#there is always a chance to rectify what you’ve taken make your peace in the world

[masmiel]

How senseless death

How precious life

[saphirered]

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”

[19mrs-barnes17]

Not Kidding

Summary: “Hi! I hope you're having a good day. May I request a fic w/ Steve/Bucky where you're a cheery and bubbly person that's always asking him out (and always get rejected) to the point it's the team's inside joke. But then one day another girl gets introduced to the team and Steve/Bucky have an instant connection and it seems like she's essentially trying to replace you on the team. This is when you become more down to earth and sullen. You can end this however you like I just love angst! Thanks you!” - Anonymous

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: angst, I think that’s all

Word count: 1,440

A/N: Thanks for the request lovely! I decided between the two in true Harvey Dent fashion, coin flip. I hope you are pleased with the outcome! (Requests are still open!)

~

Fate was a cruel mistress with her jokes and games, always tearing away at your heart. It simply was not fair for you to pour your heart out only for it to be rejected and taken as a joke. Sure, at first your attempts were mere jests but, it was serious for you now and you only wished he could see that. If only he knew you truly meant it, you weren’t crying wolf. This was a genuine declaration from within and not some silly laugh for the rest of the team. 

“Hey, little bird. You okay?” Clint stood in the doorway, leaning on it with his arms crossed and concern painted across his face. 

“He laughed again, but this time he playfully punched my shoulder.” You stole your gaze back to the episode of Gilmore Girls playing, eyes on the screen but mind elsewhere. “It’s useless he doesn’t believe me.”

“Woah, that doesn’t sound like the woman I trained.” He sat on the corner of your bed and sighed, unsure how he could rectify the situation. “I think you need to sit him down and beat it into his head that you’re serious. He likes you ya know. I swear.”

“I highly doubt that. So, what’d you stop by to say?” 

There was a new member. A woman. Scratch that, a beautiful woman who was witty and clever. Far more appealing than you apparently, seeing as her welcome was much more endearing and celebratory. Everyone seemed to love her and you couldn’t help but like her as well, she was kind. But when you saw Bucky look at her like she was made of gold your heart shattered onto the floor. Clint was the only to notice, everyone else making jabs at you when they caught you alone. 

“Looks like you’ve got competition Y/N.”

“Uh, oh. Better make a move before she does.”

“Bucky seems smitten with her, better luck next time Y/N”

When dinner had ended you snuck out of the welcome party, far too easily, without a soul noticing that you were gone. Well almost. But it wasn’t exactly the one you were hoping for, though it was welcomed all the same. Clint leaned his back against the railing, eyeing you as he spoke.

“C’mon Y/N. Give it a chance, try telling him again.” You shook your head, growing tired of trying to appease to someone who clearly didn’t think enough of you. “Okay, that’s okay. You can drop it, or persist. But it is up to you, whatever makes you happy makes me happy. I just want to see the free spirited girl I used to know, and if it takes knocking some sense into Barnes I’d be happy to oblige.” 

“You know what? Go for it. I really don’t care anymore, not when he’s clearly interested in someone else. Someone who is me but 2 years older. An archer, same hair color, same cheery and bubbly attitude I used to parade around with.” A tear slid down your cheek but you were quick to brush it away. “It’s fine, I deserve better anyway right?”

“Damn right you do, Barnes is an idiot.” Clint smiles softly at you, nudging you with his shoulder and bringing a soft smile to your lips.

“Why am I an idiot?” Bucky emerged from the doorway, confusion etched into his features as he glanced between you and Clint. The latter glanced at you for permission and you nodded before walking past Bucky without speaking a word.

“You really wanna know?” Bucky’s brow furrowed, arms crossing over his chest as he nods apprehensively. “Where to start. Well, how about how you are letting an incredible, caring, and understanding woman slip through your fingers.”

“What?” Bucky lowers his arms and his gaze softens, taking a step toward Clint. “What are you talking about?”

“You’d think you’d be able to work that one out for yourself big guy.” Clint raises a brow, head nodding to the now empty space next to him.

“Oh, jeez. You scared me, I thought this was something serious. Barton, she's roped you into this now?” Bucky smiled softly as he moved to lean over the railing, eyes scanning the skyline. “You two are gonna be the death of me.”

“Only if you don’t get your head out of your ass and realize she isn’t joking. Not anymore.” Clint sighs before pushing off the rail, stopping just shy of the door. “Not that it matters whether she likes you or not considering you’ve crushed her spirit and heart beneath your boot.”

He’s left alone on the balcony, mind running through the conversation repeatedly in an attempt to determine its sincerity. There was far too much honesty dripping from Clint’s tone for this to be part of Y/N’s usual schemes. Did she really care for him? Of all the people she could fall for, Bucky couldn’t fathom himself being the object of her affection. She was too good for him, too kind. He almost felt as though he would poison her light if he confessed what he had been hiding, he couldn’t bear it. Although, from what Clint was saying, he had already done it unconsciously. He had to fix this immediately.

You were by yourself at the bar, pouring yourself a mixed drink and looking peaceful in your own world. The celebration around you had left you unaffected, no silly smile on your lips or quick thinking quip from your lips. It hurt Bucky to see you so distant, and it pissed him off that everyone had fueled his rejections with their whispers. None of them thought you had genuine interest in him and he had listened to their cautions against getting lead on. 

“Whiskey on the rocks please?” He held a soft and tentative gaze on you, a gentle smile on his lips when you nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” She had paused in pouring the liquor but resumed after shaking her head softly as if to wake herself. “Laughing? Or the constant rejection?”

She slid the glass across without making any eye contact, sipping on her own concoction and smiling softly. He tore his gaze from her, eyes growing pitifully sad and pained. 

“All of it.” His voice was soft and barely audible under the noise of the music and chatter surrounding them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” She placed a hand on his and smiled softly, shaking her head ever so slightly at his regret fueled state. “Apology accepted, punk.” 

A soft smile stretched across his lips, eyes meeting yours with a twinkle of hope. He stood from the stool and made his way around the bar, much to your confusion. Bucky held your hands in his, ignoring the party raging right next to him. You were the center of his focus and it made your heart skip a beat.

“I should never have laughed at you, and I should have taken your advances more seriously. I owe you more than an apology, I owe you the truth.” Your brow furrowed and mouth opened to speak but he shook his head. “I fell for you the moment I laid eyes on you. When I watched you work your way through that training simulation. Your smile and bright personality seemed too pure for my tainted heart to belong to. But it does. Completely.”

You could taste the salty tears dripping down your cheeks, sniffling as you scanned his steel blue eyes and discovered sincerity. He placed his hands on your cheeks and wiped away the tear trails, eyes never leaving yours. Tired, that’s what you both were. Far too tired of waiting and fearing that the other wouldn’t accept you. So you  gripped the collar of his shirt in a fist and pulled him to you. Your lips moving in sync, a smile stretching across them as he moved his arms to your waist and hair. 

There was a single clap that snapped the two of you from the kiss, heads turning to determine its source. Clint sat on the arm of a chair, hands continuing to clap as a bright smile grew. You could kill the man. Now all eyes were on you and Bucky, especially Steve’s. A knowing gaze and gentle smile from him had you blushing like a damn tomato. Bucky pulled away and stood in front of you with an arm protectively blocking you. 

“Alright, get on with it. Move on, have some respect.” His defensive stance in front of you made you chuckle softly.

“Yeah perverts.” He glanced over his shoulder with a small smile before shaking his head at you.

~

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes

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[anxiouslyfred]

Love After Exile - Picking Up the Pages

Summary: Virgil loved Remus and Deceit long before they fell out. Now he’s dating Logan after beginning to recognise similar feelings. Following Virgil's rejection everyone needs some time to understand what's going on with their emotions. While Remus worries about a breakdown in His People, Deceit tries to plan a way they can fix their relationship with Virgil 

Formatting: There’s a shifting POV, anytime you see Bold starts of a paragraph then there’s been a perspective shift.

Pairings: Analogical from the start, eventual Analoceitmus

Warnings for this part: suggestive talk, heartbreak

/\/\/\/\/\ Part One /\ Part Two /\/\ Part Three /\/\Part Four /\/\ Part Five

Logan had taken the pages in the end, gathering them up from the floor to the confused hurt looks of Deceit and Remus as they tried to take in what had happened. Neither looked like they would want them back and it might actually help Virgil understand later, when he'd calmed down and started stressing over why they'd do that.

As he looked at the pages, mentally revising everything he knew of anxiety he could only hope they would help.

"As much as I can believe this was primarily for Virgil I am amenable to dating you both, as long as it doesn't cause such high levels of distress to my current partner. He's Anxiety already." he stated before leaving.

He still wasn't sure how things would happen now but only communication would help.

That was when he headed to try and find Virgil, ready to comfort and calm whatever state he'd gotten into since leaving the imagination.

While Patton was in the kitchen making some cupcakes he did mention that Virgil had asked to just spend a short time in his room which Logan was thankful for. It was also a little more concerning that the information was volunteered without him saying a word.

Logan still headed there, mentally rehearsing what could become a conversation just as emotional as the scene he'd just finished.

Inside Morality's room Virgil was stood looking over the shelves and playing with the zips on his sleeves.

"Do you want to talk it through?" Logan offered, knowing his presence was the reason for Virgil's shoulders tensing.

"Are you with them now?" he was tugging on his sleeves even more now, more uncertain and upset than Logan had seen him in the months since getting together.

The question that Logan had been hoping to avoid hearing by seeking his partner out immediately couldn't be avoided now. "Of course not. I'm with you and won't change that for anything. We can join their relationship or not but I won't do that without you, regardless of what they say or offer." He reaffirmed, walking around Virgil to be able to see his face. 

After Virgil had left there hadn't seemed to be much point to carrying on asking Logan out. Deceit and Remus had really only realised their feelings because of Virgil and not including him made everything feel empty.

Logan did basically agree that he was interested but only as long as it didn't cause his partner as much distress as it appeared to do so before leaving. They were all pretending that Logan would be the one comforting Virgil after the scene rather than one of the sides not completely caught up in the situation. Deceit just hoped they'd be allowed that little wish and there wouldn't be someone else trying to interfere.

He had enough to focus on for now though. Remus had been distraught and destructive basically wanting to blow everything to smithereens over Virgil's rejection, not understanding anything that was said or implied. With Anxiety feeling an emotional mess and Intrusive Thoughts breaking down it was all Deceit could manage to let Thomas get some small amount of sleep each night, repeating everything would be okay in a mantra that would echo through every room of the mind-space.

The thing he'd started to hope for was broken and it took a few days to really realise why, and what Virgil meant about screwing up too much for them. Deceit had literally just made a comment about the silence that they'd essentially kicked him out over when Remus asked them out with the question.

Deceit should have known that people need to be able to speak in their own time rather than pressured into it. That was why he'd use lies to protect himself and isn't silence just a full lie of omission?

Working out how to move from that understanding to a solution was the difficult part. The best thing about their failed attempt was basically that Logan's confusion all but confirmed Virgil loved them.

The question hadn't left Remus's mind, no matter what destruction he brought or how many times Roman pulled him into battle to calm down. He couldn't quiet the question the way his normal thoughts could be appeased.

After days of trying to give Virgil space, of worrying and destroying while hoping Deceit would be able to explain what neither of them understood, he barged into Anxiety's room, falling over since the door was already opening. “You're still My People right? Mine? I don't have to lose that and everything, do I?” The words tumbled past his lips, the energy of the room helping Remus say his worries since they were so prominent in his mind.

“You are the one who chooses Your People, Ree. I don't think I could change that if I wanted to.” Virgil rolling his eyes and dismissive words hurt even more and Remus was on the edge of tears. He thought Virgil liked being His People. All those reactions said he did, Deceit confirmed that.

“You – You didn't want to be My People, even before the other day?” The quiet words left him easily, just as he started trying to wriggle out of the room, not wanting to stand with the heavy thoughts in his mind.

The repeating of Remus's question ground Virgil's thoughts to a stop, aside from locking his room to slow him from leaving. Remus had always just claimed them and he loved it, but also saw it as out of their control if they were His People.

Apparently that wasn't how Creativity viewed it. “Wait, Remus. Let's rewind please?” He asked, hating the idea of upsetting his loves more than Logan said his rejection already had done.

“Oh, are we rewinding to wartime? Or maybe the plagues?” Remus seemingly bounced back from his upset but Virgil could feel the concerns bubbling over in him.

“How about just in this conversation? You've never checked if anyone you've claimed is happy being Your People before. I don't think I said anything about it when storming out but is that why you're checking now?” He was fairly certain he hadn't actually rejected them in fact but knew how the words and actions were taken.

Remus was visibly struggling, staying focused and not bringing up random thoughts in these talks was never easy, but Virgil knew if he was patient and Remus wanted to they'd work it out. “You said we hurt you, and not in a fun way and if people don't want to be My People I can just stop calling them it, or try to at least. Doesn't change who they are to me much, just makes me have to focus on my words more.”

“I'm still Your People then, and it sounds like I've hurt you similarly.” Virgil sighed. Even feeling the worries dissolve and watching Remus getting bouncier he couldn't bring himself to take back what was done. He needed to know they'd let him take his own time to share things before that could happen.

Deceit wasn't worried, merely a little unnerved by how quiet the darker side of the mind-space had been all evening. It should mean that Remus was somewhere else in the mind, but given there hadn't been any yells from the Others and Roman had the entire imagination looking like he wanted it too that didn't seem to be the case.

“He's still My People! We still have a chance! We can fix this, We Can! We Can! WE CAN!” On second thoughts, perhaps he should have enjoyed the peace while it lasted. Remus was bouncing off the ceiling and walls now he'd crashed back into the room.

Dee watched that for a moment, happy to see his partner so happy, but also trying to confirm just where he'd been to have this turn around of emotion. “So you've spoken to Virgil then?”

“Shared a bed, shared conspiracies and confirmed he is still My People. I've not lost it all with him. He's still Mine, just like You, just like Logan. My People and nobody has rejected being called it!” Translating that away from Remus's exaggerations for innuendos sake basically meant he'd been watching videos in Virgil's room all afternoon after whatever chat they'd had happened.

“Any clues over how we can fix this, or is it still up to me to come up with a new plan? I mean Roman has backed off since we told him what happened and Logan explained a little more reluctantly. You've been moping and destroying until today and it's blatantly clear that Logan will only help if we actually show a willingness to rectify what's happened.” Deceit didn't hold back his reaction to the overly cheerful denial, shaking his head and walking away, happily hearing Remus chase after to catch his hand and follow.

He would have to think through what might help but getting curled up with Remus wasn't something he'd ever argue against. He'd found Remus to be very tactile in how he expressed his love, as well as very likely to give gifts. Spending time together and just talking, complimenting each other was really how Deceit preferred to demonstrate his love, no matter how unconventional Remus's compliments could become.

Deceit had wondered about their differences in expressing love for a while and it led him to some research on love languages. He wondered, while curled up with Remus, what Logan and Virgil's love languages might be.

Shaking his head to focus back on the situation at hand, the actual one, not Remus rambling about a lot of things that hadn't actually occurred while he was with Virgil, or his hands going through Remus's hair, but the rejection and pain that strained their relationship with Virgil, Deceit found he had an idea.

Perhaps Logan would be willing to share what he knows of Virgil's love languages and they can slowly build trust while using some of that information.

/\/\/\ Part Seven /\/\/\ Part Eight /\/\/\ Part Nine /\/\/\/\

[breanime]

Just Friends

So I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I had a Caspian request from an anon, and I owed my darling @bellamys something in return for the BOSS banner she made me for Helpless, and she asked for Caspian too! So here you go! I also wanted to use @whumpster-dumpster ‘s prompt again (here), because it’s just SO GOOD

Requested by anon:  I would love to request more content with Caspian! My sweet Disney prince doesn't get enough lovin'. 😅 I loved how in Rewrite the Stars the reader was not a princess/nobility, so maybe some more with that like she's a king's adviser or something? I'm also a sucker for childhood friends and mutual pining... hopefully this gave you some inspo!

*gif not mine*

You and Caspian had been friends since you were children. You’d giggled together during your daily lessons, ran around the castle chasing one another, and taken your first secret sip of wine together. He was a prince, the prince, destined to be king one day, and you were just a girl. Someone he grew up with, a friend, but of common blood. After his father had died and it was revealed that his uncle was plotting against him, things had been tough for him. Then the Kings and Queens of Old had come back, and together, with Caspian, brought peace back to Narnia. And suddenly your friend was no longer just Caspian.

He was the king.

He’d come to you the day after the Kings and Queens of Old left, more mature than you’d remembered him, and asked you to be his royal advisor. You agreed, of course, but you didn’t make the decision lightly. The fact that you were baseborn was a non-issue. If Caspian wanted you by his side, nothing would stop you from being there. But there was a problem with you working so close with him…

…you were in love with him.

You’d been in love with Caspian since you were young, and you thought it was just a silly crush, thought you’d be able to grow out of it or push it down, but you hadn’t. If anything, seeing him now—grown and confident in his ability as a leader—only made you love him more. But the last woman he’d kissed, the last person he’d had feelings for had been Queen Susan, and the next woman he’d kiss would be one of royal blood, you were sure of it. He was a king, beautiful and kind and loving on top of it—there would be a line of noble ladies rushing to be with him.

So you did your job. You stayed by Caspian’s side, advising him as best you could. As much as you loved him, you loved Narnia. You wanted the best for your country, and you used your intelligence and loyalty to help Caspian make the hard decisions he needed to keep everyone safe and happy. Never before, in your lifetime or any of the lifetimes you’d read in your books and studies, had there been a king like Caspian.

Never before had there been an advisor like you. Every day you impressed Caspian with your intellect, wit, and quick thinking, and every day, he had to push his feelings for you down.

He was in love with you.

He’d been in love with you since he was 15 years old, and while he’d had feelings for other women as the years went by, he always knew you were it for him. There was no one like you in the world, in any timeline. And every day now, he had to work beside the most amazing woman there had ever been, and he had to try to control his face and his words as to not reveal his true feelings. But it was hard. You were so brilliant and beautiful; it took everything in him not to tell you how he felt, to maintain his composure around you when really he just wanted to hold you close, tell you how much he adored you, and kiss you. He wanted to kiss you so badly, he dreamt of it, lost countless hours staring at your pretty lips when he should have been working, and he was sure everyone watching him could see how he felt—everyone but you.

“I say we release the bandits with a warning,” Lord Grass said, voice louder than necessary in the council room, “They’re all lovely young men who just made a mistake—”

“A mistake? They’ve robbed and attacked three wagons in the last month, and they’ve been spreading pro-Telmarian propaganda,” you interrupted, frowning.

“And what’s wrong with that? Our King is Telmarian, if you’ve forgotten,” Grass said back, glaring over at you.

“I haven’t forgotten, thank you very much. Nor have I forgotten the wars that have been fought that have pitted Narnians against Telmarines. Any reasonable person knows that pro-Telmarian means anti everything else,” you explained, “And at the very least, I think we should all be able to agree that there is no logical or acceptable reason to commit the crimes these bandits have been committing.”

Caspian had to bite his lips to keep from smiling. You and Caspian were the youngest ones at the table, and you were the only woman—something he was working to rectify. Some of the other advisors, counselors, and older nobles continued to underestimate you, and you continued to prove yourself to be a worthy and wise advisor. He was so proud to be your friend. “Lady Y/N is right,” he said, his voice causing everyone—including you—to turn and look at him, “These bandits are not children who’ve made a small mistake, they’ve committed crimes and hurt innocents. They need to be dealt with.”

“And I completely agree with you, my King,” Grass said quickly, “Only these bandits are from my village, and I know them personally. I can vouch for them. Allow me to speak with them, Your Majesty, and set them straight. After I’m done with them, they will never cause such trouble again, I assure you.”

You and Caspian exchanged glances. You didn’t say anything, but he knew you were thinking the same thing as him. However, Lord Grass was a respected noble, and the bandits—four young men who were currently being housed in the dungeons—had surrounded quite easily when Caspian and his men first arrested them. You raised an eyebrow and gave a one-shouldered shrug, and Caspian nodded back at you. “Very well,” he said, addressing the room, “Lord Grass will have a talk with the bandits before they are released on probation. If they put even one toe out of line, they’ll be arrested without release,” he decreed. He stood up, and every stood up with him. “The council is dismissed,” he watched as everyone gathered their things, eyes lingering on your hands as you grabbed your stack of papers from the table, “Lady Y/N,” he called out, “May I have a moment?”

You froze. “Of course, Your Majesty.” You watched everyone leave before looking back at Caspian. “Do you really have to call me ‘Lady Y/N’?” You asked. “It sounds so odd.”

He chuckled, walking over to you and leaning against the table. “It sounds perfectly fine,” he assured you, “And it’s out of respect. Of course,” he leaned a little bit closer, noticing the way your pretty eyes widened at his increased proximity, “If you’d prefer, when we’re alone, I can just call you by your name…and you can call me by mine.”

“Now why would I do that, Your Majesty?” You drawled, smirking. Caspian laughed, and you shook your head, looking back at him with a frown on your face. “Is this really a wise idea, Caspian? Letting the bandits go?”

He sighed. “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted. It was always easy to be honest, be vulnerable, when he was alone with you. “Lord Grass seems quite confident that he can get through to them…”

“Well, in the very real chance that he doesn’t,” you said back, “We should make sure the roads are protected. If they do decide to go back to their villainous ways, it would be a good idea to have a few soldiers out and about, just in case.”

Caspian nodded. You were so smart. Adding you to his council had been the brightest idea Caspian had had since he’d called upon the Kings and Queens of Old. Ruling with you by his side was so much easier than the alternative. Sometimes he thought of what it would be like if you weren’t just King and counselor, but if you were King and Queen instead…but you didn’t feel the same way he did, he was sure of it. You thought of him as just a friend—and as much as that hurt him, he knew he should be grateful that you thought of him fondly, even if it wasn’t in the romantic way that he so craved. “Excellent idea, as always, Y/N,” he said, smiling down at you, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” Still smiling, he put a hand on your back and led you out of the council room, engaging you in a conversation about when and where the Dawn Treader should set sail again.

Later that evening, you walked about the streets of Narnia, thinking back on the day’s events. The streets were mostly empty, which you preferred when you took these lengthy walks. “I don’t know what I would do without you” he had said. You were sure he was just being kind, but you couldn’t get those words out of your head. Caspian always made you feel like the smartest, most important person in the room, even though you were just a lowborn girl who liked to read. With him, you always felt confident enough to speak your mind and speak up for those whose names did not start with “Lord” or “Lady”. While most of the council and other noblepersons in Narnia seemed to accept you easily, you knew not all of them looked upon you with favor. Lord Grass, for instance, seemed to twitch and scowl whenever you spoke. Your low upbringing and common blood—on top of your scandalous position as a woman—weren’t exactly positive selling points to some of the more traditional lords in the castle. But Caspian wanted you there, and you would do anything to make sure his reign as king was a good and peaceful one, regardless of who didn’t like it. You turned a corner, glad to have come to your almost daily conclusion that you would stick by Caspian’s side (as his friend, and friend only) for as long as he let you but stopped when you bumped into someone.

“Oh, apologies, I wasn’t looking where I was—” You stopped, blinking up at the face that was connected to the chest you’d run into. “—Lord Grass,” you said, surprised. You’d never seen him this far from the castle, let alone at this time of night and without an escort. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at you, his eyes cold. “Tonight,” he said slowly, “you will go to your chambers, sit down at your desk, and write your letter of resignation from the council.”

“What?” You blinked, frowning. “I don’t—”

“You will leave it on the king’s seat in the council room so that he may see it tomorrow morning, and then you will get on the red ship at the loading docks and sail away, never to return again,” he went on.

“I—are you out of your mind?” You asked back. There was no way any of that would happen, Lord or not, he did not command you. “I’m not going anywhere!”

“You’ve commanded the king’s ear long enough, girl,” he hissed, glaring down at you, “Now, I’m asking you nicely—”

“—Well thank Aslan for that,” you drawled.

“—to do as I say. Do not make me ask you harshly.” He finished.

You narrowed your eyes and stepped up to him. You were no fighter, but you could not allow a man like Grass to intimidate you. “Go on then,” you said, “Ask me harshly.”

He stepped back, and you could see a small bit of regret in his eyes. He sighed and said one word: “Boys.”

Caspian lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of you. This was a nightly ritual of his—had been since he was young; he’d think of you, your laugh, your smile your pretty eyes, the things you’d said that day that made him laugh, and the things you’d said that made him think until he fell asleep. Sometimes he dreamt of you, and in those dreams, he wasn’t afraid to tell you how he felt, and sometimes, in his dreams, you felt the same way about him. He closed his eyes, thinking of the smirk you’d given him today, and wishing he could feel that smirk against his own lips. He sighed, willing himself to just go to sleep, when he heard a knock on his door. Curiously, he got up, running a hand through his long brown hair and wondering who it could be this late. Stupidly, he hoped it was you.

It was. But you were hurt. “Y/N!” Caspian cried out, eyes wide and heart pounding.

“So… There are five men in the dungeons right now,” you said, your voice a little strained, “and it turns out—I’m not half bad at using a sword!”

Caspian stepped up to you, staring at you wordlessly. He reached out and put a hand on your face, noting the dirt and bruises. Your lip was bleeding, and your clothes were covered in dirt, as if you’d been thrown to the ground multiple times. There were several cuts on your arms, and your shirt was ripped where a sword—or five, apparently—had torn it.

“It… Caspian, I’m fine…” You said softly, your voice coming out in a whisper as Caspian moved your face about, taking in the evidence of your fight in silent fury.

He didn’t say anything back, just raised his thumb to dab at the blood on your chin, lightly caressing your lip as he did so. His dark eyes were nearly black when he looked back up at you, and you could feel the anger coming off of him.

You’d never seen your dear friend so upset before, and you breathed out a nervous breath. “Caspian…”

His eyes were trained on yours, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and tense, his quiet rage clear in every syllable. “Y/N… Who did this to you?”

You were almost afraid to answer, but you did. “Lord Grass and his bandits,” you said, “He was following me through town. He wanted me to quit the council and run away, and when I said no, he had his bandits attack me.”

Caspian closed his eyes, his warm hand still on your face. “I am so sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t be,” you said back, “I’m fine. I was able to fend them off, and with all the noise, the guards came running.”

“The guards you put on the street,” he said, opening his eyes, “You knew this would happen. I should have listened to you.”

“You did,” you gave him a slight smile, “The guards were only there because you listened to my advice. Really, Caspian, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Caspian dropped his hand and held yours, leading you to his bed. In his anger, he felt bold enough to forget his insecurities as he tended to you. He sat you down on the edge of his bed and cleaned you up, dressing your wounds himself. Neither of you spoke, and Caspian made sure that his touch was feather-light as he wiped away the blood from your face, eyes on yours the entire time. “Were you scared?” He asked. He was on his knees in front of you, one hand on your face, and the other on your knee, looking up at you.

You nodded. “A little,” you answered honestly, “But I feel much braver now that I’m with you.”

“You are brave,” he said, “You’re brave and kind and smart and wise…” He smiled, looking down before looking back up at you. “I don’t know what I would do without you, I…” He let out a shaky breath, and you saw his rage melt into fear. “I am so sorry this happened. Lord Grass and his bandits will be punished, I swear it.”

“I know they will,” you said softly, “And really, Caspian, I’m not that hurt,” you saw him make a face at that comment, and you sighed, “It could have been worse.”

“Can… Can I hold you?” Caspian asked, his voice low in the dark room.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you practically broke your neck nodding. “Yes, of course.” You opened your arms to him.

Caspian stood up and leaned down, holding you to him. You could feel how tense he was now that he was in your arms, and when he spoke, you could feel his breath on your ear. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said, eyes closed as you hugged him, afraid to let go and never have this moment again, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No,” he corrected you, “It’s not just that, I…” You felt him take a breath. “I’m sorry that’s it taken me this long to hold you.”

Your eyes popped open, and you pulled back—just a bit, so that you could see his dark, expressive eyes. “You’ve wanted to hold me?”

“Yes,” he confessed, licking his lips, “…and more.”

You couldn’t be sure if it was the adrenaline from being attacked, being in Caspian’s arms, or just years of repressed feelings, but you knew you couldn’t hold back any longer. You grabbed Caspian and pulled him to you, smashing your mouth against his in a kiss that was years overdue. To your great surprise—and relief—Caspian kissed you back. You giggled as he pushed you onto the bed, hovering over you as his lips moved against yours. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, keeping him in place—as if he’d ever leave—and reveled in your position, in his grasp like you had always meant to be.

“Caspian…” You sighed, mouth on his. “This… I’ve wanted this for so long…”

“I’ve wanted it longer,” he said back, “believe me.” He pulled back a bit and smiled down at you, his dark eyes sparkling as he looked at you. Carefully, he caressed your face, fingers softly trailing down the skin of your bruised cheek. “I’ve loved you since I was a boy, but this…” He kissed you again, soft and sweet, lingering with his lips on yours. “…loving you as a man is so much better.”

“Caspian,” you sighed, closing your eyes as his lips found their way to your neck, kissing the skin there as his arms brought you even closer, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said against your neck, “And I promise, tomorrow, we will deal with Grass and his bandits, but tonight…”

“…Tonight,” you finished for him, grinning, “I make you mine.”

And so you did. You’d never felt a love like Caspian’s, his against you, kissing you, holding you, whispering your name in that tone—it was all just so much better than you’d imagined it could be. The pains and aches of the attack melted away with every touch from Caspian’s capable hands, and you knew, as he held you in his arms and kissed every inch of you, that he loved you just as much as you loved him.

Later, you stood at his side as he addressed Lord Grass and the four bandits in front of the entire court. Caspian always invited the commonfolk to these events, and they came in crowds to see Lord Grass’ sentencing. Caspian was noble and impressive, like always, but anyone who knew him could see the anger in him as he spoke, could see the rage in the set of his shoulders and the urge to react in every turn of his head. When it was all over, after Grass had gotten on his knees, sobbing, and begged your forgiveness in front of the whole court before being dragged away to spend the rest of his life in a cell, Caspian turned to you, and you saw all of the love, respect, admiration, and affection that he held for you in his gaze. And you gave it right back in yours. Then, in front of everyone, Caspian held out his hand to you.

“Come,” he said, smiling warmly at you as if you were the only person in the world, “Let’s see to your wounds, my love.”

You took his hand, heart pounding. “But you already did that last night…”

He grinned down at you, a sparkle in his eyes that you felt all the way down to your toes. “Yes,” he agreed easily, “And I think we should do it again…”

You grinned back, catching his meaning, and more than happy to agree. You let Caspian lead you back up to his bedchamber (he told his guards that you were “not to be disturbed”), where he ‘saw to your wounds’ for the rest of the day.

After that, Caspian was never again just your friend. He was more than that, and he made sure you knew that everyday with every look, every touch, and every soft word he spoke to you. Your wounds healed quickly—Caspian saw to them at least twice a day, after all—and you quickly found yourself by Caspian’s side in more than just the council room.

Before you knew it, you were no longer just the lowborn Y/N. You weren’t Lady Y/N either. Caspian, the man you loved, your closest friend and most beloved king, made you Queen Y/N of Narnia.

******************************************************************************************* Please let me know what you think of this one! Fun fact: I wrote this while watching Sons of Anarchy and the Voyage of The Dawn Treader, haha. Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity@fanfictionrecommendations-com  @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris@songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92@realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu @luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @bellamys @marauderskeeper @charlylama@thesandbeneathmytoes @gollyderek @leahnicole1219 @something-tofightfor@banditthewriter  @binbons-is-theloml

Caspian Taglist

@miss-nerd95 @a-jem-found-in-a-papaya

[nekokoaa]

Wolves Among Us - Bakugo x Reader (IX)

Wolves Among Us – Bakugo x Reader

Series Warning: Fantasy AU, Fluff, NSFW

(Chapter IX/??) All chapters in AO3 and masterlist

Hey guys!! Happy Fanfic writers day and Long time no see! I absolutely adored your reactions to the last chapter! Finally, the long awaited next chapter is here! Enjoy! Enjoy! Enjoy!!

Bit of a warning, this chapter may be a little confusing since it goes from past to present but I tried my best to make it obvious. If it's still a bit difficult I'll add some borders.

Taglist:

@freedom-for-bum @reallyfuckingangrylatina @risarisarisaa @ashherssss @mels-heart @xa-dia @shanty-lol @amkxh @chims-kookies @fantasticapple @thalia-luna-hawthorn

Inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter

------------------------------------------------------

IX: Reunited

About two days before Katsuki’s outrageous announcement, something was brewing within the small town surrounded by the dense forest. A crowd had gathered around a cabin and several men with axes in their palms were standing in front of them on the deck. Some of the men were wounded with bandages wrapped around their arms and legs, others weren’t lucky and had a patch over their damaged eye. An elderly woman was standing amongst them who appeared unscratched with a fist in the air that shook with the words that left her.

“The wolves have stolen her!”

The atmosphere was heavy, and the wind chill was felt within their spines despite how bundled up the crowd was. Tears gathered at their eyes and their hands shook with pent up anger. They were tired, tired of being prey to such monsters.

“We couldn’t save her… They attacked us, and we watched them take her away. Who knows what they have done to her.” The elder woman choked, bringing her face down like she couldn’t bear to look at the grave faces in front of her. One of the men behind her placed a hand on her shoulder for comfort and he stepped forward, continuing from where she left off.

“These monsters think they can just come and take our people. How many times must we lose our love ones to them? Something must be done!”

“But what can we do!? Even you hunters got hurt by them!” A woman cried within the crowd.

“They’re too strong to fight! Don’t you remember what happened last time?!” A man shouted, anda frightful scream followed after.

Fear had stirred itself within the hearts of the people. They shifted with unease and chatted loudly amongst themselves, many without a clue on what to do. The wolves were a powerful species, a single wolf could take down dozens of men without a single drop of energy wasted. The fear had painfully reminded them of the events that took place long ago. They relived the horror through their memories, the ghost of screams rang in their ears like the echoes of a tower bell. The smell of sour blood was still fresh in their minds, and the urge to throw up plagued the backs of their throats. Even if they did decide to fight back against the wolves again, it would just be another massacre on their side. They had no chance against them.

Within the frantic crowd stood a man whose mind was running amuck. His emerald eyes flickered about, from the backs of the people surrounding him to the hunters that stood on the cabin’s porch. Those eyes belong to your childhood friend, Izuku, who was feeling a bit strange about this entire situation. Even though he was panicking because of your disappearance, he still had to think of this situation logically.

Since the day when you gave your bag of meat to that pregnant woman and her wolf lover, your interest in wolves had spiked. Izuku hardly saw you during the day and you would return just after the sun would set. During the little time you spent with him in the mornings, he didn’t have the courage to ask about your late returns, neither was it any of his business. But now he wished he had said something because you’ve been missing for two days and the old woman from the market and the hunters claimed you were taken by the wolves. It was unbelievable story to him. Was it possible that you came in contact with the wolves during those times and they kidnapped you? But why would they wait until after a few months to do so?

Whenever he saw you return at night, there was always a soft smile on your face. The light of the lanterns outside your house would hit your face just right, and he could see the flush on your cheeks. He doubted the cause being the coldness around you, it was clearly something that touched your heart. Was it possible that you encountered a wolf during those times? Was your disappearance by your will?

His eyes narrowed on the hunters and the old woman who continued speaking to the anxious crowd. She was completely unscratched while the hunters harbored all the injuries. There was no doubt in Izuku’s mind that they were attacked but he couldn’t help but question their reason for being in the forest. The only reason for the hunters to be there is if they were alerted about the sighting of a wolf. It could be possible that the old woman spotted a wolf trying to kidnap you and told the hunters, but it didn’t explain why a woman of her age would be traveling through such a dangerous forest alone. It wasn’t adding up for Izuku, but he knew, whether you were kidnapped, or left on your own, that he had to find you.

About a week after Katsuki’s outrageous announcement, winter was steadily getting worse. The snowfalls were getting heavier and even the pack had predicted that a storm was coming. You couldn’t quite understand how they knew that but Ochako told you that they could “simply sense it”. Despite that, it didn’t stop the pack from carrying on their duties and it didn’t stop you from having some fun in the courtyard with Eijirou’s children.

You had the pleasure of meeting all three of his children, Eiji, the oldest, Minato, the second oldest, and lastly, Mie, the youngest and only girl. It didn’t take long for Minato and Mie to warm up to you once Eiji expressed how awesome it was not only to be friends with Katsuki, but to be bonded to him. Bonding, you learned, was just another way of saying engaged or married for the wolves. You quickly corrected the boy, stating how it wasn’t true, but the children were already in awe, excited about an upcoming ceremony. You didn’t have the heart to grow angry at them because they were children.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t have that same mindset when it came to Katsuki, no matter how childish he acted during this situation, it wasn’t fair how he selfishly decided this without your consent. Announcing to the entire pack about an engagement you never agreed to was something that caused a rift in your relationship. You gave him the classic silent treatment, ignoring him whenever he wanted to talk. You even started sleeping in Ochako’s cave because you believed he didn’t deserve your company.

Your treatment, of course, made Katsuki furious. You could feel his humid gaze everywhere you went. Even as you kept away from him, he stayed at a distance and watched your every move with that same glare he often gave when he was angry. Even now, you could feel the heat of his eyes on the back of your head, relentless as the heat of a summer sun melting the backs of diligent farmers. He was sitting on a chair that looked like it was made from tree logs and Eijirou was beside him, talking off his ear. You thought Katsuki wasn’t paying him any attention but from time to time he would respond with a small nod, his eyes would be on nothing but you.

But what did Katsuki expect? You to be all joyous about marrying him at such a short notice, especially for all the wrong reasons? The events of that day were still fresh in your mind that you couldn’t go five seconds without renewed anger plaguing your emotions. You could never forget the faces of the pack as Katsuki “introduced” you to them. The color drained from their skin and left them ashen, their lips voided of the feeling that would make them smile. You pulled away from Katsuki instantly after his announcement, but the pack was too stunned by his words to realize your distressed expression.

“What is the meaning of this, Katsuki?” was one of many voices that sounded out from the pack. Many of which were in protest of a marriage between a wolf and a human.

“For all we know, she could be a spy!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “I know she’s definitely not a fucking spy. She risked her life to save mine, and if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t even have a next-in-line.”

“She could be tricking you! That’s just what her kind does! Fool you into thinking they’re peaceful until they stab you in the back!”

“How are you willing to marry the same species that caused you and our pack so much pain?!”

“You know how stupid it is to judge one person on the actions of what their people did in the past? You’re no different than the pathetic humans that think that way.” Katsuki responded, but it did nothing to deter the pressure building within the area.

“It still doesn’t erase the fact that she’s one of them!”

You never wanted to run away so fast before in your life. All of their words cut into your heart and the pain felt as sharp as a blade every time you breathe in. How could have Katsuki think this was a good idea? How could this mend any hostility between the you and the pack? All it created was anger, especially towards you. Katsuki continued to rectify his pack’s opinions. Even though he knew that their opinions had no effect on his decision, he could see in his peripherals that you were visibly shaking. You had turned away from the crowd, no longer able to look at their faces of hate. He felt the immediate need to protect you from their words and moved to have you in his arms again.

But he wasn’t quick enough. Another pair of arms had wrapped around you like a shield and a familiar pair of crimson eyes burned into his own. Mitsuki didn’t hide her disappointment on her face as she looked at her son. Her knitted eyebrows nearly hooded over her glare, anger swirling within as she held you against her body. You accepted her hug, gripping the backs of her tunic and crying on her. Katsuki had sucked his teeth and returned his mother’s glare, a single look told Mitsuki to stay out of this, but she wasn’t going to allow her son to lead the pack down this spiral.

“Enough!” Mitsuki’s shout halted the voices of the crowd. “This senseless arguing won’t change a thing.”

“But Mitsuki, what would Masaru think?” A wolf of older age questioned and Mitsuki, being the refined leader she is, wasn’t thrown off by it. She remained calm despite the memories of the mention entering her mind.

“You know damn well what Masaru would think.”

The older wolf didn’t back off, but he was as calm as Mitsuki. “A bond between a human and a wolf wouldn’t be a good idea for this pack. After what we went through… you of all people should know that, Mitsuki.”

“Can you guys just get species out of your damn head for five seconds and look at a person individually? This human saved my son and not only that but our pack. When we were low on food a couple of months ago and Katsuki came back with some food, who did you think gave it to him? I understand the fear… Even I didn’t trust her when I met her, but after talking to her and getting to know her, it made me think that Masaru would’ve definitely accepted her into the family. So why don’t you give her a chance…?”

The loud voices of the pack settled into mere mumbles. The degrading words had stopped and the anger on their faces contorted into confusion. The pack had nothing to say after that, no signs of acceptance or denial, and Mitsuki didn’t wait for them to take a side. She started to pull you away and quickly guided you out of the courtyard and into one of the caves. You couldn’t recognize your surroundings because of the blur caused by your tears that hung on to your lashes. Katsuki followed right behind you. You could feel his presence, specifically his anger. You had no idea why he was angry but, of all people, you had the right to be upset. You were completely blindsided by this. What you thought was going to be a simple introduction ended up turning into chaos.

“Why’d you have to go butt in like that?! I had everything under control!” Katsuki exploded once he entered the cave. His voice came quick like lightning and rumbled like deep thunder. The ripples of sound were enough to have the tiny hairs on your skin stand. His eyebrows had knitted together so deeply that you were able to count the folds of skin created between them. His fangs, you had never seen them so large before as he bared them at his mother. Sharp, as if it could pierce diamonds itself.

Mitsuki moved fast. With her hand tight as a fist, she whacked the top of his head but Katsuki bounced back and snarled as if he felt no pain. “I never knew you were so goddamn stupid!”

“Huh?! What did you say, you old hag?!”

“What were you thinking?! What made you think this was a good idea?!”

“It was until you spoke! I needed to get the pack to like her and this was the only way!”

“To marry her?! Did she even agree to this?!” One look at you was enough for Mitsuki to know. She tried to take another whack at Katsuki’s head, but he dodged it, growling when he did. No matter how many times Mitsuki tried to physically harm him, Katsuki made no move to retaliate but you knew it took every hair in his body to restrain himself from raising a hand against his mother.

“She would’ve said yes anyway!”

“No. I’m not going through with this.”

“What?” Katsuki was startled by your outburst. He didn’t expect to hear that you were against this.

“You think I would’ve said yes to this…? The only way for your pack to like me is if I’m your wife? You don’t want to marry me because you love me?”

“What? I never fucking said that.” His footsteps were loud when he walked towards you. He held your shoulders with his hands, a gentle touch that would’ve normally made you melt. He rubbed up and down your shoulders to comfort you as he gazed into your eyes. “You already know how I feel about you.”

“Then why are you making me go through this?”

He stumbled at your question and looked away for a moment. When he couldn’t find a sufficient answer, he gave the same one he gave his mother. “It’s the only way.”

“So, they won’t even like me for me, is that what you’re saying? Only if I’m the wife of their future leader?”

Katsuki growled and struggled to find the right words in the arsenal of his mind. The grip he had on your shoulders grew tight as his mind went searching. You didn’t give him time to find them and shook your head. “I’m not doing this.”

“I don’t think we can call this off.” Mitsuki spoke up and folded her arms across her chest. “Our pack will suspect that you tried to force Katsuki through this and that Katsuki came to his senses. They would end up hating you even more and then you wouldn’t have a reason to stay with us. Being my son’s savior wouldn’t be enough to help you by then.”

“I just can’t believe this…” You tore yourself away from Katsuki’s grip and ran. You ignored the call of your name from Katsuki and ran until you were outside the cave. That was when you bumped into Ochako who was actually searching for you after the meeting. You threw yourself at her and cried against her chest.

Thinking about last week made you revisit some pain that was too fresh to bear. You tried to distract yourself by playing with Mie’s hair, twirling your fingers between light pink strands. Katsuki’s eyes were still on you from afar. Eijirou took note of it a while back but he decided to finally address it. With a sigh, he leaned his head against his hand and spoke.

“You know, all you gotta do is just apologize to her. It’s been like, what, a week already since you guys last spoke? Just go up to her right now.”

“You think I didn’t try? She doesn’t even want to look in my direction.” Katsuki grumbled.

“I wouldn’t too after what you pulled. And here I was about to give you my blessing until I found out from Ochako that she had no idea about it. What you did wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing, let alone, manly.”

“Just shut up, I get it. I already got enough from the hag and Round-face, I don’t need it from you.”

“Maybe you can ask Ochako for help? They’ve been hanging out a lot more lately. I’m sure they talked about you more than once.”

“You know women, they keep their secrets to themselves.”

“I’m pretty sure men do the same thing.” Eijirou laughed. “But it’s worth a shot. We all know you can be an idiot sometimes, but we also know you didn’t mean to hurt her. You were just thinking about how to help her.”

Katsuki sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Yeah… I’ll see what I can do.”

“By the way, did you ever tell her?”

“About?” He lifted his head to look at his friend.

“That day we went hunting. I knew she looked familiar the night I met her. I laughed so hard.” Eijirou’s words had reminded Katsuki of something and his reaction was something that Eijirou wish he could watch on repeat over and over again. Katsuki had buried his face in his hand, covering the redness that spread across his skin tone. A groan like growl left his lips while a series of laughs left Eijirou’s. Eijirou gave him a heavy pat on his back that ended with a rub to his shoulders.

“Don’t tell her, alright?” Katsuki suddenly said.

“Why not? I’m sure she’ll—”

“Just don’t.”

Katsuki gave a hard look and Eijirou knew to back off. He could tell it was something he wasn’t ready to talk about especially not to you. His blush faded as fast as his glare and his eyes returned to the sight of you playing in the snow with Eijirou’s children. You were rolling snow in your hands until it formed into a ball and you hurled it at Minato who squealed when it hit him. He retaliated with his own tiny snow ball, his tail wagging uncontrollably, and a smile so wide you saw his tiny fangs peeking from behind his lips. Mie was defending him while Eiji was helping you.

Seeing you in a snow fight with the children was probably the cutest thing Katsuki had ever seen you do. He could see that your hands were becoming terribly cold and possibly numb, but it didn’t stop you from having fun. The bright smile on your face was oddly arousing to Katsuki. Perhaps because it’s been ages since it was directed at him. It’s only been a week, yet it felt like months since he had your attention. Each day he craved for it and tried to quench it by talking to you but when you shunned him away, he had no choice but to fulfill it by watching you from afar. He surely missed your company and he wanted to do anything he could to win you back. If it took swallowing his pride and asking Ochako for help, then he’ll grit his teeth and do it.

Katsuki would’ve thought you and the children stopped playing because your fingers were catching frostbite, but he noticed a commotion happening within his pack that gathered your attention. A group of wolves were near the opening used to enter the area and at this distance, Katsuki could hear the low rumbles of their growls. Suddenly, Eiji, Minato, and Mie were by their father’s legs and when Katsuki looked at the spot they ran from, you had disappeared. His eyes flew back at the crowd and he spotted your back as you were pushing your way through the growling wolves. And on instinct, he ran after you.

You thought your eyes had deceived you, but you knew these wolves wouldn’t be growling for no reason. What you saw should have been impossible but when you heard his voice over the harsh rumbles of the wolves, it became more and more possible. You excused yourself through the crowd, heart racing and adrenaline melting the numbness of your fingertips with heat. Your eyes went searching for any openings between heads to find who that voice belonged to. You slipped between bodies as fast as you could until you reached the very front of the crowd. You quickly noticed Mitsuki beside you, but you were more focused on the man that stood in front of you. Emerald colored eyes stared back at you with the same amount of shock you were giving. His hair was the trademark colors of spring’s green fields and freckles were dusted on his soft red cheeks.

“Izuku?” It was like your call had filled him with life. The shock had melted from his eyes, replaced by relief as he took a step forward with his arms slightly out. You rushed towards him, fitting perfectly within his arms as the two of you embrace for what felt like ages since the last.

“I thought you were dead…” You heard him say in your ear. You felt his arms around you squeeze your body.

“I’m alive and well. I thought I would never see you again.” You spoke in his chest, your voice vibrating against the fabrics of his heavy top. You pulled away slightly and his hands moved to cup your cheeks and wipe the tears that rolled down them. Despite the tears, you were smiling up at Izuku, relieved to see a familiar face after the chaos of last week. You didn’t question why or how he was here, you were just glad to see him.

Soon the view of Izuku’s face was blocked by a back covered in a large cloak of fur. Izuku had stumbled back and your face was replaced by eyes that held the same fiery rage as hell. Glorious fangs were bared at him, threatening to sink in his neck if he were to take a single step closer to you.

Katsuki spoke lowly, the snarl that left his lips made shivers run across Izuku’s back. “Who the fuck are you?”

[safety-not-found]

I floated up through the window of a room to the West I hovered out to the hallway, tried to listen in I heard them trying to reason, get him to open the door His uncle begging and pleading, half-collapsed to the floor He preached of hope and forgiveness Said, “There is always a chance to rectify what you’ve taken Make your peace in the world.”

[unbidden-yidden]

I saw your post about how Xianity is not essential to Judaism and and I don't want to derail it it but one particular thing really struck me while reading it; the concept of teshuva compared to Xian forgiveness, particularly how those differences really reflect how I've seen both religious cultures (???) handle person-to-person forgiveness. Judaism (at least from what I've seen) has actual steps for apologising, and they're all really good common-sense rules like 'don't do it again'. (1/3)

(cont.) The burden is on the offender to make things right, they’re the active party. In contrast, in Xianity you don’t have to do anything to make it up to the person you hurt. In fact, in Xian communities there’s usually a burden on the /hurt/ party to forgive and it’s seen as really cruel and a sign of moral weakness that you won’t let them feel better about what they did, even (sometimes /especially/) when they’re not sorry and intend to keep hurting you. (2/3)

(cont.) To me these two things feel like extensions of the attitude towards divine forgiveness and repentance. In Xianity receiving forgiveness feels like a very passive thing that’s all centred on your own guilt, your own inherent sin, and an attitude of ‘I said sorry so my hands are clean and now you have to make it up to me for making me feel bad for what I did’, etc. Judaism, on the other hand, seems to take a very pro-active, balanced approach of doing better for yourself and others. (3/3)

Hi Sarahsyna, 

The differences between xian and Jewish understandings of what forgiveness is and how we should go about it are interesting, no? 

I would say this is a pretty accurate analysis of the differences and where they come from. However, I would like to expand on this and add a bit of nuance to it, if I may. 

There are different levels and types of wrongs to be forgiven, and the responses to them should be different. 

Wrongs that are relatively minor, are fixable, and/or that are relatively common amongst otherwise decent people; 

Wrongs that major, unfixable, and/or that are criminal/violent in nature; 

Wrongs committed against oneself

Wrongs committed against others (usually in your sphere of influence, such as to your family members, but not necessarily) 

In my experience, Judaism does a much better job of making these distinctions than xianity. 

Minor Wrongs vs. Major Wrongs

Xian forgiveness is really appropriate for minor wrongs (with proportionately minor consequences.) Things like: someone took your lunch once, which creates an annoying but temporary problem. We shouldn’t sweat the small stuff, and as frustrating as that situation is, it’s not worth holding a grudge against someone forever because of a dumb prank. 

Judaism similarly holds that we shouldn’t hang onto a grudge over this, and encourages people to let it go. Give the offender ample chance to apologize, but if they don’t, don’t waste your energy being mad at them. (Have you forgiven them? No. Should you still move on with your life? Yes.) 

Of course, if by taking your lunch, they caused you to be unable to take a vital medicine, which consequently put you in the hospital, it should change the equation, no? 

In xianity as I experienced it (**please insert that caveat throughout this discussion), it actually doesn’t change the equation. The intent of the offender was a dumb prank and so the forgiveness should be equally straightforward, even if the consequences to you are more severe than that person realized they would be when they did it. You should try to put yourself in the prankster’s shoes and imagine how awful you’d feel and how badly you’d want to be forgiven if it were you. 

In Judaism, that person would need to do a lot more to make it right before asking for forgiveness. That might involve helping you pay your hospital bills, picking up your slack at work and/or otherwise trying to help in concrete ways because while their intent was minor, the effect on you was major. They must cope with that reality in the same way that you must. Might their intent factor into how inclined you are to forgive them afterwards? Sure! But they need to show that they realize how serious the consequences of their actions are and seek to remedy it first. 

Fixable vs. Unfixable Wrongs

The consequences of some wrongs are fixable to varying degrees; others are not. If you take five dollars from my bag and then feel bad about it an hour later and put the money back? You’ve totally rectified the situation. 

On the other extreme? While I have put in many, many hours of therapy and self-reflection and healing and therefore have gotten it under control, I will never not have trauma from having been raped and abused. Even if the perps spent the rest of their lives truly regretting what they did and doing hard work on behalf of survivors, they could never undo the damage they caused, even if they subsequently changed their behavior 180 degrees. (Editorial note: unsurprisingly, none of them have actually done any of that.) 

Growing up, I felt an unbearable need to magnanimously forgive the perp despite his refusal to admit to what he did or apologize, and even as a culturally xian adult, I still felt a compulsory need to forgive subsequent offenders at least for my own sake in order to move on. 

Judaism relieved me of any responsibility to forgive any of them, ever, because they have never apologized. I’m not even allowed to forgive them since they’ve never asked for it, but I don’t have to do so in order to heal because nothing they could do could heal me anyway. Them apologizing wouldn’t change the reality of their acts and me forgiving them wouldn’t change their future behavior. My healing is (for better or worse) my problem, and their becoming better people is their problem. 

In a better world where they did hold themselves accountable? That would be stellar, but even in that world my remedy comes from the peace of mind in knowing that they aren’t hurting other people, from them still staying the hell away from me, and the justice in knowing that they have to live with what they did and are truly reckoning with it. 

As a side note, it’s worth noting that this is why lashon hara is compared to murder by the rabbis. Lashon hara literally means “evil speech,” but refers to true statements that did not need to be made for any serious purpose and are malicious in nature. As an example, “Alex has gotten really overweight this year, huh?” might strictly speaking be true, but is nevertheless clearly intended to be mean and gossipy. Why is lashon hara taken so seriously? Because you can’t put that toothpaste back in the tube. You can’t unring that bell. Once those words have left your lips, they’re out there, forever. You can apologize, but you can’t unsay what you already said. 

Grace vs. Accountability

Ultimately, I believe that the foundational difference between how xianity approaches forgiveness and how Judaism approaches forgiveness are how it is defined in each. 

In xianity, forgiveness flows, as you said from the idea that humans were forgiven for our sins by Jesus on his own initiative, and therefore we should replicate that kind of forgiveness in our own lives. Sin is inevitable, and the work of repairing it can be done by the person who was wronged, the same way that Jesus repaired humanity’s relationship with God through his sacrifice. This creates a model that centers grace given by the wronged person. Deservingness on the part of the wrongdoer does not factor into the equation. 

At its best, this gives the person who was wronged the agency to address the problem themselves without waiting around for the wrongdoer to get it together. It has the potential to allow people with pain to let go of that pain. At its worst, it creates a system where victims are pressured (by their communities, spiritual leaders, and/or themselves) to forgive at great cost to themselves with zero accountability on the part of the offender. 

However. 

That assumes, as a baseline, that forgiveness is a prerequisite to moving on with your life. In the same way that forgiveness by God/salvation is a prerequisite to eternal life in xianity, so too is forgiveness between individuals a prerequisite to living the rest of your life without that baggage. 

Judaism makes no such assumption. In fact, it comes to rather the opposite conclusion: forgiveness may be necessary for the wrongdoer to move on, but you, the wronged person, should feel no need to provide it unless and until the person has actually rectified the situation and asked for forgiveness. (And even under those circumstances, while forgiving is the morally correct thing to do, you aren’t always actually obligated to do so.) 

Judaism operates on an accountability model that says that if you harm another person, it’s on you to fix it to that person’s satisfaction. If you are harmed by another person, you should do whatever you need to in order to move forward, but you don’t have to say that they’ve met their burden unless and until they actually do. In this view, forgiveness is not defined as grace, but rather as recognition that the person has actually held themselves accountable for their actions. 

This, too, flows from a theological perspective: G-d expects us to constantly be striving to better ourselves, which we can only do by holding ourselves fully accountable for our actions. We are moral creatures, capable of making an active choice between good and evil. While mistakes are inevitable, we elevate ourselves spiritually, not by the grace of G-d or others, but by evaluating and reflecting on our own behavior and then taking active steps towards long-lasting change. 

All of that, however, refers to direct wrongs between the wrongdoer and the wronged. I would be extremely remiss if I didn’t address … … 

Wrongs Committed Against You vs. Wrongs Committed Against Others in Your Vicinity

One of the most serious problems I have with xian theology is the fact that the concept of grace doesn’t just apply between the wrongdoer and the wronged. It also applies between bystanders and the wronged. 

Here is a great example of this: 

Many of you may not know that one of my four children has Down syndrome. Her name is Bekah, and today she is 25. Bekah went to public school in elementary and middle school and was in normal classes and had lots of friends. Later, she attended college.

Many years ago, Bekah wanted to try out for cheer leading. My wife and I were amazed at how she learned the routines – jumping in the air, doing splits, and yelling out the cheers. Unfortunately, she did not make the team which was very disappointing for her and us. She had a really hard time understanding that she could no longer cheer with the other girls.

Soon afterwards, we received a letter from the coach explaining Bekah was not cut from the team because of her disability but because…she kicked, hit, yelled and cussed while in line with the other girls. We were stunned, no shocked, because Bekah had never exhibited any of those behaviors ever in any situation.

At a sleepover a few weeks later, which Bekah hosted in our home, several of the girls who had made the team asked my wife why Bekah had not made the team. My wife gently told them about the letter. They all immediately cried out, “Ms. Ellen, that’s not true at all. Bekah didn’t do any of those things. In fact, she did great in the tryouts.” Ellen called for me and asked me to come hear what the girls were saying. They repeated it all again.

This person had not only lied but had impugned Bekah’s character and we were angry! What had been done to our daughter was dastardly. The question afterwards was, “What are we going to do about this?” We knew we could not pull these girls into a dispute with this coach. So, we had no recourse. This coach had hurt a person who could not speak up for herself due to her disability and there was nothing we could do about it…except forgive.

Did this person deserve to be forgiven? Absolutely not. But we were not going to allow a root of bitterness to grow within us that Hebrews 12:15 warns about. We were not about to give this person power over our lives. We were not about to give Satan power over us. Was it easy? No! Everything in us cried out for justice but there was none to be had.

So, we trusted Christ in us, the greatest “forgiver” of all time, to live through us so we could forgive. We wanted to live like who we are in Christ, “forgivers”, in obedience from the love in our hearts for our Father. We wanted to “forgive one another just as God had forgiven us in Christ” (Ephesians 4:32) So, we sat before the Lord and poured out to Him our anger, our hurt, and our desire for justice. Then, because God had forgiven us for all our sins we did not deserve to be forgiven for, we forgave this person; meaning, we released the person from the debt we believe they owed us. In this case, the debt would have been an admission to us and especially to Bekah of the wrong they had done.

A few weeks later, would you believe that we saw this person at a church we were visiting? We were both so glad we had been honest with God about the hurts we received from the offense and then chose to forgive. We live free today from bitterness, resentment and unforgiveness. Praise God!

[Source: x] 

Okay, so we don’t have time to unpack all of that, but just… sit with the fact, for a moment, that Bekah is utterly silenced by this approach. Did her parents have any right to forgive the coach? No, no they did not. That was Bekah’s right, and Bekah’s alone. 

Compare that to what Rabbi Telushkin relays in his Code of Jewish Ethics: 

”The differing attitudes of Jews and Christians on granting forgiveness for serious, particularly violent, crimes is reflected in an incident that Dr. Solomon Schimmel, a psychologist and a religious Jew, relates in his book, Wounds Not Healed, concerning a Christian woman who nursed back to life a man who had murdered her parents and raped her. The man, shocked by her behavior, asked the woman, “Why didn’t you kill me?” She replied, “I am a follower of him [i.e., Jesus] who says, ‘Love your enemy.’ “A remarkable story, but as Schimmel, writing from a Jewish perspective, asks, “Why, however, is it noble to love and take care of evil people?”

“In contrast to this woman’s attitude, when the Jewish writer Cynthia Ozick was asked if it was morally appropriate to forgive a penitent Nazi SS officer who had participated in the murder of a Jewish community in Poland, she responded: “‘I forgive you,’ we say to the child who has muddied the carpet, ‘but next time don’t do it again.’ Next time, she will leave the muddy boots outside the door; forgiveness, with its enlarging capacity, will have taught her. Forgiveness is an effective teacher. Meanwhile, the spots can be washed away. But murder is irrevocable. Murder is irreversible…. Even if forgiveness restrains one from perpetrating a new batch of corpses, will the last batch come alive again?…Forgiveness is pitiless. It forgets the victim. It cultivates sensitiveness toward the murderer at the price of insensitiveness toward the victim.”

“And what of the penitent SS officer? “Let the SS man die unshriven. Let him go to hell.”

“The Jewish view can be summed up as follows: Forgiveness is almost always a virtue, but the taking of an innocent life is an unforgivable offense.”

[Source: x] 

[sludgefriend]

Another shooting on the southeast side, This a drive-by, midday, Outside of the bus stop, by Fuller and Franklin, Or near there, not far from the park, About a block from where the other shooting was last month (or was it last week?). Shots were fired from an SUV heading northbound, Eastown. The target a rival but they didn’t hit the target this time, They hit a kid we think had nothing to do with it, And I travel backwards, through time and space and, I disintegrate. Become invisible. I wanna see it where I couldn’t when it happened. I wanna see it all first hand this time. I want to know what it felt like. So I float behind police lines, Reconstruct the scene in fragments of memories, I wanna know what his mother looked like up close, I wanna see her leaning over his body. So I float there, transcend time, I wanna capture it accurately. I wanna know what the color of the blood was, Spilling out from the tarp onto the concrete, I, Wanna write it all down so I can always remember, If you could see it up close how could you ever forget? How senseless death, how precious life. I wanna be there when the bullet hit.

And the crowd poured out as the shots drowned, into siren sounds, Out of their houses now and over front yards. All the way up to the place where police tape ran to mark the crime scene. Everybody trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, Of what was going on between the ambulance and all the cop cars. Everybody gossiping, “Whose kid got hit?”, “Where’d it hit him”, and “Who could’ve fired it?” Everybody wondering, “How did it happen again? And is he dead? These children. Our kids.” Everybody wondering, how far they were from where the victims lived, And I visit them, their houses, Inside my dream, I visit them, My spirit, soaring high and high up over King Park, Leaves the crime scene, travels further back, Til far before the shooting, Through their windows, to their living rooms, I see them younger this time, playing games and doing homework, All these marks of youth soon transformed coldly into stone, For fights and stupid feuds, for ruins wrapped in gold, And cruelly I recall why I have come to find a reason, But there cannot be a reason, not for death, Not like this. Not like this.

Three days later they made funeral plans, the family. Three days later a moth had to bury her son. Not far away, the shooter holed up in a hotel, Near to the highway with a friend and the gun, That same gun. He’d fled immediately but was identified by a witness, His picture on TV, only 20 years old. They called him “Grandpa”, He was older than the others by a year, maybe two. And he was safe for a while, until somebody saw him there, And notified the authorities, Who surrounded the hotel, first arresting an accomplice while attempting to flee, Then chasing him up the staircase, to the floor where he’d stayed, He closed the door hard behind him, locked himself in the room. They could’ve kicked in the door, but knew the gun was still, With him, one he’d already used and so they feared what he’d do. I floated up through the window of a room to the west. I hovered out to the hallway, tried to listen in, I heard them trying to reason, get him to open the door. His uncle begging and pleading, half-collapsed to the floor, He preached of hope and forgiveness, Said, “There is always a chance to rectify what you’ve taken, Make your peace in the world”. I though to slip through the door, I could’ve entered the room. I felt the burden of murder, it shook the earth to the core, Felt like the world was collapsing, then we heard him speak,

“Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I ever be forgiven ‘cause I killed that kid? It was an accident, I swear it wasn’t meant for him. And if I turn it on me, If I even it out, Can I still get in? Or will they send me to hell? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?” I left the hotel behind. Don’t wanna know how it ends.

[pannucispizza99]

He preached of hope and forgiveness said there is always a chance to rectify what you’ve taken make your peace in this world I felt the burden of murder, it shook the earth to the core Felt like the world was collapsing then we heard him speak "Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I ever be forgiven 'cause I killed that kid? It was an accident I swear it wasn’t meant for him

[ael-xander]

Ti'taris Awakening Chapter One “I can’t miss it! I can’t. Just can’t!” The woman raced to unlock the door. Hearing the click, she opened the door, slamming it shut behind her while grabbing the remote on the table by the door. Clicking a button, the large flat screen television flared to life. Tossing her briefcase, Lysse kicked off her shoes followed by vaulting over the back of her sofa, until she landed on it. Music reached her ears as an opening sequence of an animated character fought against evil incarnate. Sighing, the young woman reclined against the sofa. “Made it, just in time. Today’s episode is the climax in the battle between Namorian and Ephram. Go Ram!” Sucked into the storyline, Lysse spent the next hour living the classic battle of good versus evil. Throughout the show, she spoke encouragement, made comments, and reacted to the twists and turns in the episode. As the show came to the ending, Lysse gasped. “You can’t leave it like that! Oh hell, I’m going to have to take a day off of work next week! No fucking way." The credits played, reminding Lysse that she left a mess upon her arrival. Shaking her head, she picked up her shoes and put them in the nearby closet and moved her briefcase to her home office. She hesitated a moment, her eyes glancing at the computer, but decided it was better to not even be tempted. There wouldn’t be a hint of the next episode for at least another couple of hours. With a rueful sigh, Lysse went to her bedroom and changed her clothes. What was it about Ti’taris Awakening that seemed to call to her soul? It was just a cartoon, but there was something more than that. The setting was outstanding, so real, but at the same time, there was something about the lead character, Ephram. His voice was pure rough silk and brandy; his looks were pure bad boy with a hint of platinum. She knew the voice actor, Devlin Roarke, and though he was handsome, his natural voice wasn’t the same as he did for Ephram. The joys of working in the media industry were she got to meet the people who did the voice work for many cartoons, commercials, and such. When she heard the concept behind Ti’taris Awakening, Lysse had been simply amazed and negotiated its serial in the US. The company she worked with had taken her advice to heart and now they were reaping the rewards of the merchandising as well as the children and adults watching the program religiously. Even she couldn’t help but be pulled into the world of Ti’taris. Having read the background and the character bios, Lysse found herself almost seeing the world as she worked and lived helping the show to become its own reality. For a while, she put it down as preproduction jitters, but now, now she was completely and utterly hooked. Lysse busied herself, making her meal, poring over her work on a couple of contracts dealing with two upcoming films, one of which dealt with a live action version of Ti’taris Awakening. She chuckled remembering hearing Jacob Stevenson saying, “Tit ahris” for the name instead of “Tee tahris.” Correcting him hadn’t helped much, but he was going to stay to the original storyline as much as possible. Of course, she wasn’t able to answer the only question he had. “Who created this show?” That was the ultimate question. Who created the show and managed to produce such an absorbing critique of humanity, of good versus evil? Try as she might, Lysse couldn’t get behind the mounds of legalese and roadblocks thrown in her way. Normally, she could get around anything, but this remained out of her reach. Just when she thought she was getting close, things would suddenly close up. Her eyes strayed towards her computer then to her watch. He’d be on. Maybe, just maybe he’d give her another clue to finding Ti’taris Awakening’s author. Before she realized it, Lysse stood before the computer, booting it up. Sitting in her chair, she logged online quickly, signing into her messenger system while putting her email client to work. Lysse scanned her emails, deleting the junk before catching sight of a name. Stopping, she smiled. He had written her early this morning. Lysse, Just wanted you to know I’m not sure I’ll be online tonight. Work is beyond unbearable. Keeping the thought of talking to you as a reward if I can beat back the savage beast to his chamber. Have you considered my offer? I don’t want to rush you, but to be honest, I’d love to finally meet in person. Your safety comes first though, so whatever you deem best. Always, E. Mikkelson. Softly, she caressed the screen. He always signed it with his initial. A half smile crossed her face. She knew it was because he was afraid people would equate him with the character Ephram as they shared the same name. Over and again, she told him not everyone would make that comparison, but he told her of the times he had with others who did. She couldn’t blame him for his reluctance, but since most people referred to the character by his nickname, Ram, she didn’t think it was an issue. Yet, it touched her to see him sign his name, including his last name as an act of faith. Maybe it was time to meet him in person. Deciding that it was time once again to creep out of the shell of seclusion she wove around her, she replied. She was off this weekend and if he were willing, she’d love to meet him somewhere public, like the local bookstore. They could get a drink, talk books and go from there. Hitting the send button, Lysse closed her eyes and released her breath. Fear curled around her heart briefly. She wasn’t much to look at, fairly plain actually. What if she wasn’t like he expected? Too late now for regrets, Lysse. Just deal with it. Finishing the rest of her email, Lysse prepared to log off when her messenger showed Ephram logging on. E_Mikkel: Lysse, you there? Lysse_Astarte: I’m here. You okay, Ephram? Things go okay at work? E_Mikkel: Something like that. Just recovered enough to get online. How was your day? Lysse_Astarte: ☺ Almost missed today’s episode, but got there in the nick of time. Did you see it? E_Mikkel: Saw the last 45 minutes of it. Was quite spectacular. Amazing sequence with how Namorian managed to grab Mara and cut Ram’s arm. What do you think are the consequences that Namorian raved about? Lysse_Astarte: *thinks * Honestly, I’m wondering if he’s talking about the way the war is tearing up the lands. The more I watch it, the more it reminds me of here with our environmental versus big business. Yet, at the same time, it’s different. We know the earth can renew itself given a chance, but when you give the land and its people no breaks, no time to heal, then in a way, you destroy the foundations. E_Mikkel: I thought so too. What I found interesting is that Ram thinks by ridding Namorian, all things will be settled. Lysse_Astarte: Yeah. Unfortunately, it’ll take more than just stopping Namorian before that happens. He’s also got his followers and the generals who have control of their areas. But getting rid of the head will make it easier to negotiate peace from a position of power. I only hope that Ram realizes that death alone won’t stop the destruction of Ti’taris. He needs to also begin a campaign to rectify the wrongs done on both sides. E_Mikkel: What do you mean by that? *lifts brow* Lysse_Astarte: I mean Ram’s army has done wrong too. Yes, it’s in the name of peace, justice, and balance, but they’ve still done wrong. If they don’t rectify the errors and harm they’ve done, then they’re just as guilty of lording over the peoples of Ti’taris as are Namorian and his henchmen. But by going back and making tithe to the land, just as Galzora asked, then it would be the first step to showing they’re not of the same mold. E_Mikkel: Great point, Lysse. I hadn’t considered that aspect at all. Since Galzora is the Soul of Ti’taris, she would know how the land feels. Lysse_Astarte: More importantly, I think she’s a physical manifestation of the land and the people. Just as Mara is the heart of the Llewadaghs and Van is the head of the Tuathas, Galzora is the living representative of Ti’taris, letting Ram know what the land expects of him when he rules. E_Mikkel: ☺ You’re damn good at seeing this, Lysse. Too bad you’re not an advisor to the show. I see you got my email. Lysse_Astarte: * blush* Yes, I did. I’d love to finally meet you in person. Are you available this weekend? *bites lip nervously * E_Mikkel: Yes! Are you sure you want to do this? Lysse_Astarte: I’m sure. Just worried once you see me that you’ll regret it. E_Mikkel: *taps Lysse on head * No, remember you’ve shown me your picture before. You’re beautiful and I’d be honoured to be hanging at your side. Lysse_Astarte: Flattery will get you most anywhere that chocolate won’t. How about Patterson’s Bookshop around 2? E_Mikkel: Sounds like a plan. I’ll be in jeans, hiking boots, and prolly my Ti’taris Awakening t-shirt. I’ve got short spiky almost black hair, brown eyes, and a crooked grin. Lysse_Astarte: *tilts head and grins mischievously * You sure you’re not— E_Mikkel: Lysse Myrlene Astarte! Don’t you dare imply that! Lysse_Astarte: * giggles * Whatever do you mean, Ephram? E_Mikkel: Playing coy won’t work, Madame. I know exactly what you were implying. Lysse_Astarte: Well, dammit, Ephram, the description is one we hear all the time about Ram. What did you expect? *    *    * That was the question- what did Ephram expect? He rubbed his bandaged arm, looked at the instant message (IM) with a ragged sigh. Running a hand through his spiky hair, he tried to figure out why on some level it bugged him that she tried to equate him, even playfully, with Ephram on Ti’taris. Uh, because it’s true, asshole? Because you need her to help you save your world and in turn save hers? E_Mikkel: Not sure, perhaps that you’d think me different? Lysse_Astarte: You are different, Ephram. Very much so. But you used the exact same description that Galzora did in the third episode in describing him to Mara. I was just teasing, Ephram. I’m sorry. ☹ Ephram cursed. He’d forgotten that Gal had described him exactly that way when Mara and Van had asked about him. That was one of the problems in having a special recorder that taped and rotoscoped everything into anime form to be sent to the shadow world known as Earth. E_Mikkel: No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I had totally forgotten Galzora’s description. Trust me when I say my description is unintentionally like Ram’s. Lysse_Astarte: You sure you’re not mad at me? E_Mikkel: * hugs you tightly * I’m sure. I’m just a bit on edge dealing with work and a pain in the ass competitor. Lysse_Astarte: * hugs back * That sucks, Ephram. Tomorrow will be better? E_Mikkel: I can only hope. What about you? Lysse_Astarte: I’m catching up on the end of the workweek. Just some things to straighten up and then get the contracts for the T.A. movie into the right hands. After next week, I’m on vacation. Whooo hooo! E_Mikkel: Congrats, lady. What you doing for your vacation? Lysse_Astarte: Not sure. Prolly hang out here at the apartment. Depends on how I feel. E_Mikkel: Too bad you couldn’t come spend time with me while I go gallivanting around. Lysse_Astarte: That’s right, you’re going away for a couple of weeks. * pouts * I’ll miss our conversations. E_Mikkel: You wouldn’t if you come with me. * winks * Lysse_Astarte: * shakes head* You flirt! I bet you say that to all the women you know. I don’t know if I could leave and not be available by phone or computer. Not with the movie deal like it is right now. E_Mikkel: Once we meet, think on it, okay? It’d be fun having a friend around while I do my play job. Lysse_Astarte: I’ll consider it. It does sound more fun than sitting home alone. Ephram smiled. This woman wasn’t easily persuaded, but from the moment they met via email, chat, and through his lawyers, he knew she was special. It was only when she got him the coveted TV airtime on a major network that he realized she had something special, perhaps even a gift of power from Ti’taris. Then he saw her picture and knew their fates were linked beyond the two realms, Reality and Shadow. How could he explain when they met that she lived in Shadow and that Ti’taris was the land of Reality? Would she even believe him? Hell, he was the spitting image of his anime character, as he never thought he’d ever see a person from Shadow. Yet, he was going to go into the Shadow world to meet the beautiful Lysse and try to convince her to come save his world and hers. Ram knew that if they failed and Ti’taris fell, it would be only a matter of time before Earth fell as well. Lysse dying was unacceptable. The idea tore at his soul, knowing he would do anything to save the woman. Thus, Ram lived with the dilemma of knowing that heavy lays the crown of rulership. Men had died for him, women had longed for him, and he only knew pain and suffering would worsen if he lost. But Galzora promised him that she from the other land would be the key to victory, if only he could have her trust. Time was running out and now he had to get her help. They talked a while longer on other things as Ram took notes on the changes wrought by his war with Namorian. These helped him to keep on target, not to mention that Lysse’s advice had proven sage on many occasions, none of which, when seen by her and the viewing audience even hinted at Lysse that there was something more going on. Finally, he sent her to bed, promising to see her on Saturday. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a sigh. “Let me guess—Lysse is playing hard to get?” Van asked as he entered Ephram’s room. “No, in fact, we’re meeting on Saturday. It’s just hard knowing I’m still deceiving her.” “Look Ram, if there were another way, we’d have done it. I don’t like that we’re lying to a Shadow person either, but we have no choice. Not until we meet her and get her to Ti’taris.” Ram’s dark brown eyes took in the grey eyes of his best friend, Van Sethos. “I’m wondering if she’s a full Shadow person, Van.” “What?” “There’s something about her that radiates unusual, even among the Shadow People. Even the half breed lawyers we have noted it.” Van’s pale brow lifted under his long bangs. “You think she’s part Ti’tarisian?” Ram nodded. “Yeah, I do.” “That could complicate things.” “Or make them better.” “Yeah.” Van squeezed Ram’s shoulder. “We’ll muddle through this. Watching her on the cams has been interesting. She’s not the usual type I’d go for, but there is something very inviting about her.” Ram growled. “Yeah, but she’s not your type. Remember that.” “Jealousy already? The mighty Ram has fallen.” “Fuck off, Van. It’s not that.” Van chuckled. “As you say, Sire. I’m heading to bed. The guards are up and doing their rounds. We should be okay for the night.” “Thanks, Van. See you and Mara in the morning.” “Night, Ram. Get some sleep.” Ram never let his eyes wander from the monitor as he keyed in the code that pulled up the special remote recorder that allowed him to watch over Lysse. His body tightened as she crawled naked into bed, her body pale against the navy blue sheets and matching comforter. Every night he could, he watched her while she fell asleep, sometimes waking up to an unbearable pressure as their dreams merged, causing him to seek a hands on relief to the sexual tension she brought to him and his life. He had a feeling tonight would be like none other. Their dream bond seemed to be even stronger after she watched the latest episode of Ti’taris Awakening. Hopefully tonight he could convince her in the dreams that he needed her to come with him and to give him trust when they met. Without it, both their worlds would be doomed.

[singingwordwright]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Characters: Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood Additional Tags: Introspection, Suicidal Ideation, Anxiety, Angst, anger issues

The temptation to go out onto the balcony or the fire-escape is almost unbearable.

Even sitting in Magnus’s spacious living room, it seems like the walls are closing in on him, and the air is too warm and still. He’s suffocating in here.

He hasn’t been able to breathe properly indoors for weeks. He goes to high, open places every chance he gets.

Now he can’t. Those open-air sanctuaries where he he can feel his lungs expand and finally take in deep, cool breaths are no place for him. His refuge is denied him. He knows what Magnus will think, what he will fear, if he gets home and sees Alec out there.

Not that there’s (much) cause for real concern. He wouldn’t go out there with any intent other than to breathe. It’s a far less frequent thing for Alec to activate his surefooted rune and take the express elevator to the ground. Jace, however, can attest that it’s been known to happen.

Until the night of Max’s party, Alec hadn’t realized what he was actually flirting with.

He keeps waiting for someone--probably Jace, but these days it might even be Magnus--to make the connection. To realize how accustomed he’s become to taking the drop.

That was, in the end, the true fear Iris’s spell had caused to manifest. Clary’s loathing and blame were just a convenient vehicle. He knows, deep inside in a place that not even Magnus nor Jace are privy to, the spell preyed upon some microscopic worry that must have been calcifying in his brain like a grain of sand inside an oyster, that one day something would drive him to do for real what he’d been rehearsing for weeks.

How many times have you practiced that jump, Alec?

Does it count, if he didn’t consciously know that was what he was doing? If he only wanted--just for a few seconds--to feel weightless, unburdened by either concern or gravity? To feel the wind sweeping past his face, and the gentle explosion of cool air in his lungs when he sucked in that involuntary gasp as he fell?

If he’s honest with himself, it was a habit that started before Jocelyn died at his hands. It even started before Valentine took Jace. He can’t pinpoint when, nor can he really say why.

In the not-so-distant past he might have blamed Clary for it, but he’s trying not to do that anymore. That’s another terribly destructive habit he’s acquired along the way. It is, in fact, a habit with a body count attached.

Alec knows what he said to Jocelyn before his hand plunged into her chest.

He can’t actually remember saying it, but he knows.

the demon must be feeding on negative emotions--anger, hate, rage...

In those brief moments when the demon had control of him--

...always the favorite child...

--he’d taunted her with the malice he’d been cherishing against both her and her daughter.

...i’m done living in your shadow...

The attempted murder and downfall of his parabatai. The disgrace of his family. The fact that his world no longer resembles the sane, stable, predictable place it had been.

All that, he laid at Jocelyn’s door before he killed her. He knows he did.

Those constricting bands are tightening around his chest again. He can’t feel his lungs inflate. He wants more than anything to be out there, up high, where he can draw a breath. And if he needs to, he can activate his rune again and fly.

Who the hell am I to judge you, Izzy? How can I, when my own addiction has been slowly devouring me without me even realizing it?

“Alexander?”

He jerks. When did Magnus walk in? How long has he been trying to get Alec’s attention?

“Can we go for a walk?” Alec rasps, the breath in his chest insufficient for powering his voice to any volume that might resemble surety. “A park? The river? Around the block? Just...anywhere.”

Without a word, Magnus flings a portal into existence. Alec doesn’t hesitate to accept Magnus’s proffered hand. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but he doesn’t have to. Magnus will take him where he needs to be.

The scent of pine and moss and decomposing leaves fills his nose on his first breath. There’s a cool, misting rain on his face. Alec flings his head back and breathes.

“We’re in the Cascade Mountains,” Magnus says calmly. “There’s a lodge not far from here with a cell tower. If the Institute needs you, I’ll portal you back to their doorstep immediately, but I just thought perhaps this might be better than city air.”

It is. Alec nods appreciatively, but he’s too busy inhaling and exhaling to speak for a long moment. The starlit dark is too calming to use his witchlight or night vision rune, so he feels along the damp tree trunks until he comes to a cool, flat boulder large enough for them both to sit.

“I don’t understand it,” he says at last, fumbling for Magnus’s hand until he can lace their fingers together. “I’m happier the last couple weeks than I can ever remember being. And yet I’m--”

“Hurling yourself off ledges?” Magnus’s tone is gentle, because that’s what Magnus does when reassurance is called for, but his fingers tighten fiercely around Alec’s.

“Yeah. That.” Alec draws another deep breath. “I forgave my mother.”

He can almost hear Magnus’s confused blinking. “Okay.”

“After Max’s rune ceremony. Even with everything she’s said and the way she’s been. To me. Izzy. Jace. You. When she needed it, I let that go and forgave her. The way Clary did for me.”

“I would expect no less of you, Alexander.”

“Shouldn’t you?” Alec scoffs. “It’s not like I’ve made a habit of being forgiving or even, I don’t know, gracious about, well, anything.”

“No one can deny you’ve taken some body blows recently.” Magnus’s fingers explore his in the dark, twining and stroking. “Made some incredible adjustments in your life and worldview. A certain shortage of...let us say ‘generosity of spirit’...is understandable. Up to a point.”

“I can’t afford that.” Alec’s eyes burn and he wipes them quickly. “That demon...latched onto something in me. We even spoke about it, when we were briefing before the hunt. We talked about profiling the people in the Institute, coming up with a list of who might be at-risk for a demon that feeds on anger. I should have been the first person we looked at. I should have been quarantined, locked away somewhere I couldn’t--”

“Hindsight is meant to be a learning tool, Alec, not a scourge.”

His throat grows thick and tight and he swallows hard. “I know. That’s why. I forgave my mom because if she’d been in the Institute that night, Jocelyn would still be alive.”

To his credit, Magnus doesn’t try to protest or reassure Alec that surely he didn’t have it in him to do such a thing. Because all the evidence incontrovertibly demonstrated that yes, he did.

The ramifications of that imagined scenario played themselves out in his mind, stark and inexorable, the way they had a hundred times since he’d realized what was festering inside him. Max’s bereavement. His father’s blame. Jace’s loss of the only mother he’d ever known. Izzy being denied the opportunity to ever find any reconciliation of her own.

He would have destroyed the family he’d never wanted anything more than to protect.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of it. The anger. I don’t want to hurt anyone that way again. I mean, what if Valentine has another one of those things?”

He feels the shift of Magnus’s slight shrug. “I’d be less concerned with that than simply finding some peace of mind.”

“But tonight--with Raphael--” Another long breath. Cold air quenching the burn in his chest. Another. And yet another. “I don’t know how to let go of it.”

There’s too much else to say there, and Alec doesn’t have the words. What he’s building with Magnus, this relationship, is brighter and better than anything he’s ever known. It’s its very own force of good, a softly glowing source of light and a blanket of rightness wrapped around his shoulders to keep out the dark and the chill.

But the anger will destroy it if given a chance. Alec’s sure of that. He’s already seen hints of how it could happen, right after Jace disappeared and Alec was lashing out at everyone, Magnus included. He’d driven Magnus away, and he doesn’t ever want to do that again.

“I think it’s a process, Alec,” Magnus says after a long moment. “Being aware of it, trying to rectify it, those are solid first steps. But it doesn’t happen immediately. Making one decision to forgive one person, however significant, isn’t enough.”

“Not enough.” Alec hands his head. “Story of my life.”

“No.” Magnus says quickly. “Whatever voices are saying that to you are wrong. You know they are.”

“Do I? Izzy--”

“Isabelle did what addicts always do. Find someone to blame. Some way to make their addiction someone else’s problem and not something they need to conquer on their own.”

Alec jerks his hand out of Magnus’s. “She’s not an addict.”

“Yes, Alexander. She is.” The anger swells and his lungs start to tighten again, but Magnus’s implacable voice kept coming. “But that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, or that she can’t be helped. If she wants to be. It has to come from her. But right now her addiction is calling the shots, making her say things she otherwise wouldn’t say. Especially when she’s high, because it feels good and she’ll say or do anything to protect and justify that feeling for as long as she can. Unless or until the cost becomes too steep.”

...you didn’t even notice when something was wrong...

“Just because she wouldn’t say those things doesn’t mean she’s wrong.” Alec springs up from the boulder like he’s got rocket boosters attached to his ass and starts walking. Uphill, not down. Somewhere with a break in the trees, maybe a ledge or overlook. He needs to be higher. After a moment of scrambling, Magnus catches up to him, laying a hand on Alec’s sleeve to keep them from getting separated in the dark. “Why didn’t I see it?”

“Are you sure you didn’t?” Magnus asks quietly.

The question goes through Alec’s chest like a spear. The weeks of Izzy pulling away from everyone, looking so afraid and just...depleted. “Of course I did. But--”

“--but she had a perfectly plausible explanation for her uncharacteristic behavior. So you didn’t inquire any further, because the real cause was unimaginable, and because you trust her. That’s not something you should blame yourself for.”

“I didn’t inquire any further because I was too caught up in you. Us.”

The glow of budding affection. The thrill of anticipation and discovery. The flare of arousal and explosion of passion long denied.

Magnus’s heartfelt plea comes in an urgent rasp. “No. Don’t use us as a bludgeon with which to punish yourself.”

“I won’t.” Inhale. Exhale. Every breath carries the crushing burdens of fear and obligation a little farther away. “I can’t.”

He can’t do that to them. They are an island of goodness in the middle of a churning, storm-ripped sea. He can’t regret seeking refuge there.

...you deserve to be happy…

Lydia said those words, but Izzy has always believed them with her whole heart. In her right mind, she’d never dream of blaming Alec for being distracted by something so new and strong and right.

Yet she does blame him.

Ergo, she’s not in her right mind.

Alec stops and turns to him, there in the middle of the midnight forest. He turns his face up to the sparse canopy and lets the drizzle dampen his skin.

She’s not in her right mind. Which means he has to find a way to help her get there, not just drag her around expecting compliance, or assaulting the one person she feels safe with. Or running away to lick his wounds because she managed to hit him where she knew it would hurt the most.

“Alexander--” Magnus speaks slowly and carefully, as though examining each word as he goes, discarding unsuitable variations. “Allow me to suggest that if you want to let go of your anger toward others, the first step has to be letting go of your anger toward yourself.”

That make sense, and yet…

Alec’s arms creep up, folding across his chest like a barrier. His lips lift in a well-rehearsed sneer. Whatever it is Magnus is trying to probe doesn’t want to be touched and he curls defensively around it. Alec can feel it swelling, ready to burst like a cyst spewing poison as a last line of defense. Mutually assured destruction.

“Oh really?” Condescending. Cold. He hates that note in his voice and he especially hates it directed at Magnus and why does he do this? “What am I angry at myself for?”

Magnus’s eyebrow twitches, a fleeting look of wry amusement tugging at his lips, as though Alec’s bristling is entirely predictable and not something he has any intention of indulging. “I can’t imagine. But I’m sure you can figure it out.”

It’s entirely disarming, that refusal to engage. A gentle needle puncture to aspirate the poison away, rather than risk it exploding all over everyone in the vicinity.

Alec pokes gingerly at it, because of course he knows what’s in there. A hundred accusations of inadequacy all stacked atop one another. Not the straight, dutiful nephilim scion his parents need. Not the attentive, supportive brother his sister needs. Not the positive role-model Max needs. Not the unimpeachable leader the New York Institute needs.

Not enough.

Never enough.

Magnus examines his rings in the dim light, and remarks softly, “I submit again that the voices feeding your anger are...distorted. Inaccurate.”

Only somewhat, in the case of his parents, but yes, point taken. It’s always seemed easier to blame himself for not coping with the weight of all the expectations crushing him than to examine them and see if they were reasonable, or if they even existed at all.

And forget telling someone he wanted to please that they needed to have more realistic expectations.

“You don’t expect anything of me,” Alec blurts, peering at Magnus.

“Not true. I expect you to treat me with respect. I expect you to be the good man I know you are.” He cleared his throat. “Who, incidentally, is not the sort of man who beats up my friends without first ascertaining all the facts. And before you begin self-flagellating on that front, a simple apology and an effort to rectify things and do better in the future will suffice. But it’s highly convenient, don’t you think, that in order to meet my expectations, all you have to do is what you already wish to do?”

In other words, find a way out from under the rage that demon had used to burrow into him. Find a way to stop lashing out at others. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but if he doesn’t, everything he values is going to end up in ruins.

He’s not sure how he ends up wrapped around Magnus. The sounds of the forest are gentle. The whisper of rain hitting the leaves on the ground. The occasional rustle of nocturnal wildlife. The deep susurration of their breath is thunderously loud in his ears.

Holding someone who isn’t family like this, just for comfort and closeness, is entirely new, but it’s a balm on his soul and it helps push back the rage and bewilderment.

Which is, of course, when his phone chimes with an alert.

“I’ve got to go,” he says before he even bothers to look at it. But Magnus is already summoning a portal.

As much as he regrets interrupting this time with Magnus, for once the prospect of returning to the Institute doesn’t fill him with dread. There’s a kernel of something taking root in his mind, a hint of the first way to wrest things back into equilibrium. He’s not sure what exactly it will be when it comes to fruition, but he knows he must nurture it.

As promised, they step out of the portal onto the sidewalk just outside the Institute’s wards.

“Be careful, Alec,” Magnus says as he closes the portal. “The downworld is ready to tear itself apart.”

“I will. Thank you.” He captures Magnus’s hand before he can step away. The kiss he gives Magnus is a mere brush, an affectionate benediction, but he does it here in full sight of the Institute, something he hasn’t done since the day of his wedding, and that’s important. “Tell Raphael I’d like to apologize personally, if he’s willing to see me when there’s a chance.”

“I will, Alexander.” Magnus’s gaze is tender, and that small smile makes any effort Alec might expend for his happiness worthwhile.

Setting his shoulders, he turns away from the temptation to linger and strides toward the Institute.

It’s time to fix things.

BUY ME A CUP OF COFFEE!!

[fatale-angel]

Another shooting on the southeast side. This a drive-by, mid-day, Outside of the bus stop, by Fuller and Franklin. Or near there. Not far from the park. About a block from where the other shooting was last month. Or was it last week? Shots were fired from an SUV heading northbound, Eastown, The target a rival but they didn't hit the target this time. They hit a kid we think had nothing to do with it. And I travel backwards through time and space and I disintegrate, become invisible. I want to see it where I couldn't when it happened. I want to see it all first hand this time. I want to know what it felt like. So I float behind police lines, reconstruct the scene in fragments of memories. I want to know what his mother looked like up close, I want to see her leaning over his body. So I float there, transcend time. I want to capture it accurately. I want to know what the color of the blood was spilling out from the tarp onto the concrete. I want to write it all down so I can always remember. If you could see it up close how could you ever forget how senseless death, how precious life. I want to be there when the bullet hit. And the crowd poured out as the shots drowned into siren sounds, out of their houses now And over front yards, all the way up to the place where the police tape ran to mark the crime Scene. Everybody trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, Of what was going on between the ambulance and all the cop cars. Everybody gossiping, "Whose kid got hit? Where'd it hit him? And who could've fired it?" Everybody wondering, "How did it happen again? And is he dead? These children. Our kids." Everybody wondering how far they were from where the victims lived. And I visit them, their houses. Inside my dream I visit them. My spirit, soaring high and high up over King Park, leaves the crime scene, travels further back Till far before the shooting, through their windows, to their living rooms. I see them younger this time, playing games and doing homework. All these marks of youth soon transformed coldly into stone for fights and stupid feuds. For ruins wrapped in gold. And cruelly I recall why I have come: To find a reason. But There cannot be a reason, not for death, not like this. Not like this. Three days later they made funeral plans. The family. Three days later a mother had to bury her son. Not far away the shooter holed up in a hotel near to the highway with a friend and the gun. That same gun. He'd fled immediately but was identified by witnesses, his picture on TV. Only 20 years old, they called him "Grandpa." He was older than the others by a year, Maybe two. And he was safe for awhile until somebody saw him there and notified the authorities Who surrounded the hotel, first arresting an accomplice while attempting to flee, Then chasing him up the staircase to the floor where he'd stayed. He closed the door hard Behind him, locked himself in the room. They could've kicked in the door but knew the gun was still with him, One he'd already used and so they feared what he'd do. I floated up through the window of a room to the West. I hovered out to the hallway, tried to listen in. I heard them trying to reason, get him to open the door. His uncle begging and pleading, half-collapsed to the floor. He preached of hope and forgiveness, Said, "There is always a chance to rectify what you've taken, make your peace in the world." I thought to slip through the door, I could've entered the room, I felt the burden of murder, it shook the earth to the core. Felt like the world was collapsing. Then we heard him speak, "Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself? Can I ever be forgiven 'cause I killed that kid? It was an accident I swear it wasn't meant for him! And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will they send me to hell? Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?" I left the hotel behind, don't want to know how it ends.