#this is only half serious but also. the institute DID burn down so

[catofthebarricades]

Beth Eyre cast as the voice of [Error], here’s how Agnes can still win y’all

[words-writ-in-starlight]

For the ask meme: Sarah x Jareth (I almost wrote that as David Bowie), 14, 22, and 29!

I am RIGHT NOW watching Labyrinth with my partners, EXCELLENT timing!  Cut for length.

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Jareth has never been “sick” a day in his immortal life.  He’s been stabbed, poisoned, cursed, and hungover, but even the weakest goblin is rarely “sick” and Jareth hasn’t spend enough time around mortals to have a good grasp of the fact that nonfatal illnesses even exist.    

Point is, there’s an intermediary period between Sarah pointedly ignoring every owl in sight, no matter the coloring, and Sarah becoming the Goblin Queen where she forces him to visit the mortal world more than he has in living memory, including his.  (Jareth has a vague sense that he might have been here more often once--perhaps when he was young, before he was King--but he’s been King so long, and the Labyrinth has a chain-tight grip on its own.)  Toby is entranced, and also terrified--he doesn’t buy Jareth’s glamour for a second.  Sarah spends half her life running interference on Jareth’s behavior, and the other half doing a double major in political sciences and folklore.  Which she decided to get before she agreed to start talking to Jareth again, thank you, kindly fuck off.

Point is, eventually even Sarah’s suspiciously excellent immune system clocks out for the day, and she wakes up with a splitting headache, a wet and congested cough, and a sense that her skin is being abraded by even her softest sheets.  She’s not sick-sick, it’s just a nasty head cold with a fever, but she calls out of class and flops down on the couch and mumbles non-answers to the goblin who lives in the top of her closet when it scuttles out to see why she’s still home.

She doesn’t even realize Jareth is there until she feels a shadow fall over her and cracks an eye to peer up at him blearily.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks in his most forbidding Goblin King voice, and she groans and pulls her blanket over her head.

“Go away, Jareth, I’m tired.”

“I will not,” he says automatically as he jerks the blanket down to her shoulder, and then he’s crouching down in front of her, mismatched eyes dangerous and inhumanly bright in the yellow light of her little dorm apartment.  “Who did this to you, Sarah?  I will not leave without an answer.”

“No one,” she says, squinting up at him.  “It’s just a cold.”

“’Cold’,” he repeats, in the same skeptical way that he said ‘phone’ when she complained about his unannounced visits.  “I am not aware of that particular toxin.”

“I’m just sick, it’s not like I’ve been poisoned.”

“An illness?”  He pauses, pulls a glove off one hand and reaches out to touch her cheek experimentally.  His fingers are always cold compared to hers, and she shivers hard when he touches her skin, but he doesn’t flinch.  There’s something odd on his face, a locked-up hardness, and he says, “What is it?”

“A cold,” Sarah says again, pulling her blankets back up to her chin and shutting her eyes.  “I’m just going to feel like garbage for a few days.  Probably less if you let me sleep.  Come back and bother me on Saturday.”

He doesn’t leave.  Whatever, Sarah decides--that’s his problem.  She’s tired and feverish and annoyed and she’s going to sleep whether Jareth likes it or not.  She thinks he’s talking to someone--probably that snitch in the closet--about something--sounded vaguely like library and cold--but that’s Not Her Concern.  Sarah is done here.  She feels the end of the couch sink down by her feet just before she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, the Goblin King is still there, reading a book filched from one of her shelves, pen tapping idly against his lips--he’s marking up the fairy tales again, god, she hates his guts sometimes--and there’s a series of tidy piles on the rickety coffee table.  It looks like someone robbed a pharmacy and cleaned out their Cough And Cold aisle, and then sorted their booty by color, which suggests probably goblins just smart enough to recognize a word their king showed them, but not smart enough to read the labels.

Sarah smiles a little and grabs some cough drops from the top of the red pile, and condescends to drape her legs over Jareth’s lap before she goes back to sleep.

22) Where does their first kiss happen?

Sarah has a much harder time in college than she expected.  Not with being away from home, although she does miss Toby something awful and spends every second of her breaks with him.  No, the problem is that she has to share a room.  All the way through freshman year, she has a roommate, and--

And the roommate is fine, she’s a perfectly inoffensive girl from Chicago who keeps her things on her own side of the shoebox room they share and doesn’t bring anyone back to the room and never makes noise late at night, but Sarah hates it.  She can’t quite put her finger on why--is a little afraid of what she might say if pressed, if she’s honest.  She has these half-finished thoughts that involve words like territory and invader and mine.  Sarah has worked very hard not to be a selfish teenager or, possibly worse, the kind of girl who sometimes talks to a Goblin King and wonders privately if his final offer was serious.

Sarah has no plans to be the Goblin Queen, is the point, no matter what Hoggle mutters under his breath when she admits, the summer after her first year of college, that she’s talking to Jareth again.  (He just--he can come see her, there, and he can look like a person, and none of her other friends can, and people are weirdly nervous of Sarah, these days, and she was lonely, okay, so she let an owl into her room while her roommate was gone, and let them who never made a bad choice in college throw the first stone.)  And that means getting over herself and never voicing any of the thoughts that creep into her head about how her roommate, who has every right to sleep here, deserves to be thrown in an oubliette for disturbing Sarah’s peace.

Sarah is better than that, these days.

The only person who isn’t fooled is, of course, Jareth, who is very perceptive and also very persistently determined to visit regularly.  He smothers smirks when he sees Sarah force herself to be kind, and once offers, sweet as arsenic, to take Sarah’s roommate off her hands if you just say the right words, precious.  Sarah glares at him and pointedly turns her back, and he laughs as he leaves.  But he never does anything to her roommate, and Sarah doesn’t think about how Jareth never actually does anything to her space or anything in it, and doesn’t think about the rules that fairy tales handed down for millennia about places that fall under the power of a creature not to be toyed with.

She’s signed up to room with the same girl for sophomore year, because she doesn’t have a reason to claim a single and seniors always snap up the free ones.  But she shows up to get her key, and the registrar frowns and clicks a few things and then shrugs and hands Sarah a key.  He gives Sarah directions to one of the buildings up-campus, and Sarah goes, not particularly suspicious--she’s never been to the up-campus buildings, because people are nervous around Sarah and, while she’s manages to make a friend or two, no one really invites her back to their room.  Into their space.

Sarah opens her door and stands there, staring, mildly shocked.

Apparently, she is now the proud resident of a senior-only dorm room, one of the very tiny apartments that are supposed to house two people, with a kitchenette and a couch and everything.  There’s no one else’s name on the other door.  Sarah is late moving in, but there’s no sign of anyone here, except--

The Goblin King is sitting at the desk in the bedroom that gets the most sunlight, feet kicked lazily up on the wooden top and playing a pair of crystals between his fingers, and he smirks at her.

“I know, I know,” he drawls, vanishing the crystals with a twist of his fingers.  “I have no power over you.  But the school’s quartermaster--”

“Registrar,” Sarah corrects automatically.  He makes a dismissive gesture.  “Did you--do this?”

“Of course,” Jareth says.  “This...situation is apparently the height of luxury at this institution.  You did so despise that fluttering creature--”

“Molly was perfectly nice--”

“--and I see no reason for you to endure her for another year.”

Sarah--should really say that he’s an interfering, high-handed bastard who pretends that he has the divine right to arrange her life to his liking, and keeps rules-lawyering his way around her totally legitimate freedom from his interference.

Sarah really doesn’t want to share a room again.

“What do you want in return?”  She doesn’t even pretend that she’s not suspicious, and he puts on an offended face, bringing his feet down and pressing his lips together.

“It is a gift, Sarah.”

...oh.  Sarah blinks for a moment.  He sounds--geniunely annoyed.  Gifts are, in her knowledge of the Underground and the fae alike, serious business.

She acts without thinking, takes a step forward and tucks her hair behind her ear, and kisses the high point of his cheekbone above his frown.  When she pulls back, she sees a moment of transparent, raw shock before he orders his face into a self-satisfied and haughty raised eyebrow.

“Don’t say anything,” Sarah tells him, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you can keep your mouth shut, this might resemble a nice moment.”

“If I had known that I could claim debts in kisses--”

“You can’t!” Sarah interrupts loudly.  “Don’t get any ideas!  Now get out and let me unpack!”

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Jareth is already thoroughly decided that Sarah is eventually going to agree to be his queen, one way or another, by the time she finally sighs and opens her window and tells the owl that if he’s very very good, and doesn’t talk to Toby, and looks like a regular person, she will speak to him just to get him to stop lurking.  He breaks all of those rules very quickly, of course, but she doesn’t kick him out--instead, she yells at him, and he puts on his coldest and haughtiest voice as he snaps back at her, and it’s fun.  Jareth never could turn down a challenge, and it’s been a long time since he faced a challenge he might lose, and just like the first time, it makes him ruthlessly determined to win.

It’s not news to him, therefore, that he loves her.

She manages to lie, obfuscate, and generally bullshit her way around admitting what she does at school for nearly three years.  But she starts writing her thesis and slips up, and Jareth is stretched on her bed in the apartment he arranged for her like he lives there when he idly picks up a piece of paper and skims her proposal and she sees his eyebrow rise slowly before he holds it up at her.

“What’s this, precious?”

“Homework,” she says flatly.

“‘Thesis Proposal,’” he reads aloud, drawling.  “‘Sarah Williams.  Proposed title: I’d’ve Et Thy Heart of Flesh: Fairy Tales as a Portrait of Royalty Through History.  Majors: Folklore and...’”  His mocking drawl pauses, and he can’t quite hide his transparent delight as he finishes the sentence.  “‘...and Political Science.’”  

When he looks up from the page, she has a stubborn set to her mouth and a bright spark in her eyes, almost angry.  “It’s not about you, you arrogant prick, I picked my majors years ago.  Give me that, I need the notes.”

“And what do fairy tales say about royalty, dearest?”

“That they’re prideful jerks who steal kids for armies and play favorites--the paper, Jareth.”

“And what do you plan to do with your degree in politics?”

“Regicide,” Sarah snaps, and jumps out of her chair to snatch the paper out of his fingers.  He lets her, and smiles at the way she blushes stark red across her cheekbones and down her throat, and wonders whether she would like the emerald ring he’s kept in his private chambers for the past three years.

Mortals have been doing diamonds, for betrothals, but he thinks green suits her better.

[voiceless-terror]

all those sleep prompts are so killer and such big jon vibes!!! i would love to read anything on "- a character who refuses to share a sleeping space with anyone else, and it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb others/doesn’t want pity/is ashamed of his nightmares" with jon. bonus points if tim is involved and extra bonus points if tim also has experience with insomnia/nightmares, either himself or used to taking care of someone in his life with those issues...

Hey there! Here I am, finally writing the promised Jon/Tim that I should have written ages ago. Feels good to be on this train! I’ve placed this in pre-canon, when Jon and Tim are researchers and have just started dating. Hope you like!

“That was...really nice, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you? Jon, we split the check,” Tim throws an arm around his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm in all the right ways. “You know my policy on that. The person who asks you out pays the bill! Ergo, me.”

“I know, I know,” Jon relents under the pressure and burrows into Tim’s side. The wine’s gone to his head, he’s sure of it. Shouldn’t have had those three glasses. But the waiter was so attentive and Tim’s smile was infectious so he couldn’t help but say yes, of course, thank you, to every pour. “I just...I really enjoyed myself, is all.”

“I did too,” Tim’s voice goes to that soft, fond register he’s only just started using with Jon. Before it had been all gregarious charm, winks and nudges that he used interchangeably with friends and acquaintances alike. When Tim first asked him out, Jon thought he was joking; he rolled his eyes and went back to work, ignoring Tim’s look of hurt. Jon was used to practical jokes of this nature- he’s not exactly an attractive prospective partner, and several people have implied he was more trouble than he was worth. But a week later, on their usual coffee run, Tim offered to buy him dinner, his voice serious and shy and utterly unlike him. The look in his eyes was genuine and Jon had to say yes; who could refuse him, in the face of such sincerity?

It’s been a month and they’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Every week is a new spot- Tim’s a bit of a foodie, and he overheard him making a list of places with Sasha. It took up an entire page in his notebook, and Jon wonders if Tim will get sick of him before they finish it.

He stumbles on the sidewalk and Tim catches him with a steady hand on his waist. The cold air should be bracing but it is not; his dizziness increases two times over and it’s a long journey home. Tim knows this, which must lead to his next suggestion.

“You can spend the night at mine,” he says, voice purposefully light. Jon freezes. They hadn’t broached the topic yet, but he thinks Tim has some sort of idea. Rumors abound in research, after all. Tim must notice his nervousness because he stops walking, turning to face Jon with that same unbearable sincerity. 

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” Tim says, and Jon believes him. Tim hasn’t lied to him yet. “I just don’t feel comfortable putting you on the tube, and you’re a long way from home while I’m right around the corner.” Jon still doesn’t respond, so Tim continues. “No pressure, honestly. I could call you a cab, it’s not a big deal-”

“No, that’s-that’s too expensive.” Living in London is hard enough, especially on a researcher’s salary. But to spend the night at Tim’s, as innocent as it may be, fills him with dread. There’s a reason he lives alone. There’s a reason it took him almost a year before he stayed the night at Georgie’s.

Sleep has never been kind to him.

Jon has nightmares. Terrible, horrifying visions of make-believe that leave him screaming and crying and choking on his breath. Georgie had been about ready to call an ambulance the first time she witnessed it, but Jon was able to talk her down.

“These happen every night?” she’d asked, her face a mix of pity and concern. 

“Not every night,” he insisted. It was true. If he stayed up late, working himself to exhaustion, he could usually manage a dreamless sleep of at least five hours. But that came with its own difficulties; crankiness, irritability. It put a strain on most of his relationships. 

Tim, though- Tim is kind and understanding. Beneath the mask of sociability and flirtation lies a serious, determined person. Compassionate, loving, but in a quiet way and with small gestures. He makes lists. He puts in time. He asks Jon what he wants when they go out to eat and he doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes when Jon carries on for too long. 

“We can go to your place,” he whispers. “I-I think I’d like that.” Tim smiles and hooks an arm through his and Jon knows he’s made the right decision. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe the wine will dull the terror that rules most of his life. The night is dark and Jon’s flat is cold and lonely. 

Tim’s flat, on the other hand, is warm and cozy. It’s neat and organized, but cluttered enough to give it personality and charm. There’s a couch calling his name and he answers it, practically collapsing in the cushions as Tim lets out a little laugh.

“No going to sleep yet,” he instructs and Jon can’t help but let out a groan. The warmth and safety of the spot and the closeness of Tim has suddenly made him comfortably tired, and he’d like to slip off to sleep in this pleasant haze. “Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ve even got those crusty little granola bars you like so much.”

“They’re not crusty,” he grumbles, his voice stifled by a pillow. But he’s not in a fighting mood and his mind’s currently swimming with the fact that Tim stocked his favorite snack. 

“Very crusty, indeed,” Tim’s nudging him up into a sitting position and forcing water into his hands. “Drink up!”

“You’re very irritating, I hope you know,” Jon says as he leans his head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim makes for a comfortable pillow. 

“Aw, you love it.” 

Maybe he does.

By the time he’s choked down the last of the bar, his eyes are fluttering and he can’t keep in his yawns. Tim puts a warm hand on his arm and it burns pleasantly as he pulls him up. “Time for bed, I think.”

The words startle Jon out of his haze and he blinks his eyes open, focusing on Tim’s gentle smile. “Er, I think-” he doesn’t want to disappoint the man, but he would rather be as cautious as possible. “I think it would be best if I slept out here.”

“On the couch?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh- would you rather sleep alone?” Tim doesn’t seem too miffed about it, just confused, so Jon answers as honestly as he can.

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to, not really. But he needs to.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily enough. “But you should take the bed, then. The sofa’s comfy but I know you have a bad back-”

“It’s fine for one night,” Jon responds. Forcing Tim to sleep on the sofa in his own flat seems terribly selfish.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jon assures, trying to convey his affection in a gentle smile. Tim returns it.

“I’ll just get you some sheets, then. Change of clothes, too.”

By the time Jon’s head hits the pillow, comfortably attired in Tim’s old joggers and t-shirt, he’s already half asleep. He thinks Tim’s already left the room but then he feels the warm pressure of a kiss to his forehead.

Perhaps he dreamed that, though.

__________

There’s a thread and it’s pulling Jon forward.

It’s not comfortable. Jon would rather stay here, in the library, surrounded by books and dim lights and knowledge he has control over. But there are whispers in the hallway, and someone’s telling him to go, go, go. 

And go he does. Down stairs, so many stairs, more stairs than the institute ought to have. There is something watching and something pulling; Jon is being split in two and somehow this is worse than actually seeing the spiders and the eyes that have haunted him all these years. This, he feels in his soul. Something is at stake.

There’s a door. This is how it always ends, you see- with a door. And Jon’s fist, small and childish and grubby, raises to knock against the wood. It echoes too many times as Jon tries to step back, get off this porch and out of this nightmare but it is too late, the deed is done and the door is opening and a single, spindly black leg creeps out of the door hello, Mr. Spider-

“Jon!”

There are limbs holding him but it’s not the many-legged creature of his nightmares- they’re familiar and strong even as he thrashes against them but someone is screaming and the sound is haunting and painful-

And it’s him. Jon wrenches his eyes open to find himself safe and sound, held in place by Tim’s arms. His heart continues to stutter and he wheezes- Tim’s got a hand on his back and a soothing murmur going.

“You’ve got to breathe, Jon. Slow.” Tim takes his shaking hand and puts it to his own chest. “Like this. In and out. There you go. Nice and slow.” The words are calm and practiced; Tim’s done this before, with someone else. As his heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm, he wonders who. 

There’s a hand on Jon’s face, gently wiping away tears he wasn’t aware he shed. Tim’s eyes are far-away, sort of, like he’s just going through the motions, slow and loving. “There we are,” he says as he finally meets Jon’s eyes. “Better now?”

“Y-Yes,” he croaks back. His hand is still gripping at Tim’s shirt but he doesn’t let go until the reality of the situation sets in. “Oh God- I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Is that why you slept out here?” Tim asks, his voice patient. “Does this happen a lot?”

“M-More than I care to admit.” Jon feels a sudden need to explain himself, to let Tim know he tries to keep it under control as best he can. “I’ve tried everything- tea, therapy, p-pills- it doesn’t work.” A note of frustration creeps into his voice. “Something doesn’t want me to sleep, I guess.”

“Just thought you were a workaholic, to be honest,” Tim pulls him into his side and Jon melts, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Should’ve known better. We work at the Magnus Institute, after all.” The laugh that comes from both of them is bitter. “D’you want to sleep in my bed, maybe? Just- just for company. I’ve been told that helps.”

“I-I don’t want to wake you.” The argument is weak and the both of them know it.

“You already have, love.” The endearment slips out unnoticed by Tim, but Jon hears it. “You’ll wake me either way, but I’d rather you didn’t wake up alone.”

“O-Oh.” There’s a lot of care in those words. Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, except agree. “Yes, I’ll- if, if you don’t mind-”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” He wouldn’t, Jon knows. Tim always means what he says when it comes to him.

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.” Jon opens his eyes.

Tim never mentioned a brother; it never came up in any of their conversations. Tim knows Jon is an only child, that he was brought up by his grandmother and had a lonely childhood. He didn’t realize, in all of their time together, that he knew so little of Tim’s own background, besides his publishing career.

Nobody liked to talk about what brought them to the Magnus Institute. It was like some unspoken rule, some shared trauma that somehow kept them all silent and apart.

“Your brother?” he whispers, turning over to see Tim’s face. Its dark, but he thinks he can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes like unshed tears. 

“Danny.” Tim says the name like he’s asking for forgiveness that Jon can’t give. He sees a tear drip down the man’s face and he reaches for it, just like Tim did before. “He was...he was my little brother. And he was so, so good.” Tim’s voice breaks and something in Jon breaks too. “And something took him from me.” His expression is hard but his hand reaches out to lovingly trace Jon’s face, as if trying to memorize its shape.

“I’m sorry,” Jon knows his apology is not enough, that it will never fill the gap in Tim’s heart. Instead, he finds words spilling from his lips, as if sharing his own pain will help too. “I-I saw someone get taken, once. I didn’t- I didn’t love them, but- but it was because of me.” Tim’s hand is in his hair, tucking a curl behind his ear as his voice wobbles. “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim draws him close and squeezes; Jon buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jon,” Tim whispers as he runs a hand down his back. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Jon isn’t Danny and Tim isn’t offering him absolution but it’s fine, for tonight.

Jon doesn’t dream.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494077

[lassieposting]

💘💘💘💘 + ghasdug

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

So Skug says they stowed away on the same ship, but this is...not exactly true.

He stowed away on that ship, because he was running away from home and he was a snobby little lordling who'd never had to fend for himself a day in his life, so the furthest ahead he'd actually thought to plan was "they won't want to turn around and drop me off once they're underway".

Ghastly was not stowed away at any point during that trip. Ghastly was signed on for the journey as a deckhand, because Ghastly's mother told him he needed to, and it had to be that particular ship. Ghastly gets seasick, and did not want to go to sea in the slightest. But Ghastly's mother has visions and so Ghastly does as he is told. Apparently there was something important waiting for him on that ship.

Anyway Skug pops out once he thinks they're far enough away from shore that they'll leave him be rather than take him back to port, and he is incredibly mistaken. The captain is in favour of turning him around right there and then, because he's clearly some rich lord's brat, and whoever his father is will probably pay handsomely for his safe return. Ghastly manages to talk the ship's crew into letting him stay on, provided he pulls his weight like the rest of them.

Needless to say, even before they're attacked by pirates, that voyage is a rude awakening for poor Skug, and good lord does Ghastly hear all about it. He has blisters. His feet hurt. This shirt was expensive and now it's all sweaty. His hair is in his eyes all the time. He's tired. The guy in the next bunk snores. Some of these people look like they have lice. He didn't realise he'd be doing manual labour, this is servant stuff, how dare they.

Ghastly does. Not realise at that point what he has let himself in for.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Poor Ghastly gets to pine for years. Baby Skug isn't a great boyfriend. He's less invested - he loves Ghastly, but they have two totally different outlooks.

Ghastly is ugly. He's always been ugly. He's got a face he believes only his mother could love. He's never believed he'd find someone who saw past that or loved him regardless. So as soon as he gets Skug into bed, he's over the moon and ready to commit. He's like 17, and would absolutely settle down there and then given half a chance.

Skug, on the other hand, was a weird-looking child who only recently grew into an attractive adolescent and he is loving it. For the first time in his life, girls are noticing him. He doesn't want to settle down, he wants to play the field and sow some wild oats and have fun. So there are periods of exclusivity with Ghastly, interspersed with periods where Skug basically drops him to chase after the latest pretty bit of skirt.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

Ghastly's smitten by the time they make it back to Ireland - Skug is a bit soft and allergic to hard work and a pain in the arse, but he's flashy and charismatic and funny and pays attention to him without gawking at his face (past the initial "good god, what happened to you?") - but Skug is well and truly settled into living with Ghastly's family by the time he actually gives Ghas the come-on.

where their first date was and what it was like

They went to the local tavern and got drunk, and then rode home in the pouring rain once it kicked them out at closing time.

When they got home, Ghastly's parents had long since gone to bed, but that wasn't necessarily unusual - once Skug, who has a considerable allowance, is old enough to start drinking, Saoirse institutes a rule that if they're not home by the time she and her husband turn in for the night, she'll leave blankets in the barn and they can sleep there instead. She's not having them barging in, wasted, at all hours of the day and night, waking her up after a hard day's work.

So they put the horses away and give them a quick rub down, and Ghastly is trying to look anywhere but Skug because Skug's shirt has gone kind of see-through and poor Ghastly is an awkward, horny teenage boy, but he keeps shooting him these furtive glances over the horse's back and Skug notices because Skug notices everything and lowkey teases him about it. "Want me to sit for a portrait? It'll last longer," sort of teasing, and Ghastly tries to laugh along but he's also vibrant red because he's been caught staring, so obviously Skug realises something's up

And he's precisely as tactful about it as he ever is about anything, and jokes, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me," and Ghastly's ears burn and he doesn't deny it quick enough and now Skug's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline and Ghastly panics because like, he's ugly, Skug is going to be disgusted or laugh at him and he can't cope with either, so he just? Freezes?

But like. Skug was a weird-looking, unfortunate child who very recently grew into an attractive adolescent, so he fucking thrives on attention. So his response to this awkward not-quite-a-confession is actually a moment of silence while he mulls this new information over (this feels like an eternity to poor Ghastly) followed by an early attempt at using The Hot Voice and, "If you want me, have me."

So, they end up having sex in the hayloft on the blankets Ghastly's mom left out for them. Ghastly has never even been kissed and doesn't admit that he has no idea what he's doing until he realises Skug is expecting him to take the lead. He also blurts that he loves Skug when he nuts, so like. It's your typical painfully embarrassing virginity loss.

It can't be all bad though, because Skug's up for doing it again.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

So in my endgame-ghasdug AU, they get back together post-TDOTL. Ghastly survives being stabbed, but the blade nicked his spinal cord, so he's in a wheelchair for quite a while, and then has to do A Lot of physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Skug shows up at the hospital/facility where he's recovering every day unless there's an emergency, because Ghastly is very depressed and struggling with survivor's guilt over Anton and doesn't see the point in doing his physio because it hurts and he's exhausted and he shouldn't be alive anyway. And Skug annoys him into doing it, mostly by heckling him from the other side of the room, because he's not great at the whole emotional support thing. Ghastly will mutter, "Christ, I want to hit you," and Skug will tell him, "Well, if you come over here to do it I won't even duck." And if Ghastly gets his ass up and uses the walking frame support thing to cross the room, well, then Skug will take a punch like a man and be happy about it because Ghastly walked.

They also talk a lot during this period. Ghastly feels like shit, and he reminisces a lot about the good old days and how he never saw Ravel's betrayal coming and memories he has of Anton, and sometimes that veers into memories they share from when they were young men. And Skug, at this point, is old enough and has been through enough to admit that he wasn't great to Ghastly when they were boys. He was flighty and selfish and high-maintenance, and he would've hated to be treated the way he treated Ghastly. And he tells him that, at one point - that he's sorry, and if he could go back and do it differently, he would, assuming Ghastly was daft enough to be willing to put up with him a second time.

And Ghastly laughs and tells him, "I'd still have you now, you stupid bastard."

who proposes first

Ghastly. They're 19/20. Skug thinks he's joking.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Neither - they don't announce it, but it's not exactly a secret either. Ghastly's parents notice pretty much straight away, but other than a few parental pointers on what is and isn't appropriate, it's not really a topic of conversation.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

Skug's sister Confelicity accepts the first proposal she gets at the age of 16, because she's desperate to get out of their parents' house and away from their toxic relationship and controlling behaviour. Their father disapproves and refuses to attend the wedding (and, of course, their mother is not allowed her own opinion), and Carver is out of the country, so Skug stands in to a) pay and b) give away the bride. He takes Ghastly for moral support, because he doesn't like most of his relatives and also doesn't like the groom (Thurid Guild - their relationship doesn't improve when Confelicity divorces him a few years later to marry a baronet). While they're watching the couple say their vows, Ghastly murmurs, "We should get married."

Skug is right in the middle of his hoe phase and does not realise Ghastly's serious.

who’s more dominant

Generally, Skug. He is one hell of a force of personality and Ghastly does get steamrollered quite a bit, although he does eventually learn how to say no. Skug always gets things his way, always does whatever he likes and be damned to the consequences, and Ghastly is always there with a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling his ass out of whatever fire he started.

In bed, though, it's Ghastly.

how into pda they are

As teenagers, Ghastly's mother has to reprimand them occasionally for being too all over each other, but teenagers be rabidly horny. As grown men, they're just sort of casually affectionate. Comfortable with each other. When they're relaxing in camp after a day of travelling, Skug will lean against Ghastly to read a book or put his head on Ghastly's leg while they chat. They can have a silent conversation just by reading each other's faces. They'll nudge each other when something reminds them of an in-joke. They have that easy intimacy that comes with having known each other forever.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

As boys, Ghastly has a particular flowery meadow he likes to take Skug to for picnics, because he's a romantic. Skug at that age is considerably less so, and more interested in whether they can screw there without getting caught.

In the modern day, they go to see old movies. Ghastly was very into the early films of the late 1910s and the 1920s, after the war finished. He associates them with a time where he finally got to just set up his shop and live the life he always wanted to live. Skug hasn't seen most of Ghastly's favourites, because he spent that period of history fighting the truce and then spiralling into a black hole of trauma and misery, but he got very into the noir detective era to the point that he's still clinging to the aesthetic like 80 years later, so they'll alternate who picks the movies and catch each other up on their favourites.

who’s more protective

They've both spent their fair share of time fretting in the chair beside a hospital bed. After Ravel's betrayal, though, it's Skug. Ghastly retires as soon as he's considered fit to make the decision, and decides he wants to go back to Dublin to reopen his shop and just sort of try and forget Roarhaven exists. And Skug is absolutely adamant that he gets to do it. There's a lot of interest in Ghastly for a while - groundbreaking healing magic was used to fix what should've been a permanent injury, people want to know if he suspected Ravel, they want his advice on how to rebuild after Devastation Day. He's more approachable than China, and a lot more popular. But he can't cope with it all, and anyone who tries to hassle him in Dublin will have Skug to deal with.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

The first night Skug stays at Ghastly's family home. Ghastly is an only child, and his family isn't wealthy - their house doesn't have a guest room. It's sleep with Ghastly or sleep on the floor, and Little Lord Priss isn't going to be sleeping on the floor.

Honestly, he's relieved there isn't a spare room for him. He's never really slept alone before. Like most children of very wealthy families back then, he grew up in a nursery with his four oldest brothers and sisters, and when he was too old to live with The Children, he shared a room, first with Carver and then with Francis. The thought of being on his own in a strange house is pretty intimidating.

He moves to his own bed as soon as they get him one, but he stays in Ghastly's room, and he's perfectly happy with that.

(Ghastly is less happy. He's very much crushing on Skug and he's terrified he'll say something incriminating in his sleep.)

who steals whose clothes and how often

Skug gets to steal Ghastly's clothes for a year or two after he moves in with Ghastly's family. After that, they're built too differently. Ghastly is built like a brick shithouse of muscle. Skug is lean and toned and tall. When they're younger, he can more or less wear Ghastly's clothes as a nightshirt, but after Skug's final growth spurt, Ghastly's clothes don't sit right on him at all, and he's gotten too vain and fashion-conscious by that point to just wear them anyway.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Ghastly is fussy about his tea. Plenty of milk, two and a half sugars, leave the teabag in.

Skug just inhales it black, which Ghastly thinks is an abomination.

if they ever have any children together

Ghastly thanks his lucky stars every day that they have a 0% chance of accidentally spawning a skuglet. One of him is plenty.

He's very involved with Skugbab when he comes along, though. He's godfather and a very present uncle.

if they have any special pet names for each other

Skug doesn't do nicknames, and would rather not be given them, either. Ghastly gets away with "Skul", primarily because he's the only one who's known Skug since he was all of 16, but also because "Skulduggery" is a mouthful when all your blood is rushing to your downstairs brain and it's his own damn fault that he didn't think of that before he picked it.

if they ever split up and / or get back together

So many times. They're on and off again more frequently than Saracen's clothes. Every time Skug spots someone new, he ends it with Ghastly to pursue them, and then comes back when he loses interest or it doesn't work out.

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Ghastly's family home is an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. It's simple, but cosy, and Ghastly's dad is incredibly houseproud, so it's very well-looked-after. Skug prefers it by miles to his own palacial, but cold and unwelcoming, family home, and he tries to replicate the vibe later on with Wifey. It's pretty small compared to what he's used to, so it sort of feels like they're all living on top of each other, and he has to get used to not having any servants and drawing his own water to heat his own bath etc, but he's loved there, and that makes all the difference.

what their names are in each other’s phones

They're both old-ass men about some things, and this is one of them. So no emojis or anything - they're "Ghastly Bespoke" and "Skul". How romantic.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Ghastly wakes up first: he's used to rising early to get started on his chores. Skug is absolutely not a morning person at this point in his life and Ghastly frequently has to turf his ass out of bed by pulling his quilt off/dumping water on him/yelling in his ear.

Reversed with modern day ghasdug: Ghastly still wakes at a sensible time, but damn it he left the army a century ago and now he likes a lie in. Skug never really stopped being a soldier and still has most of his military habits, so he's up with the sun.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Ghastly is the big spoon. Skug likes to be Held.

who hogs the bathroom

Skug. The boy is vain as all fuck. There is a grand total of one cloudy looking-glass in Ghastly's family's home and Skug spends a good chunk of the morning hogging it to fuss with his hair and peacock at his reflection. Ghastly is under strict orders Never to mention this to Fletcher.

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part One)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, injury

Context: The reader is a vampire hunter who works for an institution that specialises in hunting supernatural beings, and has been deployed in Santa Carla. Over time, she met the boys and somehow befriended them, choosing not to hunt them at all, rather keep their territory clear of other vampires.

A/N: right, so this is an idea for a series I've had for a little while now, and I've been itching to get it down. It's a little bit different to what I usually write, and I swear it will get better than this first part, so bare with me. 💛💛💛❤

Masterlist

“I thought I told you boys to be careful tonight?” I exclaim as I emerge from behind the dune i was crouched by, carefully slotting my dart gun into the holster at my hip, concealing it with my jacket before gingerly sliding down the soft sand, taking in what was the scene of a beach party, but is now in fact the remains of a coven of vampires’ meal. Bottles lie, stranded, in the bloody sand, clothes and shoes strewn all over the place, a foul stench emanating from the bonfire in the centre, where there are already three bodies burning, the platinum blonde vampire, David, having already started disposing of the evidence.

“He caught us off guard!” Paul whines, the lanky blonde picking splinters of wooden shrapnel out of his abdomen, Marko and Dwayne kneeling beside him to help, hands slick with blood, both vampire and human.

“I did warn you he was in town.” I point out, going over to the limp hunter lying on the floor a little way away, pulling out a syringe of sedative from my pocket as I crouch down beside him, rolling him onto his front with one hand. From his place by the fire, David comes over, watching as I remove the dart from his back and inspect its contents, noting that it is only half empty, meaning the muscular man beneath me is not nearly as unconscious as I would like. Moving a lock of dirty blonde hair away from the pale neck exposed by his loose collar, I inject him with a larger dose of the same sedative, making sure that he is well and truly out of it before rolling him onto his back, looking into his haggard face.

Unsurprisingly, I don't recognise him, though I am well aware that I probably should, given that the logo embroidered into the shoulder of his jacket is identical to the one on my own, identifying him as a member of the same unit that I am in - the stark white cross and blood red rosary beads a dead giveaway. Chewing my lip, I consider what I should do with him, thinking through my usual options: leave him where he is so he can pick up his own pieces tomorrow, take him back to the ramshackle hut I live in so I can help him recover and make up some story, or let the boys take him, an option which I've never seriously thought about. A short groan from behind me snaps me from my thoughts, Paul's stomach evidently still not quite healed after his encounter with a shrapnel grenade, a personal favourite of many inexperienced Hunters, due to its efficiency in incapacitating vampires in a large radius. Unfortunately for him, the tall blonde managed to take the brunt of one, as the Hunter's aim is apparently as bad as his ability to protect himself against his own quarry - no one serious about taking down vampires should leave their neck as unprotected as he does.

"You want some help getting the rest of those out? It'll be difficult without tweezers." I call over to the three vampires on the floor, knowing that the splinters tend to lodge themselves quite deeply.

"We haven't really got all that long left before the sun comes out. Will he survive with them in all day?" David chips in before Paul can reply, eyeing his brother in concern.

"It really won't be very comfortable for him. He'll be in agony the entire time, but he'll survive. If you want, I can drive over to my place and grab what I need and meet you back at the cave?" I offer, well aware that having Paul in constant pain will be as tedious for the others as it is for the vampire himself, seeing as he has a tendency to whine.

Across from us, the vampire in question whimpers again, head falling back, lip clamped between his teeth, Dwayne moving carefully to pick him up, concern written across his face. Upon seeing this, David growls, sending a murderous look at the prone figure at my feet, fist clenching at his side as he fights the urge to exact revenge.

"If it's no trouble, (Y/n), that would be much appreciated." Dwayne accepts, smiling tensly at me as adjusts the weight in his arms.

"Ok, I'll be over in an hour. I have to get him," I point at the Hunter, "Home, so I'll be a little longer than normal. Make Paul as comfortable as possible whilst you wait."

The brunette nods at me before floating into the air, moving to fly in the direction of the cave they reside in, Marko soon following with a quick grin, the younger vampire clearly as worried as his brother, leaving David and I alone with the Hunter.

"What're you gonna do with him?" The vampire inquires, toeing at the Hunter's face with his boot, disgust evident in his tone.

"I'll send him back to New Orleans in the morning." I inform him, having made up my mind.

"New Orleans?"

"Yeah, it's where the SRS have their headquarters. If I send him back with an appropriate story, I'll be sorting two problems in one go." I explain to him, referring to the relentless curiosity that I've been faced with for the past year, when the SRS (Supernatural Riddance Soldiers) superiors noticed that I never seemed to come back, an odd occurrence for one of their most experienced soldiers. If I tell the Hunter that I'm sorting a vampire problem here, they'll leave me alone; what they don't need to know is that I've accidentally befriended the only real vampires in Santa Carla itself. If they found out, I'd be excommunicated and then hunted down as if I were a vampire myself: anyone who consorts with the damned is damned themselves.

"Makes sense, I guess. Want some help carrying him back?" David offers, watching as I prop the body up against my own, judging the weight against me before I decide on the best way of getting him to my home.

"Err, yeah, that'd be great, thanks." I respond, standing as he easily reaches down and picks the body up, the weight resting comfortably in his muscular arms.

Together, we walk back the way I came, picking up my skateboard (my only method of transport) on our way, following the road back to the rundown shack I call my home. When I was first deployed here, the SRS put me up in a crappy motel off the highway going into Santa Carla, but after the first week or so, I moved out and into this shed, seeing as my only transport from my original lodgings was a bus, the price of which was too much for me to continue using. Being an avid skater, I swiftly purchased a skateboard and have used that ever since; it was also how I first met Dwayne, having accidentally bumped into him at one of the many skateparks in and around the coastal town. Approaching the rickety structure now, I feel a little self conscious at my choice of home, aware that the walls are patched with random pieces of wood, the roof made of scraps of corrugated iron and that the door is nothing but a sheet of riveted metal that I slide in place in front of the gap in South facing wall. David says nothing, allowing me to pull the "door" aside before entering, dumping the body on the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Quietly, I grab a rope off of the messy table top and get to work tying the Hunter to a loop of iron set into the floor, a feature that was already here when I first moved in, tightening the knots significantly, given that every Hunter is trained in the art of escapism when they go through their initial training, meaning it is likely that the man on the floor may well be able to break free. When I'm finished, I rifle through the gear littering the many surfaces in the room, eventually finding my tweezers, lifting them for David to see as I approach him.

"Let's go." I say to him, giving the unconscious Hunter one last look as we step outside again, slipping the tweezers into my pocket, "How are we getting there?"

"Well," David smirks, shrugging to himself, "Either we can walk, or I can carry you."

"You can carry me?" I question, blushing slightly at the idea.

"You look light enough, and flying is faster anyway." He reasons, chuckling at the redness of my cheeks, something he can only see because of his enhanced vision.

"I guess we can try that? It means Paul doesn't have to wait as long..." I start only to be cut off when David suddenly has me in his arms, my own hands wrapping themselves around the back of his neck, a yelp escaping me at the proximity.

"You'd better hold on, kitten." The vampire teases, before taking off into the night sky.

Part Two

[the-fixation-zone]

lil character study

typed this up bc it’s summer and i don’t like summer but also wanted to write about the boys

~

Summer is a bad season, Sokka thinks. Just, the worst. Way too hot, too stuffy, and no way to get cool if you were unfortunate enough to not be able to afford an A/C unit. As Sokka and Zuko were grad students and existed at the mercy of their institution, they fall into that category. Sokka moans from his place on the (relatively) cool tile of their kitchen, clad only in boxer shorts and a tank top. The tank top’s welcome is swiftly wearing out.

“Zuko?”

“Hmm?” comes from the living room, where Zuko sits on the couch like a normal person, upright and everything. Zuko doesn’t seem to feel the heat, ever. He’s in a t-shirt and jeans for gods’ sakes, reading a book or whatever. Sokka had taken a moment to goggle at him as he’d slunk by, on his way to the kitchen tiles. Zuko had looked entirely relaxed. Totally chill. Completely unfair.

“If I asked, would you kill me? Like, in a quick and humane way?”

A moment of silence from the living room. From Sokka’s vantage point on the floor, he can only see Zuko’s feet (high arches, one crossed over the other at the ankle) and is about to ask again when— “Maybe? It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“How you define humane.”

Sokka sits up, not expecting this to be the sticking point. “Huh. Well. They say that when butchers kill pigs it’s humane to shoot them between the eyes. I think I read that somewhere.” If Sokka’s honest, he hasn’t thought about this very much but now that the wheels are turning he’s all in. “Maybe that would do it?”

“That sounds messy. Would I have to kill you in the house?” Sokka can hear a rustle of pages, which makes him think Zuko has put his book down. Nice.

“Doesn’t have to be at home, no, you could take me out back if you had to. Put a tarp down maybe?”

“Hmm.” More silence. “A tarp could work, yeah. Where would I take your body then? I would ask if you wanted Katara to have it, but I think there’d be two bodies at that point, and she shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Sokka snorts and lays back down. Zuko is entirely right, though; Katara would kill him on sight if he’d killed Sokka. No questions asked. “Maybe…hm. Hey, Zuko, did you ever watch Hannibal?”

“…Sokka. Ew. What the fuck.”

“Hey, I’m just saying! Neat, clean, efficient. Nothing wasted!”

“Sokka, I think I’d have to be wasted before I ate you. Gross.” Zuko’s words may sound disgusted, but Sokka can hear the small smile in his voice. Sokka smiles too. How he got lucky enough to have a friend and roommate willing to humor him in the bullshit his heatstruck mind comes up with is beyond him. He shifts a bit, his patch of tile gaining unbearable warmth. He finds a different patch of tile and sighs into the coolness.

“Alright then, smart guy, what would you do? How do you get rid of my body without alerting Katara or the proper authorities?”

“Well, first of all, fuck the police, so jot that down.” Sokka lets out a sharp laugh at that, thankful once again that someone had introduced Zuko to the Internet outside of his email inbox. “I’m not sure what I would do. Um, maybe…acid? I guess? Not sure where I would get acid though, hang on a second…” Sokka can hear Zuko get up and start pacing, something he only does when he’s deep in thought. “I suppose I could roll him up in the tarp and bury him somewhere…no telling if someone might dig him up later though…I guess that’s only if they’re looking…but I could always get caught while digging…there must be an easier, safer way….”

Sokka wants to let him finish, honest he does. But, holy shit, whenever Zuko gets really into something he just sounds so serious, even if it’s something as silly and completely hypothetical as how he’d dispose of Sokka’s murdered corpse and Sokka just starts laughing. Rolling on the floor, holding his stomach, deep guffaws. He doesn’t need to look at Zuko’s face to know the expressions it’s leaping through; they’ve lived together long enough that Sokka knows them all.

Sokka can hear Zuko’s footsteps walking towards him, and then he can see Zuko standing over him, frowning.

“What’s so funny, Sokka.”

Sokka knows it’s not a question but he has to answer it like one. “It’s just…oh my god…sorry, sorry, I asked a question and you’re trying to answer it and that’s perfect Zuko, you have no idea.” Zuko frowns harder and Sokka does his best to control himself. He takes some deep breaths, bringing his guffawing down to a chuckle, and sits up again.

“Hey.”

“…hey.”

“I’m sorry I laughed at you. Thank you for carefully considering how you would dispose of my body.”

Lines of tension melt out of Zuko as he nods. “No problem.” He tilts his head. “Why are you on the floor?”

Sokka groans, remembering his original problem. “’S fuckin’ hot my man! Way too hot to be anywhere near vertical, don’t know how you do it, in PANTS no less…” Sokka shifts again, looking for more cool patches. He is swiftly running out of those. Zuko snorts, looking down at him while raising his only eyebrow.

“It’s not that hot, Sokka. We’ve got a fan running.”

Sokka moans loudly, finally giving in and shucking his tank top, throwing it…somewhere. It doesn’t matter. It’ll turn up again when he needs it. “The fan is useless, I think I’m going to be a puddle by the end of the day. What is your secret, Zuko! Tell me now!” Zuko’s face does a funny thing, where it looks like it’s blushing, but it also looks like it’s fond, and then turning away before more data can be extracted from it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sokka army crawls over to him, fully giving in to the heat-madness. “Your sssssecrets, Zuko!” He grabs one ankle with a burning hot palm. “Ssssssssssssecrets!!!” Zuko yelps and tries to step back, but only ends up over balancing and falling over. He lands on his butt, hard, with his ankle still captured by a Sokka-turned-wildman, still trying to edge away.

“Sokka! Do you need some ice? Are you okay? It’s really not that hot!” Zuko is a black belt, Sokka knows. Zuko could be trying harder. He isn’t, so Sokka tries hard enough for the both of them. He grabs his other ankle.

“Zukooooooo. What are the sttrrrraaaaaaats. How do I suuuuurrrviiiivvveeeeeeee.” Sokka is dragging Zuko towards him by the ankles and trying not to smile and he can see Zuko is trying not to smile too though he’d never admit it. Zuko half-heartedly kicks out his feet, attempting to get away, but he lets himself be dragged. It turns out, it’s hard to drag someone towards you when you’re lying on the ground and they’re lying there too, so Sokka instead starts army crawling towards Zuko’s face, his eyes a little manic. “Zuuuukooooooo.”

Zuko still valiantly tries to stop himself from looking anything but stoic, but he can’t help the laugh that comes out of him. “There’s something wrong with you, Sokka.”

Sokka finally reaches his destination, his body laid out next to Zuko’s, face aligned with face. He grins, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Yeah. But you knew that when you signed the lease.”

Zuko tips his head in acknowledgment. His eyes are so…golden, and Sokka can’t believe he’d never noticed. Like twin suns, he’d say if he were in a poetic mood which, if he’s being honest, Sokka has noticed he’s often in when it comes to Zuko. The skin around Zuko’s eyes are crinkled with mirth, a scenario Sokka tries to create whenever he can. Zuko is too dour a person, sometimes, and needs a little shaking up when Sokka can manage it. It doesn’t hurt that his laugh makes Sokka feel like a square peg in a square hole, snug and comfortable. Sokka doesn’t examine this too deeply. Not often, anyway.

“Zuko?”

“Yes, Sokka?”

“You wouldn’t really kill me if I asked, would you?”

Zuko looks at him, golden eyes boring into blue. “Never. Not even if you asked.”

“Cool. Cool.”

They lay like that for a long, long time.

[pricefieldchaos]

Matthew x Lucie: “The curves of your lips rewrite history”

I wrote and posted this on AO3, as my Fairondale heart ached because of the lack of content, and this is how it turned out. By the way, I'll leave my AO3 profile here, if you want to check out my other OS and stay tuned for new ones! thelastwriter. Enjoy and maybe let me know what you think, I appreciate it a lot!

It was a beautiful spring Sunday and Lucie Herondale was in the London Institute’s backyard, sitting on the grass and enjoying the warm sunlight while writing a new chapter for her latest story. The air smelled like fresh flowers and the birds were singing and flying from one tree to another. Lucie was feeling super relaxed and incredibly inspired, it was the perfect day to add some new action to her novel. The warm breeze caressed her soft uncovered skin on her arms and shoulders, where the brown waves of her loose hair slightly tickled her.

Matthew Fairchild was laying right beside her, his gaze fixed on the clear sky. It was not unusual to see him hanging around the Institute, since the Fairchilds and the Herondales were great friends and Matthew was often there to train with his parabatai, James Herondale, and to spend some time with him and his sister, Lucie. Earlier that morning, he had spotted her getting ready to go outside and had immediately asked if he could join; Lucie had been surprised by him wanting to spend some time alone with her, she had always thought the reason why he enjoyed being with her was because her brother was there, too. She had been happy to see that, maybe, she had been wrong all this time.

Matthew turned around to look at the young girl on his right: she was wearing a lovely light blue dress, and a ribbon of the same colour adorned her hair. She had taken off her white lace gloves – she found it way easier to write without them on – and Matthew was watching her delicate hands move swiftly along the paper. He was glad she was so focused on her papers, because that way she wouldn’t notice the smitten look that was all over his face. His heart had jumped into his chest when she had agreed to let him go with her, he had been dying to get the chance to be alone with her for so long.

“What scene are you writing now?” he asked. Lucie was slightly startled by that sudden question – she had been so focused on her work that she had almost forgotten that he was there with her. She turned to look at him, his blonde locks were sprawled on the grass and his dark green eyes were now looking directly into her blue ones. The buttons of his white shirt were half-done under his golden vest, and his blue necktie was loose. His warm smile made her cheeks flush, and for a moment there she almost forgot about his question.

“Oh, right” she sighed. “So, princess Lucinda just figured out her feelings for prince Martin, but she won’t go tell him already because, despite his latest declaration of love, she is still afraid of getting her heart broken.”

“I think it is quite foolish” he answered. “Why is she afraid, if you said that he returns her feelings?”

“Sometimes, reciprocating the other’s feelings is not enough” she explained, letting out a sigh. “Countless things can come between a potential love story and make it so that it never sees the light.”

“How dramatic” he laughed.

“It is true, Math!” she scolded him, throwing an elbow at him playfully. “Also” she continued “she is afraid of giving in to perilous… temptations. The young man in question is quite the charmer.”

He smirked. “I thought that, by now, you too had learnt that the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

“You will never grow weary of quoting your beloved Oscar Wilde, will you?” Lucie giggled. “And by the way, it would be very improper of her! It could ruin her reputation.”

“I am sure I will not, my dear” he grinned. “As for your story, I still think it is foolish of her not to act on her feelings. Most importantly, it is your story – you are the one who gets to decide whether something is improper or not. And, as far as I am concerned, reputation is an overrated concept, and people should spend way less time worrying over it.” He winked at her.

Lucie let out another sigh. “Well, I guess that is not the only reason I am reluctant to let her go to him. If she does, I will need to write a memorable scene – I am talking about a grand gesture and the finest romantic speeches, and then it will be inevitable for them… to kiss.”

Matthew widened his eyes, agreeing. “They most certainly need to do it!”

“Yeah… that kind of is the real problem” said Lucie, shyly.

“Why would it be?” he asked.

“I… okay, I will tell you. The thing is, my kissing scenes are dreadful! I cannot write them properly, I cannot even get them right by reading them in other books. And, of course, I cannot take my personal experience as an example.” She looked down, too embarrassed to look at her childhood friend in the eyes while discussing such matters with him, especially since they were alone out there, unchaperoned and all that.

“Are you telling me the beautiful, sweet Lu has not been kissed yet?” Matthew said, lifting himself up from the ground so that he could sit in front of her. He knew he had started playing with fire by asking that uneasy question, but he also knew he wouldn’t care if he got burnt.

Lucie’s cheeks turned completely red, but she answered, still not looking at him in the eyes, “I-I did not get the chance – no fine young man has courted me, yet.”

“That is a pity” Matthew said, “and such a waste” he added. "But perhaps I could still help you with that kissing scene?” He moved closer to her, so that their knees were almost touching. At this point, he was so nervous he had started sweating and slightly trembling. What if he had pushed too far? What if she thought that he was being inappropriate, and that would ruin their friendship? These thoughts were interrupted by her asking him another question.

“And, tell me, how would you do that?” Lucie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I could kiss you” he said, blatantly. “That is, of course, if you will allow me.” By daring to suggest that, he had definitely reached the point of no return.

If possible, Lucie blushed even more, and Matthew noticed, and a slight smirk appeared on his face.

“You are an indecent scoundrel” Lucie laughed. “Suggesting we engage ourselves in such a scandalous activity here, out in the open, where any member of my family could catch us any minute.” Her playful tone made him breathe a sigh of relief, she didn’t seem offended or anything – instead she had started teasing him in turn.

“You are not turning down the offer, though” Matthew grinned, then his expression turned serious. He couldn’t let her think this was just a game to him. “But I understand if you will. You must want your first kiss to be perfect.”

“I actually do.” Lucie remained silent for a couple seconds; then she spoke again. “Do you think that you can live up to my expectations?” she teased him again.

“There is only one way we can know” it was his only answer. Lucie gently tossed her papers and pen on the grass beside her, then looked at Matthew, meeting his gaze. She felt her skin burn from the anticipation. Was she really going to finally have her first kiss?

Matthew’s heart started beating so fast he almost thought it was going to burst anytime. He looked into Lucie’s beautiful blue eyes, who were staring at him, both questioning and excited.  Neither of them said another word, as Matthew moved his face closer to hers, until they were just a few inches apart, and then he lightly brushed his lips against hers. “You may want to close your eyes” he whispered. She giggled, and then did so, and he finally locked lips with her, firmly, and placed an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She quietly gasped as she run her fingers through his soft hair.

Matthew began to wonder if he was dreaming – he was kissing her, at last. He couldn’t remember the first time he had thought about how much he wanted to do that, it was too long ago. But this was no dream: Lucie’s lips felt so real and soft and warm against his, her delicate scent and sweet taste were intoxicating him, it was better than anything Matthew had ever tasted in his whole life. He started moving his mouth on hers, getting the shivers every time that she let out a soft moan against his lips. Lucie took him by surprise when she bit his lower lip, but she could definitely tell that he had liked it a lot, because he deepened the kiss and then gently pushed her onto her back and leaned down, never letting go of her.

He moved his lips to her neck and then lower onto the neckline of her dress, but quickly returned to her mouth before he could no longer be able to stop. He prayed the Angel to forgive him for the thoughts that had taken over his mind. He wondered what she was thinking.

Lucie was completely lost in Matthew’s touch, kisses, sighs. She would have never imagined her first kiss to be this… incredible. That probably was the right word to describe what she was feeling, at least partly – she actually was, for the first time, unable to put something into words.

They went on kissing for another handful of minutes, giggling every now and then and enjoying the taste of each other's lips, and the feeling of their intertwined fingers and light caresses. Eventually, he broke the kiss, breathless, and helped her sit up again. He gently stroked her cheek with his hand. He was unsure whether his lack of breath was due to the kiss or to her unmeasurable beauty. Probably both, he thought. “Woah…” he mumbled, smiling.

Lucie adjusted her hair, retying her ribbon while she regained her breath. “So, how did you like it?” she bluntly asked.

Matthew laughed, and just said, “The curves of your lips rewrite history, my Lu” quoting Oscar Wilde again and receiving an eye roll from Lucie as an answer. “Did you like it?” he asked in turn.

“It was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Now I totally know how to write a kissing scene! Thank you, Math” she said cheerfully. That most likely was not the only reason why she was so happy about what had just happened, but in that moment she was too eager to write every single detail down in her notebook to think about it. She placed a kiss on Matthew’s cheek, then quickly retrieved her pen and papers from the ground and went back into her own world, frantically writing down notes in order not to forget anything.

This time, Matthew was the one to blush.

[megibluedragon]

SenGen Harry Potter AU - Goblet of Fire

Big thanks for fanart created by ぱっど. You can find her works on Twitter as  @ptt_pdch She inspired me to write whole fanfic about this so here you go. Please read bellow. 

It is also on ao3 under this link: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684791      Comments would be cool :D

           Gen threw paper with his name into Goblet of Fire. Hogwart’s students cheered. Gen took a look at Senku. He send him angry glare and turned around to leave crowd around him. Gen wasn’t happy with that reaction so he ignored everyone and followed blonde boy. He found him in empty hallway because most of people stayed around Goblet of Fire interested in people brave or crazy enough to throw their names in there. Gen grabbed Senku by his wrist because he wasn’t slowing down even if he probably heard loud steps behind him.

- Senku-chan what’s wrong? – Gen asked with a smile.

- Why did you do that?! – Senku turned around and ripped his wrist out of Gen’s grasp – Only crazy fools compate in that dangerous tournament!

- You worry too much – Gen waved his hand – It was only a joke. Guys from Slytherin dared me to throw my name in there and now guess what? I won big money pretty much doing nothing because Goblet of Fire won’t pick me as Hogwart’s representative.

- What if it will pick you? – Senku with worried tune in his voice. Blonde noticed this and cleared his throat – People die in this tournament!

- Then~maybe I will compete? – boy said in teasing way.

- No, then you will resign and they will pick someone else – Senku corrected.

- Senku-chan you are no fun! You know that? – Gen whined.

- Promise me you won’t participate in this mess – ruby eyes looked at Gen in serious way. Gen started feeling his cheeks burning when he realized something. Senku usually either ignored Gen making tricks on people or was joining him but this time he looks actually worried.

- There is nothing to promise because I won’t be choosen – Gen turned around and run back to other people unable to stand Senku’s stare any longer. Blonde just turned around and walked away. He didn’t want to deal with people again being stupidly excited over tournament.

           Students and teachers from all magic schools participating in tournament gathered in main hall of Hogwart. People were interested who is gonna represent them this year. Principal caught slightly burned piece of paper which flew from Goblet of Fire. He read who will represent Durmstrang Institute. Next was Beauxbatons Academy of Magic’s turn. Students cheered for their promising looking representants. It was finally Hogwart’s turn. Gen sit relaxed on his chair. He knew quite many people from Hogwart threw their name into Goblet of Fire this year. The chance of picking him was too little to worry even one bit.

- Asagiri Gen! – principal announced loudly. Gen felt shiver travelling through his entire body when he heard his name. He stood up and joined other choosen students while hearing students cheering for him. He couldn’t lie that being choosen didn’t feel good.

- I… - bicoloured boy started and found Senku in the crowd. He had ,,I told you!” look on his face. Gen didn’t want to give blonde satisfaction about being right and smirked – I’m honored to represent Hogwart! – he finished and heard another cheer from students.

           It was time for first round of tournament. Gen didn’t talk with Senku since choosing representant for schools. Blonde was clearly mad and other boy knew what he would say if he would start the talk so he choose to prove him that he can handle himself instead. He didn’t expect to win but wanted to have some fun and maybe get second place.

           Gen waited in big tent with other students. Finally teachers showed up. One of them had a bag. Gen could swear it moved.  Students were asked to pick one thing from bag. Bicoloured boy was first and reached inside. Something crawled on his hand and he had to use his whole willpower to not squeal. Gen saw little green dragon on his palm.

- The Welsh Green – said Crouch and let other students pick another two lizards from the bag – These represent three very real dragons, each of which has been given a golden egg to protect. Your objective is simple. Collect the egg. This you must do, for each egg contains a clue without which you cannot hope to proceed to the next task. Any questions? – students looked at each other and everyone understood now why they had to bring their flying brooms.

- Very well, good luck, champions – said principal and all adults left the tent.

           Gen was suppose to go as last person. He was kinda getting stressed so he sat down on one of beds to calm himself. Boy wasn’t neither good or bad at flying. Lack of knowledge about dragons also wasn’t helping with his nerves. It’s been two minutes since student girl from another school entered arena to go against her dragon. Suddenly he heard rustle of one of tent's sides. Gen stood up to check it out. Boy moved material and saw Senku on the other side.

- Senku-chan?! – Gen was genuinely surprised seeing Senku here.

- Shhh… - Senku hushed Gen – You know you are an idiot?

- You came here just to said that? – he responded with pouting face.

- You can still resign – blonde continued.

- And look pathetic in front of everyone after accepting? I have to pass at least one task to not look bad – boy was getting slowly annoyed.

- I thought you will say something like that – Senku sighed and realized they are just wasting time – So I came here to help you survive. I know dragons quite well since I also have pet snake.

- So you also like people from Slytherin? – Gen asked in charming way since he belongs to Slytherin. At this point thanks to Senku’s presence he felt relaxed. He just remembered how hat gave Senku choice if he wants to be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin because he fits both. It was a shame he picked Ravenclaw to be around people who actually seek knowledge.

- Focus, mentalist! – blonde ignored other boy – What dragon did you pick?

- The Welsh Green – he answered while coming back from his thoughts.

- Alright. We don’t have much time left. I will tell you weaknesses of that dragon so you can survive and get that gold egg – Gen nodded – Listen well because I will only say it once – Senku started explaining weak points of green dragon and Gen actually focused to not get himself burned on arena – Just come back in one piece – Senku finished and moved material to close open space in tent. Gen was left alone again until he heard his name and cheers coming from arena. He took deep breath and walked out of tent with his flying broom remembering everything Senku said to him.  

           Gen was second fastest thanks to Senku's help. He was able to avoid all fire attacks and get gold egg quicker than he thought. Now he knew his face was safe even if he would resign from next two tasks. But he really wanted to know what is second task since it’s all of them are different every year. He already had egg with hidden clue. It was possible to figure out answer before next round will even start. Gen wanted to check it out in peace so he went back to his bed in dorm to rest and figure out clue. Boy moved gold thing in his hands. There was nothing on the surface. He touched the top which moved and opened an egg. Agonizing scream spread across the room and everyone covered their ears. All men looked at Gen in annoying way.

- Sorry! – boy closed gold egg as fast as he could. He still heard ringing in his ears. It stayed there for few minutes. Just then Gen could collect his thoughts again – I’m NOT opening this again – he murmured to himself and got up from bed. He had better idea how to deal with this.

           Student from Slytherin went to lab room because he knew Senku would be there when he feels good, wants to be alone or feel stressed. So that would be most of his extra time he had for experiments. Gen wasn’t sure how blonde will react to his offer. He was counting on his natural curiosity to take over.

           As Gen expected Senku was sitting behind one of desks with some elixirs. He was too focused to notice someone entering the room. Blue eyes followed hands handling beakers in delicate way. He really didn’t want to disturb his free time but he needed his help. Gen moved in more confident way to not scare him with quiet steps. Senku heard company and stopped his work. He lifted his ruby eyes at mentalist who now stood near desk. Blonde noticed gold egg in his hands.

- Thanks for help with the dragon – Gen started to scratch Senku’s confidence and give him at least half of the credit even if he only created the plan and wasn’t avoiding flames on flying broom. They both knew Senku would probably fall from broom sooner than dragon would reach him. That would be bad to mention out loud so boy zipped his mouth before making a joke about that.

- Well it wouldn’t work if you were bad in flying – responded and went back to work. Gen took it as compliment and noticed sudden curious look toward gold egg.

- Speaking about reward from first task – Gen changed subject seeing chance – I’ve been trying to figure out clue from this gold egg but when I opened it it started screaming – Senku lifted his eyes as Gen again – I saved reputation by passing first task but I want to at least know what is second task to decide if I should resign. I don’t want to open this again and risk my ears bleeding so I went to you. Maybe you can figure it out? That’s something interesting right? – he extended gold egg towards Senku. Gen saw vine popping out on other boy’s head. He really tried to resist. Mentalist thought it’s cute and moved item in his hand to tempt him a little bit more.

- Let me take a look at that – Senku left all his work and grabbed gold egg from others hands. He started looking at shiny surface – You said it screamed when you opened it?

- Yeah, you don’t want to… - Gen saw Senku reaching for top of the egg – Wait! – Senku didn’t listen and opened the egg. Screams echoed even louder in bigger room. Gen covered his ears because other closed it after three long seconds not like mentalist just second after opening it – I TOLD YOU TO NOT OPEN IT! YOU COULD HAVE WARNED ME! – Gen rised his voice because ringing was hurting his head again.

- I needed to hear it myself. Your word about it screaming wasn’t enough for me – Senku sticked finger inside his ear hoping ringing will stop. He noted in his head bringing headphones for this – I need to do more tests on this. It could take a while. Do you have time?

- Are you gonna open it again? – he asked.

- Yes – he nodded while bringing to himself notebook and pen.

- Then I’m out. Call for me when you figure it out – Gen moved towards the door and then left the room.

- What am I doing? It’s not my problem. Not my egg. He should sit here and at least watch me work – Senku mumbled to himself with frustration not sure if he was angry at mentalist for leaving him his problem or for not wanting to keep him company as thanks for help.

           All Senku could do was focus his mind on mystery of gold egg. Clue shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. He heated egg with fire since it's dragon egg. Boil it in water. Looked at what's inside with headphones this time. He noticed bubbles under shell. Senku recorded that scream and compared it to sound from other creatures living near water and in water. 

Trions fit this sound and Senku knew they sound horrible out of water but beautiful underwater. When he put egg in normal water screams were gone and there was something like humming. Senku thought he figured out what to do but wanted to show final effect in Gen’s presence.  

           Gen expected to get answer from Senku in lab but all message said was ,,Meet with me in men’s bath at 1am. Take swim trunks and towel”. What was that suppose to mean?! Was all Gen thought while slowly walking towards bath. Was this about gold egg or Senku wanted to spend some enjoyable time because they were only fighting ever since Gen threw his name into Goblet of Fire? Blonde didn’t mention egg at all. Mentalist was getting nervous and excited because more signs were pointing at some alone time in the night, in the BATH of all places. Gen stopped in front of door and heard steps on the other side and then splash of water. Senku was probably already there. Bicoloured boy took deep breath and walked inside.

           Bath was already full of fog and warm inside in enjoyable way. If he will uncontrollably blush, he will blame high temperature. Senku was already sitting in shallow pool. He turned around hearing footsteps behind him. Gen wondered how his spiky hair are still standing but he noticed few strands of hair starting to fall because of high temperature. He couldn’t help but also look at his bare chest. Not build but also not thin. His abdomen was clearly showing some muscles. Gen felt like true twig around here. He swallowed and bit lower lip when his eyes followed few water drops travelling from shoulders to lower part of chest and back in pool.

- Are you going to stand there whole night or get in here? – Senku couldn’t help but chuckle. Gen was brought back into reality and left towel on shelf already feeling embarrassed. He joined Senku in pool and sat with respectable distance from him. Gen slashed himself with water up to shoulders. He felt the need to do something with hands. Standing there like petrified was already stupid. Now he couldn’t even look at Senku.

- So… - Senku didn’t want awkward moment o last any longer. He reached to his side, took something and in a second closed distance between him and Gen. Mentalist slightly jumped when he noticed gold egg being presented right in front of his face. Boy looked surprised at another who was clearly proud of himself – I figured it out. I mean I still don’t know the clue but I know how this egg works. So I called you here to show you.

- In the bath? – Senku only nodded. Gen just realized true answer was clue about second task and not need to spend time together. He somehow felt disappointed but he didn’t want to ruin it. He was still in the bath with Senku. They could deal with gold egg first and then maybe relax a bit more later. With that thought he focused on hearing Senku’s results of experiments – So how it works?

- Clue has something to do with tritons. Their voices sound horrible out of water but under… - Senku put egg under water and opened it. There was no scream but other quiet sound coming out – Let’s check out how it sounds under water – Senku smirked and dived his whole body into pool while still holding egg. Gen followed him.

           Both looked at each other. Gen loved the way Senku’s hair were flowing underwater. Like they just remembered they don’t have to be spiky all the time. He rurned his gaze towards egg because it was opened again. This time there was no scream but very beautiful female voice. Boys listened to her short song. Melody was relaxing but lyrics sent bad shiver through spines. Lack of air forced both students to finally grasp some air above water. Gen still wasn’t sure how to respond to that clue so he looked at Senku. Mentalist again held his breath because it wasn’t often to see blonde with wet hair now going down and reaching his shoulders. He got a bit of jealous of students from Ravenclaw probably seeing Senku like this more often. He should let his hair down like this from time to time. Was what Gen thought. Sadly beautiful hair were mixed with grim look on Senku’s face. Gen didn’t like that combination. Boy didn’t even looked at him and got out of pool, still holding egg but closed this time.

- If this clue is trying to explain what is second task then I think contestants will have to swim with tritons for an hour and bring back some item – Senku said while drying his body with towel. Gen realized there is no extra time to relax in pool so he sighed and also got out of water.

- But breathing underwater for an hour is impossible so we probably need to use some kind of spell or elixir to help with that – Gen finished and also started to dry his body with towel.

- You don’t want to participate in this right? – blonde looked at Gen kinda shocked – Do I have to remind you how deadly tritons are? They are even worse than dragons. Underwater nobody will control what is happening and know if help is needed.

- Senku-chan I’m really charmed by you worrying about me so much but tritons don’t attack if you don’t piss them off. They keep their distance or just swim away. Well unless they are desperate to hunt but lake near Hogwart is full of food. They aren’t starving for sure. Maybe that’s why they think it will be safe to do second task with them – Gen just shrugged his arms.

- Did you heard part about bringing something from them? That’s sound like a good reason to piss them off – other reminded.

- But you have some kind of elixir that would let a human breath underwater for an hour? – Gen asked in casual way.

- Of course I have! Who do you think you are talking to?! – boy responded immediately – Don’t change the subject! I’m not giving you elixir and I doubt you will find information how to make one. Also it’s not like you would be able to make one even with instruction. You are horrible with elixirs.

- Senku-chan so mean~ - Gen felt offended this time for real.

- Without elixir you won’t be able to participate and you are gonna be disqualified – blonde sent triumphant stare at Gen – Problem solved. I will finally get some sleep.

- You are not sleeping because you are worried about me Senku-chan? – mentalist was honestly shocked. Senku ignored Gen and left the bath. Blonde didn’t have time to hide his red ears which other noticed. Mentalist considered jumping into water again to cool his heating up face.

           In the night Gen sneaked into Senku's part of lab looking for mixture but didn't find it. He figured Senku would hide it near him. Getting into Ravenclaw part was harder but not impossible. Gen avoided people patrolling hallways. He finally found room with Senku’s bed. He hoped blonde really went to sleep than stay awake to look out for him. He held his breath and entered room. It was dark everywhere. Everyone was sleeping. Only Gen’s wand was giving little light. Mentalist found Senku. Boy looked like actually peacefully sleeping. Boy started looking through drawers. There was nothing he needed. He looked under bed and noticed bunch of boxes. Inside were some books, equipment, personal stuff like clothes. He even find box with pet snake. Animal hissed at boy. He wasn’t happy about someone disturbing his peace. Student hoped Senku didn’t wake up from that. He finally found box he was looking for. There were elixirs inside. Each had label to not get mixed. He found one that looked like fastly pushed in there. That was probably the one which Senku tried to hide. Gen took it and felt his throat tightening. Senku expected Gen to look for it in lab but believed he wasn’t stupid enough to sneak into his room to find it. Thanks to that he was sleeping peacefully right now. He clearly betrayed his trust right now. Gen whispered ,,Sorry" knowing that’s not enought and he will have to work hard on getting his trust back after all of this. He silently left room and went to check in some books if this elixir was the right one. He promised if it’s not then he will really resign because he wasn’t going back to Senku’s room. He would rather resign. Guilt was already twisting his stomach.

           Gen showed up near lake because after checking some books he found information that elixir he took was correct. He was lucky because book only explained how this mixture worked and not how to make one. Senku wouldn’t explain it to him. He didn’t even see blonde anywhere. There was already big crowd near lake. Boy figured Senku probably realized his mixture was gone and was mad at Gen so he didn't showed up. Student felt another guilt twist in his stomach. For now he pushed emotions aside because he needed to focus on task. No one explained what they had to collect from tritons. Teachers just said they will know once they see it. Gen didn’t want to ignore the fact that mad tritons are dangerous. Senku was right. Stealing something from them will probably make them mad. Gen looked at mixture and drank it. It was too late to resign now. He dived in lake with others after hearing signal.

           The moment he went underwater big bubble grew around his head giving him needed air. It was still weird to breathe in place like that. First breath was the hardest because he automatically held it while diving. When he realized everything is alright he followed other two contestants.

           Gen thought tritons are guarding some treasure or personal item that they should retrieve. They for sure looked creepy while lurking nearby. As he expected they didn’t attack when they saw him. Tritons were only following in while keeping safe distance. They were clearly interested what humans were doing in their territory. Gen stoped following them with his eyes because he noticed three people drifting in water. Their legs were attached by rope to the ground. Gen understood now why teachers said they will know what they have to bring back. Student from Durmstrang already cut one rope and was going with choosen person towards surface. Gen got there the moment when other girl saved her friend and was fastly swimming up with her.

           Amon hostages Gen recognized Senku as last person still tied by the rope. Bicoloured boy was shocked and moved to him faster. He was really pissed off at that moment. Gen thought they will just grab some item but they were using real people for this. He was mad at teachers for putting Senku in this situation. Mentalist was sure he didn’t agree to this idea and was probably forced. Probably other two people also didn’t want to do this. Gen was disgusted by this whole idea.

           Gen checked Senku's vitals and it looked like he was under spell which kept him unconscious but still alive underwater. He hugged Senku to himself and took a look at tritons which for some reason looked more mad than when other people were rescued. Mentalist cut rope holding Senku's leg and started swimming to the surface. Tritons also swam dangerously close. One of them touched Senku's green hair fascinated and then hissed at Gen. Boy realized tritons probably liked Senku's appearance because of flowing green hair. While he would agree with their taste he didn’t want to share Senku-chan with them. Gen speeded up but then tritons started pulling Senku down by his legs. Gen got even more mad and reached for his wand. He started casting spells to push tritons away from Senku. Last spell pushed them faster to the surface. Air bubble popped. Senku woke up and coughed few times. Spell casted on him probably wore off. He looked confused not sure what's going on around him.  Gen felt tears building up in his eyes and hugged Senku tighter to himself.

- I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Senku-chan! Please forgive me! I'm sorry! - Gen was repeating with breaking voice. 

           Senku hugged Gen back without saying anything and just focusing on breathing for now. He let mantalist bring him to shore of the lake because he still felt exhausted from spell that was casted on him. Gen thought cheers around them was noisy. He couldn’t care less. Someone threw towels towards them. Bicoloured boy grabbed them and instantly covered Senku to not let him catch a cold. Boy was leaning on his torso without a word. Gen wasn’t sure how blonde was feeling right now. He didn’t want to push him.

           Medical personel took Senku to medical hall in school to check his condition. Same thing happened with other two hostages. They wanted to make sure their health is alright. Now they were carring?! Thought Gen still furious. He visited Senku who was laying on medical bed. He looked completely awake now. His hair was still a mess but he didn’t have time to fix it.

- How are you feeling? – Gen asked with shy voice. He wasn’t sure if Senku even wants to talk with him now or he should leave.

- Better – he responded and slowly sit up on his bed – I would probably fall over if I would try to run but it’s still better than right after getting out of water.

- Senku-chan I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault – he covered face with his hands and slightly leaned over.

- It’s not your fault… I mean it is – he heard small gasp and noticed Gen starting to shake. He really felt guild taking over him – I mean… - Senku tried to correct himself and took one of Gen’s hands in his own to look him in the eyes and get his attention. Boy looked at him with glossy gaze from forming tears – Participating in this tournament was your fault but dragging me into this mess wasn’t. When I realized you stole my elixir I was going to stop you but one of the teachers showed up in front of me and with quick ,,Sorry” casted a spell on me. I blacked out and next thing I remember was waking up in you arms in water.

- It’s still my fault. If I would resign from participation in second task then teachers wouldn’t risk your life without your permission – Gen countered still didn’t feeling better about this – It was scary. Tritons thought your hair are pretty and wanted to keep you. It was really hard to push them away from you.

- Pretty huh? – Senku chuckled and moved strand of his hair with free hand. He noticed Gen slightly blushing but wasn’t feel like laughing. Blonde really wanted to fix that – Gen, listen to me – he gently squeezed other hand and Gen looked at him again – I couldn’t warn you what contestants will have to bring from tritons. I’m actually glad you went all the way with this task and didn’t resign the moment you were near lake. By that time I was probably already underwater. Other contestants would save their hostages and I would end u palone there. You said tritons didn’t want to let me go like others. That means even teachers would have hard time bringing me back or in worst case scenerio I would be tragic accident of this tournament. But you dived in there and didn’t let tritons keep me. You saved me, mentalist. That’s what is important. Got it?

- Senku-chan~ - Gen sobbed and he couldn’t hold it. He hugged Senku to himself again. Senku just returned hug.

- What about third task? – Senku asked still holding Gen.

- I don’t care about that. I already resigned from whole thing and got disqualified. I figured I can’t show myself to you again without doing that first – Gen answered and Senku smiled with relief.

- Gen I didn’t want to ruin your fun. I just didn’t want you to get hurt – blonde admitted and pushed Gen away from himself but now he was holding his hands. They were still in each other personal space.

- I really appreciate you worrying about me but this time your lever of protectiveness reached the roof of Hogwart. Was me getting potentially hurt only reason for that? – Gen asked in more teasing way. Guild was draining his energy. Senku’s words were already lifting his spirit. He thought maybe getting back Senku’s trust won’t take as long as he expected.

           Senku blushed a bit thinking what he should say but in the end decided to give Gen quick kiss on the lips for an answer. Gen was shocked and looked at Senku who was even more red than before. Gen smiled softly and put his hand on Senku’s cheek. Then he leaned over and kissed Senku. This time they kissed longer than before and blonde returned the kiss. Gen wanted to reassure him that he shares similar feelings with him. He was so glad Senku is safe and promised to never put him in danger like this ever again.

[purplebass]

For The Love of a Daughter

Couple/Characters: Wessa, Will Herondale and Tessa Gray Rating: T TW: mentions of blood Tagging: @lucieblckthorn @cordeliacarstairs1989 @churchthecatismyspiritanimal 💜 (who wants to be tagged when I write fanfic can send me a message) This one shot is set during TLH time and it takes place in CoI (ideally) and it’s also part of an idea/theory I have.

“Theresa.”

No one had called her with her full name in a while, except Will when he liked to tease her. She didn’t recognize the voice, but she could feel the coldness in it, and the detachment. And it wasn’t a chilly day. On the other hand, she had decided to take a walk close to the Institute because the weather was splendid.

She raised her head to see who had talked, only to be awestruck. It was a man she had never seen, a particularly young one. Had she not caught the color of his eyes; she wouldn’t have made the connection. “You are him.”

The man smirked. “I’m pleased to meet you, Theresa Gray. Or should I say Herondale? Which one you prefer the most?”

Tessa rolled her eyes. “I’d prefer you’d leave me alone.”

“And lose the chance of meeting you? I’m offended,” he tried to provoke her, but she tried not to let him get to her.

It was the first time in over forty years that Tessa was sharing the same space as her father, who also happened to be a prince of hell. If this was another person, perhaps she would be giddy to be an actual princess. But the prospect of being remotely related to this handsome man disgusted her.

“You can’t choose your family but you can choose your friends,” Belial commented, glancing at the child in the navy colored pram in front of her. “Interesting.”

She tightened her old on the pram and glared at him. “If you need to tell me something, you better do it now before I – “

“I just wanted to greet you, Theresa, that is all. No need to be aggressive. And I wanted to congratulate you on the baby. What’s her name? No, don’t tell me. I already know.”

She raised an eyebrow questioningly. She didn’t like speaking to this person. She didn’t need to know her father to find out that he wasn’t someone to trust. “I’d say it was my pleasure, but I’d be lying. I’d rather not meeting you again.”

“You’d be lying to yourself if you think this is the last you’ll see of me,” Belial said with hushed tones, and then he was gone.

***

She rushed back to Institute, as fast as the pram permitted her to. She didn’t want to startle her baby girl. She was still an infant, born a mere three months before, with jet black hair and grey eyes. She had been a surprise. Never did she expect to get pregnant again, not after James and Lucie. Her kids, who truly weren’t kids anymore. She and Will had agreed on having two children who were only one year apart, but of course they were ecstatic when Jem told Tessa she was pregnant. Will had been on cloud nine to become a father again, even if Tessa had seen the apprehension in his eyes. He was already distressed after the recent events; she’d hate to worry him for another person. But he had insisted that this was what life was made of. It was made of a lot of unexpected miracles. And he told her that he would love and protect this baby with his life, if it came to it.

Oh, Will.

Whenever Tessa returned to the Institute, the first thing she did was greet her husband.

She watched him silently as he sat behind his desk, his head bent on a book and his hand scribbling some notes on the margins with a pencil. He had this habit: he liked to write notes next to a passage he liked or wanted to remember. That was something that amused her although she didn’t like to smear the pages with graphite like him. She usually read a book before he did, and she never got to see what he noted, although she was curious. What could he possibly write? She didn’t like to write comments on the pages of books. She preferred to discuss what she liked or disliked with him, face to face. He still hadn’t realized she was there on the threshold, but when he did, his whole face changed.

“If it isn’t two of my favorite people in the whole universe,” said Will, raising from the velvet chair behind the mahogany desk of his study. He crossed the room over to Tessa and the baby and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “How are my girls today?”

“Tired,” Tessa replied as Will smiled at the baby. “And Estella didn’t sleep at all, she kept fussing on the way back here.”

“You’re restless like your namesake, aren’t you, Ella?” he asked the baby, then he grabbed her from the pram to hold her in his arms. He kissed the top of the baby’s head. “You should sleep, though, or your mama and I won’t be able to function tomorrow.”

Tessa grinned as she watched him bond with Estella. It was James who had decided that name, along with Lucie. He had probably suggested it because of “Great Expectations”, not realizing at first that it may remind his father of his dead sister. They discussed the topic of the name while they were in the drawing room. Tessa had just revealed her children that they would have a brother or a sister in the spring. Jamie had shot the name without thinking, and both his mother and his sister had stilled. Not that Will didn’t like to talk about Ella. To some extent, he still felt guilty for her death, but he had come to terms with it. Things couldn’t be changed, and he couldn’t take it back. Once James realized the name he had just proposed, he tried to apologize, but Will didn’t let him. “It’s perfect, Jamie. Thanks for the suggestion,” he had said, and everyone had smiled.

That night, however, Tessa wasn’t able to sleep. She tossed and turned in the bed and every once in a while, she woke up to check on baby Ella, but she saw that Will was already up trying to calm the crying baby. She teared up every time she witnessed these moments. She hadn’t asked him anything, he had always taken the initiative even with Lucie and James. She decided to get off the bed to take Ella, but when she did, she felt her legs giving in. She gripped the bed for support.

“I’m taking care of her, go back to sleep,” Will said, noticing her by the bed.

“No, I’m okay, I’m -“ she tried to stand up, but to no avail.

“Maybe you should sit down, Tess.” He suggested, then he placed the baby back in her small crib.

She nodded and tried to get back on the bed by using Will’s hand as leverage. When she tried to get her legs on the mattress, though, she had a spasm. She gripped her hold on his hand when she felt the impulse to throw up, but she didn’t.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem well,” Will asked, then he touched her forehead with his free hand. “You’re burning up. And you’re sweating. Let me help you change. I’ll grab a wet cloth.”

Tessa couldn’t do anything but nod, and then she fell into the arms of Morpheus.

She woke up at some point, because she heard a faint cry. It was probably baby Ella. She felt something cold on her head, at least she realized that. She could also tell how her nightgown smelled of fresh soap and not sweat. Somebody had probably changed her into clean night clothes. Maybe it had been Will – she recalled at least that he told her something like that before she lost consciousness. Maybe. Or maybe Lucie, or Bridget… she didn’t know.

She glanced in the direction of the crib and saw that somebody had picked the baby up.

“Will.”

He turned his head and winced. He had turned his head too abruptly, which made Tessa smile. He was worried. And most likely tired. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair. His shirt was also partially open and she could see part of his upper chest.

“What time is it?” she asked, feeling her throat sore. How much time had passed since she had fallen asleep?

Will still cradled the baby when he reached her side of the bed and sat down. He checked her forehead and wrist but he didn’t reply yet. “It’s six in the morning, Tess. I was just giving Ella her milk.”

“You? But how, when…” she wanted to sit down so she could feed the baby herself.

“We gave her a raw milk formula for the moment,” he explained. “Since you are too exhausted and you have a fever. Jem suggested you don’t give your milk to Ella until you’ve recovered.”

“Ah,” she commented. Not that she was unhappy about that, after all, if Jem had said it was better to give her baby cow’s milk mixed with other things… “How much time have I been out?”

Will’s expression hardened when she asked that, but knowing him, he was aware that she would want to know. He took her hand in his while he adjusted Ella’s head on his shoulder, since it was almost time for her to burp. Tessa grinned at the gesture. Not that he hadn’t done it before, but it still warmed her heart so see him with their children.

“Two days and half,” he admitted, pulling Tessa from her reverie.

“Two?”

“Yes. You fainted the other night. I didn’t think it was serious because you were half asleep. I thought the mixture of fever and exhaustion made you lose consciousness, but then you wouldn’t wake the next morning, so I –“

“You called Jem.”

“Yes,” he revealed, making a slight grin. “I know how much you all hate that I call him all the time, since he could be in trouble for coming here when no one is sick, but you were… motionless. I checked your pulse and your chest and your heartbeat was weak. It wasn’t a simple cold, Tess.”

She could hear the way this whole thing had affected him from the sound of his voice. He was concerned and… scared?

“Then what was it?”

He sighed before answering her. “Jem think you were possessed. Because you threw up a lot of black blood. By vomiting blood you rejected the possession.” Saying those words seemed to pain him.

“What? And who could have possessed me?”

“You talked in your sleep,” Will revealed, gazing at baby Ella who had just digested her milk. “You mentioned a name.”

“Who?” Tessa asked, even if she already knew the answer to that. She didn’t know if she was more shocked by the fact that her father had tried to possess her or that she had vomited black blood.

“Belial.”

Tessa massaged her temples. The cool cloth fell on the side of her head, but to hell with that. She felt better at least. “I met him the other day.”

“You did?” he didn’t sound angry, but she could hear the hurt in his voice. “I mean, you didn’t have to tell me, Tessa, but I thought –“

She clutched his hand in her hands. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think much of it. He just appeared out of nowhere while I was with Ella. And he introduced himself and congratulated me for the baby.”

“Just like the fairy in Sleeping Beauty.”

Tessa thought about it for a second. “Do you think he placed an enchantment on me?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t put past him. Isn’t he powerful? And you’re his daughter, he could try to do something like this to you just because he’s bored,” he raged.

“What could he possibly do to me? We’ve never meet in over forty years, Will. He doesn’t care about me like I don’t care about him. I’m just one of his spawns.”

“You’re not a spawn. You’re not an animal, Tessa.”

“I’m not in the mood for semantics, Will,” she sighed.

Will’s voice softened and he caressed her hand with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you angry, but I also don’t want to tell you lies. During these two days and half you’ve been out, I felt like a mad man because I didn’t know who could have done this to you. Now that we probably know the culprit, I just want to…” he gritted his teeth.

“No.” Tessa’s voice was sharp and authoritative. “Today was the first time in years I’ve ever seen what the person who gave me life looks like. I do not wish to see him ever again, and I’d rather you not go after him. Not you, not Jem, nor anyone.”

“Are you really sure, Tess? Because I…”

“Will. Please. Listen to me. Leave him alone. I can’t guarantee that he won’t try to do something again,” she told him, “but it’s better not to provoke him. He’s a prince of hell, and he’s a –“

“Son of a –“ Will started, then glanced at baby Ella and shut up. “You understand what I meant, Tess.”

Tessa grinned. As usual, he managed to make her laugh even in the critical moments. “Yes. And now I would love to hold my baby, thank you.”

“You are not burning up anymore,” he affirmed after he checked her forehead again. “And whose baby are you talking about?” he asked her just to tease her.

Tessa frowned with a smirk, then extended her arms to get baby Ella. The baby was sleeping soundly and for a moment it made her believe that everything was fine. That no, her father hadn’t tried to possess her because he wanted to use her body for some seedy intentions. That he hadn’t put a spell on her and made her sick. She wanted to pretend everything was okay and that everyone was also doing great, even though she knew that something was surely coming down the pike. And soon, she was sure, she would have to face a harsher reality.

Footnote: With this story I didn’t just mean to show a possible first encounter between Belial and Tessa, but I also wanted to show you how different are Belial and Will (in this case) as fathers. While Belial doesn’t give a damn about Tessa if not for his own gain, Will takes care of his daughter without being asked to when Tessa is not doing ok. I just love to write dad!Will so much, lol.  Also, I chose the name Estella because it reminded me of stars.

[literatehiss]

Trust Fall - Blood & Family

cw: Physical Violence & Injury The Lukas’s are upset with Peter over the failure of his ritual, Simon and Elias are displeased with their reaction. Read on AO3 here That fucking Archivist.

Peter coughed, wincing at the pain in his ribs and the blood that bubbled up between his lips.

Damn Eye bastards could never leave well enough alone could they? His ritual could have worked, it should have worked. All it took was one bitter old woman to ruin it.

It had cost so much money.

It was by no means enough to really disrupt the families finances, but it was enough for them to notice, to be irritated. If he bothered to do the maths it would have only really been a few years worth of his allowance. It didn’t matter. He had wasted all that money and they were angry.

He was always a disappointment, they had hoped he would be a good choice for the head of the family when he was young, the powers of their patron had come so naturally to him, but he just wasn’t quite good enough. A few scattered friendships, his relationship with James or Elias as he was now calling himself, a too cheery disposition. It all weighed on him as proof that he was useless, just like his uncle had said, over and over again as the men he had hired took their time making sure he was ‘properly regretful’ for what had happened.

Peter was lucky really. They didn’t really care. He had received his punishment and everyone would be back to ignoring him as per usual by the end of the week. If he lasted that long. Well, ok, now he knew he was being morbid, he had survived worse after all.

He was aware that he was leaving smears of blood on the walls of the apartment hallway as he stumbled and dragged himself to the flat he sometimes shared with Elias. His on-again off-again husband wouldn’t be at home, it was the middle of the work day after all and Peter had dragged the fog of the Lonely around himself like a thick blanket, enough to keep himself from Elias’s ever present gaze. His fingers were numb with cold and blood loss as he fumbled with his keys.

The apartment was cold, sterile. It wasn’t due to any real aesthetic reason, they were both simply not at home enough to both making any personal touches. A spark of hot pain lanced up his side and he fell into the wall, his teeth gritting as he dragged himself pitifully to the large black sofa that sat in the living room.

He had never been so glad Elias had convinced him not to go with the white sofa, they would never have got the blood stains out of it.

He slumped onto the leather with a huff as the impact winded him. Peter closed his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that took up the entirety of the eastern wall of the apartment. Exhaustion hit him quickly after that and he drifted off to sleep, arm still clutched around his chest protectively, unaware of the being stood at the window.

Half-way across London, Elias Bouchard received a phone call.

“Why is Peter lying half dead in your apartment Elias?” He couldn’t be sure whether it was the words or the fact that Simon Fairchild sounded so serious, that made his blood chill.

“What?!”

“Oh so it wasn’t you. Thank goodness, I was thinking of having to do something quite unfortunate.” The phone clicked off abruptly.

“Wait. What?”

Simon really wished he had bothered to get a key for Peter’s new flat, he had always had one for all his other places, just made it easier, and these weren’t the sort of windows you could just keep cracked open ‘just in case’. But Elias ‘liked his privacy’ which was the funniest joke the other man had ever made as far as Simon was concerned. Multiple lifetimes with varying interests had lead him to have at least a passing knowledge of how to break open locks but it still took him far to long to get the door open. He could barely see Peter through the fog the other man had summoned around himself, but he could see the blood pooling on the couch and dripping slowly onto the floor. The bright red a shock against the monochrome of the apartment.

Simon waded through the mist, placing a nervous pair of fingers to Peter's pulse. Alive, if weak. His presence probably wasn't helping matters, the Forsaken could heal Peter far faster than any vague attempt on his part to give him medical attention could ever provide. He couldn't just leave him though. Couldn’t just abandon the young man he had seen grow from a scared little child to a depressed and irritable teenager to a proud and confident adult that had enough power to be able to attempt his own ritual, even if it had been disrupted and failed so spectacularly.

Simon had always been so very proud of him.

He levered Peter up to slip his coat off him, throwing it in the sink with water and salt, might as well try and stop the blood staining the thing, god knows how fond Peter was of that coat. Blood had clotted and dried into his shirt and jumper and Simon ended up rummaging through the practically unused kitchen for scissors to cut them off him. Peter winced and shifted as he tried to gently pull the fabric away from his wounds.

Wiping away the blood proved to be a trial all of its own, immediately flowing again each time he managed to wash it away. A palm to his lad’s forehead proved him to be burning up, by which he was starting to reach the same warmth as someone who hadn’t accepted the Forsaken into their heart, which was a startling difference in temperature. He kept the floor to ceiling windows open and made a stiff breeze flow into the room. Far too cold for the average person but it should keep Peter at just the right level of corpse-like cold. He felt the skin under his fingers suddenly shift as Peter’s ribs snapped back into place. A disconcerting sensation but one that Simon was thankful for, knowing it meant that Peter was healing. The fog was starting to fade, the most life-threatening of the injuries having fixed themselves.

He knew the Lukas’s would be upset with Peter but this was a bit much surely? He had never wished so fervently that he had tried to persuade Peter over to the beautiful Vast when he was younger, before it became too late. He couldn’t imagine hurting any of his own protege’s, not like this, not even if they had truly disappointed him. He was just about to consider dragging Peter into a cold bath when the front door of the apartment violently slammed open, crashing against the wall with an almighty bang. A panting and sweating Elias stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, eyes wide in alarm.

“What happened?”

Elias was panicking. He really wasn’t expecting to get a call from Simon on a Wednesday afternoon accusing him of attacking Peter. Apart from the mild hilarity of the thought of him being able to take down a man double his size and weight, he was also alarmed that he hadn’t noticed anything. He rushed out of his office, flying down the steps towards the lobby of the Institute. A body slammed into his own, the form of his Archivist standing in front of him, faux concern and sharp interest glittering in her eyes as she stopped him.

“Elias you seem to be in quite the hurry. Is there a problem?”

He pushed forward and grabbed her shirt

“Gertrude if I find this was you I will kill you myself. I didn’t do anything about you destroying his ritual but this is just unnecessary.” She frowned and he immediately was shown that she wasn’t the cause of Peter’s injuries. He pushed her to the side, her own surprise the only reason he was capable of doing such a thing. Elias stormed past, ignoring the calls of Gertrude and Rosie behind him.

London was a miserable place to travel through if you were trying to get anywhere in a hurry. He had a car but the thought of using it to get home in any sort of reasonable time at this hour was laughable in this traffic so he pushed his way to the nearest tube station, something he normally only did when his car broke down or he was particularly hungry. There was nothing like being packed in with so many people for sucking up all their trauma.

Right now all the people were getting on his very last nerve.

His jacket got caught on the door of the tube as he ran out and rather than stop he just pulled and pulled until the fabric ripped. Slinging it over his arm, he ran towards his rarely used flat, finding the door already unlocked he slammed it open.

Fog curled around his feet, emanating from the figuring lying on the couch and staining it with his blood. Simon was sat next to him, a handful of fabric pressed against a wound on Peter’s side.

“How is he? What happened?”

“I have no idea to be honest Elias. I thought it might be Gertrude but we both know he wouldn’t be alive if it was her”

“No it wasn’t her. I think it was the Lukas’s, probably Nathaniel organised it.”

“Oh dear. Yes I thought as much.” Simon said with an exasperated sigh that said a lot for how long he had been allied with the Lukas’s.

Elias reached for the Eye to tell him how Peter was doing but it just pushed back against him, angry of him using his powers to help someone rather than just watching, observing.

It took two days for Peter to wake up. the Forsaken protesting against their intrusive presence. Elias took time off work for the first time in a decade to watch over him. When his cold blue eyes eventually pried themselves open, it was to see Simon sat on the floor next to him, playing with something on his phone while he could hear Elias complaining down a phone to some poor employee.

“S’mon?” he mumbled, the fog of the Lonely already trying to whisk him away, misty tendrils wrapping around him.

“I’m here lad, don’t worry.”

“Hurts”

“I bet. Nathaniel? Conrad?” A shrug.

“Th’ watched. All of ‘em. Hired people.”

“Didn’t even have the balls to it themselves I see.” This was spat angrily from over his shoulder by Elias. A familiar ringed hand came over the back of the sofa and stroked fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and rested in the company of his two favourite people. Not that he would ever tell Elias that, the man’s ego didn’t need the boost, he would get simply unbearable. He listened to their hushed talking before slipping back to sleep.

The Lukas’s never knew that anyone found out what they did to Peter. They never linked the sinking of so many of their ships or the dropping of so many of their investments to that day. When a cousin that was brought before Court suddenly found a rush of evidence against him, well he should have been more careful. It wasn’t as if their longest allies would turn on them like that. They weren’t the type to keep in contact so if the hired men they had used went missing? Well that was none of their business. What happened to those men? Well Elias and Simon would never say, but the only one who was ever found was curled up crying at the top of Everest with his eyes clawed out. Peter stood at the stern of the Tundra, smiling as he watched one of the Fairchild’s ships pass his own as he pressed a kiss to his newest wedding ring.

[sugarandspace]

Mangoose

Summary: All warlocks have an animal form. What happens when the Circle uses new technology during a battle that forces the warlocks fighting alongside their Shadowhunter friends turn into their animal forms?

A/N: This is silly. Inspired by a conversation we had at the Malec discord server (join us. everyone is so nice. and we do talk about less ridiculous things too)

AO3

Alec shoots another arrow and it pierces the head of the Circle member who was getting a bit too close to Jace. It’s a tough fight but they are holding their own against the twenty or so Circle members. They had found out that some of them still tried to keep the movement alive, even after Valentine was gone for good. They had assembled their own team of Shadowhunters and had ambushed them during one of their meetings, their goal to capture them so they could be sent to the Gard. Only it looked like they weren’t willing to go without a fight.

Alec is standing on top of one of the smaller buildings in the area, looking down at the fight and assisting with his bow and arrows. Among seraph blades and Izzy’s whip, he can see flashes of red and purple where Magnus and Dot are fighting alongside them. They happened to be at the Institute when they planned the mission and they wanted to help, eager to bring the last parts of the movement down.

The shrill sound takes them all by surprise. Alec turns his attention to the direction of the sound and notices that one of the Circle members is holding some kind of a machine that’s the source of the noise. Alec turns his attention back to the battle before getting too distracted, his vantage point at the roof giving him a perfect view of the whole fight.

At first, everything seems normal.

Then his eyes find Magnus.

Magnus is covering his ears, seemingly more affected by the noise than the others. Alec looks at Dot to find her in a similar state. The machine must be doing something to the Warlocks.

Alec shoots another arrow and the Shadowhunter holding the machine is dead, and the machine falls to the ground. Unfortunately it doesn’t break, and the noise continues to ring in the air.

He looks at Magnus and notices that his magic is flickering, and in a blink of an eye, he’s changing form. Instead of seeing Magnus like people are used to seeing him, now in the middle of the fight stands a foot and a half tall mongoose, also known as Magnus’ animal form.

As Alec looks to the other side of the fight he can see Dot in her own animal form, as a dark owl. It’s clear that the machine did something to mess up with the Warlocks and turned them to their animal forms without their consent.

Alec had always known that each Warlock had an ability to turn to an animal, but only a specific type of animal that was determined by their magic and heritage. He had not known what Magnus’ animal form was until the man in question had told him himself.

Magnus didn’t spend much time in his animal form, since being a human was usually more practical than being a mongoose. Magnus had told him that mongoose form had very little perks compared to the human one. At first, he’d been hesitant to tell Alec about it and had played along when Alec had assumed that his golden eyes were that of a cat’s.

Had Alec been surprised when he found out that it was a mongoose? Yes. Had he thought any less of his incredible boyfriend because of it? Absolutely not. He actually thought that Magnus looked rather cute in his animal form, but he had a feeling Magnus wouldn’t appreciate the comment, so he’d kept it to himself.

Magnus didn’t like spending time in his animal form among strangers, and he’d definitely benefit from his human body in a fight, so when he had not turned back to his human form yet, Alec assumed that he couldn’t.

Alec shoots more arrows and he sees that Dot is making use of her form, using her long and sharp talons to attack the Circle members’ faces, careful to not let them hurt her in the process.

Magnus, on the other hand, looks to be in trouble. Being a foot and a half tall in the middle of a fight might not make you an easy target to the weapons since it makes you nearly invisible to everyone who’s focusing on bigger threats, ones on the same level. But as much as that invisibility is a blessing, it also keeps almost resulting in Magnus’ death as he keeps dodging all the feet that are constantly threatening to stomp on him.

Alec jumps down from the roof and pulls his blade out, making his way towards where he sees Magnus, standing on his back legs and looking every which way for a safe escape route. Just like that Alec’s previous goal of killing or capturing the Circle members has switched to getting Magnus out of there alive.

He makes it to Magnus and scoops his boyfriend up, not even thinking about it before he’s placing Magnus in is quiver with the few arrows he still has left. When he no longer needs to worry about Magnus, he’s able to focus fully on the fight.

The loud noise is still ringing, but it’s merely background noise to the sound of metal hitting metal and screams of exertion and pain. It doesn’t take long before Alec can feel tiny feet on his shoulder, Magnus’ head next to his. Alec lets out a breath that’s almost like a laugh. He should have guessed that Magnus wouldn’t want to stay hidden, even when he can’t really do anything to help.

The fight goes on and on, and every now and then Alec can see flashes of orange hair or a glint of an electrum whip or the wide wings of an owl. He’s fighting back to back with his parabatai as the amount of Circle members gets smaller and smaller.

He finds out that he doesn’t need to worry about dropping Magnus who’s alternating between having his front feet on his right shoulder and having them on his left shoulder. Magnus keeps the lower half of his body securely in the quiver, while the rest balances perfectly with the fast movements Alec is forced to make.

Alec winces a little when he feels sharp claws in his scalp, as Magnus climbs so that his head is on top of Alec’s, his back legs on the back of his jacket collar, the claws brushing the back of his neck. He gets that Magnus is most likely trying to find a position where he’ll be the least distracting but where he’ll be able to keep an eye on the fight but this particular position is proving to be a bit uncomfortable for Alec.

“Magnus,” he complains but he doesn't have time to move him away as the fight keeps going.

It ends up being a good thing when Alec feels a pull in his hair a moment later, the pain forcing him to turn his head a little to the left, which allows him to see the enemy that had been approaching without him noticing.

He kills the woman with a well-aimed swing of his blade.

“Thank you,” he says to the mongoose that’s still holding on to his hair, albeit not as painfully anymore.

The fight starts slowing down after that, their numbers bigger than those of the remaining Circle members’. Alec manages to go on the rest of the fight without any more hairpulling, and after a while, Magnus retreats back to his place over Alec’s shoulder.

Alec pulls his blade out of the last Circle member he killed before looking at the fight around them. Everywhere he looks he can see his friends and colleagues aiding each other to kill the remaining enemies.

His attention is turned to Magnus when he feels the weight of him leave his shoulder as he hops to the ground and starts running. Alec’s eyes follow him, curious to see where he’s going. He leaps over bodies and discarded weapons on the ground until he reaches the machine. Alec watches as Magnus bares his teeth and bites into the wires of the machine, and it doesn’t take long until the noise cuts off.

With the noise and all the sounds of the fight gone, the place is eerily quiet.

As soon as the noise is gone, Alec watches as Magnus turns back to his human form, dressed up in the fancy clothing he wore before he got forcibly turned. He looks around to see Dot landing on the ground before turning back to human.

“We did it,” Jace says and Alec turns to look at him. He’s sweaty and has specks of blood on his face, and Alec assumes he looks about the same. He’s about to reply before he hears a familiar voice from behind him.

“Jace,” Magnus says, his tone polite and matching the smile he wears. “Can I borrow your brother for a moment?”

“Sure,” Jace says. “Just don’t disappear anywhere, we still need to clean up this mess. If you don’t come back in ten minutes I’m going to come and get you and I do not want to witness anything that will scar me for life.”

“Oh Jace,” Magnus replies. His smile turns from polite to teasing and Alec is slightly afraid of what he’ll say next. “If I wanted, we could be done in five.”

Alec closes his eyes and groans at his shameless boyfriend. Nevertheless, he takes the offered hand and follows Magnus a bit further away from the bodies, to the area where they can’t be seen or heard.

His slight hopes for Magnus living up to his words are instantly killed when Magnus looks at him with a serious expression and speaks.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood,” he starts and Alec is instantly on edge. And not in a fun way. He looks with wide eyes as Magnus points at him with a finger and pokes it to his chest.

“I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn! You do not pick me up while we are working!”

Alec knows he’s playing with fire, but he can’t resist the opportunity.

“But when we’re not working?”

The glare he receives as the response is so strong Alec is surprised it doesn’t physically burn him.

He lifts his arms up in surrender.

“Fine,” he says. “I promise not to do it again.”

“Thank you,” Magnus replies, and Alec can see that he’s fighting a smile. He knows that Magnus didn’t like what happened, but he also knows that he’s not nearly as bothered as he pretends to be. If he were, the glint Alec can see in his eyes wouldn’t be there. Alec likes to think that he’s learned to read his boyfriend pretty well, and would know if he truly were upset or angry.

Alec thinks the biggest reason for this conversation is that Magnus wants Alec to know that he doesn’t have to be helped, that he would have been able to handle the situation on his own as well. Mongoose might not be the most dangerous animal to have as your animal form, but centuries of living with it have taught Magnus how to use it to his advantage. Alec knows that he would be useless if he turned into something that didn’t have thumbs.

When they walk back to the others, Magnus’ sure steps take him towards the machine still on the ground. Magnus glares at it and with a dramatic wave of his hand and a bright flash of red magic, it’s nothing but a pile of smoking ash.

When Magnus turns his head to look at the others who have turned their questioning eyes towards the sudden flash of red they saw, Alec does his best to hide his smile.

He truly loves his boyfriend, both in his human form and as a mongoose.

[faejilly]

wip meme :) can i ask about SH "i do" the infamous arranged marriage au, "wing!fic" cause **yeet**, and "rubbish heap" amnesia <3 <3 <3

anyone can always ask about ALL THE THINGS. Not sure I know what you want from them, though, so feel free to poke at me again if this isn’t it.

The infamous arranged marriage au was originally a twitter thread: here

I started it for a Big Bang and realized it was going to be too long to get done in the time frame, and have revisited it multiple times since then, but I keep rushing, I think, because I don’t usually write long fic, and to be done properly this one needs a very slow burn, which isn’t something I usually write either, and trying to slow down and linger in it is apparently not in my usual skillset.

They need that initial spark when they meet, that’s so intrinsic to their relationship, I think, but then they both pull back (for good in universe reasons) and I keep not pulling back hard enough, I think, and then I’ve lost all my conflict and it’s very dull.

But that first oh no he’s hot is still delightful.

Finally they were let inside, and led to a conference room. Their escorts waved them in without entering the room themselves, and Magnus heard them start to walk back down the hallway to whatever it was Shadowhunters did when they weren't lording themselves over anyone else forced to exist in their presence, when he heard the footsteps stutter to a halt.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice from the hallway was low, but sharp enough to carry into the conference room. Magnus rolled his eyes. Apparently they weren't supposed to be left alone, not even here, in the front wing of the Institute, which was as public as anything in the Shadow World ever got. He couldn't quite catch the guards' responses, some annoyed sounding mutter that got cut off by that same low voice, though it was somehow even sharper the second time. "Ashkeep. Kitchens. Refreshments. Proper ones, you know very well what they're supposed to get. Don't linger."

Magnus froze, his eye-roll interrupted half-way through.

"Wellstone." The voice continued, clearly annoyed at the guards, not the Downworlders that waited just out of sight. Magnus wondered if said voice knew that they could hear him. "Go to the library for the marriage portfolios, like you should have at the beginning of your shift when you got the assignment. And both of you, stop wasting our guests' time."

Magnus shared a glance with Kalyani, who looked even more startled than Magnus felt. The unknown Shadowhunter had just called them guests, with the implied corollary that he expected his fellow Nephilim to be good hosts. Or, well. He'd been in the hallway to re-direct the guards, he probably didn't expect the Nephilim to be good hosts, but he had the clout to make them behave better despite themselves? Or something? Magnus couldn't resist a quick shrug with raised eyebrows at Lorenzo, who shifted a little in his chair, clearly trying to appear less startled than Magnus or Kalyani, but not doing a very good job of it.

"My apologies," the voice had reached their doorway, and the unknown Shadowhunter stepped inside with a polite nod. 

Magnus' brain stuttered to a halt. 

He blinked, wondered if maybe he was hallucinating. Nothing changed. He was still staring at Mr. Improbably Tall, Dark, and Handsome, the young man standing in front of them at something approximating parade rest. The graceful line of his shoulders was set off by the dark black lines of the rune on his neck, and he was even almost smiling, the apology in his words echoed by the expression on his face. 

Or he was until he met Magnus' eyes, and for half-a-breath he seemed to stutter to a halt, too.

SEE? They’re so fun.

Anyways.

So the wing!fic is a weird hodgepodge of Serious Politics and Alec’s Wings Like Magnus And Refuse To Behave Normally. I feel both points are underscored by this running mental commentary of Alec thinking about all the stuff he won’t admit out loud. Which is a salty joke, he doesn’t want people to know he maybe doesn’t hate them! But also, he’s never admitting his feelings out loud and then I’m sad.

Magnus is flirting with him and he doesn't know what to do with that. He knows even less what he's supposed to do when their hands touch before the ritual and his wings curl, want to wrap around Magnus' body the same way their fingers are pressed together, wants more in a way he's never let himself before.

And then it all goes to shit and he almost gets Jace killed and everyone knows, and his wings are tucked so tightly closed they ache, and he’s never ever taking the glamour off again.

&

Magnus calls and asks him for a drink and he says yes without a thought, and his wings snap open and flap, once, hard enough he can practically feel the breeze even through his glamour.

And then he has to say no, and he feels them droop in disappointment, and it takes more concentration than he’ll ever admit to make himself lift them up so it doesn’t feel like they’re dragging on the ground as he goes after Clary.

&

He finds a perch with a relatively clear line of sight, and uses his runes to listen for the familiar lilt of Clary's voice. (She's arguing. With the Alpha. God, she's an idiot. He hates that he kind of likes her nerve, though. Not that he's ever going to admit that out loud.)

&

Simon's stuffed in a locker room in the back, and actually quite easy to rescue. And even cooperative about it, listening while Alec tells him how he's going to get him out, minus a surprisingly short holy fuck are those wings? tangent, which is a nice change from everyone else in his life lately. (Except Magnus.) He definitely likes the mundane better than Jace or Izzy at the moment. Not that he's telling Simon that, ever.

AND IT DOESN’T GET BETTER. ON EITHER COUNT.

But I’m not quite sure how terrible it’s going to get, and if I let it get as terrible as I think it should, I’m not sure how I’ll pull it back out again, and I 💯 believe in happy endings after that sort of angst, so. It’s lingering in stasis for now.

RUBBISH HEAP

Honestly, the amnesia’s the least terrible of the three things I crammed together, and I feel that that maybe says things about me I don’t usually admit. :D But yes! Amnesia!Magnus!

Magnus flinched back, but he looked confused now, rather than angry. He looked like he was starting to realize this might be more than just a weird Shadowhunter with an awkward proposition.

"Catarina Loss." Alec managed an eternity later, after they'd been staring at each other long enough for his heart to start beating again. "We should call Cat."

"You know Catarina?" Magnus' posture eased, and Alec couldn't decide if that made things better or worse, if he should be relieved that Magnus still remembered her, or if it hurt even more because whatever was wrong appeared to just be about Alec himself. Again. 

Alec closed his eyes and swallowed. It took another breath before he could nod. You introduced us. He didn't think it would help to say that out loud. Instead he fumbled out his phone and scrolled to her number, dropping his phone with an uneven thud on the table after he hit the speaker button.

"Alec?" Cat's voice came through after only two rings, and Alec shuddered with relief. "It's the middle of my shift, can this wait?"

"Cat." Alec stopped, completely unable to think of what to say next that wouldn't just turn into a wail or a scream. Apparently he sounded broken enough he didn't need to, because he could hear her inhale, loud and ragged. 

"Are you ok? Is Magnus—"

"You know this Shadowhunter?" Magnus interrupted.

The noise Cat made was remarkably similar to the one Alec had just done himself, which was oddly comforting. She figured out follow-up words faster than he had, though. "Where are you?"

[taco-taco-belle]

The things that bind us part two

Tag list @sarcasticmalecfan @brotherlipsmackariahs @aditiblackthorn @imherongraystairstrash @julemmaes @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @jurdan7 @abigneignenn

Authors notes

Hi everyone sorry about the cliffhanger in part one I know they suck! But it just felt right for the story I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this next part which is a little bit longer than the first. I’m not going to say anymore about the plot so I don’t give anything away. Happy reading! Oh and I also started a tag list for my writing! So if you want to be added or taken off just message me! If someone could tell me how to link two posts together that would be amazing! I don’t know how to do it right now so I am going to reblog part one for now. And don’t be shy to tell me what you liked and didn’t like about my writing also it’s totally OK to correct me on my spelling and punctuation I always appreciate feedback! I am going to post the last part sometime next week.

Kits Field of vision seemed to shrink as his blood pounded in his ears until it focused solely on the scene in front of him. Ty’s steal Grey eyes widened as The tall looming figure of the demon behind him tightened its tentacle around his neck. It must have snuck up behind him when they were distracted by the other one they had just killed. Kit was preparing to Spring at the thing and to chop it into as many pieces as necessary until it let go of Ty, When he spotted the other demon moving swiftly towards him out of the corner of his eye. Ice cold fear stabbed into his heart and hot rage coiled in his stomach. Until it melted the fear and all that was left inside him was Burning anger and panic. He had to help Ty Kit would not let it end like this after all they had been through together!

The feeling intensified until Kit felt what he needed! That door buried deep inside himself burst open flooding him with power. Kits Powers were usually triggered by intense emotions fear, anger, or desperation. This also meant that he usually didn’t have any control over what he did because his head wasn’t clear enough to focus on what to do. Kit Felt his hold on it slip and the power had him. He felt like a leaf that has been rushed away in a strong current of a river. Tossed about with no control until it decided to release him. He saw the creature about to sync it’s pointed black teeth into Ty’s neck, And the power exploded out of him in a wave of pure white light.

Kit was driven to his knees with the force of it as the wave lit up the Night. It split in two one crashing into the demon that had been moving to intercept kit, The other one slammed into the demon holding Ty, But the power did not touch him it flowed around Ty as water does a boulder. Kit sagged in relief as Ty dropped safely to the Sand, rubbing his throat where The creatures tentacle had left an angry red welt on his pale skin. The last remaining dregs of adrenaline drained out of Kit and he didn’t even realize his back had hit the sand until he heard Ty cry out.

He squinted up at the night sky the silver moon and stars seemed to swim in front of his eyes. Kit suddenly saw Tessa‘s face in his mind’s eye, Her serious gray eyes focused on him and her face was kind but stern as she spoke.

“ you must have complete control over yourself when you summon The power Christopher, or it could consume you from the inside out, or drain you until you have not a single drop of energy left.”

He winced now Kit recognized the feeling setting over him, he felt as if his life force had been stripped away leaving a pale shadow of what had once been Kit Herondale behind. He had only felt like this once before at the great battle for the shadowhunters very existence. Using his power Kit had wiped out half of the entire great army of demons that had been moving against them. Afterwords he had almost died and it was only thanks to Magness and Tessa that he was laying on the sand right then.

Strange Kit thought that had only been a few months ago but it felt like a lifetime since then. He was vaguely aware of Ty dropping down beside him on the sand and pulling his head into his lap starting to trace healing rooms along Kit’s exposed neck. He attempted to open his mouth to speak to his boyfriend but it felt like every part of his body had been encased in stone. Kit couldn’t even open his eyes anymore come to think of it he hadn’t even realized he closed them.

“Kit Kit The healing runes aren’t working we’re going to have to get you back to the Institute and call on Magness and Tessa.”

Ty’s speech was steady but deadly calm, like a mountain range before an avalanche hits. He felt Ty starting to lift him but Kit was already slipping away his boyfriends last words to him following him down into the darkness.

Kit I love you! And you’re going to hold on for me! For both of us!”

[silver-lily-louise]

Souls are a Serious Business

She doesn’t have all of her memories back, not yet, but she’s still collecting little fragments every other day; the way light catches in a familiar stained glass window, or the thwack of a bō, or the burn of a particular rune triggering a sudden recollection. But she’s gained something different today, a security that slots into place as some fear inside her is soothed – because now, she’s tied to the Shadow World in a way she wasn’t before.

In which Clary and Izzy become parabatai. 

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

‘…If aught but death part thee and me,’ Izzy says, her voice strong and clear, her stance tall and proud. ‘If aught but death part thee and me,’ Clary repeats, a little breathless under the weight of commitment, because this is it.

With the final lines spoken, the bond shimmers fully into place, and Brother Zachariah smiles. ‘Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, and Clarissa Adele Fairchild. You are now parabatai. May the Angel watch over you and all those you protect.’

The room erupts into respectful applause (and one whooping cheer that Clary recognises as Simon), and Izzy’s professional composure breaks, her face splitting into a beaming smile as she squeezes the hand still linked with Clary’s own. ‘We did it,’ she says.

Clary laughs, pulling her new parabatai into a quick hug, a little giddy with the sudden doubling of her own happiness, her ribs feeling fuller for the second heartbeat she recognises beneath them now. ‘We did,’ she agrees. Not for the first time, her stomach twists in a strange sort of nostalgia and comfort – because she’s back. She doesn’t have all of her memories back, not yet, but she’s still collecting little fragments every other day; the way light catches in a familiar stained glass window, or the thwack of a bō, or the burn of a particular rune triggering a sudden recollection. But she’s gained something different today, a security that slots into place as some fear inside her is soothed – because now, she’s tied to the Shadow World in a way she wasn’t before. This bond is pretty much a magical guarantee of what Isabelle’s been telling her ever since her memories started to return, and brought with them the fear of losing all of this yet again: If the angels want to take you away from us a second time, they’ll have to get through me first.

With the ceremony over, the congregation start to advance, offering congratulations and well-wishes – and there’s a lot of them, both from within the New York Institute and from certain delegations of the Clave. Izzy’s Head of the Institute, after all – her parabatai ceremony was always going to be something of a political spectacle.

But eventually, the more politically-motivated guests politely take their leave, and their family are the only ones remaining in the ceremonial hall.

Simon is first – vampire speed and all that – and he darts from one side to the other for a moment, seemingly not knowing who to approach first, before apparently coming to a compromise and just pulling both of them in for a hug at the same time. ‘Congrats, you two,’ he says, flashing Clary a bright smile before turning to Izzy and giving her a gentle peck on the lips. ‘See?’ Izzy says, still grinning. ‘Not freaky at all.’ Simon looks back at Clary, his jaw dropped and his eyebrows knitted indignantly together. ‘You told her I said that?’ he asks accusingly. Clary shrugs, stifling a laugh at the look of utter betrayal on Simon’s face. ‘I mean, she’s my parabatai and my boss, Si. There’s not a lot of room for secrets.’

‘I don’t suppose you teach classes on that philosophy, do you?’ Alec asks, slinging an arm around Izzy’s shoulder as he gives a pointed look at the space behind Clary. ‘Hey!’ The offended voice comes from over her shoulder, and she smiles, leaning back as a circle of arms appear around her. ‘I tell you stuff. Eventually.’ She feels herself being turned around, and then she’s face to face with her boyfriend, automatically stretching up onto her tiptoes as she loops her arms around his neck. ‘Congratulations,’ Jace murmurs, his brashness fading as it always does when they’re like this, gazing at each other and letting the rest of the world fall away. Clary’s chest floods with a familiar warmth, and she pulls him down into a kiss.

Several minutes later, Clary and Izzy have almost made the complete rounds of congratulatory family members. Izzy is, apparently, determined to hug each and every one of them. In the spirit of family unity, Clary tries to follow suit, and almost makes it – even managing to secure a one-armed half-embrace from Alec – but then her and Robert’s eyes meet, and they freeze for a moment, before mutually extending their hands instead. There’s awkward, and then there’s awkward, after all. Maybe they’ll cross that particular bridge when she and Jace get married someday.

In any case, the last person Clary gets to – after extricating herself from Luke’s too-tight bear-hug, which possibly cracks one of her ribs but also makes her laugh because it’s so like old times – is Magnus, who was previously engaged catching up with Brother Zachariah when she glanced over. Now, however, his attention rests fully on her, and he gives her a warm smile as she steps into his arms briefly. ‘Well, Biscuit, how does it feel?’ ‘Good,’ she says honestly, returning his smile as she steps back, snaking her left arm around Jace’s waist again. ‘I’m glad we went through with it. Thanks for your advice.’ Magnus waves a hand dismissively. ‘It was nothing.’ He glances down at the spot just above her left hip, where the combo of low-rise pants and crop top leaves the new rune proudly exposed. ‘Left hip again,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘Is it always placed there, then?’ Clary frowns, unsure of the answer – but at that moment Alec appears again, looming out of the crowd on the right and coming to stand beside his husband. ‘Not always,’ he says, gesturing at the rune, ‘but it’s a pretty common placement. It’s fairly accessible, and easily displayed, which has some ceremonial importance because of the nature of the bond. But it’s not as high-priority to reach and reactivate as things like strength or iratze.’

‘…Okay, starting to feel like I should have done some research before today,’ Clary says sheepishly. ‘This could have gone pretty badly, apparently.’ Alec shrugs, but he smiles a little, too. ‘Izzy had you covered, she knows all this stuff. You wouldn’t have ended up with it somewhere ridiculous, like your shoulder blade.’ Despite his airy tone, the comment sounds pointed to Clary’s ears – and a second later, she’s proved right as Jace sighs. ‘More than a decade ago, Alec,’ he says wearily. ‘Let it go.’ Alec raises an eyebrow in a way that suggests he is very much not going to do that, and Clary grins.

‘Well, regardless,’ Magnus says, as Izzy and Simon appear from the left and join their little circle of conversation. ‘It’s… an apt placement.’ His eyes seem to spark a little, and Clary narrows her own in suspicion. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Oh, nothing,’ Magnus says nonchalantly, even having the gall to throw a wink in her direction. ‘You’ll have to forgive an old man his little jokes. It’s not important.’

Clary frowns – but she hums in a grudging semi-agreement, preparing to let it go and change the subject. She’s interrupted, however, by Simon’s sudden laughter. ‘Oh my god,’ he says, and he looks practically gleeful. ‘He means that you’re joined at the hip.’

It takes half a moment to sink in – and then all three siblings seem to react at once. Alec rolls his eyes (though it’s Magnus, so he smiles too, of course), Izzy honest-to-god giggles (apparently, dating Simon is increasing her tolerance for stupid jokes), and Jace groans loudly (‘Come on, seriously?’). Magnus, for his part, shrugs – and then subtly offers Simon a low-five, which is quickly and eagerly accepted.

Clary, meanwhile, just smiles, looking around at her re-found family. These are some of the biggest players in the Shadow World, unbelievably powerful in terms of both magic and politics.

They’re also a bunch of idiots, and she is so, so lucky to have them back.

~oOo~

[wolftraps]

"They’ve got one single person who is Desolation + the End (an orphan Daisy found in the burned out shell of a house that they all sort of co-raised...)" Oh I'd love to hear more about them. Both in the Institute family accidentally an entire baby sense and in the WOW is this the wrong person to have mad at you sense. Give them a touch of the Hunt and they're deadlier than any Slaughter. (Course, thats what mum's for.)

Right, so, uh, I didn’t mean to write so much. But I guess that’s the story of Reverb. So, here’s 2500 words of Daisy and Jon raising a monster, I guess?

Basira finds the lead. There have been rumors that the Lightless Flame is trying to create a new Agnes. Jon thinks they may already have. He doesn’t Know, but his attempts to do so gave him a nasty sunburn for a couple hours, so he passed it off to them instead. Almost everyone involved in Agnes’s birth and childhood are gone, but there are still a couple known contacts, and at this point, Daisy can usually just follow the smell of burning.

It’s Basira who finds the lead, though, and takes them up to a tiny town about 100km north of Glasgow.

To what was a tiny town north of Glasgow. Most of it isn’t even smoking anymore by the time they get there. If anyone survived, they’ve already fled. All except for one. There’s no sound that gives them away. No crying or screams. Daisy just follows the scent of smoke to the epicenter of the destruction, and huddled in the middle of the burned out shell of a house, with their head buried in their knees, is a child.

Her first step into the building disturbs some rubble, just enough to get the child’s attention without immediately prompting an attack. Their head snaps up, and they may not be crying now, but the redness of their eyes says they have been.

“Daisy,” Basira warns as she takes a step closer, and Daisy motions for her to keep back.

Another step, the child tenses. Another, they still don’t attack. Another. Another. When she’s finally only a couple meters away, the kid makes ready to run. So that’s where Daisy stops, and sits down amid the rubble and ash.

“Hi,” she says softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Daisy.”

No response.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Nothing.

“That’s alright. You can tell me when you’re ready.” Daisy slowly gestures at the destruction around them. “I’m going to take a guess and say you did this.” The child tenses. “Also going to guess you didn’t mean to.” They stare at her suspiciously for another few seconds and then jerkily shake their head.

“That’s okay,” Daisy reassures them. “I understand. I’m going to sit here as long as you need to feel comfortable, okay? You can talk when you’re ready, but I’m only here to help.” Their eyes flick briefly to Basira, still standing just outside the demolished wall. “That’s my partner, Basira. She’s not going to hurt you either. She’ll stay right there unless you say she can come in.”

And so they stay for another twenty minutes, sitting in silence.

“D-Daisy?” the child says eventually, their voice cracking and hoarse from smoke.

“I’m here.”

“You… don’t really look like a Daisy.” Daisy laughs.

“My real name is Alice.”

“You don’t look like an Alice, either.”

“Yeah. I didn’t really like it. Daisy’s better.” They nod.

“I’m… I’m Shay.”

“Hi, Shay. Good to meet you.”

“I… I really didn’t mean to,” they say, and their shoulders shake, but there are no tears. Daisy suspects they may be too dehydrated. “I just… I just wanted to see. And- and then I couldn’t stop it. And everyone was screaming! And- and-”

“Shh-shh. It’s okay, Shay. Can I come closer?” Shay nods and Daisy moves slowly, no sudden movements, until she sits again at Shay’s side. “I’d like to hug you, if that’s okay.”

“I- I don’t-”

“That’s fine too. I’m right here. However you need me.” Shay studies her for a long moment, barely breathing, and then a sob wracks through them and they’re buried in her side.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” She rocks them gently until the shaking stops.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take you home now.”

“Your home?”

“My home.”

“With you and Basira.”

“With us, and my friend Jon. And Martin and Sasha. Our whole little family. And yours if you want it.”

-

“A child,” Georgie says incredulously. “Someone gave you a child?”

“Technically, Daisy acquired a child. I thought it best they learn in a more stable environment. Also they’re almost eleven. It’s not like we’re trying to raise a toddler in the Archives.”

“I’m not sure that’s better, Jon.” The child in question side-eyes them, but says nothing, just continues to sort papers. “They’re very quiet.”

“Now,” Jon scoffs a bit. “There was a bit of a row earlier, and a yell that may have spawned a small tornado. Shay is cleaning up the mess they created, in silence, or they won’t be going out with Sasha tomorrow to witness Hurricane Gabrielle hit Florida.” He meets Shay’s glare with a flat stare of his own. Stubborn ten-year-olds have a remarkable ability to not be intimidated by staring, though they still break first, with a touch of an embarrassed blush.

“Jon! They’re a child.”

“Georgie! They’re not human. And I’m certainly not going to push them to pick a second patron at this age, so I would rather they participate in events that will occur anyway than for them to start blowing things up near our home.”

“So if they don’t behave, you’ll starve them.” The glare Jon aims at her has her taking a step back. It’s not often Jon aims any of his powers at Georgie, but it’s abundantly clear that that isn’t something she should have said.

“If they don’t behave, they will be taken to northern Georgia, where the hurricane will likely cause serious flooding, but little irreparable damage. They’re already Desolation, Georgie, and I am not going to punish them for living.”

-

“Shay.”

“Oh, uh, hey, mum! W-what’s up?”

“Explain.”

“I’m just… protesting? Oh, come on! We’ve been careful. Minor injuries and some lingering trauma only. And you can’t tell me some of these assholes don’t deserve it!”

Daisy looks at them sternly for a good half minute, just enough to let them squirm.

“You’re targeting the wrong pressure points. And his lordship is over there,” she points to the building currently behind Shay, right on the edge of the localized earthquake they have going.

“Oh. Oops.”

“If you want to level the building three down from that, I won’t complain. Got a Stranger I’ve been after for a while squatting there.”

“Aww.”

“Don’t.”

“What? I think it’s sweet you still bring him Strangers for their anniversary!”

“You want pointers or not?”

“Not saying another word. What’s the secret to efficiently destroying a building?”

-

Jon finds them in the tunnels, sitting against a wall, wrapped around Patrząc. He sits beside them, just close enough to brush arms. Even then, he can feel the heat coming off them. Not burning, but feverish at least, if they were capable of having fevers.

Neither of them say a word for several minutes.

“I keep trying to cry,” Shay says, soft and flat. “I want to. I- I really fucked up this time, but I just… can’t. I can feel them, their terror, and… I can feel when it stops. Every single one, it feels like i’m being dropped into ice water, but I’ve been burning so hot, it feels more like a balm. I… I know we’re not human, but shouldn’t- shouldn’t I be sad? Or… something?”

Jon leans his head back against the wall and considers. “I- spent a lot of my youth blaming myself for… everything, really. It took me a long time to accept that ‘you always have a choice’ and ‘some things are beyond your control’ aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because there is a choice, doesn’t mean it could’ve gone any other way than how it did.”

“Didn’t you literally go back in time to change everything?”

“Yes. And I changed… a lot. It was hard to think of it that way at the time. Back then, it seemed like no matter what I did, everything was still going to go wrong. Some people probably would’ve been… No, no one would’ve been better off. Not in the end. That’s what I still have trouble remembering. We told you I came back because the world ended.”

“Yeah? Because of Jonah Magnus. You came back to kill him, so it didn’t happen.”

“I’m the one who ended it.”

“Wh- wait, what? But you…”

“We tried to run away, but I was too much the Archivist to go without statements. Basira sent us some, but Jonah slipped one in, and it held the words to perform the ritual. By the time I realized what it was, I couldn’t stop reading. It wasn’t a choice I deliberately made, but I ended the world.”

“Oh… fuck.”

“Heh. Yeah. And still, I wouldn’t have come back- I wouldn’t have been able to come back- if Martin hadn’t been killed.”

“I don’t-”

“Do you know about Agnes?”

“Agnes… Montague? I read some of the statements, why?”

“If Daisy never found you. If you were raised by the Lightless Flame. You were meant to be her replacement. Your birth was orchestrated to bring about the apocalypse in the image of Desolation.”

“… Oh.”

“Agnes was conflicted. She had doubts. Eventually, she decided she couldn’t do it. She told them to hang her, so her spark would return to the fires of Desolation and they could try again.”

“… Oh.”

“Do you know the difference between you and her?”

“She chose not to destroy the world and I’m going to do it by accident?”

“No. It’s the same as the difference between timelines for me. The people around Agnes made her choose between dying and ending the world. The difference is that your family would never want you to do either.”

“I… Jon- Dad- There- there are still so many lives being lost. Because of me. And-”

“And you can feel them. Yes. You said it doesn’t feel bad. Does it feel good?”

“Wh- Um… Not- not especially? Mostly it just… is. It’s almost like… part of me wants to be satisfied, but instead I’m just numb.”

“That’s probably the best we could hope for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I’ll do my best to explain. We should go back up, though. Your mother is being gruff, but it’s because she’s worried about you.” Jon starts to lever himself up but is stopped by a warm grip on his arm.

“Could- could we stay down here, just a bit longer? The- the cold feels nice.” Jon smiles softly and sits and lets them lean in to rest their head on his shoulder, even though they’ve got enough height on him it can’t be comfortable. The two of them won’t be able to sit here forever. A fretting Daisy is already wearing a hole in the floor of the Archives with her pacing. And it’s unlikely the forest fire is going to go out without some supernatural intervention. He remembers this feeling, though, and how much he depended on Martin’s support.

He can give them this, for a little while longer, and then he’ll call Oliver Banks.

-

Ethan has been at the Institute for half a year when he finally meets Jon’s kid. They’re… a lot livelier than he expected. They blow through the Archives like a whirlwind (and, in fact, may spawn a small one, though it only disturbs some of the discredited statements, so it’s not like it matters), and almost slide into a seat across from Jon.

“Mum says you have something for me,” they say, practically bouncing. “What is it? What is it?”

“Hello, Shay. Lovely to see you too. I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Oh please, you know exactly how i’m doing. But… yes, hi Jon, I missed you too.” Ethan has never once had any cause to doubt his mother’s love, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look at him with half as much fondness as Jon looks at Shay. Though, in fairness, that’s probably because he’s a bit too close to the situation with his own mum.  “Soooo?”

“The Vast.”

“Oooh, that’s a new one. I thought Martin still had a pretty good hold on the Fairchilds.”

“Simon is trying his hand at space exploration again and won’t answer our calls. Helena says this new avatar isn’t a Fairchild and has no stake in our alliance.”

“Is she telling the truth?”

“Unfortunately. Kinsey Harris is a former RAF pilot. In 2031, there was a malfunction and his plane went down. He did not. In August of 2032, he came to the Blackwood Institute and made a statement. Ethan?”

Jon has been doing this more and more lately, quizzing Ethan on case numbers. Sometimes he remembers from his searches through old statements, sometimes he doesn’t. On at least two occasions, though, he’s known without ever seeing it.

“Umm… 07.2031.2032/08/14… I/L/R?” Jon nods, and Ethan tries not to look too proud of himself.

“New guy?” Shay asks, looking him over. They had clearly missed him in their sprint to Jon’s office.

“Not that new,” Jon scoffs.

“Jon.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to! Martin and Mum and even Sasha did it for you! I’m pretty sure Sasha doesn’t know what year it is half the time, let alone how long it’s been since I last visited the Institute.”

“Sasha knows what year it is at least 86% of the time, and she knows when it’s been too long since you came home.”

“Can’t we go back to you asking me to kill a guy? That conversation was a lot more fun.” Jon stares at them until they start to squirm, just a little, and Ethan’s spent enough time with him that he’s pretty sure he can see Jon fighting a smirk.

“Kinsey took one of our HR employees, Buried-aligned. She was missing for a week before she crash-landed in the front hall. Now one of our library staff, Len, Pitch, is gone.” All of Shay’s fidgeting has stopped, and there’s a sense of… something in the Archives. Static tension. The calm before a storm.

“Right. Give me everything you have on him.”

“Ethan has been collecting it all. He can fill you in while you grab something from the canteen.”

Shay doesn’t so much roll their eyes as their whole head. “You cannot judge me for skipping a couple meals. I was busy.”

“I can and I will. Go. Eat lunch. And we will see you for dinner later.”

For a second it looks like there’s going to be an argument, but Shay stops before saying anything. “Who’s cooking?” they ask. Jon really does smirk now.

“Georgie and I are making curry.”

“Yessss. Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you!” They drop a kiss on Jon’s cheek and then Ethan is being pulled up the stairs by someone with Jon’s intensity and Ms. Tonner’s feral energy and he wonders if maybe he should be worried, but doubts he’s going to have much time for that.

[dreamweaversofficial]

Year Two, Chapter Two

“What if swans were called ‘dwans’?” Garen asks. Lyric stares at him, which he apparently takes as an invitation to continue. “What if one was called Dwan the rock by his friends. His last name will be Johnson, for no apparent reason.”

“Dwan the rock Johnson,” Lyric repeats.

“Yes.”

She presses her index fingers to her lips. Pulls them away slowly. Sighs. “I feel like you’re not taking my emotional turmoil seriously.”

“I feel like you’re not taking Dwan the rock Johnson seriously,” he replies.

Pouting, Lyric slides towards the opposite end of the couch. “I’m serious! Bad enough you have to leave, but to be stuck with short, dark and edgy?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Garen says sympathetically, offering her a single shoulder pat, “but you’re shorter than her by a solid inch and a half.”

“I catalogue that inch and a half once a month,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Garen soothes. “It’s creepy and obsessive.”

“Go away.”

Her friend makes a note on a yellow pad. “I’m just saying that if I indulged you every time you wanted to talk about Reema, we’d discuss her for hours.”

“Ugh,” Lyric says definitively, and turns regretfully back to her textbook.

Dreamweaver training was sparse, with only the most necessary precautions covered, the text reads. Non-magical humans needed more protection than the few available dreamweavers could give. This occasionally led to rifts between the communities, with magical families attempting to strike the balance between keeping themselves and loved ones safe while protecting the world from dreameaters.

However, as more and more magical children began popping up (see A History of Dreamweaving, A. J. Kerint) more funding was provided. One of magical history’s most famous financial backers, the King family, supplied most of the funds to build Mentality when several of their own were revealed to possess magical abilities.

“The Kings?” she says aloud, wrinkling her nose. “Like Cirro?”

Garen snorts. “Exactly like Cirro. His great-grandfather is a big shot around here.”

“He never mentions it,” Lyric mutters. “You’d expect that to be the kind of thing someone flaunts.”

“I think they’re -”

A resounding crash shakes the room. The textbook flies out of Lyric’s hands, crumpling the inside, and Garen whacks his arm against the wall. She dashes over and picks it up, frantically smoothing the wrinkled pages. He rubs his shoulder with a hiss.

“You good?”

“Sore, but I’ll live. You?”

“Alright,” Lyric replies, eyes darting to the door. “Do you think we could be under attack?”

“Impossible,” Garen refutes, though his face goes slightly pale. “Mentality’s warded to high heaven.”

Mentality is warded to high heaven. It’s also the last place a dreameater hoard would swarm - no non-magical dreams to feed off of. Dreamweavers, in the case of the prophetic track, siphon dreams off of normal humans. Otherwise, dreaming is minimal. There’s nothing that would lure the creatures to the school.

Still, the thought chafes at Lyric like an uncomfortable sweater she wishes she could shrug off. Garen hesitantly opens the door. The hallway’s empty but for a few tentative second years glancing through doorways, hazy smokescreen in place. Lyric curses herself for forgetting her magic.

“Let’s check it out,” she suggests. “We’ll be careful.”

“That’s an awful idea,” Garen argues, pulling on his sneakers. He rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Smirking, Lyric follows him out the door, the two of them pulling shrouds of shadow around themselves. Concentrate, she tells herself firmly. Cool, dark, calm. Garen sticks close, glancing back occasionally to see if she’s following. Lyric places a hand on his back, lightly. I’m still here. Keep going.

It’s easy, the shadows. Too easy, at times, when the most she wants is to pull them around herself like a well-worn quilt. Light is harder - pushing through burning muscles, focusing a burst of energy into a single fingers, hot like the sun. Like she’s skimming her hand along the stove, close enough to warm but not to burn.

Her hand bumps solidly into Garen’s back. They’ve stopped.

“Garen?” she whispers, sidling out from behind him. “What -”

“Never, in all my years -” a woman is yelling, arms flung to the sky and voice high pitched. “A student do this much damage?”

Lyric finds herself thinking that she’s glad they’re covered. Then, when the teacher shifts and she sees the girl receiving the lecture, she finds herself thinking something else.

“A student,” Garen repeats, horror and awe-struck. “Sage skillets.”

“Miss Salten,” the professor continues, “Someone will be hearing about this!”

Lyric exhales. “Probably Cirro’s dad, if his family are coughing up the funds for repairs.”

“I hope not,” a voice says.

“Mercury’s left eye!” Lyric yelps, stifling herself with her palm. “Where did you come from?”

“You aren’t being all that quiet.” Cirro points out, hands jammed in his pockets, and cranes his neck to look at the scene. “What happened, an earthquake?”

Reema stands amidst deep cracks in the ground, scored into marble-like flooring. The divots start at her feet, slim, then widen into jagged, angry lines, stretching outward until they just barely touch Garen’s feet. She eyes the desolation as if admiring the artistry of it. As the professor yells, hands waving wildly, the girl takes a deep breath and smiles.

Lyric feels, suddenly and confusingly, like she’s going to throw up.

She wants away from the yelling, from Reema smiling with her eyes closed like she’d rather dig her nails into the floor and tear, from Cirro’s facade of boredom when he talks about his father. Lyric grabs Garen’s arm, and finds she can’t stomach the contact.

“I’m going back,” she whispers, releasing him.

He eyes her cautiously. “Want me to come with?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head. Brushing him off as politely as she can. “I’ll see you at the room later. Going for a walk.”

Garen rolls his shoulders back. “I’ll probably go out to the field.”

“You guys are so codependent,” Cirro complains, pushing himself off the wall and strolling back in the direction of the second year dorms.

“We’ve all got to have someone to care about,” Lyric mutters back. There’s no flinch, no tightening of his eyes, no clenching of fists. But somehow Lyric knows she’s hurt him - a comment for a comment. An eye for an eye.

The nausea grows worse, and she thinks about the ruined floor.

I’ll stop being a brat when everyone else does, she decides, settling into a nook by the door to the fields. Cirro passes by her, unseeing, his face drawn. He pauses a few steps away, and Lyric pulls the shadows back around her in thicker numbers. His pocket vibrates.

“Hello?” he says into the receiver, frowning. “Oh. Mom.”

There’s a pause. “So he’s heard - no. Of course not. Yeah, some girl in my grade. I don’t - who knows why. I guess she’s pretty good at runes, so that could be it.”

“It’s not -” Cirro presses the phone closer to his ear. He scuffs his shoe across the ground, rolling his shoulders back. “I guess she’d have to be pretty powerful. No. Associate with her? Gabriel’s tooth, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m not going to start - no. Yes, mother.”

His face pulls inwards. Like he’s striking the line between controlled and crushed, lids shuttering, body tensing. “My studies are going well. No, nobody’s beaten his score. My brother has ‘left a lasting mark on this institution’. Is that - that’s all?”

Lyric holds her breath as he exhales silently, relaxing his body.

“Goodbye. Give them my -” Here Cirro halts, pulls the phone away from his ear, and stares down at it. “Love.”

What is it with this year and hearing things I don’t want to? Lyric demands silently, pressing further back against the door. The swishing of fabric rustles down the hallway, and she dares to look, catching a glimpse of Salza.

“C?” Salza greets him, slowing her jog to a stop.

“Hey,” he says back. It’s a very good attempt at sounding okay. As if he was going for condescending and missed the mark.

She glares, but there’s no heat behind it. “Don’t give me that. What did he want now?”

“It was my mother,” Cirro replies, straightening. “An impromptu informal discussion.”

“You always talk like that when you get off the phone with one of them,” Salza muses sadly. “Come on.”

“Go back to your jog, or you might not make the team this year,” he spits.

Salza just links her arm through his, guiding him gently back into the dorms. “You’re my friend whether you want to admit it or not. And I’m yours. So just - follow my lead, okay?”

And as if the enticement to follow was the only thing he needed, Cirro deflates, and lets himself be carried along.

Teen drama is so much more complicated in this school.

.

.

.

“Listen up!” their professor announces, clapping his hands together. “Today, we’re having a special guest.”

Eyebrows raise, a few curious glances are thrown, and there’s an audible snort.

Professor Ozik casts an appraising eye around the room. “And by guest, I mean a dreameater.”

Chaos.

“What?” a girl at the back - Mandy? - screams, bolting out of her seat. A few others look like they share the sentiment, throwing their hands over their heads and ducking away. Reema’s eyes are wide and dark. Beside her, Devon’s shoulders are tense, face closed off. Salza and Cirro steal panicked, yet determined looks at each other, edging in front of their respective roommates.

Garen throws his chair aside, ready to cast a spell. Lyric hefts her notebook like it’ll have any effect. Her gaze flits to their instructor.

He’s grinning, somewhat sheepishly, at the class, and she calms. “It’s a drill.”

“Not exactly,” the professor admits, “but I swear it’s well contained. Nice reflexes, you three.”

Salza, Garen, and Cirro relax. With a flourish, Professor Ozik pulls a cage from under his desk. It’s covered with inscribed runes. Binding, keeping, holding, trapping. From inside it, shrieks ripple outward.

“Keep your wits about you!” Ozik yells, strapping earmuffs onto his head. “This is a siren!”

“What’s a siren?” Cirro’s roommate demands.

“A type of dreameater!” Salza calls back, hands over her ears and eyes snapped shut. “It lures you in with whatever attracts you!”

As if the creature can hear her, the cries turn from outraged to coaxing. The room starts to smell like sea salt. Plugging her nose, Lyric turns away, shaking her head. Idly, she wonders if the creature would feel like worn leather.

Cirro’s nose twitches. “Vanilla.”

“Does anybody else hear singing?” Salza’s roommate asks, eyes going dreamy. Salza attempts to cover their heads with their jackets.

Garen stands stock still at his desk. His hands don’t cover his ears, instead drooping at his sides, and he sniffs the air suspiciously. “I don’t smell anything, and I certainly can’t hear over the awful screeching.”

Oh, Lyric thinks, and a second later, Garen says aloud, “I guess that makes sense.”

Lyric bumps him with her shoulder in an encouraging kind of way. He bumps back, pleased.

“Did you know?” she murmurs, voice low under the siren’s wails.

He shrugs. “In hindsight, I suppose it was garen-ly obvious.”

“You’re so proud of yourself.”

“Get it? Garen, glaring?”

“As much as I appreciate moments of self discovery,” Salza yells over the noise, “can we shut this thing up now?”

“Glady,” Garen yells back, shouldering past the other students. He casts a shadow over the cage, plunging the creature into darkness and calm.

“Bravo,” Professor Ozik declares, clapping again. Not a few glares are leveled at him. “That’ll be an advantage on the field.”

Lyric turns away, snorting, and scribbles a few notes into her book. She looks up at the screeching of chairs, people settling back into their seats, and her gaze trails to Devon. They’re watching their roommate carefully.

Reema’s eyes are glued to the cage.

“Excellent rune work, no?” Ozik points out, following her look. “I hear you’re not too shabby with runes yourself, Miss Salten.”

“I’m too good for them to lose,” Reema corrects absently. Then she scowls.