to note that there is one point in time where Hordak does suddenly see a real choice, a way to live life that is outside of what he previously thought possible. It is perhaps the first time he is able to see a life for himself that does not include his Brother, and it is all thanks to Entrapta. 

Entrapta, with her companionship, doesn’t play that stereotypical “turn the evil man good with the power of love” role. What she does is provide a real, true choice. Entrapta opens Hordak’s eyes to the possibility of living a life, a good life, without Horde Prime’s involvement. She essentially alters Hordak’s notion of what is and isn’t a viable existence. Through her companionship, he is able to entertain the notion that it is possible to be worthy and live happily without Horde Prime’s blessing. 

Well. Until he believes that she is dead. Once he believes that, the option is null and void, and so he falls back to the only understanding of life he’s ever really had, returns to his Brother, begs him for acceptance, and loses himself to mental violation and erasure.

Because again: without an outside person’s help, Hordak really only has his own conditioning to go on, and that conditioning is very specific regarding what is and isn’t a viable life. Despite how the situation appears to us, the tragic fact of the matter is that said conditioning does not really afford Hordak truly equivalent options. 

And that is such a major reason why I just can’t see him as an irredeemable monster: he still hasn’t had the chance to make a real, honest choice.

[missjanjie]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered | (6/7)

Title: Signed, Sealed, Delivered Summary:   Jan is in love with her French pen pal, Nicky. Her roommate, Crystal, is in love with her best friend, Gigi. A (perhaps ill-thought out) plan emerges: give Nicky a reason to visit by inviting her to Crystal and Gigi’s wedding. With a month to pull the scheme together, no one knows how this will end up. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~17.4k (total) Relationship(s): Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Jan rubbed her eyes, trying to dislodge whatever had gotten caked in there overnight, then pushed herself out of bed and made herself walk towards the kitchen. She put on her glasses and saw Crystal cooking breakfast – so she took off her glasses and put them on again to make sure she was seeing that correctly. “You’re up bright and early,” she observed.

“Is that weird?” Crystal asked, feigning innocence because the answer was obvious. Especially since she couldn’t look Jan in the eye and started shifting her weight from one leg to the other. That went on for about twenty seconds before she broke. “Okay, okay. It’s just… Gigi spent the night.”

That didn’t clear anything up for Jan, who waited for a further explanation. When she didn’t get one, she pointed out, “Gigi spends the night all the time, we both know she’s very comfortable with that. I mean… She practically lives here.”

She huffed because now she had to get into specifics. “No, but it was different this time. We… you know…” instead of outright saying it, she made a ‘v’ with her fingers and flicked her tongue between them.

“Oh please, you can just say you fucked,” Jan said, only for it to hit her a beat later. “Oh my god, you guys fucked?” Her eyes went wide and she bounced excitedly. “Wait, wait, wait. What does that mean for you guys now? Are you gonna be a thing? Is she still here?”

Crystal blinked. “How can you breathe when you’re talking so fast?” She turned back to finish cooking, then plated the food. “She’s taking a shower… I don’t know what this means for us,” she sighed. “The whole thing started because she said we weren’t convincing when we kissed for the photos. Maybe she thought we needed to explore our physical chemistry so we can use it better.”

Jan put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “I’m sorry, but that sounds like a line,” she told her, moving around the kitchen island to pour herself coffee. “Which, I mean, is good for you, because it means she was looking for an excuse to feel you up,” she added, bumping her hip against Crystal’s.

“That’s what I said! But she swore we just needed to be super convincing or it’d ruin our whole plan.”

She quirked her brow and snickered. “You believed that?”

Crystal looked down, pushing a forkful of her omelet into her mouth. “I mean… Why would she make that up? That doesn’t make any sense.” She looked back up, eyes meeting her roommate’s incredulous expression. “What?”

Jan was about to scream, her eyes ready to pop out of her head. If it was obvious to her, it was damn near bewildering that Crystal couldn’t pick up on it. This wasn’t some cute, subtle flirting, like the kind they had been trying to master this whole time – this was as close to an outright declaration of affection that someone like Gigi would get. “I don’t know, Crystal,” she answered with pointed sarcasm, “lying to people we like seems to be the norm here, let’s think this through a little bit.”

Luckily for Crystal, she didn’t get a chance to think too hard. Before she could reply, Gigi exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body, another wrapping up her hair. She looked at the other two girls, blissfully unaware of the bubbling tension between the two roommates. “Hi Jan,” she greeted, at least realizing she had walked in on the middle of a conversation, and added, “I’m gonna go get dressed,” before disappearing into Crystal’s bedroom.

Crystal exhaled once Gigi left and waited for her heart to return to its normal speed. She hated that even though she knew the other girl hadn’t heard anything, her mere presence made her chest tighten. Even after all that had happened the night before, she had the feeling of walking on eggshells around Gigi whenever the subject of her feelings was approached. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Not to sound like the world’s biggest hypocrite, but you could talk to her about it,” Jan suggested gently. She imagined life was a lot easier for people who weren’t afraid to say how they feel, to just open their hearts up and speak their mind without fear of repercussion. It must be nice. Completely unrealistic, but nice.

Unsurprisingly, Crystal scoffed at the mere suggestion. “If talking about things was plausible, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

Jan sighed and leaned against the counter. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.” She exhaled deeply and looked out the window. “God, we’re pretty fucking useless. Almost makes it hard to believe that graduation’s at the end of the week,” she mused. “When’s your family due in?”

“Day before the ceremony, so Friday. Means we got two whole days of peace and quiet before we have to deal with them,” Crystal explained between bites. But then she abruptly stopped, eyes going wide. “Oh fuck, what’re we gonna do about the… everything?”

Before Jan could answer, Gigi – now fully dressed – rejoined them, naturally noticing the horror in Crystal’s expression before anything else. “What’s wrong?”

“We failed to account for Crystal’s family flying out here in the midst of all of this,” Jan told her. “So we’re either going to have to clue them in, avoid mentioning anything entirely, or let her conservative parents think she’s about to marry a girl they’ve met… what, twice?”

Crystal nodded to confirm Jan’s answer. “I think the second one is our best chance, probably the easiest one too.” She strummed her fingers against the plate, lips pursed and brows furrowed. “Gigi, you need to tell your mom not to say anything, they’ll still probably want to say hi to you guys.”

Gigi shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t think she’s planning on going to the ceremony, so I dunno when she’d see them anyway.”

“I’m just covering our asses!” Crystal snapped, causing both of the other girls to take a surprised, cautious step backward. She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “Look, my parents are… They’re trying. But it’s still a work in progress. I just want everything to go as smoothly as possible.”

Jan and Gigi moved back to Crystal, gently holding her from either side. “Everything is going to be fine,” Jan said with a certainty she’d been lacking for the entirety of their plan. But it was different, avoidable, and they weren’t going to let it ruin such an important day. “We’re not gonna let anything ruin this, I promise.”

------

Jan and Crystal, like the rest of their graduating class, were seated in alphabetical order, keeping them apart for the duration of the ceremony. They texted each other, and both Jan and Gigi made sure to reassure Crystal that there was nothing to worry about. And as they sat and listened to speech after speech, things felt increasingly calm, to the point that they were both able to walk across the stage with their heads held high.

And when they tossed their caps in the air, they felt free. The past four years had been a tough, enduring chapter in their lives, but a fun one as well. It also helped to have one less thing on their plate with Nicky’s visit and the ‘wedding’ around the corner.

“I’m so happy for you guys!” Gigi beamed when she finally caught up with the two of them after weaving through the crowd of graduates and their families. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Crystal answered. “I don’t see why they had to hold this so damn early.”

Jan frowned sympathetically. “She didn’t get a chance to get her coffee,” she clarified to Gigi. “Honestly, I’m just happy it’s all done. Gonna miss a lot of it but like… I’m not rushing back any time soon.”

“Yeah? Not going for that MFA?” Gigi asked, absentmindedly looping her arm around Crystal’s waist.

“Not now, at least,” she shrugged. “Gonna see how far I can get with this before I sign myself up for more school.” As she spoke, she felt her phone vibrate in her purse, then fished it out and smiled when she unlocked it. “Aw, look at this cute ‘congratulations’ gif Nicky sent me.”

Crystal’s gaze narrowed as she looked at the screen. “Congrats on your graduation, darling. I have a special present for you, but it’s a surprise. Heart, winky-kissy emoji,” she read off the screen, then looked at Jan quizzically. “What the fuck was that? Did you guys move to sexting already?”

Despite her reddening face, Jan’s expression read just as perplexed. “Believe me, you would know if we were. I have no idea what the surprise is.” She decided to set the mystery aside for the time being. “We should get back home and throw an overnight bag together, we can check into the hotel and leave them there, then right out to dinner with our families.”

“I still can’t believe your parents booked you a night in a penthouse for graduation,” Gigi chimed in. “They don’t mind that I’m going too, right?”

Jan shook her head. “It’s fine, you’ll just have to share a bed with Crystal… But I’m sure that won’t be an issue, right?” she did her best to fight off a smirk, but by the way, Crystal was glaring at her, she was pretty sure her efforts were not paying off.

But Gigi didn’t seem to notice either way. “Yeah, no problem here,” she answered with a casual shrug.

------

Much to everyone’s relief, dinner with Crystal and Jan’s families went off without a hitch, and the two of them, along with Gigi, were ready to have a fun, relaxing night in the penthouse. The suite had two queen-sized beds, Jan running to claim the one closer to the window and the air conditioning.

“Holy shit,” Crystal remarked as she looked around. “How much did this cost?”

“Dunno, my dad used his airline points to cover it,” Jan explained, then flopped down on the bed. “This is a perfect note to end our college careers on.”

Gigi sat on the edge of the other bed. “Can we order room service?” she asked, pushing herself further onto the bed and aimlessly swinging her legs.

Jan sat up and nodded, then got the menu from the bedside drawer. “You know, Nicky never got back to me about whatever her surprise was, I didn’t get anything in the mail.”

“And no salacious photos?” Gigi asked.

“No.”

“She must have a big package for you,” Crystal mused, then laughed at her wording. She ignored Jan and Gigi rolling their eyes and moved to look at the menu, the three of them calling in an order shortly after.

As the three of them sat on Jan’s bed, eating overpriced food and drinking wine that was probably fancy, but they wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between that and the fifteen dollar bottles they were used to. And after a couple glasses of wine, they had become even more relaxed, enough for Crystal to admit, “Jan knows we fucked, by the way.”

Gigi blinked, looking between Crystal and Jan with her lips pursed around the glass. “I didn’t know it was a secret,” she replied once she lowered the glass. “But why did Jan want to know?”

Crystal swallowed thickly, trying to think of a way to talk herself out of what she’d just gotten into. “Because… We’re friends? We talk to each other about this sort of thing. We’re close.”

“Very close,” Jan added under her breath, then giggled when Crystal shot her a look.

Gigi frowned. “Okay, can I ask something that’s been bugging me for a while? Do you guys have, like, a thing?”

Crystal nearly choked on her drink while Jan just seemed to sit and think, then answered with “define ‘thing’.”

“Look, I know you’re in love with Nicky, I’m not saying I think you guys are gonna run off together or anything,” Gigi assured. “But… Sometimes I get the vibe that Crystal might have a crush on you.”

While Crystal’s mouth hung open in shock and a bit of wine dribbled down her chin, Jan had burst out laughing, narrowly avoiding knocking anything over in the process. It was the type of laughter that left her out of breath and with watery eyes.

“Are you done?” Gigi asked, deadpan. “Did you get it out of your system?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jan panted, then turned to Crystal. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I have to tell her the truth,” and Crystal didn’t put up a fight, so she proceeded. “Okay, look, Crystal and I did have sex. Once. But she did it to take her mind off of how much she likes you. It wasn’t anything more than two friends getting high and helping each other out.”

It wasn’t easy to stun Gigi into silence, but Jan’s explanation seemed to do the trick. Had she had it wrong this whole time? Misread every interaction? Ignored every sign? Sure, she knew she tended to be oblivious, but this just made her feel silly. At this point, she didn’t care that Jan and Crystal had hooked up, all she was concerned with was what happened next. “Since we’re all telling the truth now… I have an embarrassing confession. The last girl I hooked up with… I, um, called her ‘Crystal’ in bed. Kinda realized I couldn’t ignore how I felt anymore.”

“If I may,” Jan chimed in. “Literally the first time I saw you guys without the engagement rings was at graduation. Maybe this was a stupid, convoluted way to figure it out, but I think you guys are supposed to be together. Now, I… suddenly have the desire to take a long bath… Bye.” She got off the bed and quickly ducked into the bathroom to give the other two the time alone they needed.

“She’s trying her best,” Crystal remarked before turning to face Gigi. “I… that story… you weren’t just saying that to have an excuse for liking me, right?”

Gigi smiled softly and shook her head. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

Crystal shrugged. “I guess not. The image of you saying the wrong name in bed is funny, though. Just wanted to make sure it was real.” She shifted closer to Gigi and rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m so tired of pretending, not pretending to be engaged, pretending to just be friends.”

“You’re not suggesting we get engaged for real, are you?”

She laughed, picking her head up and resting it against Gigi’s. “No, not at all. I just wanna be your girlfriend, Geege.”

Gigi grinned broadly and pressed a kiss to Crystal’s lips. “I love how that sounds. Say it again, please.”

And Crystal would’ve happily said it as many times as Gigi wanted, as long as she got a ‘yes’ in return. “I wanna be your girlfriend.”

“Then… You are. That’s that,” she concluded, kissing her again, this time longer and with much more emotion behind it. “If we barricade Jan in the bathroom, we could probably fuck before she breaks down the door.”

Crystal laughed, getting up and moving back to hers and Gigi’s bed. “She wouldn’t care if she walked in on us, neither would I, honestly, but I kind of… don’t want to have sex right now. I’m all emotional and vulnerable and whatever,” she admitted as she laid on her side, opening her arms and beckoning Gigi to join her.

“Oh,” Gigi felt her heart swell with warmth. “We don’t have to at all, then,” she hummed, laying with Crystal and holding her close. She pressed gentle kisses over her face, carding her fingers through Crystal’s hair.

They cuddled in comfortable silence for about another ten minutes until they heard the bathroom door open. Jan was wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, her hair a bit damp, and let out a content sigh. She looked over at the couple and smiled fondly. “Aw, you guys are too cute!” she squealed.

“You weren’t eavesdropping, were you?” Crystal asked.

“Nope,” Jan answered honestly. “I’ve been texting with Nicky. But it looks like you guys worked everything out.”

“We did,” Gigi confirmed, then her brows furrowed. “She’s up late, isn’t she? It’s after three in the morning in France, right?”

Jan looked at her phone and counted to herself. “Yeah, that is late, but that’s not uncommon for her, so I didn’t ask.” She gathered up the plates and glasses, stacking it up on the tray and setting it aside. “You guys are gonna finish this bottle off with me, right?”

Before either of them could answer, there was a knock on the door that caught them all off guard. “Wonder what else my parents have planned,” she mused, expecting some sort of additional graduation present, or maybe just an extra dessert. Either way, she opened the door with a smile, only for her jaw to go slack and practically drop to the floor. Surely she was seeing things, or maybe she was more drunk than she realized. There was no way–

“Surprise!” Nicky beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

[isladeroda]

Chapter 1 - Heartbeat of Steam

It was one thing to hear the location described in the debriefing. An underground base of sorts, forged entirely out of brass and running on steam. True to what the group had been told, exposed cogs and pumps were visible the moment the beheld the entrance to the lair of their enemy. The hiss of steam could be heard from deeper within, and already, the amount of noise filling the air made it clear that communicating within the structure was going to be difficult. Luckily, that had been discussed ahead of time, and hand gestures had been practiced for many different situations.

Doctor Clara stepped tentatively towards the entrance, her hand-picked team of Operators at her sides and front. Operators Cuora, Alcatraz, Heat, Scavenger, Shirayuki, Projekt Red, and Perfumer had been selected to take part, but another guest had been selected - Rhodes Island’s own Head Engineer, Closure. Her presence was deemed necessary in case the group ran into any unfamiliar machinery, and the Head Engineering Officer was deemed the best fit - no doubt in part to her eagerly volunteering for a chance to check out the unusual engineering in play.

“Wow, despite how archaic the technology seems, this is actually pretty advanced...” As the group got closer, the Sarkaz took every opportunity she could to examine the machinery, nodding to herself a few times. “Already I can tell there’s a number of redundant systems, not out of laziness, but to pick up the slack if any one part fails... And how they manage to get them all to work together when the primary function is unnecessary is astounding... Hmmm...”

The group stopped at the entrance, not just to let Closure look a little closer at the machinery, but to gauge things immediately. If the enemy group had learned they were coming, they’d either ready an ambush, or try to bait them deeper in... And the Doctor knew the latter was unlikely, so after a few moments, the team proceeded to push in further.

“Agh, I can barely hear myself think...” Cuora complained from her place near the back of the single-file formation, her voice nearly drowned out by all of the noise. Similarly, Projekt Red was clearly uncomfortable, only in part from the noise, but as the temperature had clearly rocketed up at least another 10 degrees, Red had already regretted bringing her heavy coat. Shirayuki, befitting her usual modus operandi, had disappeared above them, presumably traveling by means of the pipes that hung overhead. Everyone else, thankfully, seemed more comfortable in the heat, yet the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to communicate traditionally hung over the group.

The hallways themselves were thin, but rather than typical, solid metal, they were clearly more along the lines of maintenance catwalks, the heavy steel mesh that served as their footholds and the railings that kept them from falling off the side were all hung over more exposed machinery, likely for the sake of ease of access in case any of the seemingly-delicate machinery failed. Now and again, a square of walkway that split into multiple other hallways would “circle” around an important-looking piece of equipment that Closure would pause briefly to examine before the group could continue their exploration.

And yet, Doctor Clara was totally on edge. The lights were literally still on, but nobody was home. They hadn’t seen a single foe since they began to probe deep into the facility and explore, no signs of security... Nothing to stop would-be intruders. Occasionally they came across a locked door with no way to open it from their side, and had to turn back, but that was the only real security measure, and one easily subverted, as there had to be a way to open the doors - a control panel or the like.

Eventually, the team exhausted all of their options, and began traveling down one final path, before eventually coming to a room with a series of conveyor belts that crossed overhead and underneath, carrying metal scrap and unusual-looking parts. Was this a manufactory of sorts? And who was using it? Perhaps this was the group supplying weapons to Reunion... However, unable to make anything other than an educated guess, the group soldiered on, eventually coming to another locked door...

All seemed hopeless before Shirayuki appeared before them and, using hand motions, submitted the idea of using the conveyor belts to travel. The openings were large enough for a person to fit through, though they’d likely want to avoid the ones with scrap on them - those were likely being melted down, and the group would definitely not want a death by melting in molten metal. The group nodded unanimously, before they found a conveyor belt matching their prerequisites, and leaped down onto it.

Curiously, the sound of machinery began to quiet as they followed the conveyor belt, though it was still ever-present. Soon, it opened up into a larger room where mechanical humanoids were clearly being assembled... By nothing other than automated tools, cranes, and mechanical arms on an assembly line. As the group hopped off onto the floor of the assembly room, Closure in particular excitedly examined the various pieces of equipment while everyone else was on-guard.

"There’s no workers, no guards, not even any repairmen... This is beyond strange.” Heat stated, his eyes narrowed and his hand firmly on the weapon at his side. “Even a place like this can’t run fully automated... Can it?” Alcatraz and Scavenger nodded in agreement, very clearly on-guard while Projekt Red and Cuora kept close to Closure, both making sure to keep her safe while she made her observations, and also a bit curious as to the goings-on, themselves.

“You’re not wrong.” Closure eventually spoke up, turning to the group. “Even automated systems need someone to monitor them, moderate them... Ensure that they’re all working accordingly and fix them when they don’t. And for a system with this many moving parts to it, there would have to be at least some repairmen or engineers we’d have encountered on the way...” The group pondered on this idea for a brief moment, only to be interrupted by Perfumer voicing her thoughts.

“Um... I know this might be a stupid question, but... what if it self-repairs?” The group looked between each other as Closure thought to herself before checking a piece of machinery and looking closer. For a few moments, the others weren’t sure what she was looking for, before she stood up straight again and wore a grim expression on her face.

“You... might be right. Less so fantastical as self-repairs, like... It’s not just magically fitting everything back into place. There’s no Originium in these machines, as far as I can tell to facilitate something as absurd as artificial Arts, but... It’s possible they even have an automated repair system.” Scavenger was the first to ask what that meant. Did they have repair arms in the walls behind the gears or something?

“No, nothing so unnecessary... It’s likely that there’s automated drones that fly - or more likely walk or drive - out the moment an error in the system occurs.” Closure spoke with an air of near-certainty. The more she thought about it out loud, the more and more it all seemed to fit neatly into place. “The redundant systems can keep the facility running at partial capacity, while the drones repair the primary functions... It’s like a backup generator for any given piece of machinery. Frankly, it’s genius. There’s just one small problem...”

“...Someone still needs to moderate all of it. Even just check up on it once in a while.” The Doctor spoke up, looking over to their engineer. Closure nodded in agreement, her arms crossed over her midsection in thought, a grim expression on her face.

“So we’re likely to meet whoever we’re looking for deeper in the facility.” Doctor Clara said, speaking to the rest of the group. “But we still need to locate a control panel or something similar from which we can begin to operate the doors in conduct a full search. So for now, that will be our goal. Understood?” The group verbalized their understanding before beginning to move out once more, quickly locating an operable door and walking through.

On the other side was another, brief hallway, that soon lead to a set of stairs going up. Following the staircase, and one more door later, soon the group was treated to a large room with numerous bits and pieces of machinery on the walls, operating at a much quieter volume than the other areas of the facility. It almost felt like a break room for the team, if not for the fact that a terminal and a set of monitors was located on the opposite side of the room that the group quickly rushed over to.

“Well, that was easy! Thank you, sensible lair design~” Closure had already begun to work with the keys and buttons, quickly figuring out their purposes as she went through the data on the terminal. Soon, she realized she was into more important files, including one labeled “Doctor’s Reports”. Had she perhaps just discovered the jackpot? The personal files of someone part of the R&D team responsible for this place, perhaps? “There isn’t even any internal security, which is - ”

The Sarkaz had clearly spoken too soon, as the machinery on the walls suddenly came to life violently as an alarm began to blare throughout the room. The floor opened up near the walls, almost immediately followed by Terran-sized containers rising up through the holes. With gushes of steam that briefly filled the room and soon dissipated through the vents throughout it, the containers opened up to reveal a number of mechanical humanoids wielding various weaponry, from bows and swords to axes and spears.

Immediately the group drew out their weapons and prepared to engage the enemy on the Doctor’s orders. Looking back to Closure, who met her gaze and nodded, Doctor Clara began to issue orders to her group, holding off the advancing robots while Closure began to work through the system and turn off the security systems.

The waves of robots seemed almost endless, but after a minute or two of fighting, the alarm finally died down and the containers that dived down and rose back up with new soldiers finally retreated for good. With the final robot defeated, the Operators all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that~!” Closure looked back with a wink and an apologetic grin. “Must’ve tripped something, because I think I’ve got some really good stuff here... Sadly, it’s all encrypted, so I’ll have to get it backed to Rhodes to get it analyzed, but from here, I can totally access the rest of the facility! We’ve got our ticket in, folks!”

“All right.” Doctor Clara nodded to Closure, who began to upload the files in question, before looking to her team. “We’re gonna regroup to Rhodes Island, everyone. Likely adjust our team formation, now that we know more of what we’re dealing with, but I think you’ll all still take part in further exploration of this facility. Understood?”

Replying in the affirmative, the team prepared to leave as Closure finished up her copying of the files. Even as everyone began to talk about the possibility of what may lie ahead, Doctor Clara’s sinking feeling didn’t fade just yet... What was this place for? It seemed way too complex to just be a weapons construction facility, not to mention the lack of intelligent personnel... And on top of all of that...

...Why did it feel so familiar...?