#why am i suddenly overcome with the desire for tattoos

[cinastre]

i need pictures permanently on my body

[paperclipninja]

So during the two week hiatus of Younger I re-watched the entire series from the pilot up to the latest ep. And it’s been so interesting seeing the lead up to where we’re at now as far as Liza’s growth goes and her relationships with Josh and Charles. Naturally I have thoughts and feelings about this and what will follow is undoubtedly some form of rambling essay. I would also like to preface this by saying that while I am Team Charles all the way, I do pride myself on being objective when I watch shows and I legitimately like Josh, so this is just my interpretation of how things have gone down, am very open to alternative views and ideas.

Liza started off just trying to reestablish herself as a newly single mother who wanted to get back into the workforce, rediscovering her sexuality with Josh and gaining some confidence about her ability to go outside her comfort zone in general. The relationship with Josh was so pivotal for Liza in this transition from a clearly toxic marriage to a new life. It allowed her to really release herself from any of the shackles of her former life and be with someone who worshipped her in a way that she hadn’t experienced for a long time. Even after the rockiness of Josh finding out her age and them rekindling their relationship, his unrelenting sweetness and adoration of her served the purpose of showing her that while the workplace might be ageist, love isn’t. That Liza’s lie did not make her unworthy of an authentic life outside of the workplace. However this is also where, upon my re-watch, I noticed that as Josh reinforced this notion of Liza being accepted for who she is and she began to believe it, she also realized that she was not with Josh for the right reasons, that by being with him she was actually not being authentic. And suddenly there’s another lie she’s stuck in.

From the moment we began to see her dance with Charles, even before there was anything really going on, the fact her mind is drifting towards him is pretty telling IMO. It really struck me in the Summer Friday ep in season 3. I mean, I thought it before that but that’s when I suddenly went ‘oh no Liza, what are you doing’??? I’d never noticed the expression on her face when Josh is about to tattoo her. She is doing it for him. Not for herself. You can see it on her face as he starts tattooing. To be honest, by this point I found Josh’s ‘I love you just as you are except for the whole other life you had before me’ antics a bit exhausting, not to mention the glaring fact that it felt obvious Liza loved Josh for what he had done for her rather than what he could do for her moving forward. As her connection with Charles develops you can almost see Liza clinging to Josh because she knows that she can’t end up with him in the long run (and yes also because of the kids thing, which is pretty significant) but doesn’t want to lose what he represents or hurt him. It’s as though she feels she owes it to him (let me be clear, I’m not doubting she loved him) because he was such a big part of her moving on from her previous life. 

Now I also want to clarify that while I’m staunchly Team Charles, I do not hate Josh. Quite the opposite. I actually really loved him. But I hate what the writers are doing to him. If the purpose of his character has been served then he needs to be moved on and developed or if they want a legitimate love triangle then he also needs to grow. His character has stagnated so much that IMO he is becoming unlikable because all he does is wallow and pine for Liza, despite her very clearly telling him there is no romantic future for them. I get that they want to create this whole ‘love triangle’ thing, but when one corner of that triangle is just constantly bringing up past betrayals and hurt in some kind of perverted attempt to guilt Liza back into his arms, then it is undoing the goodness of his character that we all saw in the earlier seasons. And to me at least, I don’t see this inability to let go as romantic, I see it as not respecting the woman he claims to love and letting her move on to find her own happiness. And just as an aside, Josh has lived in the city for a long time, where are his other friends? I mean, I totally get hanging out with your room mates but he only hangs out with Liza’s friends. Where are his own? This isn’t meant to sound snarky, it legitimately bothers me that any friends he had prior to Liza have seemingly evaporated. But I digress...

As the relationship between Charles and Liza unfolds, you see the connection through similar interests and being able to banter and challenge one another on equal intellectual footing grow (not to mention there was clearly a physical attraction there). But it’s almost like the development of this relationship is the reverse of the relationship with Josh. With Josh it’s purely physical at the beginning and even when all the truth is out in the open and despite the fact he is wonderful, the realisation that Liza is not being true to herself by being with him slowly dawns on her. There are needs of hers he cannot fulfil just as he has needs she cannot fulfil. But with Charles, as the connection grows deeper and the physical aspects become stronger, Liza realises this could be the real deal, that actually they could fulfil what the other is looking for, but the truth is not out in the open.

I know there is an argument that Josh loves her just as she is, but I believe the big realisation for Liza about Josh this season has been that as a romantic partner, he is not enough for her. Yes, she loves him, but she’s not in love with him. I don’t know if it was the intention of the writers or not, but this season we, as viewers, are having our conditioned view of these kinds of shows, where the female protagonist should be falling over herself to be with the guy who relentlessly pursues her, challenged. As I said earlier, Liza has been clear with Josh about where she stands and how she views her relationship with him and I really hope that they don’t backtrack. Again, not because I’m anti-Josh but because I’m pro-Liza and all for a show having the balls to show a relationship transition from romantic to platonic in a realistic way (which is what I’m hoping we’re in the midst of witnessing right now). 

Which brings me to the current situation. This week’s episode, when Liza strode into that office with the manuscript...THAT is what I’ve been waiting for these past few seasons. This was Liza’s ‘I’m done pretending. This is me, take it or leave it’ moment. 

It also really highlighted to me the way the lie had led to such a power imbalance in her relationships. With Josh, it played into the whole trying to appease him and getting tattoos she didn’t really want, but that power imbalance then shifted to her trying to get him to match her on levels other than the physical and it was sort of as though she had to hide that intellectual side or her desire for that sort of connection in order for him not to feel inadequate. Basically, I feel like she was almost protecting him like an older sibling or mother would. And with Charles, the intellectual connection was clearly there, but Liza had to play down her competency in other areas and so he was holding the power as someone who had more life experience (the way she did with Josh) in addition to also being in a position of power at work as her boss.

And that is why I am loving this season so much. The fact that Charles said he was relieved when he found out her real age shows that he was aware of the imbalance of power on some level and had been struggling to reconcile how that could be overcome if they were together. And It’s not just about age, it’s about experience. I believe that for him, connecting with someone so deeply when their life experiences seemed poles apart was baffling. In episode 4 this season, when Liza confronts Charles in his office after he crashes the meeting with Don, this might sound crazy, but that is one of my most favourite exchanges between them ever. It was only as I watched it that I realized that this was the most equal and honest interaction I think I’ve ever seen. Up until now, Liza has been ‘playing’ the 27 year old and in playing that part, would not have stood up to Charles in the same way (which is a whole other thing, because Kelsey would have so it’s not to do with the age, it’s to do with the persona Liza had attached to the 27 year old version of herself). But as a 41 year old she can confidently call him out on his bullshit behaviour and does so and even though that exchange is angry and heated, both of them meet each other in the middle and hold their own ground. 

So now, after the silver suit boss moment, we’ve been left with Liza taking back her power once and for all I believe. It’s what makes the possibility of her and Charles so exciting, the legitimately equal partnership in which both can be who they are and respect what each brings to the dynamic. I really do believe it could be one of the most exciting pairings we’ve seen if done well. I know shows fear putting two leads together but they could be a powerhouse and really take the show in a different direction as a couple. But most importantly, it’s such a satisfying and wonderful way to see this character finally shake the idea that the lie makes her deserving of unhappiness or pain. I feel like Liza is going to be ok now, whatever they do from here on.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Lost Coast Harbor Series Bundle (Books 1-3)

by Lily Danes & Eve Kincaid

KISS OF A STRANGER:

    Wow…what a WONDERFUL story! I loved the location, characters, dialogue, and story – I can think of nothing negatives to comment on at all! What a seamless story that builds in intensity and strength – I could not stop once I began reading!     Gabe is an ex-con with revenge and clearing his name on his mind when he enters Lost Coast Harbor. One of the first people he meets is Maddie and there is chemistry between them from the very beginning. Maddie has a past that has led her to err on the side of caution rather than take risks and Gabe seems like a big risk to her in so very many ways. Their relationship grows steadily and strengthens as situations appear and then are dealt with. Maddie’s friends are interesting and will no doubt be in future books of the series – I certainly hope so anyway.     Gabe…what a hunk and sweetie and sort of damaged and a skilled lover and expecting so little from others and yet he has so much to give. Maddie…what a strong woman willing to be there for her friends and ultimately do what is right…and hot for Gabe although he goes completely against her five year plan for the future.     Again…WOW…I loved this book and would give it more than five stars if I could! A KISS IN THE SHADOWS

    Lost Coast Harbor is a place I would love to visit! It is a small town with a lot more going on below the surface than expected. The mystery about just what is going on and who is involved with the criminals is explored a bit more in this novel as Erin Grady and Will Patton meet and get to know one another.     Erin is an emergency room nurse who knows her stuff and applies it inside and outside the hospital. She is competent, unflappable and very skilled. She has not had an easy childhood but it has increased her independence, resilience and nurturing personality. When Will literally falls at her feet while she is jogging she snaps into ER nurse mode and gets him taken care of… while also scoping him out a bit.     As the story progresses so does the federal investigation of Lost Coast Harbor. Who is corrupt? How to find them? Who to trust? What does the future hold in store for Erin and Will AND will it be what they both had hopes for at the beginning of the story.     Maddie and Gabe, who were the stars in the first book of this series, made an appearance or two. Characters for future books were mentioned - and I do look forward to the next book that will be the story of Annabelle the baker and Declan the bookstore owner. A small town with characters like the Donnelly family, a cute new baker that there is no doubt more to know about than her mad baking skills, a female computer wizard with superb hacker abilities, a competent and somewhat intriguing new female on the police force and then coming in from outside a hunky sounding tattooed Federal investigator…and I am SURE there are more that will show up in future books of the series with their very own stories to be told!

KISSED BY A DEVIL

    Good…really, really, REALLY good!     Declan and Annabelle – WOW - they are so much more than what they appeared to be on the surface! Peeling away the layers of who they had been, currently appeared to be and could be in the future was an adventure that I could not put down!     Declan, one of the devilish Donnelly family is the black sheep for a charming and different reason. Why? He has chosen a straight, narrow and very controlled path in an effort to avoid all that the rest of his family is known to be. Annabelle is a phenomenal baker and liked by all but carrying a burden that keeps her from being the carefree woman she remembers once being. There is definitely attraction between them that has simmered since they met three years before. What happens in this book brings the simmer to a boil with a very interesting outcome. Pure dynamite!     As the third book in the continuation of the Lost Coast Harbor series there is mention of the evil and corruption within the town including its impact on some of its citizens. With a bad guy to deal with, secrets from the past to uncover and hope for a better future this story was absolute gold – I could not put it down and eagerly look forward to the next book in the series! Thank you to the authors for the copy of this book to read and review.

5 Stars

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43786186-lost-coast-harbor-series-bundle

BLURB

This bundle contains books #1, #2, and #3 in this captivating romantic series. Welcome to Lost Coast Harbor, the small town filled with dangerous secrets. KISS OF A STRANGER An ex-con out for revenge… Imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, Gabriel Reyes has spent six years planning revenge on the man who set him up. To reveal the truth and clear his name, Gabe will do whatever it takes, even seduce the straight-laced woman who works for his enemy. His plan should work…unless he falls for the woman whose icy shell conceals hidden fires. A woman who has sworn off bad boys… Maddie Palmer lost everything when her ex-husband betrayed her. Although she was strong enough to rebuild her life from scratch, it was a harsh way to learn that some men cannot be trusted. Safety and stability are Maddie’s primary goals, which is why she is fighting so hard to win a promotion. Romance is way down Maddie’s priority list—until she lays eyes on a dangerously sexy ex-con. While they fight their growing passion, Gabe and Maddie discover that Lost Coast Harbor is a town steeped in secrets and lies…but none more dangerous than the lies they've told themselves. Can they overcome their pasts and risk their hearts one more time? A KISS IN THE SHADOWS A man tempted by desire... Lost Coast Harbor newcomer Will Patton is determined to rebuild the legal career that his stubbornness nearly destroyed. To do that, he plans to use his position in the district attorney's office to expose the town's dirty police chief—but Will never counted on being so drawn to the chief’s irresistible daughter. A woman afraid to trust... Nurse Erin Grady is on a personal mission to bring a desperately needed mental health clinic to Lost Coast Harbor. To achieve her dream, Erin will even accept money from the police chief—who happens to be her estranged father. She's willing to overlook where the money comes from, until a determined and very sexy prosecutor literally crashes into her life. A town full of corruption... The darkness in Lost Coast Harbor runs deep and wide—and exposing the truth will require Erin and Will to reveal their hearts...no matter the risk. KISSED BY A DEVIL A man with a secret… Declan Donnelly has spent years resenting his family’s wild reputation. He’s now a respectable Lost Coast Harbor businessman—but the mild-mannered bookstore owner is hiding devilish desires. When Declan discovers the town's delicious baker is using him to get at the Donnelly clan, the devil comes out to play. A temptress with a past… Annabel Johnson hasn’t always thought before she acts, and one bad decision forced her to take a new name, a new home, and a new job laundering money for Peter Hastings, the most dangerous man in town. Years later, Annabel and her small bakery are almost free from that burden when Hastings’ son suddenly changes the rules. To finally escape her past, Annabel must seduce the man she’s always secretly desires. Annabel and Declan have danced around each other for years…then a kiss changes everything. When outside forces and their own lies threaten to tear them apart, can they find a way to trust each other—and their own hearts?

[skeletxnqueen]

flower crown fairy lights daisies 1975 matte black nail polish pantone moodboard stars plants converse lace handwriting cactus sunrise oil paints overalls combat boots winged eyeliner pastel tattoos piercings bands messy bun cry baby grunge space white bed sheets old books beaches eyes 11:11 painting lightning thunder storms love clouds coffee marble

T H E N E V E R E N D I N G A S K (I wasn’t ignoring you, I’m gonna be honest, I forgot this was sitting in my drafts waiting to be completed aaaaa)

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself? - A few minutes ago. I left my iPod in my co-worker’s car so I kinda have nothing better to do. All my favorite apps are on there.

fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know? - Are alternate universes real and is there one where I am content and happy? (sorry to get depressing there bud but life just ain’t what I want it to be rn)

daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life? - I haven’t experienced enough things to  really say I’ve accomplished anything. I guess getting a job and keeping it for as long as I have? Six months and counting.

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to mind, recent or otherwise? - Seeing a gif of a kitten walking over to a camera man and then proceeding to nap on him and walk all over his shoulders and sit on his head while he had to hold almost completely still.

matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? - This question as me depressed and low key anxious I don’t think I can answer it without crying sorry

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things? - Not really. I try to avoid really confronting my own mortality. Thinking about dying both scares and tempts me and it’s really weird and terrifying and no bueno. Gosh my answers seem so depressing I’m sorry bab aaAAAA

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail. - I’m too lazy to describe anyone again but um my brother c’: Again. Heckie

moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood? - I suppose. I mean it definitely could have been better, but it’s not really on “tragic backstory” level so I guess yeah. I dunno how to answer this, in all honesty.

stars: when did you last cry in front of another person? - Earlier tonight

plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them. - My friend Antonio. He’s weird but he loves space and it’s nice to hear how excited he gets talking about the stars and planets because he’s super passionate about it. I just like when my friends are happy ya know? So I know stargazing with my space buddy would be fun.

converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them? - Honestly I have before. I don’t mean for it to, but sometimes the conversations just take that direction. I’m a big oversharer.

lace: when was your last 3am conversation with someone, and who were they to you? - fam I’m always up at 3am wym I stay talkin to ppl at 3am (for the record it’s usually my mom and/or brother)

handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one person, what would you say and to whom? - Again, I can’t answer this without crying I’m sorry.

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes? - I have them and I love them why is this up for discussion why is this a question is there brown eye discourse???

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally. - “I don’t care what you think, as long as it’s about me.” …….. I really like attention. More seriously though, I like knowing that I’m real to other people. I know it sounds weird but sometimes I just like being reminded that I actually exist in other people’s lives and that I’m a real person???? Idk how to describe it but yeah. That line makes me think about that aspect of myself a lot.

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far? - “Still Figuring It Out”

overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars? - cry because I can finally get my family out of our rough situation, spoil my mom and brother rotten, buy lots of pretty makeup, travel the world, and still have enough left over to live comfortably for the rest of my life without ever having to work again unless I want to to have something to do.

combat boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way? - I am. Sometimes too much for my own good. Sometimes I like it just cause it can help settle conflicts quicker and sometimes I don’t because not only do I let toxic people back into my life but it causes me to miss them and desperately want them back because I convince myself “it’s in the past, it wasn’t that bad, and they’ve probably changed so I should let it go”.

winged eyeliner: write a hundred word letter to your twelve year old self. - Dear Mikii,

First of all what a weird nick-name you dork. I’m Gabby. I’m still just as much of a dork so don’t feel bad. You’re going through a weird phase in your life right now. You’re confused and probably questioning who you are. That’s not really going to stop, but it gets better. It gets easier to deal with. Eventually you’ll work for your favorite pizza place and, while it’s stressful, you’ll make cool friends and you’ll make money, and nobody will be able to tell you what you can and can’t buy. It’ll be awesome. You got this

pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel? - I guess I lean closer to the punk side. It’s kind of funny because I have the soft cute personality that you’d think would fit on a pastel type person and honestly that’s my aesthetic but style wise, I usually go for darker colors and stuff. My brother is the polar opposite. Punk personality and pastel style.

tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain. - Yes. Body art is yes. I love it and I want it. If you have tattoos and/or piercings I am 75% more likely to get some kind of crush on you.

piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not? - yes, because I like it and it’s pretty.

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way. - I dunno if this counts much, I had to think long and hard on this one, but Crossfire by Stephen makes me think a lot about current events and police brutality and the bombings in other countries and just a bunch of sad stuff that’s going on now which I know is the point but it makes me really think about the privilege I do have compared to those who face discrimination and oppression far more harshly than I ever will and I just heckin

heck

messy bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them. - “Prince didn’t die for this.”

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel. - I’ve only ever been to one and it was a local band so

grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say? - Idk man probably my dad. Not gonna go in depth but I’ll say this. I’d want a large sum of money included and a 5 page long apology letter.

space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised? - nope nothing is organized and I dont have a workspace

white bed sheets: what is your night time routine? - stay up til I physically cannot hold my eyes open anymore then fall asleep

old books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know? - that I’m not Christian and that I have a um…. device. Of some sort.

beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why? - Keep it red / make it redder, probably some kind of undercut or side shave

eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do? - 1. Alin2. Mikey3. Kaylee4. Dom5. Rose

I’d take these nerds with me as I travel the globe and try new experiences, shop cool unique things, and just live my dream life with. I’d go to the ends of the earth with these precious babies.

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them. - (1) Wealth. I want to pay off my mother’s college debt, buy her a nice place to stay as well as somewhere for myself, buy my brother anything his little heart desires, donate to fundraisers and charities, live my dream life, etc. (2) Clear skin. I’m pretty confident in my body shape and all, but I can’t stand my skin. Especially everywhere that isn’t my face. My shoulders have it the worst. (3) Someone willing to date me who doesn’t live thousands of miles away would be lovely. I mean I can do long distance but I just crave physical affection ya know? I dunno man I’m just lonely.

painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up. - Well, last year I was a dead cowgirl. I used my day of the dead makeup and wore a flannel, jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat that I got from party city. Relatively simple, but it was still fun to see little kids’ reactions and everything at work.

lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high? - this implies I’ve gotten drunk or high before (I’ve been kind of tipsy before but otherwise I’m fucking lame and I don’t do that stuff)

thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars? - kill somebody (there are a few exceptions but in general ya know?)

storms: you can only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why? - both of these would drive me literally insane let’s not and say we did

love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realize you’re in love. - I think I have. I don't know. To me it's realizing the things I'd be willing to do for that person. Just wanting to make them happy. Wanting to spoil them, see them smile, hear their stupid jokes even if they aren't funny, see all the ugly or silly faces they make, and just loving everything about them. Overcoming my biggest insecurities and discomforts for them. Realizing that there are certain things I can only see myself doing with them. When I read those couple posts I think of them, even though it's been over a year since we've been together. Hearing a certain song or artist is tainted by thoughts of them, when nothing would come to mind before I got to know them. Filling spots in my mind and heart that for years had been left vacant. Realizing that despite how much they've hurt me, I'd gladly take them back if they asked. Feeling like it was the right love at the wrong time, even though it probably wasn't the right love at all. Falling in love to me is having them lurking around every corner of my mind, the darkest shadows, the deepest trenches, even when I'm not thinking of them, they're always there. Even when I'm not thinking about them, I somehow am. I don't know if this is love or obsession, admittedly. Maybe I just need help lol

clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair? - I’d rock both and look sexy while doing it

coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone? - I don’t go to starbucks enough to really say

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now? - my family and getting us out of the tough situation we’re in right now

[boltthrutheheart]

Bethyl Appreciation Week 2017

Day 6: Clean

This is an excerpt from my Bethyl Fic “I Will Follow You Into the Dark”. While it is from early in the story, I am still so very found of this scene...

“I Will Follow You Into the Dark” can be found (x)here(x)

Excerpt below the break for some sensual/sexual content and language, but nothing too explicit. Maybe NSFW.

Beth dipped her hand in the water, testing it. It was almost too hot making it just right. As she stood, she embraced the comfort of the steam that hung in the bathroom, running her hand down her body to smooth the wrinkles out of the slip of nightgown where it clung to her from the humidity...well, not her nightgown-a nightgown she found, but it was hers now. When she slipped out the door into the bedroom, closing it quickly behind so the heat wouldn't escape, Daryl glanced at her from where he stood by the fire, giving her a good long look from top to bottom. Beth knew that the gown skimming her form left very little to the imagination. The only thing it wasn't was transparent. She couldn't help feeling just a little satisfaction at the reactions Daryl had to her...his lingering gaze...even if there was a blush rising in her cheeks.

"Done already?" Daryl questioned, but he had to know the answer to that.

Beth shook her head, taking his hand. She didn't have to lead. He followed willingly.

"What's this?"

He was so full of questions tonight. Beth shut the door, turning to Daryl and taking in the room. He'd told her to go easy on the electricity, so that had been excuse enough for the candles that added ambiance and provided more flattering light than glaring light bulbs. It could almost be deemed romantic if it wasn't out of necessity.

"A bath." Her reply was far from what Daryl expected...she could see that in his eyes.

But he nodded, standing, waiting...perhaps letting her have control of the situation. Beth circled Daryl like a predator circled its prey before going in for the kill, but she knew she was no more a predator than that doe they'd seen in the woods. How his eyes met hers when she stopped in front of him, the way his breathing was slow, deep, and focused...Daryl was allowing her to act because he wanted to. But this wasn't about power or control...it hadn't ever been with him. Beth really had no idea where to start, but there wasn’t a way to mess up...was there? She focused, trying to mirror Daryl's slow, steady breathing...his sense of calm.

All it took was her hands on his sides, pushing up his shirt for Daryl to pull it off from behind his head, tossing it on the floor. His pants...his pants were a different proposition. Not that they were difficult to get off...they were night pants...but she'd never asked him to take them off before. Beth rested her hands on his hips, her fingers venturing just below the waistband. She looked up at Daryl who was watching her intently. He read her...like he was so good at doing...his hands resting over hers, both of them pushing his pants down over his hips.

And then it was just Daryl in front of her...just Daryl...standing before her with nothing to hide. He didn't even make an attempt...but why would he? It wasn't about sex, it was about Daryl, all his defenses gone, nothing to hide from her. All of his lines, his angles, the cuts of his body...his scars...they told the story of Daryl's life...the story he never wanted anyone to know...and he was willing to share everything. They were hers now, a part of her...the most precious thing she possessed...she was part of his story now too.

She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know about the women he been with. She wanted to know who his first was...what it was like for him...but Daryl had once said they didn't matter, so he probably wouldn't answer. It shouldn't matter to her either...he was a new person to her, for her; his past had no bearing on their future. She would know every other part of him though, everything he was willing to share...not just his body, but all the scars he held deep inside...his gentle touch, his soft kiss, his love...every part of him he'd shared with no one but her.

Beth bit back a sob...an audible, awkward noise forcing its way out of her lips...suddenly a mess. Why was everything so damned overwhelming? It was the run...the run Daryl said he was going on...and she knew he was going to go alone...what if...? She couldn't even bring herself to think about the possibilities.

Daryl cocked his head at her, trying to read her emotions before he reached out, drawing her into his arms. He was so screwed...she was such a disaster. Why was he willing to put up with her? Beth had no idea except for the obvious fact that she was the last surviving member of their group that he had. She hoped that was just her insecurity gnawing at her. So close to him, Beth could feel his hard length pressed against the curve of her stomach. Maybe she should be shy, maybe she should feel embarrassed, but she felt comfort in every part of Daryl. Even though his body clearly wanted one thing, his arms, his embrace, his hand holding her close, pressing at the small of her back exuded only the attempt to soothe, the promise of protection. When she pulled away, he let her go without question, and she pushed her reservations about the run out of her mind. There was nothing she could do about it now.

Daryl was naked. She should be too. Looking down and away, Beth reached across her chest, preparing to slip her nightgown off. But Daryl rested his hand over hers, until she drew it away, allowing him to push the thin straps down her shoulders. His strong hands caressed her arms as the gown pooled on the floor at her feet.

This was different. Daryl had seen her and touched her. He'd been more intimately close to her than he was tonight...but here and now, they were just standing naked, appreciating one another. Beth still couldn't meet his eyes, but glancing up at his face, she could read the anxiety...maybe he wasn't as uncomfortable or as nervous as she was, but he clearly cared what she thought. And what now? For a split second, she just wanted Daryl to take over, take them in any direction except standing still, but this was her time...her turn. She'd touched him...pleased him...but through only the firelight illuminating that night, she'd seen little enough. Now that he was in front of her, she couldn't just stare, stepping free of the piled gown on the floor. Beth moved just a little closer, her hand touching his chest then trailing down his firm stomach, her eyes following the path her fingers traced. She let both hands reach out, dipping into the cuts of his hips, her gaze locking on the part of Daryl that probably scared her the most. She'd held him in her hands, felt him, but seeing everything free and in the open, she was intimidated, a knot of anxiety welling up in the pit of her stomach. Beth couldn't say if he was large or not...she had no point of comparison, but having a basic knowledge of sex, what went where...she had to banish that thought. How could fear and desire go hand in hand? Daryl wouldn't hurt her, would he...but even if he didn't mean to, he would...

Beth needed to stop thinking, stop starring at what she couldn't change, a fear she would have to overcome if she wanted to share love with Daryl. She let her hand skim across his hips as she moved behind him, tracing the strong lines of his back, letting her fingers linger over his scars, each lash borne by him that once broke Daryl. His muscles tensed when she found them, but he didn't flinch. She wondered sadly if Daryl still felt the pain...still remembered? Beth smiled, drawing over his tattoo, the two winged demons she'd never seen so close before. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing as close as she could, resting her cheek against his back. This time, Daryl wasn't broken or despondent. He crossed his arms over hers, holding her too. That hug...that hug after they had moonshine at the shack...Daryl needed her to be strong...he needed that support and strength, she knew it...but she'd needed that hug too, even if she was the one doing the hugging.

Wrapped around him, nuzzling into his back, the security of his arms cradling hers, Beth started to second guess herself. She might enjoy touching Daryl...holding him...but he wasn't getting anything out of it. The other night...he'd made it all about her, pleasing her...sure, in the end, he'd let her give back, but nothing like he'd done for her. It had been over before she'd really even started, and she felt so self-conscious about that. Beth didn't want to tease him. Freeing Daryl, she moved back in front of him, letting her hand reach down and make contact with the smooth skin of his thick shaft. She carefully appraised his expression...almost pained...as he held contact with her eyes. It was like he was fighting with himself. The muscles twitched in his arms, and looking down, she saw his hands were clenched in tension. Daryl was definitely fighting some inner battle, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had something to do with her. Was it bad that deep down, a part of her wished Daryl would lose that battle, lose control, and just take her? That had to be instinct at work because she knew she couldn't handle Daryl if he lost control...

That scared her...thinking about how she could ever want Daryl to lose control...the thought of Daryl going there. Instead, Beth knelt slowly in front of him, looking up, waiting to see a pleasant reaction, offering Daryl what he'd offered to her but she'd been too afraid to accept. She wanted to make him happy, but Daryl's expression was one of confusion and...something else she couldn't define.

"Beth, get off your knees." Daryl’s refusal was gentle, offering her his hand.

She took it, allowing him to pull her up from the floor, but she didn't understand why he was saying no. There was no reason for him not to want her to, but Beth wasn't offended. She'd said no too.

                       *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Feeling Beth embrace him from behind...it took him back to that place...that dark place outside the shack that reminded him so much of the place from his childhood that he wanted to forget. Everything had broken then...it all fell apart...he just couldn't hold it together anymore. Little Beth had been there to put the pieces of him back together. And when she'd hugged him...forcing him to feel that someone cared, someone could be strong for him...something life changing happened. Beth fit...she made him whole. She was the piece that had always been missing. Together, they'd burned that shack...Beth made him purge his demons...gave him the chance to start over. He'd fought himself on it for the longest time, assuming the role of her protector, lying to himself as he knew it now...convincing himself that it would be more than enough...until it wasn’t.

This time, Daryl felt need in Beth's embrace. She wasn't being strong for him; she was holding him for herself. He brought his arms up across hers just to make sure she felt him...felt his love too. Beth was naked; they were both naked, not just physically, but emotionally. It had actually gone much smoother than he'd imagined, the loss of their clothes, compared to how finicky Beth had been before. True, he'd taken her nightgown off, and most of his clothes too, but she at least made the attempt...the offer. Her skin was so soft and warm where she pressed against his back and ass. He was so rough hewn, so hard, so calloused and scarred; he couldn't understand how she could stand the contact...skin to skin.

In the middle of his thoughts of her, Beth released him and slipped back into his view. She didn’t seem shy about being naked anymore, or him either, which made Daryl feel better about the whole situation. He assumed she didn't see anything she didn't like or he would be able to read it on her face. Whatever she had in her head she was intent upon though. Beth reached out and barely allowed her fingers to skim along the side of his dick. How was it that it was so fucking intense when she barely touched him? Daryl literally bit back the need to act.

Fucking instinct...

He balled his fists and flexed the muscles in his upper arms to try to draw his focus away from her touch. He'd almost lost his battle with instinct the last time she'd touched him...saved only by a premature ending. That wouldn't be the case this time he knew, and if he let go like that, he would never forgive himself.

Thankfully, he didn't have to fight Beth touching him very long...but then it just got even worse. Beth sank down to her knees on the cold, hard floor. She was offering, and he fucking wanted her to. Daryl wanted to feel her perfect, soft lips wrapped around his cock, her warm mouth engulfing him...

No...not like this though...

Not Beth on her knees on the bathroom floor...he'd been here before, in the bathrooms of bars...it reminded him too much of his life before, and those weren't happy memories; they were just memories he couldn't escape. It definitely wasn't what Beth deserved. He wanted to share all her firsts with her...hell, he prayed that even in their fucked up world, he would be the only one to have her...ever...

The way he had Beth set up in his mind, well, she would never be on the floor in a bathroom, giving him a blowjob, comin' away with black and blue knees. When it happened, it would be on equal ground...in bed...with love and comfort.

Her eyes...those pale blue eyes looking up at him...killed him.

And who he was...he'd changed. Before...he didn't even need to qualify that in his mind...it was before; it didn't matter. It wasn't who he was anymore. Daryl just wanted to make love to Beth. Make love...fuck, he'd changed...he'd never thought those words about his own life until Beth. But he wanted to make love to her first, and then whatever they wanted to happen after that could happen. Shit, that was traditional. Deep down...maybe he was traditional...

"Beth, get off your knees." He made sure his voice was soft. He didn't want her to think it was rejection, 'cause it wasn't...not that way. He could never reject her.

She took the hand he offered, helping her rise to her feet. He smiled at her to soften the blow if one hand been felt which he didn't think had.

"I don't think this is where you planned for us to go," Daryl reminded her. "Let's have that bath."

                       *                      *                      *                      *                      *

He'd never been one to really enjoy long, hot baths. Hell, for most of his life, Daryl had never had the chance at what most people considered simple luxuries. Beth changed all that...his perspective on everything...living. Engulfed by the hot water, Beth between his legs reclining against his chest...life didn't get much better than this.

Life.

Daryl's mood suddenly turned somber...not bad...just realistic...not driven by fantasy.

Lately, he'd been feeling his own mortality...much more acutely than ever before. Truth be told, his life before the shit hit the fan hadn't been worth nothin', but at the same time, he hadn't been facing life or death situations on a daily basis and sometimes twice on Sundays. There had only been once he'd ever actually thought he might die and was afraid for it. He'd shared that story with Beth...when Merle's janky little dealer almost put a bullet in his skull over a fucking cartoon. Then...it hadn't really been the fear of dying...no one would miss him; he wouldn't be no great loss to the world. But in what he thought were his final moments, he couldn't make peace with the fact that his death would mean nothing just as his life had meant nothing, his brains blown out by a tweaker who wouldn't even remember what happened the next day. Even Daryl's shitty existence had more meaning than that.

After, when he became a part of Rick's group...it wasn't that his life had more value to him...he still knew what people thought of him...it was just that he knew his death would have value. People started needing him, for food, protection, a fighter to have their back no matter what. When things went bad, he just threw himself out there, never really thought much about it or his own life. He'd always been much better at doing instead of thinking. It was his job to fight, to protect the group, and he was damned good at it. He didn't have a hero complex or nothin', didn't need people to remember him or his sacrifice when he was gone...it was just that he needed his death to mean something. It might have been selfish on his part, feelin' that way, but that was the kind of selfish their world could use a bit more of.

Thing was, since he'd been with Beth...his outlook changed. He didn't wanna die. He wanted to live...live with Beth...live for Beth. Daryl would die for her without hesitation, but now his life had real meaning. Maybe it was also...that before...his life had been day by day...he never really saw a future for himself...and now he did. Did that make him less of a man? Was he going soft?

His somber thoughts left him feeling empty and a little bit lost. Daryl pulled his arms from where they rested on the sides of the tub to wrap them around Beth...she was there...how could he feel empty? Closing his eyes and soaking in the world around him, Daryl leaned his head back, imagining Beth on top of him in the hot bath. He'd never been a girl on top kind of guy. He'd been dominated too much in his past...not by women; he'd never allowed that, but who it was didn't matter. The scars were still there. But maybe with Beth, he could get there eventually...her small hand in the warm water, finding him and guiding his cock to where he needed to be. Beth's hand braced against his chest as she slowly sank down on him, taking as much of his dick as she could...as deep as he could go. Being wrapped in her silky, tight warmth...connected the way a man and a woman were meant to be, hoping that she would feel complete too. It wasn't so much about sex for him in the moment in his thoughts...although that was there too...but he wanted the comfort it would offer in this time when he was doubting himself...the thoughts of death and everything he feared overshadowed by the ultimate act of life. He would’ve asked Beth for that now if she wasn't a virgin...if the thing he wanted most wasn't to make love to her the right way the first time, in their massive ridiculous bed...doing right by her, the way she deserved...and maybe how he deserved too...

But now, Daryl was more than content to be clean...purified by Beth’s goodness and love.

[yourfreespirit-blog1]

Fall from Grace

Quick warning: This is quite long, so better be prepared to spend some time reading it.

Summary: It was supposed to be a one-night stand, nothing more, nothing complicated. They were never supposed to see each other again. Yet when a demon ends up endangering the mundane world, they have no other choice but to reunite. For the greater good, of course.

Rating: M (smut, language, some gore)

Pair: Jace Wayland/ OFC

Word count: 13 645

“For all its worth, the past is only good as far as valuable knowledge goes.”

/*/*/*

The last time I saw Jace, he looked just like he does now –hair swiped to the side, skin glistering with a thin layer of sweat, breath coming out in small pants. He had that half-mesmerized look in his eyes, and yet somehow was unfathomably detached and cynical. We came across each other in a shady back-alley club; two loners looking for a good night. As the evening unfolded and countless shots of questionable substance got tipped back, we ended up in a dark room. Clothes were discarded in a hurry, buttons coming halfway undone, some snapping off and flying away never to be found again. His lips on mine, insisting and passionate, dominating and making me succumb to his will before burning a trail down my body as he explored as far as his self-control allowed. Hands tangled in hair, tugging, pulling. Nails running down taunt muscles, over scars and tattoos, leaving a haze of fire in their wake. Arched backs, deep thrusts; it was all a merciless test of endurance. A vicious dance of wills, a constant battle for dominance. An unquenchable desire to be broken down to the most basic instincts, to discard any inhibitions, to be primal and free. I was far too gone to notice that the black ink adorning his body wasn’t a result of mere whims of a boisterous juvenile, but runes. He was too lost in his own dark world to notice that I had marks of my own; ones that under different circumstance would have made him plunge a dagger through me instead. We were both long gone, too needy for whatever this urgent desire within us had kindled to actually care. Sex was his shut off his inner demons, it appeared. He was rough, unforgiving, demanding and utterly demolishing in his dominant assault. How ironic he ended up finding freedom in me.

Now, we meet once again, and he looks as irked as he did so many nights ago when I first lay my eyes on him. Covered in sweat and cursing under his breath, his sparring partner is having a hard time keeping up with the destructive energy he oozes. Mesmerized, I follow his movements, noticing how the muscles flex so alluringly under his honey-coloured skin. I no longer pay attention to what is being said. Magnus’ soft nudge in my ribs snaps me out of my trance too soon for my liking.

“It will take more than a few spells to find that demon. And I hope you realise we are being paid by the hour.”

The Shadowhunter before us, a woman in her mid-thirties with long jet-black hair tied in a vicious ponytail at the nape of her neck, gives us a nasty, haughty look, filled with barely concealed despise and coldness. It’s obvious we weren’t her first port of call, and even now she would rather have us kicked out than admit she needs our help.

“It never ceases to amaze me how your kin always manages to overcome their loathsome, prejudiced principles towards us and come begging for assistance.”

The words merely state a fact, there’s no hidden spite or mock behind them, yet she flinches as if I just slapped her.

“It’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

The threat only makes me raise an eyebrow her way. Magnus probably notices the quiver of my lips, a sign that I’m barely concealing a smirk, or worse – a laugh, and finally deems it worthy to interfere before things spiral out of control.

“Now, now, no need to be so hostile. We are all on the same side here.”

“Debatable.”

I mumble it under my nose, yet nothing goes past Magnus’ keen ears so he throws me a warning sideways glance before his charming half-smile blossoms on his face.

“What’s going on here?”

A painfully familiar voice comes from behind Maryse Lightwood, acting head of the New York Institute, and Jace comes to stand before me, his sides flanked by what appear to be the Lightwood siblings. Too afraid to look him in the eyes and see utter abhorrence, my gaze strays to the side, monitoring the rest of the Shadowhunters that populate the place. Ever since Magnus and I came in, they have been on edge, suspicious of any movement that’s a thud bit too abrupt than acceptable. The air is coated with thick layer of distrust and hostility, making breathing in deeply unthinkable.

“Magnus Bane has agreed to help us locate that demon that has been kidnapping people from all around Brooklyn.”

Her dark eyes move from him, a well-renowned Warlock that has more or less established a semi-reliable trust with the Shadowhunter world, to me.

“And his sidekick will help us kill it.”

The words might as well have been a hissed warning what would happen to me one day. The venom drips from each syllable, making it plain obvious that she doesn’t want me here. Which, honestly, is a very mutual feeling. By now Jace has probably realized why I look so familiar and has put together the pieces as to what I am. Still refusing to look at him though, instead I study the Lightwood siblings. Despite the obvious physical similarities, the female appears more prone to be approachable, unlike her brother who looks at me with cold, calculating eyes.

“Hopefully, by the end of the week they’ll both be gone.”

Her thoughts slip past her lips without her mind’s approval, but with a little nudge from me. Everyone’s startled at that, apart from Magnus, who looks at me very disapprovingly. Of course, unlike the rest, he’s aware that if I so much as desire, I can make people spill their thoughts out in the open, for the whole world to hear.

“I’d gladly leave this place right now.”

Muttering under my breath, I cross my hands in front of my chest.

“We talked about this.”

Magnus hisses under his breath at me, his gaze not straying from mine. I can see the small twinkles of laughter in the back of his deep coffee irises, yet he tries to crush them as fast as possible, knowing how touchy Shadowhunters are.

“My bad.”

Beaming a face-splitting, painfully fake smile at her, I allow the knowledge to seep into Maryse Lightwood’s brain.

“You little b-”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, if I were you.”

We are glaring at each other with vehemence that can easily set the whole building on fire. Animosity spirals around both of us like thick green tentacles, choking down all other emotions until only raw despise is left like a row nerve to throb painfully in the open. She hates me because I’m a Downworlder, the dirt beneath her fancy shoe. I detest her for thinking she’s more worthy of breath than I am, just because she was born with angelic blood in her veins.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with, little girl.”

I breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to put out the flow of words that’s on the tip of my tongue, threatening to get spilled out.

“That’s enough.”

Suddenly I’m painfully aware of the silence that hangs in the room. All eyes are on me, and more than one Seraph dagger is glowing. Gritting my teeth, I exhale and back away, civility winning the battle against pride. A few more silent second slip by before finally someone speaks up, breaking the glaring contest.

“We are wasting time here in childish squabbles while mundanes are dying.”

Jace’s voice is razor sharp and unforgiving, acting like a harsh slap across my face. Involuntarily my eyes dart his way, only to be met with his cold resolve. I find it hard to swallow the lump in my throat, so instead pretend to look away, shame making blood rush to my face.  He doesn’t spare me a second glance before turning on his heel and leading the way to one of the many tables.

“We know that the demon hunts primarily at night.”

Alec briefs us in as we come to stand around the table, the screen lighting up with maps, plans and photographs from various crime scenes.

“It doesn’t have a particular form, so it shifts into whatever would entice its victim.”

“This implies that it can get into their heads.”

A slight frown appears on my face at that new piece of information. Alec only nods, before proceeding.

“The only other thing we know is that it kills its victims by a form of suffocation. At least those that don’t vanish.”

A picture is brought forward on the screen; that being one of the victims that was left behind, a mundane girl, no older than seventeen. She appears to be asleep, if not for the ugly bruises around her neck that mar the skin with a deep purple ring. All of a sudden the sounds around me die out to a barely audible murmur as my eyes stay transfixed on the photo. The more I look at it, at that horrendous and grotesque choker around her neck, the more familiar it appears. There’s a memory in the back of my head that tries to push its way forward, a deeply repressed experience, yet all the barriers put around it prevent it from breaking through. Yet that alone is enough to remind me.

“Are you okay, Bianca?”

Magnus must have noticed how with the sudden shift in my mood my face has acquired an ashen tint. His eyes are glued to me. After a quick look around, it happens that it’s not only his gaze that’s transfixed on my humble persona.

“I’ve seen such a mark before.”

The words are a soft murmur, yet for the life of me I cannot force them to be louder. Snippets of memory flash before my eyes, and the desire to squeeze them shut is a vain attempt to try and chase away the overwhelming past.

“I was in Europe at that time. It was a massacre of unseen scales. All of the victims had that mark around their necks.”

As the words pour out, a pressing question resurfaces as well, its urgency making my insides clench with dread.

“What’s the interval between the attacks?”

“Two days. They have gotten more frequent. What does that have to do with all of this?”

My lips suddenly feel dry and my tongue darts out to moisturize them. I should have paid attention to what was going on, should have noticed the signs sooner. Now it might be too late.

“The only reason she’s hunting more frequently is because her babies will hatch soon. There’s a nest somewhere in Brooklyn, filled with thousands of them.”

Silence descends once again as all four pair of eyes stare at me with disbelief and slight worry. Under different circumstances, it would have been hilarious to monitor the constant shift of facial expressions.

“How can you be so sure? Maybe she’s just really hungry?”

Isabel’s lips quiver but her smile is weak, barely reaching her eyes. It’s a small, false hope she’s clinging to. The admittance of my alternative means we are all in grave danger.

“Because I happened to stumble upon the nest right before the little vermin hatched.”

A shudder runs down my spine and cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. Gripping the table for dear life I try to stabilize my heartbeat by breathing in deeply. Now is definitely not the time to have a panic attack.

“How much time do we have until they hatch?”

Jace’s voice is even sharper now, under the pressure of time and the incoming downfall of humanity.

“A week, at best.”

All three of the Shadowhunters look at each other, lost and worried beyond admittance. That’s the instant when I realize that they are facing the same problem as their fellow hunters in Europe. They have stumbled upon the conclusion that their Seraph daggers cannot kill the demon.

“Your blades are useless against the armour of the demon. It has been constructed for that specific reason.”

“Hopefully you have some helpful suggestions then.”

Snapping back at the only person who knows what’s happening, and most important of all – what’s going to happen, isn’t one of Jace’s best ideas and he realises it a second too late, when my eyes acquire the same cold and distanced look as his.

“We cannot kill the mother.”

Dread creeps on their faces the second I utter the words.

“But we can blow up the nest. That will hopefully drive her away.”

“Or enrage her and make her go on a killing spree.”

“Glad to know you are aware of what happens when you cross a female, Jace.”

Snapping back at him, I don’t stay around to hear what he has to say. Instead I head for the doors with firm steps, my heels clicking threateningly over the tiled floor.

“Where are you going?”

Magnus is right beside me, hand wrapped gently yet firmly around my elbow, his worried eyes looking down at me, begging me not to do something stupid.

“I’ll go and try to find the nest, that’s the only chance we have of actually saving the city. You need to find a way to blow it up.”

A second passes between us before he nods and lets me go reluctantly.

“Be careful.”

“Am I not always?”

The smile is shaky, uncertain and painful. My gaze slides over the Warlock’s shoulder, only to end up locked with Jace’s. His peculiar eyes are unreadable. With a last nod at Magnus, I walk out of the Institute, in search of the only thing I hoped to never have to find again.

 /*/*/

 The wind blows in my face and the sun’s gentle caress warms up my icy skin. With the fast unfolding of events, all the vitality has seeped out from my pores, leaving me cold and shivering. Yet as I scan Brooklyn from this new angle, I feel a lot better. The gushes of wind carry me gently around, far away from the stench of the city, away from the Shadowhunters and their scrutinizing glares, and most importantly away from Jace’s cold detachment. Up here, I’m alone and free. Looking at the puffy clouds above, snow white and innocent, the temptation to simply soar myself higher and plunge through them is almost chocking. A sudden lone cry snaps me out of my trance and I glance over my shoulder. A few feet below there’s a falcon whose wings flap erratically in a sad attempt to prevail against the updraft it got caught into. After a dozen more wing-beats it manages to uplift itself high enough and escape the imprisonment of the unfavourable current. Once achieving the needed speed, the falcon allows its body to be carried forward for a few seconds before making a spectacular twist and plunging downwards towards the dark debts of the river. It happens so fast that I don’t even have time to halt and try to catch it. As suddenly as it appeared, the bird is gone. However, its headlong decent reminds me why I’m currently flying over East River. ‘I must find that nest, no matter the cost.’ Bracing myself for the freefall, my long white wings give two more mighty strokes, propelling me forwards, before I arch my back into a nice loop and let myself fall headfirst. With the wings retracted safely against my back, the descent is fast and turbulent as my body collides with all the air currents that wrack the space above Brooklyn. Only a dozen of feet before collision with the water’s surface, my wings spread out and seize the air. In a single motion I’m once again in horizontal position, flying close enough to the water so that I can see any abnormalities without actually colliding with them. It definitely won’t be a pleasant experience to head-butt into an invisible demon lair and subsequently go for a cooling swim in the dirty waters of East River.

It takes a few hours before I notice that a certain part of the surface of the water doesn’t reflect the sun the way the rest of it does. Diving lower, I see how the torrent ripples slightly for no apparent reason. Flying around and following this oddity, I map out the shape of what can only be the lair of the demon – almost a perfect circle with diameter of two meters and a half. It’s still invisible and most probably protected by some form of shield, yet an unexplainable urge makes me stay and find a way to break in. Using my magic is the first reasonable thing that comes to mind, yet that may happen to draw the mother’s attention and warn her of my presence, thus jeopardizing the whole mission. Instead I opt for simpler approaches. Scooping water in my hands I throw it at the supposed place over the entrance to the lair. The liquid flies through the air freely before it hits something in midair. ‘At least now I can estimate how high it protrudes from the water.’ It takes around five minutes of water-splashing to find out that the entrance is approximately twenty centimeters above water level. Once that’s done I go and collect some pebbles and upon returning I start tossing them at whatever is protecting the nest. At first I throw them gently and in response they bounce off before falling in the water with a gentle pop. Eventually I start applying more strength to my throws and instead of recoiling and following their brothers’ fate, they merely disappear into thin air.

“Well, this is interesting.”

Mumbling under my breath I keep on throwing the pebbles with all my might, which results in some of them appearing through the other side.

Having done that exercise enough times and already feeling a small ache in my wings from the restrain of having to stay in the same place for so long, I fly a safe distance away. From my new spot I can monitor the entrance. The sun is going to set in less than an hour, the last dying rays colouring the river’s turbid surface in a nice shade of orange with some red streaks flanking it. It won’t take long before the mother will have to leave her sanctuary and go on her nightly hunt. At this point, if my calculations are right, she’s supposed to start getting out every night, as her babies will be quite hungry when they come out.

That’s when a rogue memory slips past my mental barriers. It’s like a piece torn from a film strip – ragged edges, distorted picture, yet clear enough to serve its purpose. In a poor attempt to distract myself from the clutches of the resurfacing episode, I look at the water. Grave mistake. In an eye blink its smooth surface ripples and distorts, its colour changing to something deeper, thicker, stickier. Blood. All around me there’s blood and mangled limbs. The smell is morbid and oppressing - of death, bodily fluids and decomposing flesh, and it makes me gag. The space is too small, claustrophobic even, for someone with wings. The ceiling is pressing down on me, and my heartbeat accelerates. The wild thudding echoes in my ears, preventing any other sounds from reaching me. Bend in half, panting and shacking uncontrollably, I find myself praying. Praying for death. Now. Fast. Before it comes back. Before I have to hear all the screaming, the gurgling, the sound of flesh being ripped off from bones, of snapped tendons, of blood swooshing out of arteries. The fear has me paralyzed, blind and deaf to the things around me. Yet I still see them, in the other corner of the room. Packed like sardines in a can, one on top of the other, stacked with sick precision. Bodies over bodies. Dozens, thousands. Some still alive, moaning and begging for help. Some are recently dead, their skin the faintest shade of purple. Others have been here for a while, their bodies decomposing at the very base of the pyramid. The whole room blurs and shifts. I feel sick and bile rises in my throat. The whole thing seems to sway in a sickeningly soothing manner. Out of a sudden foreboding silence grips the room and the temperature drops. I’m cold, so cold. Shivering with exhaustion, dread, sickness. Then I hear it.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Faint pause. Then once again.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

A shadow creeps into the room and moves slowly across it. Each step is a tap over the metal floor. Each step means death. I shiver uncontrollably, a whimper stuck in my throat. The wounds on my body burn with unbearable flames, the poison draining away whatever remains of power I have left.  It’s all fuzzy and the air shifts and molds, liquefies and then hardens once again.

“Ah!”

A sharp intake snaps me out of the trance. Shaking my head and looking around, I see that the welkin has already darkened significantly, the sun a barely visible spot in the horizon. Running a hand through my long burgundy red hair, I try to steady my heartbeat, to chase away the aftermath of the memory. All my senses are still shaken and disorientated. The retched smell of blood is blocking my nose, bile burns at the back of my throat and tears sting my eyes. For a first time in over a decade, I once again feel the way I did for years after that night - utterly unclean, filthy, broken, corrupted. A lump is stuck in my throat and panic grips my heart, leaving me defenseless and weak. The faster the light diminishes, the more frightened I get. The thought of just flying away crosses my mind, yet I terminate it before it manages to take root.

“I need to stay and make sure that’s the place.” Inhale. “I can do this.” Exhale.

Spreading out my wings and stretching them to their furthest, I marvel at the sweet pain this action elicits from the stiff muscles. It’s enough to clear my head. The lid flops down with an ominous thud over the box with all the chained away memories before melting into the darkness of my unconsciousness. Inhaling deeply and holding my breath for a few seconds, I stand up. I can’t back out now. Many innocent lives depend on me succeeding tonight and obtaining the exact location of the nest.

Minutes tickle by and darkness envelops Brooklyn with its heavy blanket. The night’s mist descends upon the streets, crushing them in its stave, sticky embrace. It creeps over the water’s surface as well. All is quiet. The river is lazily flowing down its bank, slushing around the borders of the nest, yet barely emitting a sound even then. There are no birds or cars to distort this solemnness. It feels like the whole world holds its breath in anticipation. At least I know I do.

She jumps out of nowhere and drops into the freezing water with a barely audible plop. The mist hides her features almost instantly, yet I don’t need a clear sunny sky to know what I’ll see. Distorted body, shapeless even, covered in scales that form her shield; carried around by six long bony spider-like legs with pointy, dagger-like ends. The tentacles that leave the scarring on the victims’ necks are twisted in a spiral in her mouth. When the jaw dislocates they shoot out, wrapping around the poor creature that happens to stand before them. Needle-like teeth break the skin and inject the poor helpless soul with some kind of a cocktail that paralyses the nerves, leaving the person as good as dead on the ground in less than thirty seconds. Unconsciously my left hand wraps around my right upper arm, a small pulsation barely noticeable where a similar circle was some time ago.

I monitor the demon’s form until it reaches the shore and disappears into the shadows. Reassured that it’s gone, I fly over the water and stop above the entrance. It’s still invisible, but at least I know how to enter. ‘Or so I hope.’ Gulping and squishing any signs of fear, I rise up in the air and with a last breath of fresh air plunge down fast. For a brief second I can feel resistance as my feet hit the wall, and the hope that it won’t let me through grips my heart, but seconds later any trace of light disappears and I’m left in utter darkness. My heart skips a beat and instinctively I breathe in through my nose. The stench almost knocks me down.

With a flick of my fingers, a small ball of light appears, illuminating the space around me. It’s a long hallway, whose walls are garnished with claw-like marks, while the floor is sticky with blood. Looking up, I can barely make out the welkin on the other side of the barrier.

Crossing the corridor as soundlessly as possible, I end up in what I call the Storage room. My steps are tentative and my feet shake, as memory after memory fights to resurface, yet I somehow manage to push them down. There’s no need to look around, as I already know what I’ll find, yet none the less, I do. And there it is – the pyramid of corpses. The silence that rules implies that there’s no one left alive to moan and ask for help, for which I’m thankful. As harsh and heartless as it may sound, I wouldn’t have been able to save them. ‘I barely saved myself.’

I don’t know what possesses me to near the corpses, or to climb the bodies one after the other as if they are the steps of a ladder. Maybe it’s the need to make sure that I’m right, that this really is a nest. One body at a time, I bite the inner side of my cheek as I climb higher and higher. The pile almost reaches the ceiling. My hands are sticky and my eyes sting, yet I keep on going, trying as hard as possible to ignore the fact that I’m clinging to dead flesh or ragged clothes. Once on top, with sweat covering my body and bile permanently residing in the back on my throat, I peek over the other side. The darkness is thick and impenetrable, yet I know that they are supposed to be there. The glowing ball of light tentatively descends downwards, as if it too is afraid of what may lurk there.

And just like that I can see them – hundreds and thousands of eggs with spider like creatures visible under the thin, membrane-like shell. Fully developed. Starving for human flesh and blood. It appears that the soft glow of the ball makes them recoil, which is logical, knowing that they have never seen an ounce of light in their existence. ‘If we do this right, they won’t exist for much longer.’ Dread mixes with hatred and makes a very combust concoction. The desire to set them on fire right now is so strong that is blocks the warnings all my other senses send to my brain. A second before it’s too late, I push myself back and tumble down the pyramid, taking some of it down with me, yet successfully escaping the grasp of two tentacles. With horror I see the shadow of the demon appearing from on top of the pile, menacing and ready to kill. And then I remember a thing from a book I read once about eagles – while one parent leaves the nest in search for food, the other stays and keeps the eggs warm and safe. Unfortunately, and rather foolishly, such an option had never been considered to be applicable for demons. Smaller in build, but just as dangerous, the demon before me is probably the father. One very angry, very ready to kill daddy, whose babies I just tried to blind. The second it lungs forward, I emit a heart-piercing scream.

 /*/*/*

 The Institute is protected with various runes so that opening portals with specific permission borders impossibility. Frankly, what the Shadowhunters never thought through is that while it’s hard to enter their sacred home by thinking of it, it’s fairly easy to zap yourself in there if you are thinking about a person inside. And thinking very desperately, that is.

Pain shoots through each and every bone in my body. My muscles contract and scream, twist and bend. In the back of my mind I realize that my brain is sending commands to my wings that I have no control over, making them swish around and knock things down. I land on my knees as the portal opens almost above Magnus. Going down, I knock a table, splitting it in half as one of my wings smashes right through it. It would have been painful if my nervous system wasn’t being damaged with every passing second.

“Fuck!” Cursing and pushing myself back into a seating position I try to at least make my wings stop moving around so frantically.

“Magnus!”

The pain makes my voice shrill, the shout coming out as a screech.

Blue light engulfs me seconds later and the frantic wafting of my huge wings is finally put to a stop as they are immobilized by a gentle, yet firm grip. The only damage they can now do now is twitch.

“What happened to you, pumpkin?”

He’s right next to me, my head now position against his chest and his hands working their magic over my wounded body. There’re two stab wounds, yet neither is fatal. What’s bad is the toxin of the demon that’s currently contaminating my system.

It was a rough battle, as my fear served as my downfall for half the time. The angry daddy was slashing and chasing me around while I tried to escape. It eventually came to the point where I was cornered, and the ceiling was too low for me to fly above him. So I attacked, hoping that will win me some time to try and run away. By that point I had already been wounded twice, and one of the tentacles had managed to latch itself to the front of my chest, but only for a brief second before I cut it off. Nevertheless, it was enough for the needle-like teeth to inject a small content of their poison. Frustrated, afraid and angry, I simply blasted the mothefucker to pieces. Only after the goo left behind turned to ash it occurred to me that unlike the mother, the daddy wasn’t prepared for battle. After that I just ran out of there as fast as I could, flew through the barrier and immediately opened a portal, hoping against all hope that I’ll manage to get to Magnus before passing out.

As I elaborate everything that I learned tonight, people gather. Thankfully, while Magnus has me pressed to his body, on my other side it’s Jace that kneels and grabs my unsteady hand. Offering support, protection and shielding me from the curious gazes of the Shadowhunters in the establishment. His hands are warm, hot even, against my icy skin and the feeling of his calloused fingers eases something within me. Behind him I see Alec and Izzy, worried and alarmed, yet listening to each and every word I say with high attentiveness.

“You need to rest. The venom -”

“It won’t kill me, Magnus. By this point I’ve probably grown resistant to it.”

The weak attempt of a smile doesn’t manage to wipe away the worry from his face. He knows that the venom can either kill, or eventually dissolve and lose its properties. No magic or herbs can get it out though.

“I’m not letting you die, pumpkin. You hear me?”

His jaw quivers and I realize that he actually cares for me more than initially anticipated. And now he’s afraid that I may die. Sadly, that’s what I’m afraid of as well.

“The nest’s entrance is near the docs, just a few meters into the water, you cannot miss it. Keep an eye out for the current, it splits and ripples around it.”

The words are hushed and slightly slurred, as my vision begins to shift and blur. Tiredness washes over me and black spots begin to appear.

“Don’t.”

“If I don’t make it, use my feathers. They remember.”

Before I manage to hear his reply, the world seeps out of colour and sound and I get drowned in darkness and obscurity. Sucked into an abyss solely ruled by pain and vibrating with voiceless screams, as a last desperate attempt to battle what’s to come I clutch to my sanity as hard as I can. And since images are easier to grasp than abstract ideas, it happens to take the form of a face with two blazingly blue eyes, one with a brown blob in it, a smug smile and a small dimple. In this place of misery and hysteria, that will be the only thing to keep me alive. After all, I have been here before…

 /*/*/*

 I’m jolted awake by a heart-retching scream that reverberates throughout the room and snakes under my skin. My throat aches and feels like sandpaper and my vocal cords still vibrate from the pressure. It appears that it’s my own scream that woke me up. Flopping back down in bed, with a certain amount of effort I manage to pull my arms up and over my eyes. The light that enters the room is almost blinding. ‘Light? It’s day? How long was I asleep?’ Those and more questions spin in the back of my mind, yet fatigue keeps me rooted to the bed. It’s only when moments later someone barges into the room, banging the door against the wall and almost getting it off its hinges that I open my eyes. Moving one of my arms to the side, for a while all I can see is a blurry black spot with some yellow on top.

“You’re awake!”

“Jace?”

I feel like I haven’t had something to drink in ages, and spend a whole lifetime in a desert. Thankfully, there’s a glass of water on the nightstand, only an arm’s reach away. Yet when your muscles are as weak as mine are now, it’s a deed to actually outstretch and reach it.

Jace comes to stand at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. His inner battle is evident on his face, a sight for sore eyes after my vision finally focuses. Eventually, having made up his mind, he rest one knee on the bed and without so much as a word of warning, grabs my waist gently and helps me sit up. The muscles in my body shout in protest, yet I keep on pushing until finally my back rests against the headboard. Only then does the glass of water end up between my shaky fingers.

“Drink.”

Like an obedient little girl, I lift the glass to my chapped lips and gulp down its content. As I do so, I can feel Jace’s eyes resting on me with tentativeness typical for a child that’s too afraid of scaring off the pretty butterfly perched on the flower nearby.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but the tension that flies between us can easily ignite a fuse. Many things stay unsaid, or are perched right on the tips of our tongues. Questions stay unasked, and thus unanswered.

The room is vast and drenched in sunlight, the blinds pulled to the side so that I can just make out Brooklyn in the distance, peeking between the crowns of the trees.

“How long was I asleep?”

My voice, husky and slightly groggy, sounds unfamiliar and harsh even to my own ears. Rubbing my throat, I try to ease the soreness with a simple spell. Jace just sits there, his eyes zeroed on my glowing hand. My magic, unlike Magnus’ tranquilizing blue, is coloured in a nice shade of gold.

“Jace?”

My voice snaps him out of whatever trance he succumbed into, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine. Hazel meets blue. Involuntarily my attention shifts to the eye that has a blob of brown in it.

“It’s past noon.”

Somehow his voice sounds strained, pained, as if saying that inflicts some unfathomable pain to his whole being.

“Did I miss…?”

“No.”

Shaking his head, he looks down to his hands. The same hands that so recklessly grabbed and held mine when I crashed into the Institute last night. It’s common knowledge that you don’t touch a Warlock when they are in pain, and definitely not their hands. What made him grab mine while I wasn’t controlling my body is beyond me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s no hostility in his voice, just sadness and tiredness. The dark circles under his eyes hint of a long sleepless night, spend over plans and maps probably.

I needn’t ask him to be more specific. Looking the opposite direction and out of the window, I search for the answer within me.

“Because you wouldn’t have done it otherwise. And I didn’t know who you were before it was too late anyway. And even if I had realized you were a Shadowhunter, I still wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Why?”

I can sense his eyes on the nape of my neck, traveling over my exposed skin, over the scars, new and old, over my curves, each of which he has already explored. His hands know the map of my body just as well as mine do – his. And I can feel myself responding to his intense stare – my skin grows warm and tingly and hordes of butterflies flutter their wings in the pits of my belly.

“Because you needed to fall from grace, Jace. For once in your life, you needed to be something else but the perfect Shadowhunter.”

His silence makes me turn around and look at him. His head is bowed low and most of his face is being hidden by his hair, a tangled mess of blond locks. Without realizing it, my hand outstretches and pushes it away. Seconds later the realization of what I just did strikes me, as Jace’s head snaps up and his eyes stare at me, wide and somehow afraid.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Yet I don’t mention what exactly I’m apologizing for– the inappropriate gesture when now we are finally out in the open and see each other without the soothing embrace of darkness to hide our true selves, or for sleeping with him in the first place. Frankly, deep down, I don’t regret either of these things.

Silence settles once again as neither of us knows what to say to the other. That it was a mistake? That we should pretend it never happened even when we wish it could happen again? That we regret it? He can say all that, if he feels it, but I won’t. Seeing that the topic is as good as finished for him, I throw away the covers.

“What are you doing?” Perplexed, he raises a blond eyebrow my way.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Getting out of bed.”

Unfortunately in doing so, I end up crawling on all fours before reaching the edge, which probably supplied him with quite a view. Finally I feel the cool wooden floor under my feet and flex my sore back, hands stretched towards the ceiling, my T-shirt riding up my body. And that’s when I feel them. One, my wings, heavy and stiff against my back, begging to unfold and move. And two, Jace’s unflinching eyes glued to me, following each and every movement I make as if I might suddenly flop down. It’s the need to move my wings that makes me ignore the general rule of never exposing your Warlock mark before a Shadowhunter. As white as the snow on top of the mountains and as soft as a newborn chicken’s fluff, the wings unfold, filling a better part of the room. Raising them up towards the ceiling and then slowly back down to horizontal position, simultaneously I move my shoulders, feeling the tensed muscles ease gradually. The bountiful of feathers that my wings are lift once again up and the tips touch the beams on the ceiling, gently brushing away the speckles of dust, before coming down in a rush, rising a gust of wind and making all kinds of lighter object move. I peek over my shoulder just in time to see Jace’s hair being wafted back before flopping back down in his face. His very amazed and intrigued face. The small giggle that escapes me fills the silence, muffling the light ruffling sound of the feathers as the wings once again retract flat against my back. Seconds later they are no longer visible.

“I see you recovered fast.”

Alec is leaning against the door frame, his hands folded against his broad chest. For once, he actually appears happy to see me. Or at least, less grumpy. Izzy is by his side, her smile beaming at me like a beacon.

“That was amazing!”

Having done nothing spectacular, I presume she means my wings. By instinct, not being the first to flatter me on them, I nod in appreciation. Only after doing that I realize how strange the whole situation is – a Shadowhunter complimenting a Downworlder, and the latter nodding in gratitude.

“Pumpkin, you shouldn’t be up!”

Magnus enters the room with a gust of glitter surrounding him, fingers ready to snap and send me back to bed, as if I’m a little child.

“I’ve healed completely. I’m ready for tonight!”

“You are not coming.”

Spinning around I face Jace, ready to wage a war over that matter. There’s no living force that can stop me from finishing what I’ve started.

“I agree with Jace on this one, pumpkin.” Magnus puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, yet I shrug it off, suddenly filled with rage.

“After everything I’ve been through-”

“Exactly because of everything you’ve been through it is best for you to stay here.”

Jace’s eyes are pleading with me to understand, yet at the same time I can see his unshakable resolve lingering in the background. He’ll make sure I stay hidden behind the impenetrable walls of the Institute and no amount of persuasion will change his mind.

“I’m coming with you, no matter if you like it or not.”

He’s about to protest, yet I beat him to it.

“I know exactly where the entrance is. It will take you ages to find it without me.”

Smug in my approaching victory, I yelp as pain wracks the nervous endings on my back. Looking over my shoulder, I notice that my wings are no longer invisible as Magnus has dispersed the spell while I was too preoccupied arguing with Jace. Not only that, but he has plucked a feather out and with a very guilty look on his face mouths an apology.

“Don’t you fucking dare-”

My protest is cut short as I feel Jace’s hands around my neck. The gesture would have been highly intimate, erotic even, if moments later his fingers didn’t find my carotid and apply just the needed amount of pressure. As if someone flicked the light switch off, the room drowns in darkness and my body goes limp. My last coherent thought is that when I wake up, I’m gonna kill Jace and Magnus for doing this to me.

 /*/*/*

 “Wake up!”

The harsh voice snaps me out of my dreamless slumber, making me jolt up in bed. My head pounds in protest and sudden nausea overtakes me. Lying back down, I try to breathe through my mouth in deep gulps, a futile attempt to chase it away.

“We don’t have lots of time, Warlock. Get up and get dressed.”

Still dizzy and disorientated, my head a jumble of uncoherent thoughts, I’m obliged to look up in order to see who’s so eager to kick me out. Surprise, surprise, it’s Maryse Lightwood. Her face is scrunched in a scold and her dark eyes are shooting daggers my way. However, underneath the hostility, I see worry that alarms me. Sitting up and massaging the back of my neck, I try to remember how speaking was initiated. ‘God, that’s one nice technique, Jace.’ Thankfully, she saves me the bother of asking questions. In a gruff, razor-harp voice, her commands fall out of her tightly clenched lips one after the other.

“Get up! Get dressed! There’s no response from the team we send to the nest!”

In an eye blink I bolt to my feet, making her take a step back.

“When did you lose contact with them?”

Quickly throwing on a jumper and tying my hair back, I literally jump into my boots and tie the laces.

“An hour or so ago. We tried to reach them, but-”

“There’s hardly any phone reception in that dump.”

Muttering under my breath a few juicy curses, I stand up and with a last look at Maryse, a mother worried about her children and the fate of humanity, I do the unthinkable.

“Thank you for waking me up.”

The portal opens, the vortex of swirling matter beckoning me to enter. Without a glance back, I step through, the image of the river clear in my mind.

 I portal on the shore this time, thankfully, so there’s no skinny-dipping tonight. With a single fluid movement my wings unfold and catch the wind. Two mighty strokes are all it takes for me to shorten the distance to the entrance, which is no longer invisible. Dred and panic clog my blood, yet I swallow them down. I’m tired of being afraid and tentative in my steps. I’m tired of carrying the burden of the past as a second skin. And for once, I’m hell-a-bound on doing things my way, and shedding this guilt that suffocates me. Delving in, my magic seeps like a golden flame in front of me, illuminating the way. Halfway down the hallway I finally land and start running, my wings gone.

Instead of the shouts of battle, I’m met with dreadful silence. The Storage is halfway bathed in darkness, apart from the ray of light that enters through a gaping hole in the ceiling. There’re no other traces of commotion, no daggers cast to the side, no dead bodies. Involuntarily my eyes look at the pile of corpses– it’s in the same state I left it last night.

Sneaking further into the room and being on high alert, I open my senses to their full capacity. That’s when I sense the remains of Magnus’ magic lingering in the air like stardust. Slowly things start to reach out to me – the smell of leather, the buzzing of Seraph daggers. And then low hissing lisps that come from the other side of the pile of carcasses. At first I’m perplexed as to what it may be, but then my attention gets drawn by the sound of smacking and jaws snapping, coming from the opposite direction.

I let my instincts lead me and follow the sounds of feeding, hoping against all hope that I won’t find the demon eating somebody I know.  Halfway there, I almost trip over something on the floor. Moving as silently as possible, I pick it up. It’s a snake bracelet. Izzy’s whip. Clutching it for dear life I resume walking, still being completely clueless as to what to do if I find my friends killed by the tentacles of a demon we don’t know how to destroy.

The next room is considerably smaller and still chiefly drowned in darkness. Yet even so, there are no signs of any life forms, no movement, only the persisting smacking sound, followed by the occasional ripping of flesh. ‘The demon is feeding. Hopefully no one I know has turned into a hors d'oeuvre.’ My eyes dart up as if summoned by some unknown power and land on the ceiling, which is quite high, with metal beams protruding from it, yet somehow staying only halfway finished. ‘Strange.’ Furrowing my brows at this asymmetrical art form, I zero my senses there. That’s when it hits me; what I initially mistook for parts of the construction are actually cocoons. ‘Storing your food for later has just acquired a whole new meaning.’

The bracelet in my hand suddenly grows uncomfortably hot, almost making me drop it. Instead, praying that it’s not picky and it won’t show any preferences towards kinship, I slip in around my wrist and activate it. The whip appears almost instantly and I allow my magic to flow through it, making it glow in a pulsating golden light. That’s when I spin around and lash with all the hatred I can master. A demonic screech fills the silence, abruptly followed by a hiss and a familiar tapping sound.

“Oh no you don’t, you fucking bitch!” Hissing right back, I make the whip glow even stronger.

The demon tries to move to the back, but it’s too late, I have already raised my hand for another strike. The smacking sound, caused by the collision of the whip with soft tissue is followed by a pained gurgle. This demon no longer has any tentacles left.

Blinded by rage, and extremely pissed that it tried to take me by surprise, I keep on lashing out, the whip sizzling and the light growing even stronger, blindingly so, for a creature that despises it.

“You hate light, don’t you? Well, I hate the dark.”

I’m shaking profusely and screaming at the top of my lungs. I have never felt more alive and liberated.

With that said and as if sensing my next move, the creature lungs forward and attacks me, a last desperate attempt to preserve her children and get rid of me for good, before I set the whole place ablaze. Yet she’s a thud too late for the party. Since the second I came in here, light has been breaching through her nicely packed lair via methodically placed magic pebbles. All at once they snap open and the condensed light inside of them explodes with the power of thousands suns, the heat being so overwhelming that I have only a second to bring up my firewalls before my exposed senses get fried.

The light eventually subsides and diminishes to a barely noticeable glow. Blinking my eyes open, I feel hazy. Yet that feeling disperses fast enough when my mind reels back into the present. Jumping on my feet, without actually having any recollection as to when I fell on my back, I scan the premises. However there’s not much left to look at – ash is covering the place where I last saw the demon, and upon closer inspection it happens to be burned into the very floor. There’s no longer a hissing sound filling the silence, only the water hitting the sides of the lair, some of it dribbling inside through the cracks. My eyes dart to the heap of bodies, and for a second I wonder if the eggs are still intact or if they already hatched and are munching on their poor victims? A muffled cry reminds me that while I have been battling the angry momma, my friends have probably been suffocating in the cocoons.

With a single snap of my wrist the four bulks detach from the ceiling and gently descend to the ground, where they lie down. The substance that makes the cocoons isn’t as thin and easy to break as spider web, but after some irksome battle, I manage to pry open the first shell using a condensed ray of light. Magnus’ ashy face appears before me, yet by experience I know there’s nothing I can do to assist him. The ring across his left hand indicates that his whole nervous system is currently waging a war against the poison running through his veins. My hand feels hot against his cold cheek.

“It’s all going to be alright, I’ll get you out of here.”

With shaky feet I scurry to the other imprisonments and plunge holes into them, so that I can see Izzy, then Alec and finally Jace’s face. They are all in the same state as Magnus – paralyzed and in awful lot of pain, but still alive.

“Just hold on, ya’ll. Don’t die on me.”

A gust of wind whips around the small space as I open the portal. Its sucking power is impressively strong, making me look at my hands with wonder. Izzy’s whip is once again a bracelet, safely secured around my wrist. Wasting no time, I rise all four of the cocoons so that they levitate before me. It’s a hard choice, which two to leave behind and come back to in a minute. A sideways glance reassures me that there’s still no movement from behind the heap of bodies, but maybe they are just waiting for me to turn my back and disappear before they crawl out. Or maybe this whole thing will collapse? Gritting my teeth and shutting off all probabilities, I grab Magnus’ cocoon firmly and look at the other three.

My nails dig into Izzy’s next and without looking back, I step into the portal.

The ground before the Institute appears desolate at first glance, yet I know that the alarms inside have gone off the second the portal opened. Leaving the two cocoons on the ground a few steps away, I jump back inside the swirling vortex, my heart drumming painfully. The clicking sound of my heels almost makes my heart stop, wrongly mistaking it for the clicking of jaws. Looking around, I’m glad for the two shining pebbles of light I left on top of Jace and Alec’s cocoons. The shadows are thick, and I can swear I catch small movements with the corner of my eye that make the fine hairs on my arms stand up in alarm.

“Time to go, boys.”

Once again digging my nails as hard as I can and not letting the shadows out of my eyes, I move backwards towards the swirling vortex that will takes us back to safety. In a last minute whim, just to make sure none of the little vermin will ever crawl out of here, I cast a spell that makes all the small pebbles I used a while ago to start vibrating and sizzling.

“Enjoy hell.”

Jumping in the portal, the last thing I hear is a series of shrieks and hisses as light burst free from its small prisons, setting the whole thing on fire.

By the time I emerge with Alec and Jace by my sides, Maryse is waiting impatiently, her foot tapping over the grass mercilessly, squishing it even further. Her otherwise impeccable hair looks disheveled, and there are nervous tremors that make her jaw wobble every once in a while. And are those tears I see, brimming her eyes? Shifting my gaze so that she wouldn’t notice, I look at the ground where I left Magnus and Isabel but the cocoons are gone. Upon seeing me, she lungs forward like a mother tigress eager to protect her young, yet stops short a few steps away, unaware as what to do.

“We need to get them inside.”

Saving her the embarrassment, I walk forward, her sons levitating by my sides like some kind of mummified bodyguards.

The Institute is like a buzzing bee-hive. Everyone’s up and about, some monitoring the river where the nest blew up, others running around, carrying daggers and other sharp objects. It’s no use telling them that none of those will manage to cut through the cocoon’s surface, or even scratch it since it’s made of the same substance as the shield of the demon. Instead, I merely walk towards the Infirmary, while simultaneously having to answer with exasperation all of Maryse’s inquisitive questions in regards to what her children and Magnus are going through.

“Are they aware of what’s going on around them?”

“Oh, believe me, they are very aware.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snaps and almost makes an attempt to grab me.

“It means that maybe if they weren’t in excruciating pain right now, they’d have rolled their eyes and told you to stop harassing me.”

She grows silent at that, and a small drop of guilt further poisons my otherwise crappy mood.

“Look, Maryse, there’s no nice way for me to tell you what they’re going through. Hell, I can hardly put it into words. But it’s nowhere near pleasant. And there’s not a damn thing we can do to change that.”

Her dark, almost black eyes look at me, as if she wants to delve into the depths of my soul and see what’s hiding there. For a second I wonder whether she’ll slap me or break down into tears in the middle of the hallway. Instead, to my utter surprise, she smiles and nods, before walking along.

In the Infirmary I find a team of Shadowhunters armed with Seraph daggers trying to pry open Isabel’s cocoon. To no luck, of course.

“Put those daggers away, I’ll open them.”

At first all five of Medics look at me as if I sprouted as second head or something, yet Maryse’s sharp yell “What the hell are you waiting for?” makes them obediently comply. For the time being, at least.

Casting a spell for light is one thing, having to morph the bouncing and unstable ball into a scalpel-like blade is a whole new challenge. With no time to practise and so many gazes glued to me, studying each and every move I make, I close my eyes and focus. I distance my mind from everything. Find my happy place. Channel all my powers and make them mend to my precise will. In my mind’s eye I can see what I need, and I can almost feel it hot and pulsating in my hand, like a beating heart. Easily enough, moments later I have a scalpel made of light to cut through the impenetrable wraps.

 /*/*/*

 The sunrise this morning is a spectacular thing to behold. Encompassed by a brave fusion of golden, pink and fiery red at the rims, the sun chases away the night’s shadows and begins its daylong journey with unseen glory. Somehow, as I observed it from one of the windows in the Infirmary, it reminded me of my pebbles – being something with little attributed significance these days (nobody praises the Sun anymore) like a small piece of bounder, and then miraculously saving the world from its collapse.  

The Shadowhunter team of Medics all went to bed under my direct order an hour after the sun finally showed its round face. Staying here and fussing around would have been no good for anybody. So now I sit alone on one of the cold metal tables near window, and simply monitor for any improvements or deteriorations in the four patients. Quality sleep, unprovoked by external circumstances, has eluded me these past few days, yet fatigue isn’t as merciful, and my drained magic slowly but surely takes its toll on me the longer I stay awake. So now I sit there cross legged, my shoes discarded long ago, slightly hunched forwards, with my wings spread by my sides and my hair free from the grip of the ponytail. Any unnecessary movement is painful and tedious, so at some point I stopped turning to see who was constantly coming in and out of the room. I knew it was Maryse checking on me, making sure I hadn’t fallen asleep on my watch. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d have been pissed and told her off two hours ago. I merely tolerate the constant clatter of her heels now.

Silence rules over the Institute finally as the veil of sleep has gradually descended upon everybody.

“Hey.”

The groggy sounding voice would have easily eluded me, if my ears weren’t just enjoying the quietness of the room. In an instant I’m down on my feet and next to Jake’s bed. His skin is ghostly pale and his gorgeous eyes are rimmed by dark circles. His breathing is labored and shallow, dripping with pain.

Somehow I find myself speechless, unaware as to what to tell him so to reassure him that everything will be okay. Instead I opt to give him some water. Sitting at the edge of the bed, one of my hands goes under his neck, where the hair is stuck to his damp skin, while the other holds the glass.

“Easy now.”

The words are gentle, like a mother’s caress and I can barely believe I’m able of such forms of   tenderness after having little to no quality sleep. Lifting his head up slightly, a groan slips past his parted lips, yet he keeps on trying to push himself up.

“Hey, hey, hey! You need to learn to walk before you can fly!”

I don’t know why these exact words came to my mind, or why he decides to accept them, but no further attempt is made to sit up. After giving him some water, I make a move to back away and let him sleep, but his fingers intertwine with mine, making me halt. Freeze on the spot is more accurate, actually.

Our eyes lock and I can see the pain, exhaustion, loneliness and despair swirling in the blue depths of his irises. So many questions are posed by a single look that I feel overwhelmed. That’s when I see my reflection and my own eyes widen with horror. Due to the tiredness, all the spells concealing my appearance have fallen, and for a first time Jace sees the real me. My hair is still deep burgundy red that makes my now golden eyes stand out even more against my pale skin. My bottom lip quivers. I try to pull away from him, to shift my gaze, but he doesn’t let me.

A single lone tear streams down my face, gliding over the skin, stopping for a second at my chin, as if contemplating what to do next, and then it simply falls down. I can feel a part of my burden falling down with it.

“Stay.”

His hoarse voice and the flutter of his eyelids are giveaways that whatever battle he’s waging with his body’s desire to fall asleep, he’s losing. I can use the weakened hold of his fingers to free myself and back away, get out of here, away from him and the way he makes me fall apart. Instead, my grip around his hand tightens and I lie down next to him, my head resting on his bare shoulder, the thudding of his heartbeat finally lulling me to sleep.

 /*/*/*/

 Maryse kicked us out of the Institute as soon as Magnus was awake and able to sit up. I tried to rationalise with her, but for some bizarre reason she would have none of it. And opposed to previous conjunctions regarding her spite towards me, this time her eyes were aimed at the High Warlock with nothing less that animosity. Obviously after the job was done, we had fallen out of her capricious grace and were no longer needed.

Taking Magnus back to his flat and looking after him, as the aftermaths of the poison were still present, my thoughts kept on drifting back to Jace.  I couldn’t bear not being there and him needing me. Yet each and every time my consciousness strayed that way, my mind would spitefully replay Maryse Lightwood’s words and all sympathy would melt away like snow left in the sun. Eventually, once Magnus was completely healed, I opened up and told him what was tormenting me. After throwing a hissy fit and shattering a rather ancient vase out of spite, that is.

“You know you can send him a fire message, right pumpkin?”

Cocking an eyebrow my way, he takes a sip of his fancy cocktail, his cat-eyes looking at me over the rim of the glass.

“That’s your advice? No warning to stay away from him, or reproachful attitude?”

“When have I ever reproached you, Bianca?”

He puts the glass down, the easygoing mood now shifting into a rather more serious one.

“You have played by the rules all your life. Yes, that saved you a lot of trouble, but maybe it’s time you allow yourself to be happy.”

“But I am happy!”

Even to my own ears, that sounds like a desperate exasperation of a person who finds it hard to even convince herself, let alone anyone else. There’s no need for Magnus to say anything. Instead, he leans back and drifts away from me, his thoughts taking him on a journey, probably back in time.

“I’m seeing Alexander.”

I just blink at him, trying to remember who this Alexander-guy is supposed to be. Blurring such a thing out of the blue makes my brain glitch for a second, before it daunts on me. Probably at the realization my facial expression changes, cus Magnus’ eyes acquire that tint of plea. Not to judge him. Not to argue.

“You mean Alec. The Alec?”

“Don’t be so shocked, pumpkin.”

The room falls silent as I just stare at him, eyes as wide as pancakes, mouth probably slightly open, and definitely not breathing. And then a cackle of laughter bursts from within my chest, rises up my throat and seeps out from between my lips, reverberating between the walls of the vast room.

“I’m happy you find my love life amusing.”

He’s grumpy and quite displeased, obviously mistaking my laugh for some kind of mock or distrust.

“Oh, Magnus. You don’t get it.”

Wiping a small tear from the corner of my eye, I can see he’s getting irritated as my point still eludes him.

“Just imagine the look of Maryse’s face when she realizes that not only is her adopted son sleeping around with a Warlock, but so is her biological one. God, she’ll have a fit!”

The laugh overtakes me once again, as in my mind’s eye I can clearly envision how someone as shallow-mined and stuck-up as Maryse Lightwood will react upon hearing such ground-shaking news.

Magnus only chuckles, mildly amused by the idea, but obviously not finding it as hilarious. I don’t blame him. Having lived as long as he has, after a certain point some things are no longer funny.

“Your sense of humor has gotten rusty, old friend. Make sure you squeak it clean before going out with that ball of happiness and delight you call a boyfriend.”

“Piss off.”

A pillow flies my way, but I manage to duck in time, giggling like a small child while doing so. Somehow this brightened my mood considerably.

 /*/*/*/

 Eventually I get round to conjuring a fire message, and after rereading it a couple dozen of times, deem it acceptable. Sending it is the hardest deed I have ever preformed in my entire life, which says a lot. It contained a general enquiry after his health, and a plea to meet me, followed by the address and the time. I sent it early in the morning with the hopes that it will find him still in bed, safely tucked away behind the thick walls of his room, and not in the middle of a meeting or something.

The sun set an hour ago in a bombastic explosion of fiery red, rich golden hues and the softest flecks of pink rimming the fluffy clouds. A magnificent sight to feast one’s eyes upon.  Now the sky is sprinkled with thousands of starts, all encircling the moon – a perfectly round pearl, shining with its soft glow upon the earth, unaffected by kinship. A low evening whiff scurries around, spins between my legs, gently lifting my dark green dress, before disappearing. The soft scent of freshness coming from some distant place lingers for a second before a new one engulfs my senses. Musk. Leather. Earth. Male.

Spinning around, a pair of deep blue eyes looks at me, pinning me on the stop. He’s clad in black, as per usual, but that just makes his fair hair stand out even more. His honey-kissed skin is slightly paler, and his gorgeous magnetic eyes are brimmed by the shadow of fatigue, caused by lack of decent sleep. Alarmed by these signs, I make a move to near him, yet before I even go as far and take a step forward, he’s in front of me. His strongly pronounced dominating aura engulfs me into a heated embrace, his odour filling my senses and making them tingle.  A certain part of my brain registers that I’m overly excited, yet I choose to ignore it.

“Jace-”

“Why did you leave?”

Our voices mash together, one filled with longing, happiness and faint hope, the other sharp, betrayed, hurt and tinted by anger.

Taken aback, I take a step back, my lower back pressing against the parapet, the cold marble digging into my skin through the thin fabric. His eyes are clouded with so many emotions and questions that I can see his soul chocking and wriggling under all that crushing weight.

“I didn’t leave. I-”

“You were not there, Bianca! Last time I checked, that’s considered leaving! And you even had the nerve to send me that letter! Summoning me here like a dog!”

He’s bitter, thus his tongue is sharp, even when his eyes are so pleading and filled with sorrow. I want to speak, to tell him the truth, to refute his accusations. Instead I stand there, silent and cold like a marble statue, and just look up at him. I’m barefoot, regrettably so as I reach his shoulders, and I can feel all the heat from moments ago seeping into the cold tiles, leaving me achingly hollow. Our gazes stay locked in a fierce battle as I try to urge him to see the truth. Yet he’s too deeply hurt to be rational. I’m too shocked to be rational either. Blue clashes with hazel. My lips part to speak the truth, but no sound comes out. For once in my life, I have been stunned into silence. Jace takes that as his cue to keep on pressing, cutting even a deeper wound into my flesh.

“You wanted to speak. So, speak! Let’s see what you have to say for yourself!”

Spiteful, arrogant, fuming. Driven into frenzy by the loneliness surrounding his heart. For a second I feel so devastated by his sadness, utterly destroyed by how broken he is. Then I snap back into my body and the ice cold skin, stretched thin and tight across my hands starts to tingle, as if set on fire. Itching, begging to slap him across the presumptuous face, and beat some sense back into his thick head.

“I didn’t ask you to come so that you can offend and accuse me in my own home. I will not tolerate your outbursts, Jace Wayland.”

As I emphasise the words, I can feel my magic simmering right beneath the surface, ready to be called forward. The idea is tempting, as I can see the wheels in his head spinning, his mouth opening, and what can only be a spiteful remark looming on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike me down. I beat him to it.

“Shut it!”

Startled by the outburst, Jace presses his lips tightly shut, resembling a little child. Yet his eyes are ablaze with rueful anger, fuelled by his pain.

“If you really believe that I left your side willingly when you were in pain, then you don’t know square shit about me. I spend a better part of my waking hours nursing you back to health or making sure you are provided with whatever you may desire. I lost hours’ worth of sleep and regeneration just to make sure that if you woke up and needed me, I’d be there. So don’t you even dare claim that I left, you ignorant twat!”

Fuming and irritated too much to stay put, I walk towards the canopy in the other end of the balcony and grab a glass of red wine, taking a deep gulp of it. Its warmth sooths something within me, while simultaneously giving me the strength to continue this torturous conversation. Whisking around, I find Jace leaning against the banister, his eyes zeroed on me.

“Then why weren’t you there when I woke up?”

His distrust makes something in me snap, a tremor that has been stretched thin for quite some time now. The glass in my hand, by this point empty, flies his way with dead accuracy before I can register what I’m doing. He catches it in one swift and elegant movement, his eyes wide and funnily shocked. Probably he never had a girl hurl a glass at his head.

“Because I was kicked out, you idiot! Maryse threw us out as soon as Magnus was awake! But I recon she elaborated a completely different story to you. And you being you, never even thought of questioning her. ”

By this point hurt has seeped in alongside the anger, and my voice resumes its normal decibels, if not even dropping a note lower. Jace is shocked into silence. His whole countenance has shifted from active-aggressive to remorseful in the blink of an eye. The cockiness and anger are gone. The heat in his eyes is extinguished by the truth, leaving only chilling realisation and sorrow behind.

“If you thought I have left you, why did you even bother coming?”

It’s time for me to be spiteful. I can no longer bear to look at him, at his sullen face, so I turn around and evoke another glass of wine, before sitting down on the canopy and rising my legs up. This way, leaning sideways, propped on the hand rest and surrounded by pillows, I get to look at Brooklyn, peeking over the parapet. A lump I cannot swallow has blocked my throat, preventing any further words from being spoken. ‘Maybe enough was said for tonight.’

He nears me silently, tentatively, as if one wrong move can cost him his life, before sitting at the edge of the canopy, his hands playing with the wine glass. The silence settles like a thick woollen blanket, suffocating us with its tension.

“It was killing me, not knowing if you had survived the toxin or not. I spend every single day trying to find a way to get information about your wellbeing.”

Silence. A stolen glance. Quickly averted eyes. My voice is thick with emotions I can no longer suppress.

“I had to find out from Alec that you hadn’t died in excruciating agony.”

“Alec?”

His voice is hoarse and somewhat foreign.

“He came to see Magnus. I just happened to be there.”

Silence descends once again, this time filled with less tension and more remorse. The playful night’s air once again dances across the balcony, lifting my dress slightly higher up my leg, showing off nicely shaped muscles, embraced by tanned skin. My hair gets twirled around for a second, pushed away from my face, before as if by a whim, brought back forward, falling down my chest. A sideways glance informs me that Jace took notice of all of it.

“I’m sorry. For everything I did and said.”

Being a man of many words, when it comes to apologising, he’s out of his element and is as scarce as possible. Tentative. Unsure. But honest none the less.

“I’m sorry as well. I should have sent a message earlier. I was just … afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That you may not come.”

Our eyes lock once again, gold colliding with blue. The soft glow of my eyes, the flutter of my reappeared wings, the striking contrast of my red hair, I can see myself reflected in his eyes.  The real me. No more hiding behind spells and lies, behind illusions and masks.

“You are beautiful.”

The mesmerised and dreamy tone of his voice imply that he’s not actually aware of speaking the words out loud until my eyes widen with surprise.

Realising what just happened, Jace goes beet red and looks away, utterly humiliated by his outburst. And just like that the tension in my back eases, and the sparks in the air disappear. My giggle, so feminine and light fills the silence.

“If a heated argument is what it takes to get you to compliment me, I’ll have to come up with a whole menagerie of quarrels.”

For a brief second he regards me with a mixture of confusion and wonder, before a smirk curls his lips upwards and his low chuckle vibrates in the air.

“I’ll have to change that, then. You are hard to squabble with.”

A chuckle of my own follows and I shake my head with disbelief and amusement. Seconds later his lips end up pressed against mine, slow, tentative, gentle. My wings flutter with excitement, giving off a soft rustling sound and subsequently making Jace smirk.

“Don’t be so smug, Jace Wayland.”

My breath ghosts over his lips, our faces a few centimetres apart.

“I can’t help it. I’m eighty percent smugness and twenty percent sass.”

A laugh erupts from my chest before I can contain it and my back leans back against the pillows, hands coming up to hide my face.

“Cannot believe you just said that with your mouth.”

“Then shut me up.”

He’s leaning over me, his body’s heat oozing from under his clothes and spreading over me like a blanket.

This kiss is braver, more passionate and with less restrictions to it. My hands travel from the sides of his face, down his shoulders then up his neck and into his hair, where they gently tug at the silky locks. His groan tickles my lips.

 /*/*/*

 Clothes get discarded in a rush. Soft rustle of fine fabric as a green dress hits the floor, pooling around bare feet. Unbuckling of a belt and pants hitting the fluffy rug with a barely audible thud. T-shirt getting tossed carelessly to the side. Slithering and a soft swishing sound, almost like a breathed sigh of relief, as skin glides over the finest silk sheets. Gentle rustle of feathers.

Lips lock. Hands roam up and down heated, sensitive skin. Chest presses against chest. Long slender legs get entwined around strong muscular ones. Arched backs. A soft push. No resistance. Pleasure. Temptation. Ultimate and infinite completeness; perfection.

My nails run down his back, leaving long red claw marks to tarnish his skin. They dig into his shoulder blades whenever he breaks the rhythm of our sensual dance, making him hiss and burry his face in my neck.

Our skin is on fire, burning with passion, covered in a sheer layer of sweat that glimmers like a fine stardust. His hair is dangling down and some of the longer strands playfully tickle me. Blazing eyes, one deep blue, the other appearing completely brown, gaze down at me from under slightly hooded eyelids with nothing less that raw unsustainable desire. One moment he’s soft and gentle, broken and worshiping, his hands following all my curves and edges, all my scars and tattoos, all the dips and ups. The next he’s rough and fast, with no restrains, no remorse. He wants me, and he takes me. One of his hands creeps around my neck, his fingers gently clasping around my throat. I can feel my pulse explicitly well, the arteries throbbing under the pressure he applies. In response, my own hand glides up his back, ending up fisted in his hair, tugging back. He growls and bares his throat. We are both dominating the other, yet at the same time being submissive. This harmony, the feeling of something click is all it takes for us to trip over the edge.

Later, after reassuring Jace that he can freely sprawl on top of me without crushing me, I look out of the window, feeling the gentle night breeze enter my room through the still open balcony doors and sway around the room. My fingers are playing with his silky hair, his soft warm breath across my breasts ticking the sensitive skin. A small chill makes my whole body shiver, yet he doesn’t stir. Rustling of feathers fills the silence of the room and I move my shoulders. The wings unfold and take up both sides of the bed, even tipping over the edge. Absentmindedly, I get them to rise up and stretch thus disturbing the empty space above us. Jace murmurs something in his slumber and nuzzles closer, his muscular body leaning even more into me, as if wanting us to merge into one.

The wings close behind his back like a soft blanket, hiding our nakedness and at the same time protecting us from the brisk air that comes in. Just now remembering that I should probably close the double doors, I flick my wrist in their directions. A soft click and there’s no more sounds from the outside world entering. The feathers appear even whiter, almost glowingly so against the dusky atmosphere and the thick shadows.

“Now you really do look like someone who fell from Grace.”

The low mutter is accompanied by a small laugh, as I do not wish to disturb him any further. My hands wrap around his broad shoulders in a protective, loving manner, keeping him even closer. Under the eiderdown of feathers, I finally feel my eyelids flutter close, tiredness overtaking my body. It’s futile to try and blink away the sleep, so I just succumb to its alluring call.

[ruined-rp]

Derek Hale Sample App

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name: Admin Kitty Pronouns: She/Her Age: 27  Timezone/Country: Australia - GMT+10/AEST Triggers: Rape, trypophobia, clowns, insects Activity Level: 5-6, I own my own business and am currently caring for my grandmother as she’s very ill but I’m around on mobile constantly and am quite regular with my replies! How Did You Hear About Us: I am the creator of all things Ruined :p

Anything Else?: I am so excited for this RP to start! The Code: N/A

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Desired Character: The one and only Derek Hale. Why This Character?: The first ever male muse I ever wrote is Dean Winchester- and he still holds a very special place in my heart but when I connected with Derek Hale, it was like a whole new world opened itself up to me. He is my ultimate muse, the one I have written the most, the one I have written the longest... the one I will return to, time and time again because writing Derek is like coming home. Any FC Changes?: Never in a million years Ships/Anti-ships: He’s a bleeding heart, especially for the women. Even after all the hurt he’s suffered by their hands, he’s still a sucker for a damsel in distress but, I will go where the chemistry and development leads, every time. It also has to make sense to his plot and character type, for example; I would never pitch Kate with Derek unless it was flash backs showing their relationship before the fire.  Headcanons: 

TATTOOS: Derek has a triple spiral or triskelion on his back. It is three spirals connected together.The triskelion is an ancient symbol and whilst it has many, many meanings, to Derek , the symbol stands for the three types of werewolves - Alpha, Beta and Omega. He says it reminds him that while we can rise we can also fall, a Beta becoming an Alpha or an Alpha falling back down to Omega status.It’s also in my opinion an ode to his heritage. The symbol represents his family, almost like a family/pack crest. He has the symbol on Laura’s grave, also in his home and further, it’s the symbol on the tokens given to the Hale Children by Talia to help them with their transitions and to learn control. Derek also has a full sleeve down his left arm that covers the top of his hand- the entire depiction is an ode to the moon and his wolf. He also has a small crescent moon tattooed on the inside of his right wrist.

CRESCENT: Like all of the Hale’s and Labonair’s, Derek has a birth mark of a crescent moon. His is on the inside of his left ankle, whereas Hayley’s is on the back of her shoulder. It’s what ultimately lead to Hayley’s discovery and the one thing that sets their families apart from the rest of the Crescent legacies. The birthmark is what gives a wolf the right to become Alpha of the Crescent Wolf Pack, should their time ever come... something that isn’t always a blessing or a right of passage.

FAVOURITE THINGS: Derek has a thing for Winter too but there is something so special about Autumn. It’s natures way of preparing for change, of shedding the old after a brilliant array of colour and beauty ready for a new cycle. The colours that surrounded his loft and the home he grew up in felt like a warm hug from the earth. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud...He’s also an exceptionally good cook. There’s something so therapeutic about being in the kitchen, making something by his hand. He’s great at any handy-work style task but making good food for his pack and watching the joy on their faces as they sit around the logs and a freshly stoked fire eating whatever he’d prepared for them is one of his favourite traditions. Please Provide At Least One: You can find it all here  → [xxxx]

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE:

How Does Your Character Feel About The Peace Treaty?: It was his family that helped established the Peace Treaty but frankly, his thoughts on it are a lot like believing in God. You do, until something goes wrong and then you don’t. After the loss of his family, he wasn’t sure he could stomach the idea of living in Peace with the very people who destroyed him but the Hales and his pack have lived in New Orleans for centuries, have built a refuge here… if signing a treaty fortified their position in this town? Then so be it. Though, he is no fool. Peace is only ever temporary, and when it all falls apart… he is ready. His pack is prepared. Slice of Life: Derek is a simple man, with simple habits. Sleep, clean, wank, plot vengeance, exercise, cook, repeat. He lives his life one day at a time, and tries not to break the norm of his routine, because at this point in his life routine is all he had. It’s what kept him going day by day in his methodical existence.One of his most important habits is his exercise. He works out at least two hours every single day. A wolf in his position has to stay fit, after all. His routine consists of cardio + calisthenics. It allows his stamina and endurance to peak and it was what kept him so light on his toes, almost always guaranteeing the upper hand in any fight when combining that with the fact that he was an alpha. When he’s not training himself, he’s training the Pack- especially Scott and Hayley, who need him the most right now. On occasion, he’ll head to Auggie’s or Rousseau’s and blow off a little steam. Things are calm right now, and Derek is relishing in it whilst he can because he knows that it’s a false sense of security, literally the calm before the storm. With each day, the Nemeton grows stronger and it’ll take every none of them to stop it. What is Your Character’s Greatest Fear? How Does This Affect Your Character?: He’s lived it. Over and over again, Derek has come face to face with his worst fear of that decade and somehow survived. He’s lost every one he’s ever loved or cared for in any capacity. Felt the pain and anguish of life. He fears for the safety of NOLA and those who still look up to him for guidance and protection but at the same time, he’s broken- so yeah, the fear is still there, but it’s dormant. No longer the driving force of his actions.

SAMPLE:

“Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi deliverance from the human prison.”

The near full moons light illuminated the restless body of the alpha, reflecting against the light sheen of a cold sweat on his naked skin as he tossed and turned under the sheets that threatened to suffocate him. The recurring dream Derek had each night since the tragic events that affected the course of his life forever was yet again plaguing his mind; only tonight it was different…where he was normally thrown awake in terror, there was something pulling him deeper, sucking him further into the memory.

His feet were moving so fast, were he not a wolf he’d have tumbled face first. His heart beat so violently against his throat Derek feared he was going to choke on it. Panic was all consuming as branches whipped against him, cutting his skin and piercing his soul. How could he have been so stupid? Trusting Kate was going to have an affect on his life like he could never imagine…

His mind flashed to the house, the sky ahead now black in the midst of the night, the moon tucked away behind the dense trees surrounding his family home, the stars a beautiful contrast to the horror below them. The screams had begun, the blood curdling cries of those who shared his blood, locked in the basement and too far gone for him to save…  The pain in his chest threatening to break him open.

Suddenly, his view shifted, he was running again only now that view was lower, his body morphed into his wolf form. The pain a little less, a dull ache in the back of his mind overcome by his animal instincts as he hunted his prey through the forest. With a shift in his sleep he pounced on the deer he had been stalking, his teeth sinking into the warm furry flesh as he ravaged the animal the way his past ravaged him.  

Blood dripping from his fangs as he finally pulled away, satiated. Sitting back on his haunches his muzzle lifted to the night sky as a howl erupted from deep in his chest before taking off again. Constantly running, barely living…a half life, a life of fur deep emotions and animal meat for sustenance…

The alpha didn’t know how to pull himself out, the dreams getting increasingly more real as he lived his past trauma, playing out the last two years of his life mentally….only it wasn’t just the recent trauma he was seeing….The scene shifted to a younger version oh himself, the child with human eyes standing over the slowly fading body of his first love. His mother had told him it was mere puppy love, the hearts desire of a teenager swirling in his own hormones but he constantly denied it… how could something so pitiful feel so real? How could it end so fast, at his own hands, no less?

Sinking to his knees, tears choking him as he reached trembling hands out to grasp the skin getting colder and colder underneath his touch. “I’m sorry, Paige…I’m so sorry” He knew it had to end, Peter having left her crippled, the damage irreversible. “It’s ok, Derek-” her voice was faint as it escaped her soft lips, her eyes fluttering closed one final time as he snapped her neck needing the end to be as quick and painless as possible…even though his own heart shattered into a million pieces…

With a sideways slam, Derek was back on his knees among the rubble that was once his family, his home, his life. Ash streaked his clothes as his hands closed around the bones of his parents, attempting to lift the fragile bones only for them to disintegrate to dust, blowing away in the wind as a scream erupted from his lips. All the heartbreak he’d ever felt in his life coming out in the night, lost to the universe as he was lost to himself…

The night continued, the alpha trapped in a dream world, forced to relive all the mistakes he had made throughout his life. The lives taken because of him and his actions, the pain he suppressed from his own determination to carry on….for what? What was the point, when all he ever touched seemed to die. Something was keeping Derek under and he fought to get out, his hands turned to claws as he absent mindedly raked them through the air, through his sheets, through his own skin. Blood pooling around his unconscious body as his consciousness continued to be assaulted by his own wrongdoing.

__________________________________________________________________________

This was written for a prompt  that I was in and very fond of. It consisted of characters being forced into a lucid dream they couldn’t escape and is one of my favourite Derek pieces. I thought it a great way to introduce Derek to Ruined. <3 Please note, when providing your own sample, it needs to either be specific to your character in this RP or from a blog proving you own the original work.

[chiefjusticechui]

Pursuit, challenge, esteem, and relief

My dear friend Rosemarie is in the process of designing a tattoo for me, and, for inspiration, she asked me why climbing is important to me. After I responded, she encouraged me to write a full essay on the topic, and I agreed that it seems like a good idea because I love to talk about why I love climbing. 

There’s a lot to this sport, and there’s a lot that it does to and for me. The most significant aspect of climbing in my life is the emotional and spiritual effects that the physical activity brings. But of course, there are bonuses that I must admit.

I started climbing over two years ago when a friend in college started getting into the sport, and I wanted to give it a shot because adventures exhilarate me like a shot mixed from ecstasy and cocaine. Since that spring in 2015, I hadn’t been serious about climbing until mid-April, 2017 because injuries and other commitments (school, family, work, etc.) had taken priority, but the lively sensation was always present when I got the chance to climb.

When I got to climb a bit in winter and spring, 2016, it was because I was under really intense pressure in a number of aspects of my life. Going to the climbing gym was the time of the week that I could spend by myself, in my own mind but away from the problems that swarmed about my head. I quickly found it therapeutic.

The therapeutic side of climbing was so immediately present to me because I had already had depression and anxiety for a handful of years, and climbing was a readily-available escape. Plus, it was cheaper and physically healthier than drugs or alcohol.

And since I am highly competitive, the pursuit of improvement quickly arose in me as well. In climbing, you either send something or you don’t; so results are pretty immediate. Instant gratification. I also experienced delayed gratification that came with a regulated metabolism, frequent endorphine, adrenaline, and dopamine flow, etc.

I’m fortunate to have a quasi-natural knack for climbing. Because I’m relatively short at 5′2″ (1.58m), I couldn’t rely on brute strength to get me up a wall; I had to quickly learn how to use my legs, hips, and flexibility to send anything. But at the same time, those natural skills alone wouldn’t make me better. I had to train my upper body as well; so there was a challenge to climbing, but a doable challenge.

Having something to pursue has always been a pretty good thing for me. It allows me to focus my energy on something outside of myself, giving me the grand opportunity to be released from restlessness. As I have an active mind (and reflectively active body), I have often felt as though I need to obsess over something, to make something my project. With climbing, I always have a project, and that doable challenge motivates me to accomplish something.

To be motivated, I need a challenge. Without one, I tend to stop caring--as was obvious throughout my whole education. I could have easily gotten all A’s in school, but whenever I could pass a course by doing well on an exam or essay, I would basically say, “Ah, fuck the homework,” by my actions. I simply couldn’t care to excel because a topic wouldn’t challenge me (i.e. psychology; it always seemed too straightforward for me to care to put in effort).

As aforementioned, both the instant and delayed gratification play a huge role in my desire to continue climbing. Supposedly, small accomplishments and feeling useful by completing small tasks is healthy for people with depression, dementia, etc. So, sending a route or doing just one more pull-up is an instant boost of self-esteem. 

The pursuit, challenge, and self-esteem are intertwined. Being challenged makes me want to pursue more, and accomplishing one thing makes me want to find the next challenge.

While on the wall, I discover and rediscover the relief from daily anxiety. I’m used to walking around and proceeding through my daily life feeling scared and uncertain--for a number of reasons. But when I’m on the wall, those weights fall from my shoulders as I pull myself upwards.

I focus on my body position, muscles, and power. My mind is engaged--it must be, or else I could ruin something in the climb. But my mind is disengaged--indeed, disconnected--from all other worries. My time on the wall is my time to recenter my energy by escaping the overwhelming, overcoming, and overbearing mix of emotions that I usually drag with me.

Climbing is the best sport for me also because it combines the independence of an individual sport with the encouragement and competition of a team sport. I don’t have to rely on anybody but myself for positive results. I don’t have anybody to blame but myself for negative results. I don’t have to rely on anybody to simply play the sport. But I get the pats on the back, the high-fives, the camaraderie. I see other people send a route and suddenly need to follow their lead because if they do it, then I can.

[themomtropolis]

Thanks @swissmiss @Tattly for the Women’s March Tattoo

The night before the inauguration, Brooklyn women had insomnia. Greetings on the street started with,

“I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“I can’t even say the word President and Trump together.”

“Who will investigate him now?”

Insomnia can be a sign of post-traumatic election disorder. I am certain I have the disorder. My symptoms include constantly checking my newsfeed. I don’t know whether I do it to remain vigilant of this administration’s alternative facts or because I’m looking for signs that this might all turn around. The vulgar viscera of Trumpism has seeped into my psyche causing physical symptoms as well. Thoughts about Trump’s attraction for his daughter, Trump pulling Ivana’s hair out, or the infamous “grab ‘em by the p-” phrase will suddenly come to mind ruining the bedroom mood. I once even had a vision of Melania chained to Jabba the Hut. It also doesn’t help that I watched a close friend publicly describe being assaulted by the president. I suspect husbands of other Brooklyn women are feeling neglected.

Nevertheless, I slept soundly the night before the inauguration. For me, Friday, January 20th was less the day of the inauguration, and more the first day of the Women’s March. I woke up, made 3 three lunches, walked my daughters to school and prepared for my pilgrimage to our capital. I did not watch the inauguration. In fact, I’ve never watched an inauguration. Inaugurals are boring. Why would I start now? Marches however, are exciting! The March was the first feeling of optimism I’d had in months. And I REALLY needed some optimism! I needed to march not just to channel my newsfeed addiction into a great protest sign or to create an alternative truth to this election. I needed to march, to bear witness to the fact that when women march great things happen!

When Women March, They Tell All Their Friends!

And I mean all their friends. It was 7 am on I-95. I had managed to fall asleep for a couple of hours when I awoke to hear a passenger say, “The whole highway is Rally buses!” As I looked out the window to see the ribbon of buses, the enormity set in. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, but I choked up, overcome with a sense that I was about to take part in something profound. Glancing down I caught a limo with protest signs pressed up against its windows, as it pulled out ahead of our bus. Exhaustion quickly gave way to anticipation.

When Women March, They Pee Fast.

I’ve never seen a longer line move faster! It was 8 am at the Chesapeake House rest stop in Maryland, and the line for the lady’s room was sea of pink caps spanning the entire width of the lobby. It is no exaggeration to say it was the longest bathroom line I’ve been on in my life. And yet, I’ve never witnessed women use the facilities with greater efficiency. We had 15 minutes to get back to our buses. Under any other circumstances I would have estimated that line at forty minutes easily. It may seem trivial, but I think it speaks volumes to the unity of purpose women felt on this pilgrimage. When women march against a demagogue, they pee with determination!

When Women March, Churches Open Their Doors.

Leaving hundreds of buses, we made our way down East Capitol St. from the stadium. Along the way we were welcomed into the Lutheran Church of the Reformation. Grateful for that invitation, again we peed fast, took only one carrot, and kindly left a donation.

When Women March, The World Marches with Them.

So intense was the energy around the March that people who couldn’t be with me, kept texting me for updates. My husband sent me this, “Thanks for getting up early to protect our convictions. Proud of you for being tough!” My mother gave me this gem. “Don’t let anyone cough on you. You really don’t need a cold on top of everything else.” So infectious was the energy that even people who didn’t share my political views reached out to wish me safe travels. I suspect they were torn.

Thus, I was primed to choke up again, when the residents around Lincoln Park came out to greet and thank us. But nothing prepared me for the emotional scene we encountered behind the Capitol. We approached hundreds of thousands of people amassed around the Capitol Reflecting Pool and beyond on the Mall. We futilely tried to inch toward the speakers and down Independence Avenue, but we met an impenetrable wall of women and convictions. We never actually marched, but we certainly stood our ground. I soon learned people around the country and the world were standing ground with us. Over 4.8 million people marched globally. 1 in 100 people marched in the US alone!

When Women March, They Make Great Signs.

Here’s a man!

Time to scoop the poop!

And here is another brave man!

Thanks @swissmiss for the awesome Tattly Women’s March tattoo!

Quite a few people want to see his tax returns.

Here’s the best man!

  When Women March, Their Children Make Great Signs.

  When Women March, There Can be Both Diversity and Unity of Purpose.

Diversity of cause is the essence of womanhood as we tend to be the hands-on caregivers for people, pets, places and the planet. However, this was not the reason messaging at the March was diverse. Causes ran the gamut because there is just so much wrong with this regime. If only we had the luxury to focus on one issue! Signs had to cover it all: sexual assault, Trump’s conflicts of interest, respect for science, freedom of the press, education, racism, Islamophobia, homophobia, reproductive rights, the environment, presidential legitimacy and of course, Putin. This diversity led critics to question whether the Women’s March can be an effective movement without a singular goal. And David Brooks actually challenged the March to add to its platform! He felt the March was not a significant counter to Trumpism because it didn’t effectively address economic issues or reflect “biblical morality” by rallying around Planned Parenthood.

As the March receives more criticism over the coming weeks, remember Trump supporters didn’t second guess their successes and neither should we. To Brooks and other critics, the Women’s March has just begun. Income inequality, wages, job security, and progressive tax policy were always on the feminist agenda, along with reproductive rights which is in itself sound economic policy. Furthermore, there is nothing more biblically moral than asking men to keep their tiny hands to themselves. It’s not our fault Trump’s behavior is more graphic than a pink hat. Finally, there is a clear singular goal—the removal of Trump and the GOP from power in 2020. Fortunately for us, Trump embodies all these disparate issues in one horrific presidency! Sadly for Brooks, Trumpism now defines the GOP in a way no other president has since Reagan. This will be a rhetorical asset for Democrats for a generation.

When Women March, They Keep Marching Together.

I can attest that varied causes did not dilute our unity of purpose that day. The March was one of those transformative events that people will proudly tell their grandchildren they’d attended. However, the March was more than a one day event that channeled my newsfeed addiction into a great protest sign. I know this because I witnessed what really happens when women march. As we boarded the buses to return home, political anxiety gave way to joy and a strange desire to march again, and again, and again! Each of us acknowledged that this must be the first of many marches. And if people feel good enough about our movement, with its diverse and moral platform, they’ll keep marching. And they just might march all the way to ballots in 2018 and 2020, when we’ll begin the work of undoing the immorality of Trumpism to move America forward again. Then and only then, will the women who marched be able sleep easy!

I’m ready for the next march. Are you?

When Women March The night before the inauguration, Brooklyn women had insomnia. Greetings on the street started with, "I can’t believe this is really happening."