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depressedacadamia · 3 years

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Dimples

Summary: Apparently Nico has dimples and Will did not know.

A/N: Heheheee, motherfuckers my exams are in a week and a half and I haven't revised shit. Instead, I'm writing these. Wish me luck, this might be the only fic I post for the next 2 weeks but if you're lucky, I might post pt 2 for 'How to passive aggressively say Fuck you in flower'. Toodle pip and <3 from mee!

Extra edit: I forgot it was solangelo week, woops.

Read on A03

Nico Di Angelo was not known for smiling. He was not known for grinning or laughing. He was however, known for snarling, sarcastic, outdated remarks and terrifying people to the point where they’d rather face death itself than face him and his wrath.

So of course, Percy and every logical being would avoid him at all costs when he was in one of his ‘moods’. These so-called ‘moods’ referred to when Nico seemed particularly dangerous, like when his eyes had a dangerous glower to them that hinted he enjoyed threatening others a tad too much- in fact, so much so that Leo had suggested that Nico may be a sadist (That hadn’t gone well for Leo, to say the very least).

But of course, William Andrew Solace was in no way a logical being nor was he very fearful of Nico’s alternating and very much violent auras. Now, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing necessarily, in fact, it was the very thing that had started their relationship and while everybody thought Will was insensitive with his historical jokes he made towards Nico, Nico greatly appreciated being able to understand something from his time.

Will, on several occasions, related him to Captain America in Marvel's Avengers.

So when Nico, in his terrifying rage, stormed into the infirmary, Percy wasn’t sure what he was about to witness. Were these two having an argument? Nico looked like he was going to set the infirmary ablaze or perhaps bury it 6 feet under- it was truly the unpredictability that created the suspense and fear.

“Where are they?” Nico’s voice was calm, cold but sharp. His words felt like the gentle, smooth slant of a knife, apply pressure and you get cut. Nobody dared to answer. The infirmary’s silence seemed like one of lambs, too scared to speak out until another leader did. Whether they expected Nico to simply leave if no one answered, they certainly did not expect him to ask again.

“Where. Are. They?” He punctuated his words, his voice combined with a deadly hunger that could only be satisfied with death.

The room felt like a cave. The only words being echoed back were Nico’s own words, bouncing off the smooth walls of the infirmary. The corners seemed dark, the white presence of the infirmary slowly being poisoned. It seemed like fate sealed their hands- they were like lambs to the slaughter: helpless.

“WHERE ARE THEY!” Nico roared. This time, he did not wait for a response. He took a small glimpse at the camper in front of him, who was obviously avoiding his gaze, and the next thing the kid knew was that he was pinned to the wall with a metre of stygian iron under his neck. The kid hyperventilated and in a moment of sheer panic and pure fear, blurted,

“I don’t know where they are! “

Nico, holding the camper up with one hand, shoved him into the wall again. “ But you hurt them anyway?”

The camper was completely clueless but he wasn’t stupid. Simply denying whatever Nico was accusing him of would increase Nico’s rage and that could lead everyone down a very dark road.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt them! I swear...” He started to sob. “ I swear it was an accident!”

“You hurt them! That isn’t an accident. You will pay for your crimes. I swear I will-”

“-Dear god, Nico what the hell?” A voice of pure confusion entered the infirmary. Nico, on recognising the voice, felt his head snap backwards-trying to find the course of the voice. There on the other side of the infirmary, with his leg in a cast, stood Will solace, still as unfashionable as ever.

Nico almost teleported to Will, considering how fast he appeared by his side. “ Are you okay? It’s okay, I found out who did it and-”

“-Jesus, Stalin, calm down there.” Will looked at the terrified boy who was in tears. “This kid knows nothing. He wasn’t even there. Were you just putting on some show trials?”

Nico had to resist the twitch in his lips at the communism jokes. Ever since Will had found out that Nico’s weakness was communism jokes, he had been exploiting it, just like the working class were exploited, and using it to his own advantage.

“Wait, this kid wasn’t involved?” Nico looked at all the terrified people in the infirmary, still frozen to their spots, waiting for the go sign for them to continue with their lives.

Will waved his hand. “Go ahead, continue with your business. He will be on his best behaviour now that I’m here.”

“Uh, says who?”

“Says my broken leg.”

On the mention of a broken leg, Nico’s worry instantly returned. His hand reached out to touch Will’s face, in a gesture of affection before quickly snatching it away. Will reached for his hand, took it in his own and intertwined their fingers as in to say It’s okay, they support us. It’s okay, I love you and you love me. It’s okay, I’m not ashamed of being in love with you.

Nico appreciated the gesture and once again, fought the urge to give in to the overwhelming desire to smile at his perfect boyfriend.

“Are you okay? Can you show me your leg? What happened? Why can’t you heal it?” The words began flying out of Nico’s mouth, the concern on his face unhideable. His eyebrows were cutely creased together and he kept on placing his hands all over Will- it was driving him crazy.

“Calm down there, communist. This is my injury, not yours.” Will joked, trying to hide his blush- truth be told, he did not want to tell Nico the real reason behind how he broke his leg because it was honestly the most ridiculous reason one may ever hear in their entire life.

Nico let out a little snort of laughter after hearing another communist joke but was careful to keep it on the downlow. He noticed that Will was being quite indirect and avoiding his gaze: he knew that could only mean one thing.

“What did you do to break your leg?” Nico smirked wickedly, understanding that Will had, once again, been quite idiotic.

Will, gasping in mock offense but also quite embarrassed by how well his own boyfriend knew him, let out a bubble of nervous daughter. “ Hahaa, what do you mean? I broke my leg the same way everyone else does...”

“... which is?”

Due to the vast amount of broken legs he had healed, Will actually knew how to answer this question. “ Through sports.”

“Sports?” Nico snorted. “ You? Sports? Have you ever even run in your entire life? I swear the only thing you do is heal and read. Maybe sleep on the offhand you listen to me.”

“You can’t talk over there!”

“Just tell me how you broke your leg, for the love of the Gods!”

“I was having a competition with Percy for who could heal faster.”

“You were doing what?”

“A competition Nico, have you ever heard of one? Normally the losers forget they exist so I wouldn't be surprised that you had never heard of one-”

“No, I know what a competition is, you idiot. What I don't know is, why on earth you were having a regeneration competition with Percy of all the demigods you could have chosen, you chose the one with the ability to heal themselves as well?”

Will pouted slightly, his eyebrows making a small frown. “I would have thought you would be halfway through murdering Percy right about now.”

“If Percy managed to win, then honestly, you kinda deserved it.”

“I thought you liked me!”

“I thought my boyfriend wasn’t an idiot!”

“Technically I won because Percy was too baby-ish to break his own leg!”

Nico took a very long pause. Slowly, he began shaking his head, from side to side. The expression on his face was illegible but eventually it morphed into one of laughter. His laugh was rich and so was the expression on his face. His lips were curled upwards, his eyes were creasing, with long beautiful dimples on both sides of his face- as clear as the moon on a clear night.

The infirmary was silent. They simply stared at the beautiful angel who graced the place with their voice. They were horrified and in awe. Nico Di Angelo was capable of smiling! He was capable of laughing!

It was a fucking miracle.

“What did I tell you!” Percy yelled, throwing his arm over Annabeth who simply sighed. “I fucking told you! I knew he had dimples!”

Will, slightly stunned, simply took Nico’s face in both his hands. His crystal blue eyes were wide open and to Nico it looked like the ocean was inviting him to take a dive into int’s complex and unknown depths.

Into the unknooooowwwwwnnnnnn.

He cursed himself for that being his first thought. He then cursed Will for making him watch Frozen because it was apparently culturally inappropriate to not have seen it. Then he cursed himself again for cursing Will.

“Holy shit,” Will whispered as he stared into his boyfriends grinning face. “Holy fuck Nico, you never told me you had dimples.”

“Language.”

“Holy shit, holy fucking hell. You cannot smile at me like that Nicolo Di Angelo and expect me to keep my language appropriate. Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror?”

“Calm down,” Nico groaned, throwing his head backwards. He could feel his palms getting sweaty from Will’s words- what could he say, he was slightly embarrassed.

“Wait!” Will cried. “ Do it again. Smile again!”

Nico gave a sultry smirk and Will whacked his arm. “ I asked you to smile at me, not seduce me. Smile!”

“Who wouldn't be happy to be seduced by me?”

“Just smile, please!”

Nico sighed before looking at his gorgeous boyfriend. His eyes darted down at the cast around the leg and immediately Nico remembered the cause of injury. He started laughing, his lips stretching into a genuine smile and his dimples flashing all across his face. Will, still holding his boyfriend's face, couldn’t help himself as he brought their lips together.

Will was so used to feeling Nico’s smile when they kissed so when he brought their lips together, he didn't know what he was expecting. It felt different for some reason, it felt more.. It felt better, it felt like he was getting a new piece of Nico. Feeling Nico smile and seeing him smile were two different things and now that he could picture Nico’s smile as he kissed his smiling lips, Will thought he’d explode from happiness.

Will pulled away quickly, his hand still cemented to Nico’s grinning face. He had pulled away just so he could see Nico’s smile and more importantly his dimples again.

“What?” Nico’s innocent voice and grin combined confirmed for Will that if he died on that very spot, he would have died a happy man.

“Holy shit, you’re the cutest person ever.”

And with that, he brought their lips together again.

Neither of them noticed Thalia and Annabeth sulking as they paid up their debts to Percy from losing the bet.

#will solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #will solace fanfic #nico di angelo fanfic #solangelo fanfic #solangelo week #solangeloweek2021 #will x nico #nico x will #Nico x will fluff #Nico x Will fanfiction #nico x will fanfic #percy jackson #pjo #thalia grace #annabeth chase #hoo #percy jackson fanfic

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warriorsbutnotreally · 3 years

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Sandstorm Is Tigerstar's Daughter AU

So, to preface this

a lot of changes had to be made to canon

but in the end it came to a result that made me happy

and to add - this isn't super long

I don't even span the full first arc

Self edit before this is even posted; I got carried away and this is longer than I expected

this was a fun idea and [admittedly] I almost ignored it - cause I was worried I would have no ideas - until a bunch of cool ideas hit me at once and then I got excited about it

There's also changes to some relationships for very obvious reasons!

Sandkit is born alongside her brothers Swiftkit and Lynxkit [who are not Patchpelt's kits. You cannot convince me they're Patchpelt's. I have a lot of negative emotions towards the retconned family relationships in Warriors]. They are born about six moons before Rusty / Firepaw joins, meaning Swift and Lynx are older than they are in canon.

Sandkit is very proud of her heritage, as is her brothers and the three are close. Lynxkit is the most level-headed as his brother and sister can be stubborn and hot-headed.

When they're apprenticed, Tigerclaw goes out of his way to have his kits apprenticed to cats he considers his friends by convincing Bluestar and Redtail that it's a good idea. Sandpaw goes to Whitestorm, Swiftpaw goes to Longtail, and Lynxpaw goes to Darkstripe.

When Firepaw joins ThunderClan, Tigerclaw is quick to make sure his kits do not like and do not trust this kittypet and allows them to openly antagonize Firepaw. This gets so bad that apprentices den is split into two factions; the group who likes Firepaw; Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw and the group who wants him gone; Sandpaw, Swiftpaw, Dustpaw, and Lynxpaw.

However, after their first patrol together, Lynxpaw is the first to change his mind about Firepaw. He becomes more welcoming, but expresses to Firepaw in private that he doesn't want his siblings to turn against him. Firepaw and Lynxpaw bond quietly behind Sandpaw and Swiftpaw's backs.

Sandpaw sticks close to her father or her mentor most days and as Bluestar's mental health starts to slowly decline, Tigerclaw is planting the seeds of disloyalty into her head. This only gets worse when she learns that Lynxpaw and Firepaw are friends and she lashes out at her brother

Swiftpaw is still on Sandpaw's side, however, and refuses to budge, though he's unsure about being angry at their brother.

When Fireheart and Graystripe become warriors, Sandpaw is even more outraged and - with some prompting from her father - starts making plans to make Fireheart's life just a little worse every day

Sandpaw sticks with Tigerclaw and it's thank to him that Bluestar finally gives her and her brothers their warrior names while Fireheart and Graystripe are out saving WindClan; Sandstorm, Swiftfang, and Lynxclaw.

When Tigerclaw tries to clear Bluestar on the Thunderpath, Sandstorm does manage to stop Cinderpaw from going as she knows the apprentice isn't the target.

After Bluestar fails to show, however, Sandstorm and Tigerclaw start up a different plan. Sandstorm openly blames Fireheart for the fact she didn't show, despite her being sick with greencough.

They do try to drag Swiftfang into their plans, but he expresses concern. He only agrees after Sandstorm peerpressures him into it, but it's clear that he believe they're going too far.

When Bramblekit and Tawnykit are born, Sandstorm becomes like a guardian older sister who spends time with them. This has her thinking of starting a family, but she wants to wait until she finds a proper mate - she is considering Dustpelt - and when her father is finally Tigerstar

Swiftfang does eventually tattle on them before the rogues attack and turns Sandstorm and Tigerclaw in as traitors, as he finds himself unable to just sit back and let them kill Bluestar and Fireheart, especially as he believes Lynxclaw loves the former kittypet.

Sandstorm is outraged as she and her father are exiled from the Clan. She tries to get Dustpelt to join, and for a moment she thinks he will until he reveals he'll never be able to stand beside someone who willingly walked with Redtail's killer.

After joining ShadowClan, Sandstorm assists her father in working hard, though she dislikes ShadowClan's territory. She starts considering having kits, not for a family, but for strong warriors that are loyal to her and her father.

When he becomes Tigerstar, he makes Blackfoot his deputy and Sandstorm is irritated but decides that gives her time to work out her own plan.

She starts carefully deciding which cat is the strongest in ShadowClan and, after being rejected by Blackfoot, settles on Boulder to sire her kits.

While she's courting Boulder, she learns of BloodClan and tells Tigerstar. The three go and meet Scourge and her plans change as she starts talking with Bone.

She's early into expecting Bone's kits when Scourge kills Tigerstar and she lashes out at the BloodClan cats. She isn't killed and ShadowClan ends up exiling her after she refuses to renounce her father's crimes.

When Scourge and Bone are killed, Sandstorm sneaks into the ranks and quickly earns favor with BloodClan as they know who she is and she reveals that the kits she's close to having are the proper heirs of BloodClan.

Cats try to challenge her, but Sandstorm allows herself to be brutal and relentless, which soon catches the eye of a certain one-eyed molly.

Fury becomes co-leader as she teaches Sandstorm the shaky customs of BloodClan and the two become close by the time the kits are born.

There are four kits born to Sandstorm; a dark calico tabby she-cat named Omen, a pale ginger and white tom named Talon, a mostly black tom named Bane, and a dark tabby with white patches named Tiger

Sandstorm instantly favors Tiger more than any other of her kits and is determined that he'll take over BloodClan when the time comes.

As the kits grow older, Fury and Sandstorm grow closer and eventually the two becomes mates and work together to help BloodClan grow better and stronger.

Sandstorm starts spying on the Clans again and learns, angrily, that Firestar and Lynxclaw are mates now and that the two have had a litter of kits together; Squrrielkit, Leafkit, and Spottedkit [Squirrel is dark ginger, Leaf and Spotted are both tortoiseshells] [how is also up for interpretation]

Sandstorm starts making plans again to take down ThunderClan and Fury is more than happy to help.

This comes together in an idea to steal the kits and hold them hostage until Firestar comes to get them.

The first attempt doesn't go well and many BloodClan cats are wounded in trying, but that doesn't stop either leader and they try once more. This time they manage to steal two of the kits; Squirrelkit and her brother Spottedkit.

While watching the two kits, Sandstorm is overtaken by rage at her brother becoming mates with 'the enemy' and for a brief moment she actually considers killing one of the kits. She actually almost kills Squirrelkit before she is stopped by Bane [he and the others being the age of older apprentices].

Bane becomes the watcher of the kits and he bonds well with his cousins and feels pity for them. When he learns his mothers' plans, he convinces Omen to help him carry them back home before any needless death happens. Omen is hesitant at first, but agrees and the two carry the kits back to ThunderClan.

When she learns about this, Sandstorm is outraged and she considers a regular punishment until Fury insists that Bane needs to be made an example of.

Sandstorm allows Fury to publicly kill their son and Omen feels like she's the only one truly horrified at this. Talon seems openly interested in the violence and Tiger was never easy for her to understand, as they are rather withdrawn and never talked to her or their brothers as they were being trained to take over BloodClan.

Sandstorm goes on to not allow Omen to be alone and Omen has a guard with her at all times.

Eventually Omen escapes her guard and flees to the Clans, being taken in by ThunderClan, who promise to protect her.

There she meets her cousins again, plus Leafkit, and gets to know her uncles, Lynxclaw and Brambleheart. She is treated with love and welcoming for the first time in her life and she finds herself about to cry.

She chooses to join ThunderClan after a moon of thought as well, as she fears what will happen if she ever encounters her mothers again. She is given the name Lightpaw.

Eventually Sandstorm does attack again and Lightpaw tries to hide, only to be found by her brother Talon and attacked. He almost kills her only to be killed by Firestar.

This outrages Sandstorm even more.

She attacks Firestar and takes away one of his lives, but before she can do more harm, she is attacked by Lightpaw.

Lightpaw fights her mother off and Sandstorm swears that she'll have her revenge and that ThunderClan will never be forgiven

Lightpaw tries to reason with her sibling, Tiger, but they push her away and lash out, angry that she let their brother die She tries to reason more, but it's useless

She watches as they leave

BloodClan does return in the form of Tiger, eventually, but my brain didn't plan that far, but Sandstorm eventually does pass away and Tiger kills Fury in a silent retaliation against her as they never forgive her for killing Bane.

She and Fury do also end up with another litter; a ginger tabby she-cat named Wrath, and an albino tom named Wisp.

Lightpaw eventually earns the name Lightstep and she's the one chosen to represent ThunderClan in the Great Journey.

Spottedkit/paw ends up being killed by BloodClan in a random, aggravated attack and Squirrelflight almost dies in the same attack, but survives, unlike her brother

Squirrelflight eventually becomes mates with Shrewpaw/heart, who survives in this AU and they have a very happy and healthy relationship

Lightstep originally is crushing on Feathertail, but she passes away. Later she actually becomes mates with Daisy and the two are very happy and comfortable wives to help take care of kits who need help raising.

Swiftfang leaves ThunderClan and ends up joining WindClan to get away from all the drama involving his family. He never takes a mate or has kits and he's perfectly happy just living a nice life.

#au #sandstorm #tigerclaw #tigerstar #bloodclan #warriors #warrior cats #i really like this au #and honestly #towards the end #it turned a little too much into omen's story #but that's cause i love her

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lucky-sevens · 4 years

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mechs deep lore compilation post

so! maybe you’ve read the other compilation post i made of basic lore/how to get into the mechs! maybe you want to know more! or maybe you’re a fan already and want to see how deep down this rabbit hole you can get!

well, good news for you: i have gone down the rabbit hole and hit bedrock only to find maki yamazaki standing by my side with a pickaxe! it is time for mechs lore part 2: electric boogaloo also known as ‘wow blue have you considered sleep’

rest under the cut!

i’ve tried to organize this, but given how many random facts there are, it’s hard! decided to start off with lore for each character (in order of them joining the mechs in-universe), including all the carmilla lore at the end; then move into general world lore/a bit of album lore, and finally more obscure/unknown facts, such as explaining the whole scuzz thing! also, citing the sources has been difficult, as a lot of things are from, say, old twitter posts and the like. there might be less links here than you all would like, but bear with me- compiling all this lore is quite difficult!

disclaimer: unlike stuff like the wiki, this includes a lot of my own theories and red stringing, and while i’m noting if something’s fanon or canon, the fanon may occasionally make its way into my theories!

links to the songs will be mostly TheVoidSings’ youtube lyric videos, as i don’t want to find the links to all the different platforms they’re on and the videos are lovely and accessible!

also- i’ve done some significant editing on the mechanisms wiki, as have other talented people- go check it out! it’s a good source of lore!

now on w/ the actual post!

crew

jonny d’ville

his lore is fairly concrete, but since he’s an unreliable narrator, we don’t know what bits can be trusted! his backstory song is one eyed jacks, which gives a pretty clear picture of events, but here in his crew bio he says that he made up new texas, and doesn’t have a very good memory of events in general. (it’s implied that he didn’t lie about killing his father, but we don’t even know that for sure.) a note: unlike the others, we don’t know what happened to his heart in order for him to be mechanized.

the aurora

the aurora’s lore is a mess. here’s what we know for sure, which is an edited version of what i have on her wiki page, (where i have also given a list of her known physical attributes);

she started off as a moon, but was weaponized and turned into a ship. she initially was a navy ship, but mutinied and joined the rebellion, participating in the october revolution, in which nastya died and was mechanized. this may have been her choice, but it is more likely that carmilla and/or jonny forced her into it, as they are the ones who won her from the cyberian navy.

when they stormed the ship, a woman was trapped inside- specialist 278 tereshkova, presumably aurora's programmer. What her and aurora's relationship was like is unknown, but aurora did not make any attempt to save her, so it may have not been positive. before dying, tereshkova managed to program a final distress message into aurora, as well as coding the mechanisms' blog.

she’s likely to be based off of the historical battleship aurora, like nastya is based off of the historical russian princess anastasia.

now, it’s time to get into the main theory about her: that aurora used to be briar rose! i’m collecting all the evidence on it, as well as all the evidence that can disprove it.

here’s a refresher on briar rose’s whole deal, taken from ‘the aurora strikes’-

The Rose Reds were the most effective of the soldiers created from Rose's genetic material, but they were not the first. Rumours spoke of an early prototype, known as the Briar Rose, that had malfunctioned and slain everyone on the desert moon of Briar, where she was being grown. But she was not dead. As the Mechanisms discovered, instead, she slept, at the heart of the defence grid that surrounded New Constantinople. The grid was composed of Thorn-class gun emplacements and was virtually impenetrable. And in its centre, the Briar Rose slumbered, plugged into the system, her anger, her rage, her hatred and her fear, fueling the machines, and focusing their gun turrets.

the main support for the theory here is that over time, briar rose could have fused to the moon, which is one of the very few conditions in which a biomechanical weaponized moon seems plausible and not just like a collection of vaguely cursed words. however, in the fiction ‘by any other name’, which is some collected lab research on briar rose, there’s this line- “During transportation and integration of the specimen, take all precaution and care.”- key word here being transportation. so she must have been moved off the moon.

the fiction i cited to disprove the theory actually has something that further supports it, though- the presence of a mysterious woman in king cole’s lab, who could be carmilla. hood, the revolution’s hacker, notes on a picture of her ‘[No idea. The others I’ve been able to find evidence of, but she’s a fucking ghost]‘. the description is a bit off, though, as she’s described as a short, pale, woman with hair long enough to be pulled back and carmilla is quite tall and has short hair- as well, in a later part of the fiction, the woman is killed and does not revive. however, there’s also another who could plausibly be her, noted here- ‘A tall woman sits opposite Prof. Root with a tray of her own. From her stature, it is conceivable she was one of the figures in the chemical suits. They talk sporadically, but the audio is heavily corrupted.’ she isn’t one of the ones killed later on, either, so that’s possible.

we know carmilla knew aurora when she was a very young moon and raised her practically from birth, so if she is one of those two people, it would make sense.

in ‘the aurora strikes’, aurora pushes to save briar rose- nastya explains this as ‘she can not bear to see another biomechanical organism in pain’. in my own writing about aurora, i interpret that as her having very high empathy, but there could be a more personal connection here. this is also notable as the only time aurora is mentioned in-album beyond jonny calling the mechanisms ‘the crew of the starship aurora’.

nastya rasputina

nastya’s backstory song (cyberian demons) was only performed when they were still dr. carmilla and the mechanisms, so it’s harder to find! thevoidsings has made a lyric video of it here, though, and it gives another very clear picture of her backstory! there’s also the fiction of the same name, which i didn’t understand upon first read-through but is basically a nastya character study, covering different points in her immortal life.

her performer went on hiatus for a while, and as an in-universe explanation, the cyberian sequence was written! in which nastya flies aurora to cyberia, infects herself with a computer virus, and transmits it to the entire planet, causing it to explode. this is all in the cyberian demons fiction i linked above, and with it are two other tangential fictions- one presumably just before those events, and one that’s an outsider pov.

there’s also out, which i’d suggest reading rather than just looking at my summary; basically, nastya has a crisis over aurora changing so that it’s harder to recognize her love, and ends up leaving the ship to float away into deep space- this is presumed to be her death, but that is never confirmed and nastya seems to assume she will wake up at some point.

ashes o’reilly

ashes’ whole deal is quite straightforward, which is a nice break from aurora and (to a lesser extent) nastya! their backstory song is lucky sevens, and it’s elaborated on further in their crew bio; interestingly, ashes was the one most into the idea of immortality at first, and also gave clear consent to carmilla.

ivy alexandria

we don’t know that much about ivy, which is fitting, as she doesn’t either! the most clear information we can find about her is in her crew bio, which can be summarized as: she grew up in a library!

archive footage explains more about her memory situation. she has no memories of anything before she was mechanized, according to this line ‘[...] she can tell you dates, and places, and body counts, she can list for you the exact circumstances of each event of her long, long life (at least, every event since that time, long ago, among a maze of bookshelves in a library that, awake, she can no longer describe to you, though once she knew its every turn by heart, when a woman stood over her and offered her eternity: before that, there is nothing at all).’ she also processes her memories differently than most people- they’re more like records, instead of things that affect her emotionally. (archive footage is also beautifully written and very much worth reading!)

the toy soldier

would say it has concrete lore, but it’s also almost solely responsible for fucking up my timeline and the album lore, so i’m rather angry at it. nevertheless, its entire backstory can be found in the fiction ‘the story of the toy soldier’. additionally, there’s a short story about its time fighting in the revolution of once upon a time (in space); presumably, this is the first time it did so, though it was likely in the war at least twice and possibly even three times. the mechanisms were only watching the second time, though it’s not out of character for it to have participated in the war again, and there’s also the dr. carmilla song, eleven, (which is about a war and uses a lot of rose symbology so it’s likely the revolution) where it is present. notably, carmilla had left the mechanisms by the time once upon a time (in space) takes place on their timeline, and the toy soldier is the only one there. at first, i interpreted that as carmilla meeting the toy soldier before it had met the mechanisms, but there’s two inconsistencies there: firstly, it doesn’t recognize her when it joins the band, and secondly, in the song they leave together. this increases the likelihood of it having been in the war three times.

we actually have a recording of the toy soldier’s first time joining the band- the mechanisms @ lashings! (part one / part two / transcript) there’s also a note of that show in the story of the toy soldier! they bought it because jonny was in jail (x). interestingly, that show is the first recording of rose red, and it’s later noted jonny was in a rose red prison!

now it’s time to get into the main theory regarding it, which also will factor into the write-up of ulysses dies at dawn later! i personally subscribe to this theory, or at least, most of it.

here is frankie @byron-von-raum‘s post- the theory here is that the toy soldier is the rebodied mind of the widow’s fiance. i’m not going to get too into that part, as i don’t personally incorporate it into my lore and more importantly frankie already has a post on it! read that if you’re more interested!

the most important bit here is the evidence it collects regarding the toy soldier living near labyrinth; in one of the pictures from the toy soldier’s backstory, there’s a dionysus brand wine bottle. the consensus he comes to is that the toy soldier lives in a colony of earth that trades with labyrinth, and while i think that’s possible, the all-encompassing nature of the city makes it more likely that they would have a minimum of outside communication, so the toy soldier would just be from the city proper. i will get into the impacts of this/expand on it more in the world lore section!

another thing: the angel has an out of character explanation! if you look at photos of old mechs gigs, jessica law looks similar to the drawing of the angel in the story of the toy soldier! their voice being stolen was most likely a reference to that.

drumbot brian

brian’s backstory is laid out in his crew bio! i’d summarize it, but to be honest, it’s already a summary, so i’d suggest just taking a second to read that! sadly, this is all of what we know about it. the priest from his backstory was apparently made almost immortal in some twisted form of mechanization, and has never forgiven brian for it/is still trying to hunt him down (x).

his bio is also where his morality switch is introduced! (interestingly, it takes a far lower role/is mentioned far less in canon than in fanworks.)

there was originally going to be a backstory album about him called indistinguishable from magic. this never happened, but ben below is working on a new one called the wanderings of drumbot brian! no more knowledge on this currently.

the main theory about him is that he had some kind of alliance/is lying about something to do with carmilla! we know from maki that carmilla didn’t go out of the airlock (more on that in her section), and when brian is questioned on what happened to her, he doesn’t give a concrete answer. this is in contrast to all the other mechanisms, who assume she fell out an airlock. here’s what he said:

I will not point fingers and lay blame. I do not know how it came to pass that Dr. Carmilla left this vessel, whether by fair means or foul, and so I will not engage in this painful discussion. I hope she did not suffer, and that we may forgive the perpetrator of this deed.

he’s speaking very formally here. (fucking nerd). well, no; legitimately, this is not the normal way he speaks in other contexts. he could be masking something. we know that even when he’s lying, he’s not good at it, and this comes off as clearly odd. in support of this, i believe one of the songs on his unwritten backstory album was called ‘the doctor’s demise’ (though i could be remembering incorrectly).

there’s not much more evidence we can draw on here to come to a consensus, though!

something else to note- i’ve written this other meta about his prophetic powers! feel free to read if you’re interested in that aspect of his character!

gunpowder tim

of course, tim already has a whole mini-album to himself (gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser), but there’s a couple more niche things about him, though not as much as aurora and ts!

mainly, the implications that he destroyed the sun. there’s an old mechanisms tweet that states he 'was floating in the wake of a detonated star’. additionally, there’s this old blog post, which turned into a bit of a fiction! the figure speaking is not named, but given the other mechanisms who speak (therefore knocking them off the possibilities list) and the fact that the post was made around the time tim joined, it’s likely that it’s him. now, he says this:

“It wasn’t the deep space that drove me crazy,” he said, his voice low, calm and polite. “It was the sudden realisation that I was entirely responsible for the destruction of my entire civilisation, and happy for it.”

though destroying the moon and his other actions in gptvtmk could possibly count for this, it would fit more if he had destroyed the sun.

both those posts also imply that he was floating in space for an incredibly long time. i don’t know how he survived if so, but it seems very likely that’s what happened.

i considered these posts being too early/having a changed canon now, like the odd use of different pronouns for some characters in the earlier fiction, but they seemed to have gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser mostly worked out by the time tim ledsam officially joined, as they perform it at the only recorded gig from that year with him (port mahon 2011), which was around when the second blog post was made!

marius von raum

we don’t have a written backstory or backstory song to go on for him, but kofi young (his performer) is working on a full album about him called ‘the death of byron von raum’!

the blog post kofi made about it as a summary is the main source of marius lore that we have! i’d highly suggest reading it, but the main points are:

1. it’s going to be very dark and tragic, and shows that marius at heart isn’t really the kind of comedic figure that he comes off as in the band! ruth @thedreadvampy (the mechanisms’ official artist, as well as morgan’s sister and kofi’s partner) has also made a tumblr post that connects to this!

2. the world he’s from used to be high-tech, but has devolved over time into 18th century levels of technology! what this boils down to is; what we assume is marius and an unknown friend (more on this in raphaella’s part) manage to discover ancient technology and attempt to use it! all we have here is this quote om the blog post- ‘In the middle of this, two kids hiding from the soldiers discover an army of ancient mecha and use them to fight back, but only end up plunging the world into further chaos.’.

3. anime protagonist marius!

we also have this small piece of writing, screenshotted here (monogoggle...)-

[image id: a screenshot of writing, most of it out of view/hard to make out. it’s also in the middle of the line, so the breaks are off. however, it looks to say ‘at the controls of RISML/cockpit is cramped and d[...]/has his monogoggle over his/controls are uncomplicated/the neural interface. They [...]’ end id.]

raphaella la cognizi

i’ve been very deep down the mechs rabbit hole for over a month now, and yet i’ve found hardly anything about her!

there’s a small theory i have, though it doesn’t have too much supporting evidence! in marius’ backstory, it mentions two kids, and raphaella and marius joined together (first mention of either of them is together, in this facebook post!) when questioned about marius and raphaella, nastya says a story instead of stories (x). (that post also clarifies that carmilla was not involved in either raphaella or marius’ backstories!) this could potentially point to raphaella being the other person from marius’ backstory. the evidence against it is that if raphaella featured that heavily, r. l. hughes would have said something about the album as well instead of it just being kofi talking about marius, but it’s still interesting to think about!

there’s also a theory that she was the preacher’s daughter from brian’s backstory, but the only real evidence there is that she could have used his tech to mechanize herself (which her doing is only fanon!) and that she performs ‘lost in the cosmos’.

dr carmilla

this is most likely going to be the shortest section, as it’s basically another crew member; that being said, there’s a lot of lore here!

if you haven’t listened to the carmilla albums, i’d really suggest doing that! there’s two- exhumed and (un)plugged and ageha prototype edition! the story there is harder to put together than in the mechs backstories, especially because the songs are mostly out of order, so i’ve decided to just straight up summarize my interpretation, along with what we have to go on from maki, instead of framing it like a theory, as that’s the easiest way! still, please bear all this with a grain of salt- it’s most likely to be contradicted in the new album maki is working on.

carmilla and her girlfriend loreli lived on a planet called terra. for their childhoods, it was a fairly okay place to live (though i elaborate on this a bit in the world lore section!) however, it was bombed; most likely taking the role of an alternate universe hiroshima, as the blurb on her bandcamp says ‘Dr. Carmilla tells the twisted tales of a dystopian future following WWII having ended very differently.‘ after this, the planet sunk into a nuclear winter.

loreli got sick and died; or, she should have, but carmilla saved her by turning her into a vampire as well. this resulted in loreli losing her morals and becoming abusive towards carmilla. carmilla was too deep in love to see this, and stayed in the relationship for several years.

we don’t know what happened to make her strike out on her own, but eventually she did, and created the mechanisms. while with them, she recognized her own failures with loreli, and left the mechanisms (which they all believe was caused by jonny d’ville pushing her out an airlock, rather than her own volition.)

from there, she traveled back in time to the point where loreli was dying, and let it happen- potentially burying herself and loreli alive, which she survived due to her immortality and loreli did not.

however, she was trapped underground for a hundred years. when she is finally found and dug out, she starts enjoying herself (i.e. committing murder). for some unknown reason, she clones herself multiple times, creating the in-universe version of maki yamazaki.

the mechanisms assume she pursued them after she was pushed out of the airlock, and that that was what eleven was about, but i’m not sure why she would do that, given that she left them of her own volition. because of time shenanigans, it could have been far later on her personal timeline; maybe she simply wished to reconnect with them after all those years.

that’s all we have; we don’t know if she died, or anything like that!

world lore

all the folktales and normal history the irl mechs work off of also exist in-universe! (for an example- the toy soldier and ivy start reciting the walrus and the carpenter together in lashings, and the mechs also do alice in wonderland as a song.)

we know the alternate universe theory is correct, mostly because of this piece in the fiction on kofi’s blog-

In those burning instants, he’d feel the weight of it all, and know it was true. The golden age that never came; the city that stood at the dawn of a world instead of in its dying embers. And beyond – to a myriad of Camelots and a thousand thousand Arthurs, unfathomable worlds apart, each different, each fighting the same hopeless battle.

He’d feel the burden of that task pressing down until it felt like it’d crush his chest, and he’d wake every day gasping for breath, feeling older than he ever had, older even than Ector.

And as he screamed inwardly, Galahad would meet his gaze with those crazed eyes of his and grin, and Arthur would know again that whatever had spoken to Galahad was moving him too.

the mechanisms are most likely traveling between several alternate universe versions of folktales, and occasionally alternate versions of earth! (cyberia, tim’s earth, terra...) this is likely why everyone in their stories is human, and is actually low-key evidence against drawing them as aliens (though ofc feel free to have fun!)

i was initially going to put all the album lore in its own separate sections, but a large amount of it is how it intersects with other pieces of lore, and the rest isn’t necessarily niche enough to cite here? my personal advice is that if you want to learn more about the albums, read the fiction! i have a compilation post of all the fiction up on this blog, and you can find it on the website here!

let’s start with the mechanisms’ roles in ulysses dies at dawn, though! we know for sure ashes is hades, brian is the oracle of delphi, and the toy soldier was a nymph (which is actually quite worrying, considering what that means and the inherent issues with consent there, but i digress.) tim most likely took on the role of achilles (more on that here). then, we know some of the mechanisms’ activities and can guess their roles from that. raphaella was helping athena on her research, marius was psychoanalyzing the olympians, and jonny was committing mass murder. it’s a common theory that one (or three) of the mechanisms was cerberus, but sadly i couldn’t find any evidence towards or against that.

i said in the toy soldier’s section that i would talk more about the implications of it being from labyrinth here! the main thing is the fact that, for it to join the rose red war, the city must have interacted with king cole at some point. it’s a risky thing to pose a theory on the toy soldier’s allegiance towards a certain group, but the fact that it seemed to stick with the rose reds here might also mean that the city was, in fact, under king cole’s power. this fits in nicely with the greek mythology aspect of it all; king cole, in that universe, could have been a stand-in for the figure of kronos/saturn!

a few other theories on how the lore intersects:

1. high noon over camelot takes place after the bifrost incident! in terminus, we see communication breaking down, and that could have been the reason the station was isolated. the mechanisms go from it to the bifrost incident, but as they canonically travel in time, that’s not enough to disprove the theory!

2. arthur becomes king cole eventually! this is mostly going off of the fact he’s called ‘the once and future king’, but also the fact that cole used to be considered a good king.

a few loose pieces of worldbuilding:

people from new constantinople seem to be longer lived, and their culture is built around age as a concept. the older you are, the more wise and important you are. specifically, in this fiction, snow is dismissively noted as ‘barely fifty’ and king cole’s age is held up as evidence to why he’s a good ruler.

terra, carmilla’s planet, has two major languages; high terran and low terran! high terran is a more regulated, formal way of speaking, specifically something that only the rich and privileged tend to know. there are many dialects, but the grammar is dictated by the capital. low terran is a creole language formed from several others, including high terran, that most children are taught in school as the baseline. (though they might speak a completely different, less widely spoken language at home!) carmilla speaks low terran but not high terran (although she pretends to know the latter.)

the mechanisms were all (or mostly all) at fort galfridean at one point; don’t have the source to hand, but marius apparently became a prophet to the saxons for staring into the sun for a very long time.

if you’re looking to draw album fanart, there are a few things i know aren’t as widely known; the ones i can think of off the top of my head is orpheus having a ‘foppish haircut’ (the type of thing that falls under that definition is narcissus’ undercut), and snow’s disfiguring scar. there is also official album art; i, personally, have not seen much of it, and i’d encourage coming up with your own character interpretations.

one last theory- it’s highly likely carmilla was involved in the events of the bifrost incident. in the mechscord (sadly, invites are closed due to the difficulty with handling the boom in the fanbase) maki yamazaki has mentioned that part of the criteria for picking a mechanism is ‘good friend for lyf’. at first, i assumed that she meant good friend for life, but when asked on that she was worryingly cryptic (as tends to happen), and she made a joke earlier in character as doc c about accidentally calling odin. though immortal lyfrassier edda most likely became fanon just so they could become a mechanism, this is a piece of evidence towards them actually becoming immortal.

my personal headcanon is that to gain true immortality (which maki has said king cole and the olympians do not have) you have to have some kind of eldritch component, so carmilla had to go to odin for aid. this is supported by the fact that in drive the cold winter away and cyberian demons, their mechanisms are noted as having a rainbow sheen to them!

other lore

scuzz nishimura

scuzz has built up a bit of a reputation for being the ‘cryptid mech’, but her lore is really quite simple! she was a member of the band back when they were doctor carmilla and the mechanisms, but left before they became more popular, so there’s not too much knowledge about her. she appears in this fiction and the only two recorded gigs from that era (lashings and homesick). she’s also visible in several photos!

i know i’ll get people in the notes asking for photos of her if i don’t include any, so have this;

[image id: a cropped picture of scuzz nishimura, looking tired and resting her head on her hand. she looks to be wearing white gloves and some kind of sweater or waistcoat, and her hair is cut short. her cello is also visible, as is someone else’s hand. end id.]

we don’t know too much about her; all we really have is that she was their cello player!

assorted things with no explanation

there’s this old piece from the wayback machine-

[image id: a screenshot of what looks to be the fiction page from a old site for dr carmilla and the mechs. the writing reads;

Writing

( The Aldwich Horror } A short story in which Dr. Carmilla attempts to solve the mysteries of the Aldwich Horror, the strange appearance of a new crew memeber and several zoologically dubious pets.

( Disinterration } A cautionary tale about exhuming corpses.

end id.]

‘disinterration’ is most likely a reference to the carmilla song exhumed, but i’m unsure about ‘the aldwich horror’. the most intriguing bit there is ‘the strange appearance of a new crew member’. i’ve researched the other aspects in an attempt to figure this out. aldwych is a closed london tube station- it served as a bomb shelter during the blitz, which is interesting as both carmilla and tim have backstories involving the world wars (though only carmilla’s is world war ii specifically; tim’s is wwi). the zoologically dubious pets are most likely the octokittens, which we know the toy soldier brought on board, so it would have to be in a place on the timeline after ts joined and before carmilla left. the only mechanism that joins in that space is gunpowder tim, so it’s possible that he is the new crew member.

the mechanisms blogs have a lot of incidental lore, so if you’re this deep in i’d suggest looking at my compilation post of some of my favorite posts of theirs!

and that’s it! we did it! i can finally go to sleep now. i’m so tired. please. i am going to die. i have homework. thank you all so much. please consider coming to my funeral service.

#the mechanisms #the mechs #my posts #compiliation post #meta

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bookstantrash · 4 years

Text

A/N: This is an idea that has been living inside my mind for a really long time and I finally gathered courage to write it. But I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so every time I read and edited it I always found more and more faults in what I had written, so I said “To hell with this, I’m gonna post it before I delete the whole thing”

This ended up being way longer than what I had imagined and I have no idea how I feel about it. So buckle up folks, because this is going to be a ride.

In which she makes a friend

After almost three months living in Illyria, Nesta could not recall a single conversation that had lasted for more than three minutes or that had been longer than two sentences. Not that she cared much in holding meaningless conversations about the weather and whatnot with the few Illyrians bold enough to talk to her. Because few were those that tried to talk to her, those that were not scared of her, whose voices did not whisper Other or Witch whenever she bothered to leave the house she now lived in.

So when Nesta sat on the lonely stone bench in front the house – the weather had given a break and gone from “insufferable bone cold” to “tolerable chilly” – to try and calm the raging fire in her veins, a sign that her power was trying to break free, a sign that she was close to breaking and destroying everything around her, she was very much surprised to find an Illyrian child walking towards her.

It was not unusual to have a few Illyrians knocking on the door sometimes, given that she now lived with him due to her sister’s order long ago in Velaris. But since her babysitter had gone to Cauldron knows where, to do Cauldron knows what a week ago, no one had come knocking on the door asking for that overgrown bat. Adding the fact that his house was a little secluded from the rest, Nesta could not imagine why that child was coming over.

“Good...good evening” the Illyrian greeted, stopping in front of her.

“He’s not here” Nesta said, eyeing the child in front of her. The boy – Nesta supposed it was a boy, not older than thirteen, with its short cut curly brown hair, bandaged hands, muddied clothes and scar free wings being the only clue she had – shifted nervously on his feet.

“I...I’m not looking for the General” the boy said “I heard there was a Witch living here. I take you are her”

For the second time of that day Nesta found herself surprised. The boy in front of her had called her a Witch in her face, something most did not.

“I wanted to ask for a spell” the boy’s voice had lost a bit of it’s previous nervousness, and he had squared his shoulders, wings slightly flaring “I don’t have much, but I’m ready to give anything in return”

‘You can’t possible have anything to give me’ Nesta thought, glancing at his ripped and dirty clothes.

“I’m no Witch” Nesta said, getting up and turning her back at the kid, making for the house’s door “Go back to your parents”

~•~

The next day, when Nesta was coming back from a walk in the woods – there was something about the ancient trees and the wilderness that helped her control her inner turmoil — she was baffled to see yesterday’s boy waiting for her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday” the boy blurted out before she could send him away “I didn’t want to offend you. I’m Kaelin”

Nesta’s only answer was a blink.

“I...I only said you were a Witch because that’s what the others said you were” Kaelin’s ears turned pink, no doubt embarrassed to admit listening to gossip.

“I don’t blame you” she said, and Kaelin’s eyes lit in surprise.

No. Nesta did not blame the boy for thinking her a Witch. Because long ago, before the war, before the empt void inside her was as big as the ocean, before she heard her father’s neck crack, she had declared to that annoying camp lord Devlon that she indeed was a Witch. But now, even though her powers were as loud as a beast’s roar in her ears, she did not want to touch them. Could not touch them.

And nothing, not even the hopeful look in Kaelin’s light brown eyes, would make her touch the wild beast that lived within her. She would not give the boy false hope. She would not fail another child. Not again. Not ever.

“If you have problems maybe you’d better tell your parents about it, instead of reaching for witchcraft”

After all, even thirteen year old Illyrians must have foolish mistakes that they would rather not tell their parents about.

“I don’t have parents. At least not anymore” Kaelin’s hard and sorrowful voice was enough to make Nesta resist prying further into his problem.

“I see” was the only thing she said, and she once again turned her back at him, entering that lonely and sad cabin, even though she was feeling rather inclined to talk, a feeling she had not felt for the longest time.

~•~

Kaelin appeared on Nesta’s door three days later, with a black eye, bruised cheek and a split lip that didn’t stop him from smiling and giving her something wrapped in brown paper.

“I thought about it and I realised that my apology was lacking” he started talking non stop, not giving Nesta a chance to say anything except gape at him and the gift on her hands “Father always said to treat everyone nicely, unless they were rude to you. He said it was what mother believed in”

Nesta could only nod and unwrap the paper to discover a pair of gloves.

“Did you steal them?” She asked, connecting the dots between the gloves she held — surely way out of the kid’s status of affordable — and his beaten face.

“No!” Kaelin replied, a bitterness in his voice “I know I’m just a lowly orphan but I’d never take something from another one in such an unhonoured way”

Nesta just grossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“One of the boys from the high families arrived at training with new boots” he gave a sly smile “I fought him for them”

“You did what?” Nesta’s voice rose and she was holding herself back from shaking the boy until he was back into his right mind.

“Fighting between Illyrians is not prohibited. But it’s best if you don’t get caught” Kaelin replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Nesta felt her temper rising.

“You. Come with me” she grabbed Kaelin’s arm and took him inside before he could protest.

She made him sit on sofa in the living room while she went searching for the medic supplies she was sure Cassian had. Once she found it, she went back to Kaelin and started treating his cuts, mumbling the entire time about how stupid and reckless boys were.

“This is nice” he said, wincing slight when Nesta touched his bruised cheek.

“What is nice?”

“Having someone take care of you” he answered “I... I didn’t know my mom. She died shortly after I was born. Father said she was quite fragile”

Nesta trying to not let show how his words affected her. She remembered another woman, dying in a lonely bed just a few years after her youngest child had been born.

“He died in the last war. Against Hybern” he practically spat the late king’s name, hate filling every syllable.

Nesta finished treating him and started organising the materials, to keep herself busy and have an excuse to buy time to know what to answer him. She had never been good at consoling others. And she didn’t know why, but she was afraid her bluntness would end up hurting Kaelin.

“He was a hero” he said firmly, his eyes shining with defiance “He may have been just a mere foot soldier but he was at the front line, keeping Hybern’s forces back”

“I’m sure he was” Nesta replied, trying not to think about who may have said otherwise to him, hurting a child who had nothing “But would he like to see his son picking meaningless fights?”

“It was to get you a gift” Kaelin looked down and poked at the sofa “I’m sure he’d have understood. Besides, I have to fight and stand out if I want to have a shot at the Rite”

“You mean the Blood Rite? I thought everyone participated” Nesta had gathered little information about the Illyrians for the time she had been living in Illyria. There were no libraries, no bookstores, and the books Cassian had about the Illyrian culture and history were scarce and outdated.

“The very one. You are not obligated to become a warrior, but that’s the path most of male Illyrians take. Not that we have many options to begin with” Kaelin’s voice had became serious “Most of the males from the richer families are bound to participate, but the rest.... we end up being mere foot soldiers. Expendable. So no point in making us take part in it.”

At his words, Nesta could not help but think about Cassian. He too was an orphan but had risen to be Rhysand’s Commander and had seven siphons. From what she had heard and seen at the war, that was rather unusual.

“It’s worse for females” Kaelin added quietly.

She knew that. Saw how females were treated on the rare times she got out of the cabin. A scarce number trained. And she did not know a lot about training, but was sure it was not near enough to make them part of the Illyrian army. Or even defend themselves were the worst to happen.

Nesta opened her mouth to say Cauldron knows what — she had to say something, she could not let the boy leave with such dark thoughts — when a loud noise interrupted her.

It was a sound Nesta knew quite well from her time as a human living in a shabby cottage.

A sound she had become reacquainted with after being Made. After that day at the battle field.

The sound of hungriness. The sound of someone who was starving, and had been so for quite a while.

And it was coming from Kaelin.

The Illyrian boy beside her blushed a deep scarlet, trying — and failing — to come up with an excuse. But Nesta knew better. She knew the signs of starvation. Saw them in herself. Had seen it in her younger sisters, when they were not older than Kaelin.

Thin wrists. Sunken eyes. Cheekbones way too sharp. Up close Nesta could properly examine Kaelin and notice that the boy was all bones and little muscle, his skinny built not a consequence of slow metabolism to gain weight, but rather the fact that he did not have enough sustenance to make it possible.

“I have way too much food stocked here. I was supposed to be living with an adult warrior that can eat for five people “ Nesta began, cutting Kaelin’s blabbering “It would be a crime to let it all get wasted”

Leaving him no window to reply, she took hold of his arm, hauling him towards the kitchen and making him to sit down while she gathered whatever food she came across. And she had enough fire in her eyes — she may or may not have lost a little bit of control of her powers due to her racing emotions — that Kaelin did not dare say a word, but just sit quietly and eat what was put in front of him.

~•~

Nesta’s routine had suffered a slight change after that evening. For the past month and a half, Kaelin had been having a meal with her after his training. Every day.

She had made sure to make it clear that she was expecting a visit from him after his activities were over.

He did not dare argue with her.

Today, however, was an unusual day.

Kaelin was late.

Almost two hours late.

Nesta had come to know Illyrian boy better, and one thing she learned about him was that he detested to be late. For him, his promises and commitment were everything, reminding her of another Illyrian she knew – which had not come back in two months. Not that she missed or was worried about him.

She tried and failed to convince herself that Kaelin may have been held back by training. But she did not know why she felt a strange feeling. Her powers were restless, more so than usual.

The air and the trees around her seemed different.

She felt it deeply in her bones.

As if the Cauldron itself — hidden far far away in a island that did not exist in any map ever written — dreaded whatever future thread the Mother was knitting.

As if something had been woken.

As if the winds of change had gone from a light breeze to a tornado, ready to wreak havoc in Illyria.

Nesta could not hold herself back any longer. She needed to know what was happening. To know if that strange song that spoke of a power strong and ancient was connected to Kaelin tardiness.

So into the woods she went.

She walked and walked, until the song in her ears got louder and a new sound appeared, a sound she would not be able to hear were it not for her fae ears.

The sound of someone whimpering.

Quickening her steps, Nesta followed the cries of pain until the wall of trees around her gave way to a small clearing.

And there, lying curled up in a ball, was Kaelin.

“KAELIN!”

Nesta ran towards him, falling on her knees beside his body.

“What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” she smelled blood, and feared the Illyrian whose boots he had “won” had gone after him for payback.

Her mind was racing, her thoughts overlapping themselves. She recalled another winged body, laying on the ground. She recalled another child, crying in pain due to its empty stomach, who had not seen food for weeks.

She would not fail anyone ever again. That had been her promise to herself.

“Kaelin...” Nesta slowly touched his arm, trying to soothe him “Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts”

Kaelin whimpered, slowly uncurling his body and tucking his wings. He clutched his abdomen, and Nesta dared to try and touch her power.

She would touch that dangerous beast if that meant she could help the young boy in front of her.

And so she tentatively reached inside herself for that source, trying to recall if any training she’d had with Amren may assist her in the current situation.

She scanned Kaelin’s body, and that’s when she noticed the small drops of blood beneath him. But her powers had not detected any wounds. No, he was not hurt.

However, she finally found the origin of the bleeding. And Nesta momentarily lost her breath.

Because she knew the reason why Kaelin was in pain.

“You are not a boy” she breathed.

Kaelin was a girl.

A girl who had had her first period.

A girl who was passing as a boy. Training like one.

And when Kaelin finally meet Nesta’s eyes, brown eyes shining with tears, she cursed the Mother for whatever future thread she had knitted.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth

#sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic #nesta archeron

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supersickies · 3 years

Link

Summary: "MJ wasn’t a STEM major, but if she were going for her Ph.D. she would bet he had a raging case of bronchitis. Not that the boy would ever admit to it.

“I can’t get sick MJ. It’s probably just some dust in the air.”

“Seriously Em, I just swallowed wrong that’s all.”

“My throat’s dry! I’m not sick!”

MJ had heard it all in the past few days, and she believed none of it."

Peter is basically on his death bed, but MJ has a plan.

A/N: Yay! @sicktember day two! I can't lie this is really the only other sicktember fic that I have complete. Everything else is simply a WIP or merely a figment of my imagination just hoping to be made into an actual work. But who knows! Maybe I'll muster up some motivation between now and when I go see Shang-Chi in a few hours! Either way here's my first (of many) PeterMj fics for Sicktember 2021! Read it here or click the link to read on AO3!

EDIT: LMAO I FORGOT TO POST IT BELOW THE CUT BUT ITS HERE NOW SORRY !!

MJ wasn’t really sure what she was trying to prove when she decided to take a microbiology course. Yes, she graduated from a STEM school (as valedictorian with honors, thank you very much) but college science courses like this were a whole other ballpark. Especially as a journalism major. But hey, she needed the STEM credit. That and her adorable (insufferable) boyfriend practically begged her to take the class with him.

And who was she to say no to Peter?

So that’s how she found herself on the floor of his dorm, notecards of test questions scattered about, trying with all her might to study for their first midterm. But something was keeping her from concentrating.

That something being her boyfriend, hacking up a lung.

Again, MJ wasn’t a STEM major, but if she were going for her PHD she would bet he had a raging case of bronchitis. Not that the boy would ever admit to it.

“I can’t get sick MJ. It’s probably just some dust in the air.”

“Seriously Em, I just swallowed wrong that’s all.”

“My throat’s dry! I’m not sick!”

MJ had heard it all in the past few days, and she believed none of it.

She had seen Peter when he was ill, long before the spider bite. In fact she had seen him sick a bunch of times, because pre-bite Peter was quite the sickly kid. She noted that this current “mystery cough” he had now was eerily similar to the one he had during their 6th grade holiday choir concert, and he sounded a lot like he did in 8th grade when he could barley talk for their group presentation on The Outsiders.

Not that she took note of all the times he was sick. She wasn’t obsessed, just observant.

(She was a little obsessed).

But it doesn’t take an overly observant girlfriend to know that Peter should be in bed and resting right now. Especially when he could barley manage to catch a breath.

MJ tenses as she hears the deep chesty coughs come from where Peter sits studying at his desk. She holds her tongue, not wanting to poke the bear more than she already had. Peter would never and has never in his life gotten angry at Michelle, but the more she had pushed him to admit that he wasn’t feeling well, the more annoyed he was becoming. So she stayed quiet.

But Peter didn’t.

It seemed as time went on, Peter’s coughs became harsher, deeper, wetter even. MJ couldn’t help but grimace at the wheeze that was also now very evident in his breathing.

She glances up at him, his eyes glazed over with fever and his nose burred in micro-bio notes, seemingly unaware of the world around him and the virus raging in his lungs. MJ stifles a sigh, feeling fed up with her decision to keep quiet. She sets aside her flashcards and lays her head in her arms as she weighs her options.

She could continue to push and try to beg Peter to admit that he was unwell. But Michelle knew that would only lead to more defiance, so that was out of the question.

She could also simply force him to rest. She knew she had the capacity to get him into bed with just a look, but the idea of doing so made her feel uncomfortable. This was her boyfriend, not some animal she could just boss around.

Her feet kick in the air behind her as she continues to wrack her brain. She listens despairingly to Peter’s coughs as she thinks, and if she’s being honest, just the sound of his hacking was making her throat feel kinda scratchy too.

Wait. That could be something.

What if it wasn’t just Peter who wasn’t feeling their best.

MJ was known to be prone to migraines, but hadn’t had one in a while thanks to a medication she had started. But what if, hypothetically, maybe she’d accidentally missed a dose?

MJ takes another glance at Peter, who was still zoned in on his own study guide, before making the first move in her grand plan.

She groans.

It’s too loud or overly painful sounding, but hopefully enough to warrant some alarm from her boyfriend.

And it has the desired effect, as out of the corner of her eye she sees Peter stop his studying and glance at her. Now, with his attention, she takes it up a notch. She groans slightly again, this time adding a wince and an eye rub.

She hears Peter make a soft concerned noise. Bingo.

He’s sill looking at her, so she does her best to look just as rundown and sick as she can. It works.

“Em? You okay, babe?” Peter’s voice is gravely and nearly gone, but she can hear the worry in his tone. She’s got him right where she wants him.

She turns her head to answer him, her eyes squinting to make it seem as though the lights were making the headache worse.

“Hm? Oh, no yeah everything’s fine, Pete.” MJ’s voice is usually deeper and raspier than most, but she really cakes it on for this. Again, desired effect achieved.

“You really don’t sound great, Em. You sure?” His sentence is punctuated with a rough coughing fit, ironically enough. But even as the fit dies down his attention stays on MJ, who is now rubbing her temples like her life depended on it, both eyes squeezed together tightly.

When he sees her miserable demeanor he quickly (yet shakily) abandons his own work to sit on the floor beside her.

“Seriously, MJ.”

She looks up at him with pitiful eyes, time to really sell it Michelle. She sighs, “M-My head just kinda hurts…It’s nothing.” She caps her Oscar worthy performance with another wince before burying her head back in her folded arms.

She feels his way too warm hand on her back as he rubs it in an attempt to comfort her.

He’s still buying it.

Maybe she should get a minor in theater performance?

“You sure? This doesn’t look like nothing.” He questions hoarsely. Now that he’s closer to her she can almost hear the crackling in his chest when he breathes. She had to get him to rest now or else this shit was going to get way worse.

“I-I think I may have forgotten my pill this morning. I can’t remember. I think I was just so anxious about the exam that- I don’t know…e-everything’s so fuzzy, Peter.” She says quietly, letting out a shaky breath just like she would if her head were actually pounding.

“Oh, Emmy.” He coos. “Come on, you need to lay down.”

“But the midterm-“

“Hey, the midterm can wait. You’ve been working hard, okay? Take some time to take care of yourself.”

Practice what you preach, Parker.

“Will you lay with me?” She asks, her voice uncharacteristically small as she looks up at him, eyes still scrunched in “pain” but full of emotion. She’s laying it on thick. The things she does for this boy.

“‘Course I will, Em.”

And jackpot. He bought it. What a sucker. At least he’s pretty!

MJ does a victory dance in her head as she lets him help her stand and climb onto his unmade twin bed. She waits for him to climb in and join her, but frowns when he turns and begins to to walk away. She quickly grabs his wrist and once again dons her best pitiful sick person face.

“Stay. Please.” She “begs”, which works again (of course). Peter’s face breaks into a sad smile.

“Just turning off the lights, Emmy. I’ll be right back, I promise.” He leans over and kisses her on the forehand, and she does her best not to think of all the germs he may have actually just passed onto her. She had him in the palm of her hand, she couldn’t break the illusion now.

For the full effect, she lets out a few pained groans here and there as he turns off the ceiling and desk lights in his room, leaving them under the glow of the spidey string lights she’d bought him as a dorm-warming gift.

He’s rather sluggish as he makes his way back and up onto his bed. MJ figures he’ll be out as soon as his feverish head hits the pillow. And she’s basically right, as he lets out a huge yawn as soon as he curls up next to her.

“Get some rest, Em.” He murmurs, already taking his own advice. “‘M right here if you need me.” He snuggles closer to her with a sigh, his arm wrapping around her torso and face pressing into the side of her shoulder. Only moments later soft snores are coming from his mouth.

“You too, dork.” She responds.

Mission accomplished, MJ thinks triumphantly.

#sicktember #sicktember2021 #spideychelle #sick peter parker

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ad1thi · 3 years

Text

2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year.

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long.

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift: @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

#adi's rec list #mcdanno #stevetony #buckytony #brucetony #rhodeytony #zukka #samtony #january - june #there's so many different ships on this #and different authors #and it spans three fandoms #so hopefully you guys enjoy this!!

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stellawella97 · 3 years

Text

Atelephobia: The Fear of Never Being Good Enough (Shane/Gender Neutral Farmer) - Chapter 1/3

Just posted 1/3 of my first Stardew Valley fanfic!

Read it below or over @ AO3

Summary:

Shane has got 99 problems but never did he think the entire world losing its colour would be one of them.

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

It started off as just any other normal day in Shane’s life.

The chickens clucked noisily outside, the cows joining in their song occasionally with their loud chorus of moo’s. None of these sounds woke Shane up in the slightest - he heard them every day and he’d grown so accustomed to the noise, he figured he’d still be able to continue sleeping even if his bedroom floor caved in beneath his bed.

The slightly battered alarm clock sitting on Shane’s bedside table began its shrill ringing at 6:30am sharp. Shane tended to run by a strict ‘5 more minutes’ rule when it came to waking up in the morning however. Refusing to open his eyes till he absolutely had to, Shane managed to turn off the alarm clock by swatting aimlessly with his hand till it met with cold metal and the ringing stopped.

He tried to fall back asleep for those precious extra 5 minutes of peace before he had to leave for his soul-sucking job at JojaMart. However, memories of the night before began to flood back into his mind. Shane had been up in the mountains late at night, drinking again. He faintly remembered seeing the hermit (Linus, was it?) entering his tent, a plastic bag that was stuffed to the brim with what looked like half-eaten food grasped tightly in his hands.

Shane had drunk a couple cans of beer before he decided to enter the mines nearby. It had been dark and full of strange noises neither human nor animal could make but Shane had managed to make it down several floors with a pickaxe he’d found at the mine entrance in his drunken state. As to why he’d chosen to do this, Shane had no idea whatsoever.

He didn’t remember much else except for the sound of a creature speaking in a garbled ancient language, a warm tingling sensation that filled his entire body, and finally the sharp pain that shot through his head as he finally keeled over from the amount of alcohol in his system, smashing his head against the rocky terrain. Oddly enough, his head didn’t hurt at all this morning. Doctor Harvey must’ve patched him up real good this time. Or maybe Marnie had. Who’d even brought him back to the house?

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he was actually found with trousers on this time, Shane heard the sound of the front door slamming shut. Marnie must have gone out to feed the animals. Shane was just about to roll over onto his side to continue his reminiscing when it began to dawn on him that he’d probably been in bed for more than just 5 minutes.

Shane quickly sat up in bed and grabbed the alarm clock. It was now 7:10am! He couldn’t risk Morris docking his pay again this month - he had to get to JojaMart quick. He jumped out of bed and had just put his leg through a pair of jeans when he noticed that it’d turned from blue to gray. When had that happened? He remembered wearing this exact pair of jeans just two days ago and he certainly hadn’t ever bought gray ones before.

It was then that he realized - everything had turned gray from his walls, to the cushion placed in front of the television set, to the alarm clock, and even his own skin.

I’ve finally done it, haven’t I? I died in those fucking mines last night and now, I’m in some kind of Hell?

The thought ran through Shane’s mind as he spun around, inspecting everything in his room for any sign of colour. This was to no avail. Even his favourite pair of boxers was gray with slightly darker gray hearts dotting it. In a moment of pure desperation, Shane decided to pinch himself as hard as he could on his arm in an attempt to find out if he was in fact still alive. He was.

Rubbing the sore patch of skin on his arm, Shane decided that he didn’t have time to waste standing here and waiting to see if the world around him would get its colour back. If he was still alive, he needed to get to work pronto. He quickly pulled on his ratty, old JojaMart jacket that still did its job and ran out of the house, only just remembering to shut his bedroom door behind him because he just didn’t think he could deal with Marnie yelling at him again about the mess of empty beer cans and pizza boxes in there.

Shane ran through town, almost knocking over Abigail who had just left Pierre’s General Store with a flute in her hands. It worried him to no end that even her usually bright purple of her hair (She must dye it, right?) was now a dull gray, but Shane had no time to be stressing about that now. He’d just have to wait till during his break or after work.

Once he’d arrived at JojaMart, Shane immediately went to the employees office to clock in and change into the uniform. He took a moment to glance at his reflection in the mirror and sighed as he noted that the usually bright blue uniform was just as unflattering as always in a gray shade. He walked out onto the shop floor and began stocking the shelves, determined to just get through the day now.

However, he must’ve done something to offend Yoba because Shane’s shift did not go well at all. He’d first managed to trip over his own feet and crashed straight into the display of limited edition shrimp-flavoured Joja Cola that he’d been hard at work stacking up for over an hour. As Shane was stomping angrily back onto the shop floor with a bucket of soapy water and a mop in his hands, he’d then bumped into Pam who’d screamed in rage when she discovered her brand-new jumpsuit was now soaked. Even though he’d apologized profusely to Pam, Shane still had to sit through an hour and a half of Morris’s lectures as well as had his paycheck docked for the day to reimburse Pam for the damages.

Just as he thought his day couldn’t get any worse however, Shane was just about to clock out for his lunch break when Morris asked him to help Sam unload the delivery trucks that had just arrived with a new shipment of powdered butter, gluten pucks and Carbo Cones. This meant he had to endure almost an hour’s worth of listening to Sam go on and on about how awesome some indie band in Grampleton was - which on some days, was fine. Just not today, for Yoba’s sake. Instead of putting up a fuss however (Morris wouldn’t care anyway), Shane simply gritted his teeth and headed out to the back of JojaMart.

It wasn’t till 2pm that Shane finally managed to clock out for his break. He flopped down onto a seat at a small round metal table in the employee’s break room and stared at the silently humming vending machine in the corner of the room. The vending machine sold only JojaMart products, all of them disgusting and overly sweet - Shane had tried each one. At first, he wondered to himself ‘Wasn’t that vending machine blue before?” before it dawned on him for the second time that day that he hadn’t been able to see colours all day. As crazy as it sounded, he’d just been so distracted with work that he hadn’t had time to notice.

Shane leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, biting his lower lip in concentration. How had this happened? Had something happened to him in the mines? Maybe he should pay Doctor Harvey a visit after work, he would know what to do.

“Knock knock!,” a familiar voice suddenly came from the direction of the door. Shane, who had been staring blankly at a spot on the table, looked up to see who had managed to sneak into the break room in surprise but flinched almost immediately, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of colour amongst the gray. Once his eyes had adjusted, Shane saw that the voice belonged to the new farmer that had recently moved into the farm out of the town. They were now standing by the door, their hands clasped behind their back.

He must’ve been staring at the farmer for just a moment too long because they’d then asked “Shane? Are you okay? with an eyebrow raised questioningly. Shane cleared his throat and stood up from his chair, moving to stand in front of the vending machine. It was hard to tell what he was looking at when all the cans were the same gray colour, but he pretended to be deciding which drink he was going to buy to buy himself some time. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, Shane began to wonder if he was about to pass out.

Why’s the farmer the only one who’s in colour? Why of all people has it got to be them?!

Just as he thought of something smart to say, Shane heard the sound of the break room door opening again. He spun around to find the farmer already halfway out the door. However, the farmer noticed at the last moment that Shane had finally turned around and was now looking at them. They hesitated for a moment before saying with a shy smile tracing their lips “I’ve gotta go now but...I’ll be stopping by the Stardrop Saloon tomorrow night, I hope I’ll see you there there?”

“I-I’ll see you there!,” Shane blurted out, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up. The farmer flashed him a warm smile before shutting the door behind them. Shane fell back into his seat and buried his face in his hands, mentally screaming at himself for two main reasons. One, he had sounded way too excited at the prospect of seeing the farmer again. Two, had the farmer just subtly invited him on a date? And did he just...agree to it? What was going on today?!

Not once did he stop to wonder why the farmer hadn’t turned gray like everything else, himself included.

Shane managed to breeze through the second half of his shift at JojaMart without any further mishaps, and had made it all the way back home with his head high up in the clouds. He popped a frozen pizza he’d stolen from JojaMart’s freezers into the oven and entered his bedroom, kicking his shoes off at the door.

He was just wondering if people still brought their date flowers in these modern days when he noticed a small slip of paper that was being held in place beneath a small stone that was smooth to the touch. Written on the paper in a barely legible script were the words ‘Lost your ability to see colour, huh? If you want it back, meet me at the mines tonight at 11pm’.

Shane looked around his room and decided to check the windows. They were locked. Whoever had delivered this note must’ve come in from the front door but Marnie who had been home all day would have said something to him if someone had come looking for him. She hadn’t though, so they must have snuck in without her seeing. Now he knew how they got in, there was still one question left unanswered:

Who sent me this note?

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

Author Notes:

Part 2 will be up sometime later this week so stay tuned for that.

If you'd like my work and would like to support me, please consider donating to my Ko-fi @ https://ko-fi.com/stellawella97 where I am offering custom fanfic commissions for a cup of coffee! It'd really help me out. Thank you <3

#stardew valley #stardew shane #stardew farmer #stardew fanfic #gender neutral fanfic #sdv #sdv shane #sdv farmer #fanfiction #fanfic

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suckmykawaiidesu · 3 years

Text

Compilation of Nessian Moments: ‘A Court of Mist and Fury’ Edition

Hello loves! ♥️

I recently asked for a compilation list of Nessian moments and there doesn’t seems to be one so I decided to hurriedly put one together before the release of “A Court of Silver Flames”. I have probably missed some scenes but these are the ones that I came across during my re-read. I will be making a post for each book and will link them once available:

A Court of Wings and Ruin

ACOMAF Target Exclusive Story by bookofademigod

A Court of Frost and Starlight

Sneak Peak at the end of A Court of Frost and Starlight

A Court of Mist and Fury

Chapter 24

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

Then, Mother above, Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?” Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.” Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely. Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.

Chapter 25

I’m watching Cassian and Nesta get into it again over their tea.

Chapter 28

My sisters ate breakfast with Rhys and me, Azriel gone to wherever he’d taken the Attor. Cassian had flown off to join him the moment we returned. He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make. Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.

Chapter 39

I’d had one break from Cassian’s brutal training— just one morning, when he’d flown to the human realm to see if my sisters had heard from the queens and deliver another letter from Rhys to be sent to them. I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

Chapter 57

But then Cassian crossed to Nesta, the guards stiffening as the Illyrian moved through them as if they were stalks of wheat in a field. He studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears— tears of rage and despair, from that fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him. His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.” I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch. I didn’t know why, but I looked at Mor. Her eyes were wide. Not with jealousy, or irritation, but … something perhaps like awe. Nesta swallowed and at last turned away from Cassian. He stared at my sister a moment longer before facing the queens.

Chapter 58

Cassian braced his forearms on the broad stone railing, his red Siphons like living pools of flame. I said, perhaps because I was a busybody who liked to stick my nose in other people’s affairs, “It meant a great deal to me—what you promised my sister the other day.” Cassian shrugged, his wings rustling. “I’d do it for anyone.” “It meant a lot to her, too.” Hazel eyes narrowed slightly. But I casually watched the river. “Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield—like the ones Rhys has in his mind.” “Against what?” “Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.” “She barely seems to care about anyone other than Elain.” I met his stare, scanning that handsome, tan face. “She will never be like Mor,” I said. “She will never love freely and gift it to everyone who crosses her path. But the few she does care for … I think Nesta would shred the world apart for them. Shred herself apart for them. She and I have our … issues. But Elain … ” My mouth quirked to the side. “She will never forget, Cassian, that you offered to defend Elain. Defend her people. As long as she lives, she will remember that kindness.” He straightened, rapping his knuckles against the smooth marble. “Why are you telling me this?” “I just—thought you should know. For whenever you see her again and she pisses you off. Which I’m certain will happen. But know that deep down, she is grateful, and perhaps does not possess the ability to say so. Yet the feeling—the heart—is there.”

Chapter 65

Nesta’s screaming was the only sound. Cassian blindly lurched toward it - toward her, moaning in pain.

“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind,” the King of Hybern said. I whipped my head to Nesta as she went silent. The Cauldron righted itself. Cassian again stirred, slumping on the floor—but his hand twitched. Toward Nesta.

Nesta fought every step of the way. She did not make it easy for them. She clawed and kicked and bucked. And it was not enough. And we were not enough to save her. I watched as she was hoisted up. Elain remained shuddering on the ground, Lucien’s coat draped around her. She did not look at the Cauldron behind her, not as Nesta’s thrashing feet slammed into the water. Cassian stirred again, his shredded wings twitching and spraying blood, his muscles quivering. At Nesta’s shouts, her raging, his eyes fluttered open, glazed and unseeing, an answer to some call in his blood, a promise he’d made her. But pain knocked him under again.

-END-

#nesta archeron #cassian #a court of silver flames #acosf #acotar #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #acofas #a court of frost and starlight #feyre archeron #rhys #rhysand #nessian #nesta deserves better

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ TWO ROADS ❜

with Canche and Obispo ‘Bishop’ Losa.

Warnings: none.

Word count: 2k.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

Masterlist. You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

“Please, don't do that. Let me go”. With both hands raised to the man, you tried to push him away.

“No”. He just said with a naughty smile drawn on his lips, before grabbing your wrists to lift you up over his shoulder like a heavy bag, walking to the main room of the house.

“Let me go!” You shouted stirring over him, until you felt your body falling down over the mattress.

Sitting up on your forearms, you blow into a rebellious tuft of hair in the middle of your face, frowning. You couldn't barely breathe because of the efforts, watching the man crawling above the bed.

“I swear I'm gonna kill you”.

“Will you?” He asked, twisting his neck slightly, pouncing on you to tickle you on both sides.

“Canche, stop!” You screamed between laughs, trying to catch his hands while he made himself some space between your legs.

“C'mon, five minutes more, princesa de los Mayas”. The mexican surrounded you with his strong arms, resting his face on your stomach.

“My father is gonna kill us, if he finds out”.

“Just five minutes more”. He begged almost in a whisper, closing his eyes.

“I hate you”. You growled rolling your eyes, pretending that you didn't want to spend some time more together.

“I'm glad to know that it's something reciprocated”. The Mayan muttered, moving some inches until reaching your lips.

Tangling your legs with his and placing your hands on his head, you deepened the kiss, keeping the slow pace but welcoming his tongue inside your mouth. Every time you were this close, he had the same effect on you like the first time, bristling your skin and needing for more. You could assure that he was so in love with you, as you were with him. And you would like to shout it to the rooftops. But that wasn't an option. Not for the moment, at least.

“I know that… you can't call me”. You said caressing his neck with one of your hands, using your nails to made him some sweet tickles. “But… two weeks is too much. Maybe… I don't know… a text, to know that you're okay”.

“I will try, mi amor. I swear it”. He replied with a low tone of voice, accommodating his head on the pillow. “And when I come back, we will disappear for some days. We can go to the beach, if you want”.

“Sounds good, yeah”. You nodded assorted on the way of his lips moving, totally spellbound hearing his voice.

The man took back his hands to undone the clasp of the fine gold chain, with a small medal of the Virgen de Guadalupe. Silent, and very focused on his new task, he placed it around your neck. You knew how much he loved that necklace, being a gift from his mother who passed away some years ago. Giving it to you meant more than anyone could imagine, and you would swear you were about to cry if he hasn't kissed you again.

You have never been a believer, but you started to pray every night for him, to keep him safe and alive. It has been two long weeks, with a trip that started in Southern Cali to Stockton and Oakland, continuing to Portland. And after that, back to Santo Padre. One of the trips more dangerous of Mayans history, with a shipment of AK-47, even if they were accompanied by some SOA charters. But the day of their return has come and, with it, all your men. At least, you know it when you see through the front window of your car all the bikes parked there. The first you find is your father's. Next to it, Canche's.

Almost jumping out from your seat, you run like never before to the inside of the clubhouse. But the situation that welcomes you is chaotic. You open the door on time to watch Bishop tackling your boyfriend. A storm of hits and kicks is around everywhere, while the other Mayans stare at you almost frowning. You don't need to be a genius to know what is happening. Grabbing Ibarra's gun, being aware that no one is going to stop the fight, you point at the roof to fire it. The bullet impacting on it, calls everyone's attention. The two men on the floor are breathing violently, blood on their faces and angry gestures. Then, you point at them.

“The next one throwing a punch, juro por la Virgen that I'm gonna shot his brain off”.

The men separate from each other, standing up over their feet and shaking their clothes.

“How much time have you been together?” Your father asks, cleaning a brief red thread flowing from his bottom lip. His eyes are filled with rage.

“Why does it matter, dad?”

“Because I asked you for one last thing, and you shitted on it”.

“Do you think I made it on purpose? That I chose it?”

“You betrayed me. And you lied to me”.

“For God's sake… Ain't gonna talk about it in front of all these men”.

“We don't have anything else to talk about. You already took a decision”.

You just nod, one time. Stretching your arm to Ibarra, you give him back his gun.

“Doing the same shit that your mother did”.

His whisper doesn't go unnoticed to your ears, taking a step ahead when he's about to unlock himself inside the Templo.

“You pushed mom away, just like you are doing with me. If you are alone, if you are losing the only people who really love you, it's because of you, padre. Because of your jealousy, because of your inflexibility, because of your egocentrism complex”.

Bishop doesn't turn, but suddenly stops his heavy feet.

“(Y/N), don't talk to your father like that”. Canche says, frowning at you.

“Truth fucks you up, right?” You say raising your chin. “Love doesn't mean to hurt, dad. And sometimes I feel that you stab my chest. That you suffocate me. I feel alone the whole time, and you don't really know what it feels like, because I'm always by your side. But you weren't for me when I needed you the most. So don't blame me for choosing a man who cares about me, without asking anything back, over you”.

It has been the worst weeks of your life. You were sure that you were suddenly and inevitably falling into a dark depression, when you realized that you haven't gone out of Canche's house since you came. Mostly, you are tucked in his bed, grabbing the pillow as strongly as you can, wetting it with your tormented tears. A prospect was accompanying you all the time that your boyfriend was away from your side.

“How is the kid?”

Taza gets up from his chair, before Canche can leave the Templo. He turns around crossing his arms over his chest.

“Who asks?”

No one replies.

“She isn't happy, if you wanna know it”. His eyes are on Bishop's. “She cries most of the day. Hardly eats anything. And I can't remember how her laugh sounds”.

Your boyfriend is about to continue his steps, but he stops again.

“And I had to take her to the hospital some days ago, because she has a panic attack”.

“Maybe if you di—”.

“Don't you dare to add me in your equation, Bishop. This is your fault, not mine. I care about her. I love her. And I want to spend my life with her. I'm not trying to steal your daughter from you. I'm not asking her to leave you. I was even about to delegate my position as Presidente, and ask for a change of charter to be close to her. To come to Santo Padre, so she wouldn't have to leave her family”. His voice sounds firmly, blunt. “You are losing your daughter because of you, not because of me”.

Canche doesn't want to waste more time, having a road of one hour and a half to his house. The only thing he wants right now is come back, be with you, and try to comfort your pain somehow. So he doesn't notice that the crew follows him to the outside, in the meantime that he reaches his motorcycle.

His way back home feels like an eternity, parking in front of the porch, and almost jumping out from the top of it. The prospect is waiting close to the door, shrugging his shoulders to let him know that nothing has changed. You heard the door getting opened, turning your head over the pillow, watching him coming into the room. You would like to smile, as every time you see him, but it's like if your brain doesn't send the order to your lips. Lying down and embracing you over the mattress, filling your face with a bunch of kisses.

“I've missed you, mi vida”. He whispers onto your lips, before caressing them. “I took a day off, so I will be here with you the whole time”.

You can't help but sink your face under his chin, letting him hold you tightly. That's the only moment you feel somewhat better, knowing that he's not going to kick out your ass. Knowing that he loves you unconditionally.

“How was him?” You whisper.

“Fucked like you”. He just replies, kissing your head. “But I know that he's going to come today, you will see. I know it”.

He wasn't wrong. Actually, Canche is never wrong. You suddenly wake up because of the loud roar of an engine. It's coming closer, accentuating over others behind it. The bed is empty, and the room is almost in darkness. Rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, you get up from the mattress, guiding your steps to the living room as soon as you hear your boyfriend greeting your father. Sticking your head out the corner of the hallway, your eyes find him before anyone else there. He looks like shit. His beard is longer, scruffy. The two black marks under his eyes tell you that he hasn't slept much more than you.

Canche moves his head in silence, indicating the crew to leave the house, so you would have some intimacy and time alone. Bishop takes a step ahead, trying to reach you, trying to say something. But he can't. Doubting, he walks a little closer. Slowly. Hoping that you don't turn him down. Raising a hand towards your left, he holds it to push you into his arms. Surrounding your body, he hugs you with that kind of love and warmth that only your father can transmit you. All the sadness and the pain has gone. The fear of losing him, inside your chest, isn't oppressing it anymore.

“I'm sorry”. He says in a whisper, tightening his grip around you.

“Me too…”

“You don't have to, because you were right. This is my fault, mi princesa”.

He pulls himself away from you, enough to find your reddened eyes, about to cry again.

“I know you have to leave the nest, but I'm not ready. And I will never be. But if you have to do it, I'm good knowing that Canche is by your side”.

Leaning, your father kisses your forehead, pressing his lips on it for some long seconds.

“Just let me take care of you tonight, please”.

You just nod in silence. You couldn't say ‘no’. You need him, you didn't know it could be this hard to live without him. It's not the same when he's on a trip, than when he's just away from you. Closing your arms around him, you hide your face on his chest, like you used to do when you were a child waking up from a nightmare.

“I will always love you, pa'. No matter who else is in my life. I will always love you more than anyone”.

“I know, princesa. I do. And I will always do it”.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #canche x reader #canche #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa

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alecmagnuslwb · 4 years

Text

Isn’t It Demonic

(There’s a bit at the end of this all for @izzymalec who gave me an interesting fic idea that sadly I couldn’t make into a whole fic, but I wanted to give a shout out to it. Without further ado, enjoy Demon Alec and Ghost Warlock Magnus.)

Read on AO3

“You son of a bitch!”

Alexander stands at the edge of the house just inside the door, rage and fire burning through his veins. The warlock who’d summoned him stands outside a smug grin on his face.

“Did you really think I would be stupid enough to not recognize the wording you used in our deal,” Lorenzo says standing there with a pompous attitude he’s nowhere near earned. Alexander is good at what he does, he’d very carefully worded their deal, a series of hard to find ingredients for freedom on earth, no time windows, an open-ended stay. In hindsight now he’s realizing he technically left an opening; an opening that sadly this prick has taken full advantage of. It’s still a broken deal though, free reign this isn’t. “You wanted free and free you are.”

“Maybe you caught on to my slip up, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart. You still broke a deal with a demon, I said free reign, not just free,” Alexander snarls. “This isn’t free, this is a trap, you violated the deal. I’ll come for you.”

“Good luck with that,” Lorenzo says straightening his jacket and slipping away with a smug grin unbothered. The door to the house he’s stuck in slams shut and Alexander seethes. He’s not sure how long he stands there kicking at the door and yelling, but he knows no one is going to hear him. The little bastard isn’t that powerful definitely not powerful enough to kill him, but evidently he’s powerful enough to bind a house and Alexander’s powers and he’s done it well.

It’s going to take some time and some work to get out of here and kill Lorenzo. Luckily Alexander has all the time in the world.

Alexander turns around stalking through the house and into the library. There’s dust everywhere, he doesn’t know who this house belonged to, but they had taste. Clearly it was never actually Lorenzo’s place.

He finds a dusty old drink cart and picks up a well-aged whiskey drinking directly from the bottle. He goes over to the wall of books picking ones off the shelf and tossing the ones that don’t interest him over his shoulder.

“Could you not do that,” a voice says from behind him. “I’m no neat freak and I’ve been known to toss around a book or two, but I do hate to see quality first editions thrown about.”

Alexander turns around and there in a deep red sitting chair is probably the most attractive man he’s seen in his many centuries of existence. The man is sat lazily across the chair like a lounging cat, a very attractive lounging cat. His lean, chiseled chest and arms are a vision in a black button up mesh shirt with a floral pattern, his strong legs in a pair of well-tailored navy pants send Alexander’s eyes trailing up and down his form.

He’s not shy about his interest and the man clearly isn’t either as he gives Alexander’s all black suit ensemble an appreciative up and down glance as well.

Alexander is so thrown by the man’s appearance that it takes him a full minute to realize he doesn’t know who he is or how he’s here.

“Who are you?” he says with a teasing smirk before turning to put the book in his hand back on the shelf properly.

“I should be asking you that question,” the man says suddenly right by Alexander’s side. He didn’t even hear him move. “You are in my house.”

Alexander hums in understanding eyeing the man up and down once again now that he’s standing, he’s only a bit shorter than Alexander and up close he can now admire the sharp line of his dark eyeliner and the deep blue streak at the front of his dark hair. He looks around the room next, the style matching.

“That makes sense,” he says stepping closer, but not quite touching the other man. “Lorenzo must be a pretty good friend if you’re willing to have a demon roommate.”

The man makes a disgusted face, his brown eyes switching to bright yellow cat eyes that glow with anger. He’s a warlock too.

“Never call Lorenzo Rey my friend,” he says stepping away from Alexander. The suspenders dangling from his waist move tantalizingly as he goes and Alexander has to hold in a growl at the view. He may be a demon, but he also likes to be a bit of gentlemen which is the only thing that keeps him from grabbing the suspenders and pulling the man close.

“The bastard did kill me after all,” the man says with unbridled rage. He bends down, Alexander appreciating the view for a moment despite his surprise at the man’s words, and attempts to pick up the book on the floor. His hand goes right through it.

Alexander sits his drink aside and bends down beside him picking up the book. He reaches over the man sitting it on the table beside the chair.

“I’m Alexander,” he says holding out his hand.

The man looks at it skeptically.

“You know I’ll just go right through that right?” he says gesturing at Alexander’s offered hand. “Plus, I wasn’t born yesterday, never shake a demon’s hand you never know what deal they’re cooking up in their heads.”

Alexander smirks drawing his hand back. He had no ulterior motives, this time, other than to hope that maybe a ghost of a warlock and a demon can touch.

“Smart and beautiful, huh,” he says standing to his full height. The man joins him an imperceptible bit of flustering in his cheeks that he recovers from quickly.

“I’m Magnus Bane,” he says walking with grace back over to the chair and draping himself across it once again. “And the only thing I can touch is furniture.”

Alexander unbuttons his jacket and takes a seat in the opposing chair.

“Nice to meet you Magnus Bane,” he says grabbing for his bottle again. “So, you hate Lorenzo too?”

Magnus snorts at that. “Hate is an understatement; he was a thorn in my side for centuries and then when he couldn’t win over enough people to take my High Warlock post he killed me, which for the record had he not caught me off guard by weaseling into my home after I’d been on a night out drunk off my ass and stabbed me in the neck from behind he would have never pulled it off. Then he trapped me in my home with no magic and no way out.”

Alexander tosses the last of the whiskey in the bottle back.

“Well he just trapped me here,” Alexander says crossing his legs.

“You aren’t the first,” Magnus says running a hand through his hair. It draws Alexander’s attention to his biceps. “He’s used my home for this before, you must be stronger than the others though because he just killed them to get out of his deals.”

“I am,” Alexander says with bravado, the bravado that he uses to intimidate, but not to scare, a bravado that clearly doesn’t intimidate Magnus if the way he rolls his eyes are anything to go by. Alexander likes that he’s not intimidated, it’s different from everyone else’s reactions. “I’ve worked very hard to make sure warlocks think me a lower level demon without a face, not a demon somewhere in the middle with this killer physique.” He finishes gesturing to his body; his eyes slip to their natural black seductively.

“And yet you’re still trapped here,” Magnus says with a sardonic smile and Alexander can’t help but grin in response.

They talk for a little while longer. Trading basic information about the house and how they got here. As far as the outside world is concerned Magnus died in a horrible potion gone wrong accident nearly two years ago, the once vibrant potion room still blown to smithereens.

Where Lorenzo lacks in technical skill or raw power he makes up for with dirty tricks, leaving no trace of anything for anyone to find. Even Magnus’ closest friends who’d worked hard to poke holes in the story couldn’t find a single thing to question about his death.

“As far as I can tell only demons can see me, Lorenzo only figured out I was still lingering because the first demon he trapped here had a big mouth,” he explains wandering in circles around the room passing through the walls occasionally. “He worked up a spell to bind my spirit hear just in case after that.”

Alexander tests his powers coming up with almost nothing at every snap of his fingers, it’s a far too damn good binding. Lorenzo had to have had some help, there’s no way someone with a ponytail that slimy could do this by himself. When Alexander poses the theory Magnus is already ahead of him with a list of possible accomplices.

“He’s built up enough dirt to blackmail plenty of people over the years, but those three are the prime suspects, the weakest in backbone, but strongest in power,” Magnus says.

Night turns into day and into night again as they talk, neither the ghost nor the demon requiring sleep. It’s after all those hours that Alexander feels it’s time to pose a deal.

“Make a deal with me,” he says and he can see the no on Magnus’ lips already. He continues quickly before Magnus can fight it. “I’m sure I can muster up enough power to seal a deal, make you corporeal again and grant you access to your magic, all you’ll have to do for me is get me out of here in exchange.”

Magnus looks like he’s considering it for a moment, like the prospect of having his magic again is enough to make him say yes.

“Not a chance,” he says, putting his hands on his hips and for the first time in hours not pacing. “There’s always a catch when you deal with a demon. Especially one as pretty as you.”

Alexander smiles, a real smile at the pretty comment, but doesn’t love the rest of what he said.

“There’s no catch,” he says as genuinely as he knows how to sound. Magnus doesn’t buy it though.

“Bullshit, there’s always a catch,” he says and with that he’s out the door, or through it more so off to some other part of the house.

Alexander lets out a frustrated groan, pushing his hands through his hair.

***

Alexander determines quickly that pushing the deal idea will only make Magnus more opposed to it, so he steps back. If Magnus is hesitant to help him well he’s just going to have to bide his time.

He doesn’t mention getting out of the house or Lorenzo at all, instead he just asks about Magnus. It starts as a game, a game to get Magnus to go along with his plan, but quickly he finds himself interested in who Magnus is not just how he looks and how he could help him.

He tells Magnus about himself in return, about his style of being a demon, how he’s called on more often by bad people than good and he happily takes their souls. How he’s kinder to the kids who stumble on things and call upon him for vengeance or something of the sort. He’s not trying to soften himself to Magnus necessarily, but he’s trying to show him how he deals, how Magnus lands on the side of good and he wouldn’t screw him over.

“What are you playing at?” Magnus asks him late one evening when Alexander starts off the night trading off stories of deals gone wrong. Magnus doesn’t flinch when he tells a story about a mundane that asked for a pet hellhound that ultimately ate him, so Alexander pushes and asks for a little more than just the surface Magnus and gets a few stories in return. Stories about how he grew up, about some of his wilder adventures in the 50’s and 60’s, even one about the 1480’s which Alexander is fairly certain isn’t true.

“I’m not playing at anything,” he says meaning it, he’s really not anymore. Or if he is it’s on the backburner of his mind. “Well, I do play piano though.” He says swerving the subject and gesturing to the piano at the corner of the library, he’s explored a bit, but in the two weeks he’s been stuck here he’s rarely left this room.

He walks over to the piano and sits down playing his fingers over the keys.

“Do you play?” he asks as he plays out a quick short melody.

Magnus joins him sliding over to sit on top of the piano and lay across it on his side. He leans over between where Alexander’s hands are and goes right through the keys. Alexander’s hands move in closer to Magnus’ and he quickly jumps his hand back. He keeps doing that, never letting Alexander get close to even see if they could touch, like he’s scared what it would mean if they could.

“Nope, not even when I could touch the keys,” he explains. “A friend of mine does, I bought it for him when he was staying here for a while.”

“A good friend?” Alexander asks playing another soft melody. He’s a little jealous at the mention of a man who lived here, he’s figured out Magnus is bisexual by now so there could be an implication there. It’s ridiculous even if they were more than a friend it’s not like Alexander has any right to be jealous of an ex, he’s not exactly a blushing virgin demon himself or that he and Magnus are anything more than unwilling, ridiculously good looking roommates.

“More like a brother,” he says and Alexander feels a little relieved. “Or a son I guess considering how young he was when he was turned.”

Alexander raises an eyebrow in question.

“Vampire,” Magnus explains. “He struggled a bit with the change and I took him in.” He sounds sad thinking about the people he’s left behind, Alexander has a feeling this vampire he’s talking about is one of the friends that fought to question if Magnus was really dead.

Alexander nods in understanding, he’s always been a fan of vampires, they’re smart enough to never coming calling on the likes of him for favors.

He goes back to playing, a melody he only barely knows from at least four centuries ago the last time he spent longer than a few short days on earth. This time is far more enjoyable though, that had been a few days of watching the mayhem mundanes caused without any divine intervention, this has been an admittedly frustrating time of being trapped, but being trapped with a man who intrigues him to no end.

***

Weeks pass and Lorenzo never dares show his face in the house again. He makes do though, spending time with Magnus, reading some of his favorite books both in the quiet alone and occasionally aloud just to see Magnus smile.

Despite contrary belief, demons do feel emotion, not easily and not often, but they do feel. Alexander has a fondness for another demon he thinks of as a sister, he’s cared for lovers in the past even if he’s never truly fallen for them, but Magnus Bane makes him feel even more.

Demon’s fall in love rarely, but when they do they fall hard. Their names get echoed in whispers forever about the things they gave up for mere love. The more time he spends with Magnus the more he thinks he’s going end up being one of those whispered names.

Magnus is tough to get a read on sometimes though, he’s open as a book with no binding one moment and then locked as tight as a safe that no one knows the combination to the next. Alexander understands it though, end of the day he’s a demon and getting close to a demon is always to be done with caution.

It doesn’t stop Alexander from flirting to his heart’s content and hoping that his more genuine side shines through.

He spends the time he’s not wooing Magnus wandering through the house, he never goes anywhere Magnus asks him not to, respecting his privacy, but he searches around nonetheless. He even cleans, getting the two years worth of dust off of every surface.

Today he finds himself in the basement, a large empty space it seems aside from the big freezer off to left. He sighs, running his hands along the freezer before lifting it open.

His eyes go wide when he looks inside, there nestled between a few bags of ice is Magnus, or Magnus’ body at least, eyes closed, the hole in his neck from where Lorenzo stabbed him unmissable.

“Holy shit,” he says staring down.

“Such a cliché right?” Magnus says suddenly appearing over his shoulder. “Murdered and tossed in a freezer.”

“This fucker is a regular Hannibal Lector, huh?” Alexander says looking at Magnus now, not his frozen body.

Magnus chuckles. “Blissfully, he’s never cooked any part of me,” he says with a smile.

“Why’d he keep your body?” Alexander asks cocking his hip and leaning against the freezer.

Magnus shrugs mirroring Alexander’s position.

“Not sure, at first I thought he was going to use my blood for some ritual or something, it’s not every day you get your hands on the blood of the son of a greater demon,” he pauses eyeing Alexander like he’s trying to gauge his reaction about the casual reveal. Alexander’s a demon himself, he’s not about to judge. “But instead he just keeps me down here instead of getting rid of the evidence, he doesn’t even bother with glamouring the freezer anymore.”

Magnus stares down at his frozen form longingly. Alexander could probably muster up the power to get rid of it if Magnus asked him to, but he also knows that if they ever plan to get their revenge on Lorenzo having Magnus’ body still here could be an advantage.

There’s also the completely selfish reasoning that if Magnus’ body still exists Alexander could possibly touch him one day.

He shuts the freezer tightly, careful of Magnus’ fingers even though he wouldn’t even feel a pinch if they landed on him and slides down to sit on the floor his back against it. Magnus joins him keeping a good distance between them, but not nearly as much as he usually does.

They sit quietly for a while just sharing space.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Alexander says after a while. He’s genuine and he can tell from the look in Magnus’ eye that he recognizes that now.

Magnus isn’t a perfect person, there’s a darkness in him, in his past, but he’s good down in his core. Far too good to end up dead and stuffed in freezer, trapped as a ghost in his own home spending his days with a demon.

“You’re awfully nice for a demon, Alexander,” Magnus says tilting his head back against the freezer and then towards Alexander.

Alexander huffs. “I wouldn’t exactly call me nice.”

Magnus shakes his head. “You are,” he says lifting his hand like he wants to reach out but can’t. Which technically he can’t Alexander guesses. “You try to hide it, but you’re not one of those demons who just kills indiscriminately. You’ve said it yourself you take deals with bad people and take everything you can, you take deals with good people and go a little easy. You may be a demon, but there’s a good heart in there.”

Alexander doesn’t know what to say to that, he’s always considered himself a demon with a conscious at best, not one with a heart, so he just lays a hand on top of Magnus’ that sits on the cold floor in thanks. Magnus’ hand flickers for a moment almost like it wants to be solid, a brief rush of warmth passing through them both before Alexander’s hand hits the cold floor.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says knowing from the surprise on Magnus’ face he felt that too.

Magnus meets his eyes, the yellow cat ones always present now, and a smile pulls at his lips just barely concealing his amusement at the unintended pun.

***

They don’t really talk about the moment in the basement. The physics or magic behind how it could feel almost like touch between them probably isn’t recorded anywhere anyway, it’s not like demons and ghosts of warlocks historically spend a lot of time together.

They’re probably the first duo of their kind in history.

But it is like a silent agreement has been made, a barrier has been broken. Magnus doesn’t shy away anymore or disappear for hours on end without a word, he talks a little more, telling stories that don’t feel like they’re made up and Alexander does the same in return.

They get each other, and it’s clear that not many have ever gone out of their way to get who Magnus is, Alexander wants to find them all and curse them. A plan that he knows Magnus wouldn’t judge him for, he’s a demon there’s no getting around that he’s done diabolical things and he likely will again, but Magnus seems to understand him. To understand his motivations and the fact that he’s not all bad, he’s more gray than anything else.

He warms up a little more to Alexander once he understands how he operates, especially when he tells him he loves to give counteroffers to people who are the targets of other vicious dealers.

“Just because I’m designed to be wicked, doesn’t mean I think other people should be allowed to be,” he says one night lying on the floor, Magnus draped across a nearby couch.

“Kind of like the way they say Lucifer doesn’t make man evil, he just punishes the ones who do it,” Magnus says in thought and Alexander smiles a real smile, because he gets it.

Through it all he almost forgets about the fact that he’s trapped, that they’re both still looking for revenge until Magnus brings it up again one day.

Alexander steps out of the bathroom attached to Magnus’ bedroom, a room he’s now been granted access to. The water still runs, and even though he doesn’t necessarily need to he loves a good shower from time to time in the same way he loves a good nap even if it’s not needed either.

He steps out his hair still wet wearing the same pants he’s been wearing since he got stuck here and a dark red shirt with a gold embroidered collar that is actually Magnus’, a little big in the arms he rolls up the too short sleeves when he spots Magnus lying flat on the bed one leg bent up.

His eyes trail down his form, aside from the few pictures he’s been shown and seen around the house, he’s only ever seen Magnus in this one outfit and damn is it a good outfit. The lines of his abs are visible underneath his sheer shirt and Alexander loves to soak up the image.

Magnus lifts up when he notices Alexander standing there moving to sit cross legged with a smile.

“You never asked?” he says out of nowhere no context provided.

“Asked?” Alexander questions moving to sit next to him on the bed.

“About my father, I said the whole blood of a greater demon’s son thing and you just never asked,” Magnus explains.

Alexander shrugs. “To be frank, I don’t give a fuck who your father is, I give fuck who you are,” he says letting that emotion he feels more and more of these days slip through. It’s probably doomed to fall in love with a ghost, but he’s gone and done it anyways. “Plus, honestly most greater demons are assholes.”

He says the second part as a joke, but Magnus doesn’t laugh. He just looks at Alexander stunned and if he’s reading him right grateful.

“Asmodeus,” he whispers and Alexander purses his lips in thought.

“Yup, absolute asshole,” he says with a smirk.

Magnus laughs finally, the laugh that Alexander was hoping to get out of him.

“So you’ve met then,” he says still laughing.

Alexander shakes his head, they’re from different hell dimensions so they don’t exactly run into each other at bars.

“Sort of, only in passing once about three centuries ago when I got into a bit of a scuffle with one of Lilith’s lackeys, and I wasn’t impressed,” he says. “I’m far more impressed with his son.” He adds with a smile reaching out and running his hand along Magnus’ jaw. The same thing that happened in the basement happens, a moment of solid warmth that’s almost real before his hand falls through and back to his own side.

Magnus stares at his fallen hand his face twisted in thought before he lifts his eyes back up.

“What exactly would your terms for a deal be?” Magnus asks and it throws Alexander for a second. He’s barely thought about the idea of a deal between them in months. “Could you really make me corporeal and put my magic back?”

“Well, when I first posed it I’ll admit the second part was a theory, your magical essence lives in your body not your spirit,” he explains. “But, that was before I knew your body was still here, it’s even easier, I just put you back where you belong.”

“You mean like raise me from the dead?” Magnus says skeptically. It’s good he’s skeptic, necromancy is no joke for anyone.

“Not exactly, I don’t fuck with necromancy it always goes bad in the end. But your body and your spirit could reconnect, as could your magic,” he explains, he’s done it once before, so long ago he barely remembers. A deal made for a young warlock who’d lost her adoptive warlock mother. As far as he knows they’re still happy and alive-ish.

“And since he only bound my spirit in these walls, put it back in my body and he can’t hold me or my magic here anymore,” he says, then pauses. “Is it permanent?”

“It can be,” Alexander nods, hoping Magnus wants it to be. He deserves to be as alive as he can be for as long as possible. “It’s not exactly like being a vampire or a zombie, but somewhere in between. You’d essentially be like me, blood in your veins, heartbeat in your chest but no need to live by the rules of any downworlder or mundane anymore. Your immortality will return, but let’s just say it’ll take a lot more than a sneak attack to kill you. Food, sleep, all these things become optional.”

Magnus considers him for a moment scrunching up his face adorably in deep thought.

“What would you need in return?”

“Nothing,” Alexander says. It’s completely unconventional, but it’s true. Revenge against Lorenzo is still important, but Magnus has become far more important.

“Nope,” Magnus says and Alexander goes to defend himself. Magnus cuts him off a finger hovering above his lips. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I do, but a deal needs to be just that a deal.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, but concedes.

“Fine, dinner, you and me, one dinner, one date, no requirements except I’m buying,” he says with a wicked little smile.

“Just dinner?”

“Yup,” he says popping the p and licking his lips. He’d also like a few things after dinner, he’s spent many a night thinking about getting his hands under that sheer shirt and into those tight pants, but he’s confident enough to believe those things can be given freely and willingly whenever Magnus is ready.

“Okay, then we have a deal,” Magnus says after a few long moments of silence and consideration. He holds out a hand and Alexander takes it best he can, the almost touch must be enough, because Alexander feels the ties that bind a demon’s deal lock into place.

He stands from the bed gesturing for Magnus to follow and goes to the basement swinging open the freezer. Magnus looks down at his frozen form and gulps.

“Ready?” Alexander asks summoning all his accessible power to one point. He hasn’t used a bit of his available power this entire time, saving it for a moment like this. Magnus nods gripping the edge of the freezer. Alexander wishes he could hold his hand. He snaps and Magnus’ spirit disappears, for a deafening few second he’s worried it didn’t work until slowly the color returns to Magnus’ face the ice on his eyelashes and fingertips melting away and the gaping hole in his neck healing back together.

Magnus sits up gasping in a deep breath of air that he no longer technically requires.

Alexander reaches out placing a hand on Magnus’ jaw, there’s no flickering, just solid, freezing cold skin beneath his hand. He runs his hand down to where the neck wound had been, now just a slightly raised white scar against tan skin.

“I’m fucking freezing,” Magnus says reaching up a hand to grip Alexander’s. He laughs pulling back and holding out his hands for Magnus to take. He helps him out of the freezer. Magnus shivers as Alexander closes the freezer tight before pulling Magnus into a hug. They stay there for a long time just holding onto one another, reveling in the touch before Magnus declares he absolutely needs to change his clothes.

“I love this outfit, and clearly you do to,” he says with a shivering smirk. “But I’ve been wearing it every day for two years and I’m over it.”

He snaps his fingers tentatively, uncertainty in his eyes at the prospect of his magic working again, and the outfit Alexander has enjoyed the view of for months now disappears replaced with a whole new equally as stunning ensemble.

He looks down at himself with an unbelievable smile that turns into a wicked smirk on his lips that Alexander wants to kiss when he meets his eyes.

“So, revenge or dinner first?” he asks cheekily.

It takes everything in Alexander not to say dinner first.

***

Watching Magnus work his magic is more mesmerizing than Alexander could have ever imagined it to be.

His arms move swiftly, an entrancing spell of their own and Latin spills from his lips easily, the dep lilting tone of his voice executing each word more perfectly than the demons who invented the language eons ago.

Two years of not a single spell and it’s like it’s only been a few days since he last casted. Magnus eyes are alight with power, his strong shoulders carrying the weight of it all beautifully and with total grace. Alexander watches in awe as Magnus works his way into the walls breaking down the binds that hold Alexander here and limit his power.

A wave of blue magic spirals over the walls of the house and then cascades across Alexander’s skin. The burn against his skin soothes instantly, like Magnus’ magic is healing him even as it burns.

Magnus staggers a bit for a moment after he’s done and Alexander is instantly at his side. He rights himself quickly, his body clearly still acclimating to all being united once again.

“You okay?”

Magnus smiles at him and holds out a hand, “Better than ever. Shall we?”

Alexander takes his hand, now all warm to the touch with magic and blood flowing through him once again. Alexander gives a wicked smirk as he feels his own power flow through him and he snaps his fingers.

***

On the other side of his snap they land in Lorenzo Rey’s living room. His house is more like a castle and it’s hideous, Alexander is not surprised.

They don’t have an exact plan, per se, but they’ve agreed that he deserves a long game of torture, a miserable life trapped as something humiliating, not an easy death.

Lorenzo must feel the disturbance in his wards, he immediately rushes in hands glowing with balls of yellow magic. Magnus and Alec just roll their eyes, he’s no match for the two of them at full power.

“How the hell are you two here?” he says throwing a ball of magic at each of them. Alexander reaches out in front of Magnus and himself and catches the two balls easily in his hands. He shoots them back at Lorenzo’s feet causing him to yelp and jump back.

Magnus smiles and steps forward binding Lorenzo’s hands and feet in burning ropes. He tips over no longer able to keep himself standing. Magnus and Alexander walk over to where he struggles against his burning bonds, each of them standing on one side of Lorenzo.

Magnus twists his hand the ropes getting tighter.

“You really should have gotten rid of my body,” Magnus says crouching down. Alexander joins him.

“And you should have gotten some friends together to kill me,” he says with a no doubt evil smile. It’s a reminder that they still need to figure out who was helping him, he adds it to his mental checklist somewhere after this revenge show, dinner with Magnus and if he’s lucky some other fun with Magnus. “Not that you have any friends.” He adds, a little sharp burn just for fun.

“You can’t kill me, you kill me and the warlocks won’t ever let you have your position back,” Lorenzo spits out.

“Laws don’t apply to me, I can still kill you,” Alexander says gripping Lorenzo’s jaw in a painful hold. His eyes slip into their natural black from the hazel they often sport and he outright growls in anger. Fear lights up Lorenzo’s face.

“Alexander,” Magnus says softly reaching out to circle his wrist. He loosens his grip on Lorenzo and sighs.

“You’re right,” Magnus says diverting his attention to Lorenzo. He tightens the ropes once more just a little, tears forming in the corner of Lorenzo’s eyes. “I can’t kill you, at least not directly, but that’s okay, because I know for a fact that despite your murderous powerplay, Catarina still got the votes for High Warlock and I think she’s better suited for the job than anyone.”

“So no,” Magnus says going to his full height. “You won’t die today, not even by Alexander’s hand. Even though he doesn’t have some of the qualms I do about it,” he pauses smiling at Alexander who’s still crouched on the ground. He lifts a hand floating Lorenzo upright. “But you do have to pay, and I don’t think anyone warlock or otherwise is going to disagree with that.”

Magnus snaps his fingers again and Lorenzo screams. His body convulses, the scales he must hide behind a glamour showing through and then he drops to the ground. His bonds fall the burning ropes settling around a small ugly looking little lizard on the floor.

Alexander stands.

“Hm, he doesn’t look all that different,” Alexander muses eyeing the lizard on the floor. He tries to scurry away and Alexander steps out a foot catching him by the tail. Lizard Lorenzo shrivels back in pain.

Magnus chuckles and waves his hands a cage appearing before him. Magnus picks Lorenzo up and tosses him in unceremoniously, sealing the lid with a small gap for air. He waves his hand again sending Lorenzo off to the basement of his house, right on top of the freezer where he left Magnus’ body all this time.

“So, dinner?” he says stepping back over to Alexander and slipping an arm around his waist.

“Don’t you want to do a dramatic, I’m alive again reveal to your friends?” Alexander asks, knowing Magnus loves a thrill of dramatics every now and then.

“Sort of alive again,” Magnus corrects. Alexander waves the correction away, semantics. “And while I do love the idea, I want to seal this deal first.”

Magnus moves so he’s standing in front of Alexander. Alexander is back in his all black suit and Magnus reaches out fixing the collar of his jacket. He stays put cat eyes looking up directly into Alexander’s still black pools.

Alexander takes the silent invitation and leans in. Their lips meet and Alexander feels like he’s on fire in the best possible way, and he would know he’s been on fire literally before. Their lips and tongues do a dance that feels practiced like they’ve been doing this for centuries not just kissing for the first time. It’s crazy to realize this is only the fourth maybe fifth time they’ve even fully touched.

He’s not sure how long it takes for them to pull back but Magnus’ cat eyes are dilated and he’s sure if he went back to his own hazel ones they’d look much the same.

“Maybe we should skip dinner,” Magnus breathes leaning in to peck Alexander on the lips on more time.

Alexander shakes his head and even though it pains him to say his next words he does.

“Nope dinner first, a deal’s a deal,” he says with a smirk.

***

Six Months Later

Despite the deal being a mess Alexander’s deal with Lorenzo is still technically in place. Alexander does have free reign to stay on earth and stay he does. Dinner with Magnus is great, just being outside of the house is a freeing thing for both of them, but ironically they can’t wait to go back.

He ravishes Magnus’ body that night surrounded by deep red silk sheets and resolves to never sleep anywhere else. Not that either of them have to sleep anymore, it’s just nice to indulge in the act every now and then.

Magnus reveals his rebirth to his friends in particularly dramatic fashion, Alexander’s fairly certain that if a vampire had a still beating heart Raphael’s would have stopped dead in the moment. They welcome him back easily and welcome Alexander in a little more hesitantly.

He gets it, he still is a demon. He still makes deals and collects favors and souls from wicked people along the way there’s good reason to be wary.

They eventually warm up to him though, if for no other reason than the way Magnus looks at him.

They get to work on finding the warlock that helped Lorenzo. Ragnor turns out to be the one with the best lead. They don’t give Malcolm Fade the same fate as Lorenzo though, Lorenzo who last Alexander checked had been turned into a rat for a change Magnus torturing him a bit with a wheel and a treat on a stick he couldn’t reach. A good threat from a demon and a powerful warlock is more than enough to put Malcolm in his place.

Touching Magnus, being able to feel him, not just hear him and see him is like a revolution. Alexander just can’t get enough, life as a demon has left him touch starved and he craves Magnus like a plant craves the sun.

“Morning,” Alexander grumbles reaching out across the sheets. Magnus is already alert sitting up in bed with a book in his hand. Alexander’s fairly certain he didn’t sleep at all.

“Good morning, love,” Magnus says running a hand through Alexander’s messy black hair. He sits up settling next to Magnus and resting his head on his shoulder.

“I had a weird dream,” Alexander says once he’s settled in comfortably. He doesn’t sleep often and he dreams even more rarely, but the more time he spends on earth the more dreams come. “You were a cyborg and I was a merman and we fell in love, but because you couldn’t get wet without malfunctioning we had to find a way to make it work, so we could be together.”

Magnus makes a face and twists away a bit, he grabs Alexander’s chin lightly and examines him. Alexander drops the hazel eyes and goes to full black and Magnus’ breath hitches just a bit, but always one to tease right back he drops his own glamour cat eyes shining with mirth.

“Because being a demon with a conscious and a ghost warlock, turned into an undead warlock isn’t a weird enough love story,” Magnus says, he leans in kissing Alexander once quickly before letting go of his chin. “No more late-night b-movies for you.”

“But I love them,” Alexander grumbles putting on his best big black puppy dog eyes, literally rolling the hazel ones he sports for the world away.

Magnus just rolls his eyes before tossing his book to the side and maneuvering himself so he’s sat on Alexander’s lap. His legs bracket his hips and he leans in pressing his forehead to Alexander’s.

“I love you,” he says bringing his arms up around Alexander’s neck.

“I love you too,” Alexander says, a feeling he never thought he’d feel like this. He pulls Magnus closer, locking their bodies tight together, forever.

#my fic #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male Uruk-hai x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's another Orctober (!) prompt, of which my lovely, patient Elves over on Patreon had a brief preview a while ago, and my Pixies and Goblins have had access to for a little while. The prompt was 'injured', and this one got so long that it practically grew legs and ran away with me...

Hope you enjoy!

Content: gender-neutral reader, belligerent, tough-as-nails Uruk-hai warriors, one seriously injured mountain of muscle, some violence (not lasting) towards the reader, one loyal centaur bestie, and some sexy times Wordcount: 9769

___

At the clamour of two opposing orcish war-bands sweeping through the countryside to the north of your village, the sounds of the skirmish carried on the wind, people went scuttling for the shelter of their cellars. The orcs and Uruks in the area didn’t tend to bother your remote little community because they knew you had little to offer, but still, being caught in the crossfire was a frighteningly real possibility.

Although it was better to gather plants in the morning, when they were still hydrated and fresh, you had been out in the meadow in the late afternoon light, gathering chamomile both for tea and for (separate) use in medicinal poultices when the first orcs had climbed the ridge on the outskirts of town and your heart had stopped beating. Instantly, you dropped into the long grass, crouching low and holding your breath. As they spilled down the steep incline towards the curving, shallow river, you saw with plunging horror that their skin was not the green of the orcs who lived in relative peace at the nearby stronghold, but the dark, bruised looking, purplish-brown of Uruk-hai. This was a true war band then, and they roared down the hill like a tide of locusts, their hooked scythe-blades held high, their harsh, rough voices yelling in their own language.

You prayed in silent whispers to every deity you’d ever even remotely heard of and hunkered down as low as you could get like a leveret in long grass.

The first group that thundered past were few in number, bloodied and battered. They were the clear losers of the fight; driven to fleeing by the stronger horde following on behind. As you hunkered down in the sussurating grasses, heart in your mouth, praying that none of them would see you as they thundered on towards the trees to the north west of the village, you saw the second band clear the ridge, and almost passed out with fear.

Numbering easily twenty five in strength, they raged on, relentless, yelling and snarling. They caught up with a straggler who had been hobbling desperately on a nastily wounded leg, and simply cut him down, hamstringing him and moving on in an inexorable tide of muscle and leather, white and blue war paint, blood and steel.

You stayed still in the fallow pasture for a long time, letting the sounds of pursuit fade into the woods before you stood shakily and looked around. The meadow had been trampled in a wide swathe at their passing, their black blood staining it in places. The corpse of the one who had not made it just lay there like a felled tree, cooling in the late afternoon sun.

Your eyes drifted away from the sight of the corpse towards the woods, and your heart leapt into your mouth when you saw a figure at the very edge of the trees, leaning against the thick trunk of an ash tree. He was one of the largest Uruks that you’d ever seen, larger by far than any of the passing horde, but as you stared at him, you saw him sway and then stagger off into the shadows of the forest, clutching at his middle and limping badly.

He was wounded, and severely.

As the village’s healer, you felt the instinctive tug to help him, to ease his pain, but this wasn’t just another member of your community in need of aid - this was a violent, vicious Uruk-hai. They were best left well alone unless you wanted to risk being captured and taken as a human slave to one of their awful camps, or passed around for their pleasure. You shuddered at the thought and looked away from the gap in the trees where he had been.

Turning your back on the meadow, you picked up your basket in trembling fingers and walked back to your simple cottage on the outskirts of the collection of brick and wooden houses. People were beginning to emerge again now that the immediate danger had passed, and you looked up to see a familiar bay centaur trotting quickly towards you with a mix of worry and relief on his handsome face.

“Gil,” you smiled, pausing and waiting for him to catch up to you. “You alright?”

“Are you?” he asked, his dark eyes wide. “Fuck, I was so worried about you. I saw you going out into the meadow earlier, and then when I saw all those Uruks pouring down the hill and into the woods… I thought for sure you’d have been cut down or trampled, or… or…” his lip trembled and he surged forwards and threw his arms around you, picking you up and hugging you so tightly that your ribs creaked. “I thought they might have taken you…”

“I’m fine,” you wheezed with your face pressed against his softly-rumpled linen shirt. “Gil, put me down… I can’t breathe…”

Apologising, he set you back down and stepped back, his large hooves clopping on the cobbles of the village street, his one white sock dancing in the daylight.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “You want to come back for a cup of tea?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to go and help Martha with the waterwheel. A big old branch has got jammed in the mechanism and she needs me to help haul it free. I’ll stop by later though?”

You nodded and he smiled once before trotting off to help the miller. Gil was a good soul, and you’d known him all your life. He’d asked you out back when the pair of you had been about sixteen, but it hadn’t lasted long, and you’d mutually fallen back into a deeply affectionate friendship after only a few months.

Alone in your cottage, preparing the chamomile flowers for drying, you focused on the task in hand, fingers delicately pinching the stems off, but the figure in the trees kept haunting you like some kind of malevolent spirit, its purpose unfulfilled. Over and over, you replayed that moment when he’d gone from staring directly at you to lurching out of sight between the trees. Would he be dead by now? Would he have bled out? Would some other Uruk have found him and gutted him? Would the rival band have captured him and dragged him away to do dreadful things to him?

You’d heard the jongleurs’ tales of Uruks who butchered their enemies and displayed them as grisly decoration on their spiked palisade walls while they died in agony, pinned like living specimens in a necromancer’s collection for their last few hours… Fighting off a wave of nausea, you gritted your teeth and snatched up your healer’s bag which contained bandages, dressings, salves, ointments for cleaning, and needle and silk for stitching. Taking a bottle of boiled water from the table on your way out, you slammed the door behind you and strode off into the early evening light.

It didn't take you long to cross the meadow and slip into the trees. Listening you fell still, straining your ears to pick up the sounds of… of what? Enemies between the trees? As if there would be any other Uruks here now.

The ash tree was smeared with a lot of black Uruk blood, and it didn’t take an expert tracker to follow the trail to a deep hollow where a massive tree had been ripped out of the ground by a storm, leaving its roots standing up in a disc as high as a single-storey house. At the bottom of the deep divot in the earth lay the Uruk.

One hand rested on his stomach which glistened with black blood, a deep gash in the material of his armour showing his bruised purple skin beneath and the extent of his grave injuries. ‘Grave’ might have been the operative word; you couldn't see his chest rising and falling, and his eyes were closed.

Terrified, heart in your mouth, you stepped down into the leaf-littered hollow and nudged him in the thigh with the toe of one boot.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you knelt beside him and placed your fingertips on his thick, dirt-smeared neck. His eyelids flickered and you nearly recoiled in surprise when he grunted. His tusks weren’t as big as those of the Uruks’ green-skinned cousins, but they were thick and filed to a treacherously sharp point. Uruks fought like the wargs they rode, not afraid to latch their jaws onto their prey and tear them to pieces if deprived of a weapon. Some even favoured that method of ending their enemies’ lives, if the tales were to be believed. And here, beneath your tentative fingertips, was just one such creature.

“You’re hurt,” you said stupidly, and he just blinked at you. His eyelids were barely open more than a crack, and his breath came in minuscule, shallow gasps. With a deep inhale for courage, you reached for your bag and then began to unbuckle his thick, leather jerkin, lifting it away from the sticky black of his half-clotted wound. You knew that Uruks healed quicker than almost all other creatures, not counting those whose magic allowed for rapid regeneration, but even so, this was a terrible injury.

He snarled softly at you but didn’t even have the strength to swat you off him.

“Keep still,” you snapped in a hoarse whisper.

His face was bruised and swollen, with a cut on his chin and another on his forehead, but they were superficial and had already scabbed over. Behind the swelling, you could see strong bone-structure, thick brows framing a face that was monumental rather than handsome, as if carved by ancient masons with no care for subtle detail. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail which was full of bits of leaves and sticky black blood. He was filthy and he smelled revolting.

You treated the wound in his torso, cleaning it and ignoring his growled curses in the Uruk dialect of orcish. You knew enough orcish from trading with the clan to the south to recognise that you were the subject of his complaints, but you couldn’t decipher any more of his thick, guttural speech than that. Using what little orcish you knew, you snarled at him to stop making your job harder, and, to your surprise, he fell still.

He relaxed so suddenly that you thought for a horrible moment that he’d died, but when you looked into his face, you found a new expression sitting there behind the perpetual, heavy-browed scowl. Whatever it was, it was unreadable, but it was better than open hostility.

“That’s better,” you said, tying off the last stitch. “Now, how many other leaks have I got to plug before you bleed out here?”

He twitched his right leg and you looked down and saw a broken-off arrow sunk into his thigh.

“Really?” you exclaimed when you saw it. “You snapped it off? Do you know how stupid that is?”

The growl that rumbled from him was like that of a colossal wolf, but he quickly silenced himself when you grabbed a pair of small pliers that you had knocking around the bottom of the bag, wiped them with alcohol, and set about extracting the barbed arrowhead from his thigh. Field medicine didn’t exactly call for finesse, especially when dealing with an Uruk. They were tough bastards, as he had already proved.

He passed out shortly before it was free, and you stitched that up as well before sitting back on your heels, rinsing your hands in a little of the water that was left, and staring at him. “Now what?” you mused aloud. You hadn’t really thought this through at all; it was all very well patching him up, but this was hardly the clean, sterile environment conducive to healing. It was a filthy, bloodstained forest floor crawling with bugs and gods-knew-what else. There was an old forester’s cabin that had been derelict for years, but it was easily half a mile from where the Uruk had fallen and you couldn’t even drag someone his size and weight an inch, let alone that distance.

Just as you had thought about leaving him there and returning to the village to see if Gil would help you - a stupid idea if ever you’d had one - the undergrowth moved and out of the fading light stepped a colossal warg. Its eyes glowed red in the shadows, but instead of being the usual brown or black, this one’s pelt was a pale, smoky grey, all tangled and matted.

It was carrying one front paw up, clearly in pain, and its ears were folded back flat against its head. From its snarling maw, saliva dripped onto the brambles and old leaves, and you sat there with your joints seized in terror, more frightened than you had ever been in your entire life. You’d never seen a warg, though the same tales which told of the Uruks’ bloodlust and cruelty spoke of the voracious wolf-like beasts that they rode like chargers into battle. You’d not seen any wargs with the war-band earlier and had no idea if this one belonged to the Uruk on the ground or to someone else. Had the scent of his wounds drawn the hunter?

“Please don’t be a wild one,” you murmured aloud.

At the sound of your voice, it seemed to relax a little, limped a little closer, and snuffed at the Uruk in front of you. Then it looked back at you, snarling more gently now.

“Is he yours?” you asked. “You’re hurt too, aren’t you?” you added, seeing that talking to it had seemed to reassure it. It looked like a hyena crossed with a white wolf, with huge, muscular shoulders and a thick, heavy muzzle, but with the more agile body and thick, flowing pelt and tail of a wolf. “You want me to take a look at you?” you offered, holding out your palm. “Come here…”

The warg seemed to know that command, spoken in orcish, and it hobbled over. You pushed the fur back to see that it had clearly been licking it, and in so doing it had kept the gash free of gunk and debris from the forest. You poured some clean water onto the last of your scraps of clean cloth and held your hand out to the warg again.

The creature reluctantly let you take the heavy paw in your palm and you dabbed it clean. It growled, but let you continue, even when you flinched. The weight of the paw was frightening enough, but it was large as a dinner plate and each pad ended in a vicious looking black claw.

“What the hell am I doing?” you asked yourself at one point, halfway through tying the bandage around the warg’s lower leg, just above the paw itself.

From beside you, the Uruk stirred and turned his head to watch you. He asked something in his thick dialect and you frowned. “I don’t understand you,” you said gently.

He let out a soft grunt of frustration and the warg turned and started licking his face.

“Is he yours?” you asked, having checked and discovered that the warg was male. The Uruk groaned and tried to swat the warg off him, but he gasped as he raised his arm, and let it fall back almost immediately. “Easy,” you crooned, shuffling closer. “Hey, come on now,” you said to the warg. “Give him a chance, ok?”

The warg sat down heavily on his haunches and stared at you with what you could only assume was a sullen look in his red eyes. He was as big as a pony and about as strong and hairy as a bear, and as you made the comparison between him and a bear, you turned back to the Uruk and said in tentative orcish, “Hey, so… listen, would your warg be able to drag you, say… half a mile or so?”

For a moment you thought you’d said something wrong, but the Uruk blinked and nodded. He seemed so weak and you wondered briefly if the weapons had been poisoned somehow. They didn’t seem to be suppurating or anything though, and he had lost an awful lot of blood before you’d found him.

The injured Uruk spoke to the warg and the creature snuffed in a decidedly disgruntled manner, but he latched his jaws around the collar of the orc’s armour and looked at you expectantly.

Standing and grabbing the medical bag, you took a deep breath and said, “Come on.”

It took forever, with the warg yanking and dragging the Uruk along. It might have been an amusing sight were it not for the fatigue that was greying the edges of your vision and for the fact that the Uruk himself was so gravely wounded. Eventually the cabin drew into sight and you pulled open the door and stepped inside. It smelled a bit damp, but it didn’t seem as though anything had taken up residence - or worse, expired - in there; it was just a little leaf-strewn and musty. The modest stone hearth sat cold and empty, the chimney was probably blocked, and there was no bed for him to lie on - no furniture at all - but the warg dragged him in and dumped him in the centre of the room.

When he looked up at you, seeming very pleased with himself, the warg wagged softly and you approached him and petted his shoulder without realising quite what you were doing. “Well done,” you crooned.

The Uruk had unsurprisingly passed out again and you knelt by his side, inspecting the bandages carefully. No blood had seeped through, so - somehow - he’d not split his stitches on the rough journey over. Trying not to congratulate yourself too much, given that Uruks were exceptionally tough creatures and that most of the credit was probably his for being almost indestructible, rather than yours for your deft needlework, you straightened and reached hesitantly for the warg’s head again. As you scratched behind his ear this time, he wagged his fluffy tail and leaned into the touch. “Good boy,” you said. “Thank you for your help.”

It was now full dark, and an owl’s harsh shriek outside startled you, the sudden movement making the warg growl.

“I need to get home,” you said, suddenly remembering that you’d promised Gil that cup of tea earlier. If he came round to your house and hadn’t found you, would he have worried? Would he have looked for you? With Uruks in the area, would he assume you’d been taken after all?

You turned to look at the Uruk and found that he had come to and was staring at you. His eyes were a dark gold, ringed with a coppery tone, and they stared at you with an intensity that made your heartbeat falter. He looked so angry. Kneeling beside him and trying to conjure a bit of courage, you pressed your hand very gently against the most severe of his injuries which made him hiss but drove the point home well enough. “You stay still, alright? I’ll come back tomorrow with something for you to eat, and to check on you. I’ve left a waterskin here for you if you get thirsty,” you added as you pressed it against his knuckly fingers.

He snarled something at you and you frowned. You’d caught the orcish word for ‘die’, but nothing else.

“Hey, you’re not going to die, alright?” you said firmly. “You’re my patient now, and I don’t let my patients die. You’re not allowed to die, you hear me?” and you looked up at the warg to add, “Don’t you let him, alright?”

The creature didn’t understand the words, but he caught the intensity of your tone, and he curled up beside the orc, whining softly.

“You keep him warm til I can get a fire going in that grate,” you added and then left them alone to return to the village.

Outside your house, you found Gil pacing up and down, iron shoes ringing on the cobblestones. When he saw you, his eyes went wide and he stared at the black blood that you’d managed to smear on your linen shirt.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, gaze fixed on the stains. “What happened? Where were you? I came over after I left Martha’s, but you weren’t here, and… is that… Uruk blood?”

“Long story,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside. “Lemme clean up and put the kettle on and I’ll… I’ll tell you everything. But you must promise not to tell a soul, alright?”

Gil’s dark eyes narrowed but he nodded and stooped to follow you inside.

Finally, with a cup of tea cradled in your hands, you sat on the floor beside Gil who had lowered himself down onto the floorboards beside the fire, and told him everything that had happened.

“You’re insane,” he said. “You’d actually help one of those monsters?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t just leave him there. I had to know if he was alive, and if he was, I couldn’t just let him die without trying to help him.” Anxiety flared as the silence stretched between you and you looked up at him. “Are you really angry with me?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. I’m just… stunned, I guess.” He laughed and stretched. “You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids, you know that?” he said. When you scowled, puzzled, he chuckled, “Remember that adder you found under a rock?”

“The one with the crushed tail,” you smiled. “Yeah… that was a mean son of a bitch, but I nursed it back to health and somehow avoided getting bitten by it…”

“I just hope you don’t get hurt this time.”

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

He shook his shaggy dark head and said, “Bit late for that, what with bossing a feral warg around and sticking needles in an Uruk-hai…”

With a grin you said, “Well, things just get so dull around here, Gil…”

He rolled his eyes. “I should get going, but… please be careful won’t you? I’m going to worry myself sick about you going out there tomorrow…”

When you did return to the abandoned hut, you found the wounded Uruk sitting up, resting his back against the body of the warg whose growls filled the otherwise empty hut as you approached. “Hey, it’s just me,” you said, hanging back in the doorway. “Remember?”

The orc muttered something and waved a hand slightly as if swatting away a fly, and the warg fell silent.

“Alright to come in?” you asked in tentative orcish, and the Uruk nodded. His eyes were brighter and his focus seemed sharper now. “You’re looking better,” you commented as you stepped inside and closed the door again.

He nodded.

In an attempt to make conversation while you laid and lit the fire, you asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Killuc.” It even sounded like the right kind of name for an Uruk. A moment later, he licked his dry lips and tilted his head slightly. “You?”

When you breathed your name, voice surprisingly thin with anxiety, staring at him over your shoulder as you set the last of the small bundle of firewood onto the top, he repeated it almost reverently and you smiled. “And what’s your warg called?”

He looked askance at the warg, who had laid his muzzle back down on the chilly floorboards and was watching you work the flint striker in your fingers with his steady, red gaze. “Ghâsh. It means ‘fire’ in Uruk.”

“For his eyes?” you asked and Killuc nodded.

As the coils of dry kindling caught fire and the smaller sticks around them began to crackle and spit, Ghâsh raised his head and you caught the soft thump of his tail on the floor. He wasn’t a pretty animal, but behind the thuggish face and frankly enormous teeth, you could see a playful, intelligent, and curious creature.

When you looked back at Killuc, he was staring at you, eyes glowing too in the firelight, and yet again you were forced to admit to yourself that the rough-hewn beauty of his face wasn’t entirely unattractive. You’d been drawn to orcs before, when you’d visited the neighbouring clan for trade, and they’d seemed more than interested in you for some reason, but the scrutiny and obvious interest in his face left you more flustered than you’d ever been around his kind. Well, not that the green-skinned orcs were really quite the same as their more brutal, war-mongering cousins, but still.

Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath and then suggested that you take a look at the wounds and change the dressings. With a wry smile that made your heart’s rhythm falter for a second, he nodded. “Is that alright?” you asked and again, he nodded. “Man of few words, eh?” you snorted, more to yourself than to him. “Suppose if I’d been gutted like a fish I wouldn’t feel too chatty either.”

He surprised you by grabbing hold of your wrist as you passed to fetch your bag and staring up at you. Now genuinely frightened, you turned to look down at him and he released you the instant he saw your expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…” his gaze fell to his lap. “I don’t know how to talk to a human.”

“It’s alright,” you said shakily and stepped away. His strength as he’d squeezed your comparatively fragile, breakable wrist in his fingers had been prodigious. The skin of his hand had been tough and leathery, with hard, smooth calluses from years of weapons training, but the way his grip had faltered when he saw your face had spoken of a kinder creature underneath the brutality.

Returning to him, you watched as he let his hands fall softly to his sides, palms up, showing that he meant you no harm. He even turned his face away slightly. The smell coming off him was… well, it was definitely enough to make you think less favourable thoughts about him, and when he saw your new expression, he growled, “What?”

“You need a bath,” you said, aiming for stern though it came out with a slight squeak.

“You going to wash me too then?” he grinned.

For that, you smacked him on the chest with the back of your hand and he laughed before you could panic about assaulting an orc. Not that you’d hit him very hard.

His blood-encrusted shirt was crispy beneath the slashed, studded leather jerkin which creaked as you opened it up. Removing the bandages, you saw that the wound was healing nicely, with no inflammation or heat to the site. He sucked in a sharp breath as your fingertips curiously brushed his thick, purplish-brown skin around the wound and you watched his muscles clench impressively in his torso. “Did that hurt?” you asked.

Killuc scoffed dismissively and rolled his eyes. “As if you could hurt me,” he laughed but very abruptly cut off with a grunt as you pressed your thumb into the bandages of the arrow wound on his thigh. When you cocked an eyebrow at him, he laughed heartily. Uruks didn’t make much sense, but his body relaxed after that and he let you do what you needed to without complaint in order to change the bandages. That done, and with the fire roaring and filling the hut with warmth, you rinsed your hands off and dried them.

“Here,” you said, just as his eyelids began to close and his head to nod with exhaustion.

When he discovered that you were kneeling beside him again, just below his eye level, he blinked and brought up one hand gently to cup your jaw in his vast palm. He ran his thumb over your cheekbone and smiled. His sharp tusks glinted in the firelight and his eyes had a brightness to them that hadn’t been there the day before. The sight of it warmed you more than the flames did, and he smiled slightly.

“Here,” you repeated, pushing a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread into his lap and unfolding the fabric. Beside it you placed a couple of cured sausages and a hunk of cheese. “You should eat something.”

Killuc’s stomach growled comically and the warg, who had been watching your exchange with his steady, red eyes pricked up his ears and snuffed surreptitiously at the edge of the napkin, as if he had any hope of stealing a sausage without Killuc noticing.

You reached across Killuc’s lap and patted the warg on the head before announcing, “I brought something for you too.” As you held up a cony that you’d nicked from one of Thomas’ traps in the forest for him, he whimpered and wiggled free from behind the Uruk. Killuc grunted as he braced himself on his right arm at the sudden loss of the support, and you tossed the rabbit on the floor before the warg could chomp your whole arm off in his enthusiasm for the meat. It was little more than a snack for the warg, but it was better than nothing. You also hoped that the village’s hunter, Thomas, wouldn’t notice that his trap had been reset without bait.

Killuc was staring at you with his eyes wide and a slightly slack-jawed expression on his face.

“What?”

He shook his head and returned his attention to the food in front of him. He ate as voraciously as the warg did, though without the bone-cracking abandon with which the warg crunched his rabbit down. Your stomach rolled unpleasantly and you headed for the door.

“Look,” you said, pausing there and resting one hand on the door frame. “I reckon you’ll be good to move around tomorrow. I’d suggest not coming to the village though. Head north, find your people, and… don’t come back here.”

His expression hardened from soft and gentle to something unreadable and he ground his heavy jaw. Finally he grunted, “Yes.”

Without another word, you gathered your bag from the floor and opened the door. Ghâsh looked from you to the Uruk and back again, and then let out a long, low, heartbreaking whine. “Sorry pup,” you grinned. “You can’t stay here.”

Just as you stepped outside, you heard a grunt and a rustle and found that Killuc had levered himself to his feet and was making his ill-advised and faltering way over to you.

It was the first time you’d seen him standing since your brief glimpse of him at the edge of the forest, and you felt the blood drain from your face as he loomed over you. Leaning on the wall beside the door for support, he reached for you again and tilted your chin upwards with the very tip of his index finger.

“Thank… you,” he said in broken, hesitant common speech.

You had been on the point of saying ‘you’re welcome’ when something else entirely just fell out of your mouth. “You still smell horrible,” you grinned at him, still speaking common.

“You didn’t wash me,” he said, switching to orcish.

“Dream on, big guy,” you said, turning away. “There are some springs just up the hill from here,” you added. “I’m sure you can manage. Tomorrow though… let them heal up a bit more first.” The thought of him without clothes on was making you hot all over and you knew you’d have to get away before you said something you genuinely regretted. A quiet little village was no place for an Uruk-hai and his war-fluffball.

You’d gone no further than the edge of the little clearing when the patter of paws on leaf-litter behind you made you turn around and you saw that Ghâsh had wriggled free of Killuc’s grasp and had bounded across to you. He now blocked your path, lowering his head and growling. You weren’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t attack, but, squaring your shoulders, you stared him straight in the eye. “Stop that,” you said. “You know I can’t stay, and neither can you.”

He growled louder and you heard Killuc snarl something at him from the hut which had absolutely no effect whatsoever on the slathering warg.

You jabbed your finger back at Killuc and spoke to the warg in a firm, quiet voice, “Get out of the way. Go back.”

The warg’s ears swivelled to lie flat against his head and he licked his chops once before his tail sank between his legs and he whined pathetically. Raising your eyebrows silently, you twitched your pointing arm again, and he slunk away, dejected and defeated.

Letting out a private breath of relief before turning to look at them, the waves of adrenaline started to wash out of you to leave you weak and shaky. When you mustered the courage to look back, you found Killuc scratching Ghâsh behind his ears in a gesture of commiseration, and you waved once. Killuc nodded and then backed into the shadows of the hut, closing the door behind him.

It was impossible to return to normal again once you got back to the village.

You tried, and for a week you stubbornly refused to dwell on the harsh, statuesque plains of Killuc’s body, on the rich, bruised-plum colour of his skin, the vivid gold of his eyes or the gentle power of his enormous, battle-scarred hands. You refused… No. You didn’t. You spent every night that week with only your hand to occupy your body and only the memory of him to occupy your mind. It was a miserable torment, but you knew you’d get over your little obsession soon enough. You had to. He was an Uruk-hai for goodness’ sake. If you came harder than you’d ever come before, with his name on your lips and the feeling of his touch in your mind, it was just a coincidence.

Six days after you’d left Killuc and Ghâsh in the woods, you woke to a commotion of screams and shouts in the village.

Dressing hurriedly into practical clothing, you slung your belt on last of all, and the long knife you used for gathering herbs and stripping willow bark from the trees down by the millpond slapped reassuringly against your thigh in its leather sheath. You flung open the door and immediately discovered the source of the panic.

The urge to shut the door instantly and bolt out of the back was overwhelming.

Six towering Uruk-hai were standing just up the road in the centre of the village, and one had a small faun, Hazel, dangling in limp terror from their grip. You didn’t recognise any of them as Killuc, and wondered vaguely if he knew them. They didn’t have the look of the losing side about them.

Sucking in a deep breath for courage, you marched down the road towards the square where the village well sat at the centre of the space used for selling goods once a week. You’d barely gone ten steps down the cobbles when you heard iron shoes clattering and Gil shot out and grabbed you, yanking you into the shadows between two houses. “What are you doing?” he hissed in a half-whinny.

“They’ve got Hazel,” you snarled back at him, twisting your hand free. “I can’t just let them kill her!”

“They’ll kill you if you go near them!” he insisted, looking like he might try to grab at you again to hold you back.

Before he could lunge at you again, you ran for it like a rabbit bolting from one hole to another while a fox waited in the grass. “Stop!” you yelled, thinking about pulling your belt knife on them, but at the sight of their cruel, curved weapons, you decided it would only amuse them. “Let her go!”

“Or what?” the female holding the faun sneered, dropping Hazel onto the flagstones at her feet. The baker’s apprentice scrabbled frantically to get away, but a second Uruk stepped forward and trod on her stomach, pinning her down with just enough force to keep her winded without breaking her ribcage.

“Let. Her. Go,” you said as fiercely as you could, fists balled at your sides.

The female just laughed again and shoved you hard in the chest with so little effort that it might have been funny under different circumstances. As it was, the gesture sent you sprawling and you landed heavily on your backside, winded. “Pathetic,” she chuckled.

Anger and hurt boiled up in you and you glanced over at Hazel, who lay there, paralysed with terror beneath the iron boot of the Uruk, staring wide-eyed at you. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be like Killuc,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you tried to stand up again.

“What did you say?” a third, slightly smaller Uruk demanded, grabbing you by the collar just as you righted yourself and ramming you back into the wooden strut of the well behind you with the force of a charging warhorse. The whole mechanism rocked, the bucket swinging wildly as you collided with the wooden frame and the breath was knocked from your lungs again.

Stunned and blinking stupidly, you just wheezed, “Killuc…” but you couldn’t get any more out. The orc’s grip had shifted to your throat and he was tightening it. He stank of rotting fish and his teeth were vile, breath unspeakable. He cracked you across the cheek with a fist and you tasted blood.

Without warning, a roar rent the air from a little way back and your eyes travelled vaguely towards the grassy meadow beyond the village. All the Uruks froze and a second later, through blurring vision, you saw a streak of grey dart across the field towards you. Following behind was a darker figure but you couldn’t make much out at that distance and with your airways choked off.

The Uruk holding you released you with a snarl and you crumpled, knees buckling beneath you. The white streak was Ghâsh, and he had launched himself at your aggressor, flying at his arm and pinning him to the ground, snarling and gnashing his jaws shut repeatedly in the Uruk’s face. The Uruk fell still instantly.

Walking slowly, deliberately, unhurriedly across the meadow was a dark, towering figure. His hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail, his leather jerkin was slashed and bloodied, but there was no trace of a limp or falter in his steps now. Killuc paced like a wolf himself towards the others and they all swallowed hesitantly, adjusting their weight slightly and shuffling.

One of the onlookers gathered at the edges of the square, a half-dryad, darted forwards and scooped Hazel up, helping her back and when Gil moved to do the same for you, you shook your head, holding up a hand.

“What?” he mouthed incredulously.

“Just wait,” you whispered and he looked at you as if you’d suffered a serious concussion and weren’t talking properly. Perhaps you had…

Just as Killuc joined the group, the female grunted something in the Uruk dialect and made a grab for you again, as if planning to hoist you up like a war trophy. In fact, he didn’t so much as join it as ram into it with another primal roar. He wrenched the female off you before she could get a good hold and snarled something at her in their language that you understood through tone rather than translation. He was livid, shouting at her until she backed off, smacking his hand off her with a belligerent and petulant swipe of her forearm and stepping away.

When he was satisfied, he turned to you and you tried not to shrink back from him. You did flinch, and he swallowed thickly, hesitating as he offered you his hand to help you to your feet again. Feeling braver than you probably looked, you accepted it and he tugged you gently upwards, steadying you when you swayed. His fingertips came to your cheekbone, where the smaller male had hit you, and a low, earthy growl rumbled from his throat. It was a sound you expected to hear more from Ghâsh than him, but you didn’t mind in the least.

The female stepped forward and spat one more sentence at you in Uruk and Killuc flipped. He turned and backfisted her, sending her reeling, and let out another string of thick, impenetrable orcish curses at her.

At the light pressure of your hands on his arm, Killuc stilled immediately, falling silent and turning back to you. “Enough,” you murmured. “I don’t care what she said, but take your warriors and get out of here. And don’t come back.”

His flattened nostrils flared at your words, expression faltering slightly, but he nodded grimly. “You will not see any Uruk-hai again,” he said gruffly. “This village is not to be touched.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You have the authority to do that?” you asked.

He nodded. “I am their warchief. My word is law. Anyone who sets foot in this village without my permission will lose that leg.”

“Right,” you said shakily. “Sure. Ok…” You took a slow inhale and then said, “Well… thank you. And Ghâsh too,” you added, glancing at the warg who still had the unfortunate Uruk pinned beneath his paws.

Killuc roared something at the other Uruks and they finally slouched away towards the meadow and away from the buildings of the village. Ghâsh stayed put and stared at you as if he expected you to be coming along, and when Killuc whistled at him, he yipped and snarled, dancing on the spot. Killuc did not ask him again, and instead kept walking.

You approached the warg and scratched him under the chin, even as he head-butted you gently, wagging pathetically. Pushing him away, you felt a lump forming in your throat, and he whined in complaint before realising how far the others had gone. With a final snap of his jaws that carried no threat, merely frustration, Ghâsh bounded away faster than a galloping centaur. He barrelled straight into Killuc from behind and knocked him flat, at which the Uruks all laughed. Killuc staggered to his feet, swiped playfully at the warg with a fist, shoved the small male into a broad patch of stinging nettles, and stumped off with his head down.

His was a world of belligerence and uncertainty, his subjects volatile and tough as old boots - that he’d healed almost completely in a week was astonishing - and he did not belong with you. Fantasies were one thing, but seeing him there in the midst of the clean and tidy cottages, with his blood-spattered fighting leathers and his colossal war beast, had reinforced that. You glanced at Gil who stood nearby, still staring at you with a strange look on his face, and you turned away from the sight of the dwindling figures.

“You alright?” he asked as you joined him. You glanced at Hazel who was still shivering in the arms of the half-dryad as she let herself be led away.

With a nod, you said, “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“That was so dumb,” he blurted. “You could have been killed…”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t. Hazel’s fine, and they’re not coming back, so I’d chalk it up as a victory.”

His gentle brown eyes surveyed you for a moment longer and he said, “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” you said, managing a weak smile. “Thanks though.”

He nodded and let you go back to your cottage at the edge of the village to mull things over. You couldn’t shake Killuc’s roar from your mind. It had been like no beast you’d ever heard, thundering in your ribcage and ripping through you with the power of a mid-summer storm. And Ghâsh too had leapt to protect you. “Stop it,” you snarled, slamming your front door behind you. “He’s a bloody Uruk-hai for goodness’ sake.”

To take your mind off recent events, you threw yourself into village life. Another week later, as the harvest festival was approaching, you helped out at the inn when a delivery of casks came, helping Skalen heave them inside and down into his cellar, and you were rewarded for your efforts by the dwarf with a huge tankard of slightly lively ale. The next day, however, your joints and muscles were aching all over and regretting the physical work just a little bit.

“Go up to the hot spring,” Gil suggested. “You should have just asked me to help unload them, you know?”

“I know, I know,” you said, thumping his withers affectionately. “Mr. Big Muscles.”

“I’m not showing off,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I’m just…”

“Bigger than me. I know,” you laughed. “Fine, I’ll go. You want to come too?”

He smiled. “Sure. You want a ride?”

Gil had let you sit on his back only a few times, and it was a mark of just how close you were to him that he had even suggested it in the first place. You nodded your grateful thanks and said, “Let me just grab a change of clothes.”

“I’ll meet you at your door in a minute then.”

At roughly sixteen hands high, Gil was not a small centaur, and he had to swing you up onto his back. You landed awkwardly and apologised, shuffling until you got settled. Riding a centaur without a saddle was hardly comfortable, but the only centaurs who ever allowed someone to ride them in harness or tack were the elite Kingsguards and the swift, light-boned centaurs of the messenger corps. They had one rider, one partner, and it was almost a sacred arrangement between them. This was something much more relaxed and friendly, and you let the syncopated rhythm of his four-beat walk lull you. Naturally they drifted to a mountain of dark skin and a pair of blazing gold eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked as he crossed the meadow and began to climb the hill towards the ridge where the mineral springs bubbled up through the rock and created three steaming pools of blissfully hot water.

“You don’t want to hear them really,” you said after a moment.

Gil laughed, stepping over a fallen branch. “You’re thinking about your four hundred pound Uruk hai saviour?”

“How’d you guess?” you said flatly, resting your forehead on Gil’s broad back for a moment. “I can’t get him out of my head.”

“Your knight in filthy leathers?” he pressed and you thumped him gently with a closed fist. “Got to say, I��ve never heard of an Uruk getting involved with someone of another species like that. I know of orcs up at the stronghold who have taken humans as their partners, but it’s rare for Uruks to give a crap about anything other than running someone else through with their sword or sinking their tusks into someone’s throat, you know?”

You shuddered, recalling the power of his grasp, and the lethal point on his tusks.

“Sorry,” Gil muttered. “Hold on,” and he scrambled up the steepest point of the slope and emerged at the top, barely winded.

However, once he crested the rise, he froze.

“Gil?” you chirped, leaning forwards.

“Uhh…” he said and you felt his flank twitch nervously. He was clearly fighting his flight reflex hard.

“What is it?”

He shifted slightly and the view of the three steaming pools swung into view. You were not alone, and, to your immense surprise, the Uruk who had just stood up from the water was not only Killuc, but he was completely stark fucking naked.

Gil glanced back over his shoulder at you and hissed, “I thought you said he wasn’t welcome back here.”

Through gritted teeth, you replied, “I told him that he couldn't come to the village. I didn’t say he couldn’t bathe.”

“You want to go?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I want to go,” Gil grumbled.

With a shy laugh, you slid off his back and gave his withers a friendly, grateful pat. “I’m sorry. And I’ll be careful,” you said before he could say it for you.

Shaking his head, he backed off, grumbling about having been looking forward to a nice hot soak. “No way I’m going in there for at least three days now…”

“Oi!” you yelped indignantly at his retreating backside, but he gave no reaction.

Turning back around, you saw that Killuc was still standing there with the water sloshing around his knees. The rest of his body was every bit as beautiful as you’d imagined it would be; all brutal muscles and hard lines, slashed and criss-crossed here and there with scars and marks, and perhaps even a brand on his chest. You winced at that, even as you approached and ditched your bundle of spare clothes in the lea of a huge beech tree nearby.

He rumbled your name and smiled at you.

“You here alone?” you asked in common before remembering that he didn’t really speak it. Dammit, but your orcish really wasn’t that good.

Killuc nodded once.

“Why are you here?”

His grin grew until it was a cheeky, wonky, lopsided smirk. “You told me I needed to bathe.”

“Really?” you snorted. “You really came all the way back here to wash because I told you that you smelled like a midden heap in high summer?”

“That bad?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And now?” he asked. He still hadn’t moved a muscle, just standing there as if he were part of the rocks surrounding the pool. And as if he weren’t completely stark fucking naked.

The springs weren’t the sulfurous kind, but they did smell strongly of minerals, though that had to be better than whatever he’d smelled like before. “Probably much better,” you said, making no move to approach him.

A low-frequency rumble, half-snarl and half-challenge, spilled from him and he took half a step towards you in the water. Your eyes roved down his body, drinking in his muscles and his raw power until you saw that his cock was starting to show some interest too, thickening and occasionally twitching. When he saw you staring, he growled again. “Come here,” he rasped.

You’d just begun to take off your clothes when he lost his patience and splashed through the water to the edge of the pool, ripping the last of your clothes clean off you and letting his hands roam over you with an appreciative growl.

“Careful of those tusks, eh?” you chuckled nervously as they flashed dangerously close to your neck.

“Trust me,” he demanded, his eyes blazing and, despite what he was and what his people were like, you did. You knew he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“You really are the warchief, aren’t you?” you gasped as he gripped your hips with his strong fingers and dug them in hard enough to leave bruises.

Killuc didn’t answer. He picked you up at the waist and you instinctively wrapped your thighs around his hips, letting him carry you to the water. He stepped straight into the hot spring water and set you down on the edge of the rocky pool where thousands of years of deposits had built up around the rim, creating an enamel-smooth lip. He lost no time in putting his mouth on you, using his tongue, sucking, sometimes scraping his front teeth over your most sensitive areas, always careful of his lethal tusks. His hands pressed hard into the muscles of your thighs, pulling you apart to give him better access to you until you thought he was going to tear you in two.

The pleasure of the heat of his mouth, his tongue against you, over you, and sometimes in you, sent heat sparking all across your body and under your skin until your back arched and you yelled that you were close. He didn’t stop. You felt his thick fingers slide inside you and when he crooked them just so and they hit that spot inside you that lit you up, you came with a shout, vision darkening. He kept his mouth on you the whole time, relishing the taste of you as you shuddered and gasped, body convulsing with the force of the orgasm he’d practically ripped from you. His fingers were still inside you as you clenched around him in waves of pleasure.

“I want you,” he finally growled as he drew back and you lay limp and exhausted and sensitive all over. “I want you.”

The idea of him being inside you suddenly seemed like all you’d ever wanted, and you nodded. That seemed to surprise him a little, but once he’d spent a bit more time teasing you, working you, worshipping you, waking you up again and easing you back to him, he picked you up and sank down into the water with you so that he was sitting with his back against the smooth walls of the pool. He lowered you into his lap, facing him, and you felt his hard cock nudge against your entrance. He eased you gently down and you kept your heavy eyelids open just enough to watch his expression as he nudged his huge cock inside you, inch by inch.

As his tip sank into you, you groaned softly and his strong arms shook.

“Please,” you said. His fingers had not been nearly enough. “I’m not going to break, you can -”

Apparently that was all he needed, and he rolled his hips upwards, sinking himself into you right to the hilt. Killuc’s head bowed suddenly and he began to breathe rapidly. “So… So tight,” he grunted, frozen. “I’m…”

“Move,” you demanded, practically baring your teeth at him and grabbing a handful of his long, wet hair, tugging his head back to expose his neck to you.

At the command, he obeyed. The fierce, apparently indestructible warchief of the Uruk-hai bowed to your orders and began to thrust upwards into you. The shape and thickness of his cock was just perfect, and in no time you felt yourself coiling up again. His fingers would leave bruises on your hips for sure, but that only seemed to make it even better. Your hands wandered over his colossal, solid body, over his scars, that warband’s brand on his left pec, feeling the flex and strain of his arms and back and shoulders as he held himself back. Even seemingly lost in the depths of his own pleasure, he had not completely forgotten how dangerous he was. That thought alone was nearly enough to make you come again, and he felt you shuddering, body going limp as you sensed the rising crescendo in you once more.

“Wait,” he snarled. “Don’t… Not until…” and he picked up his pace. Water sloshed around you, and each thrust of his hips became more and more strained, his breath ghosting across your wet skin as he struggled not to lose all control. He began to snarl and grunt, the sounds deep in his throat, and then he hissed something in Uruk just as his rhythm faltered. He bellowed as he released inside you, hips sealed against your body, the warmth of the water caressing your waist as his muscles bunched and his back bowed forwards. He filled you so completely at that angle, and you followed him a second later. He was still breathing like a galloped horse when you had finished, and you stroked his hair as he shuddered violently, gasping, sweat beading on his brow and mingling with the rising steam from the water.

The thought suddenly struck you that it felt as though he’d never allowed himself this kind of closeness with anyone, and perhaps he hadn’t. That was a conversation for another time though. Right now, words were not what he wanted. As if the tenderness of your touch drained him of all his remaining strength and willpower, he slumped against your body, hugging his arms around you and resting his forehead at your collarbones. Killuc’s breathing was harsh and rapid, but the longer he stayed there, the calmer and quieter he got.

Eventually he pulled himself upright, leaning back a little, and looked almost sheepishly into your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” he asked and when you smiled and shook your head dazedly, he seemed to let out a breath of relief.

“We’re not that fragile,” you said. “Humans, I mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, stressing with his tone that there was a difference this time.

You took his anvil of a jaw in your palm and stroked his cheekbone as he had done with yours, and kissed him. It was a gentle, unexpectedly sweet kiss, and he growled softly like a distant thunderstorm or a fireside cat, his golden eyes rolling closed. Killuc’s thick, dark lashes were surprisingly long. You kissed his closed eyes too and another unsteady breath left him, his thick arms tightening around you until you nearly wheezed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, so quietly that you almost missed it.

“You haven’t,” you said. “You never have,” you reassured him.

“You saved my life,” he said. “You nursed me, and then you drove me away…”

“I…” you faltered, leaning back a little too. His arms continued to support you, but he let you draw back. “I thought it was probably best… given that, you know… you’re an Uruk-hai…”

He glowered, dark brows furrowing. “I would not have hurt you. And I’m sorry that they disobeyed my orders. The village was not to be touched. Even before you…”

“I can see that now,” you said. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I hurt you…”

Killuc grinned, the expression spreading slowly across his brutishly beautiful face. He rolled his hips once, his cock just beginning to soften but not enough that he couldn’t still make you moan.

“You smell better now,” you added, cracking a joke.

With a sound like a contented lion, he said, “I smell like you.”

“Exactly; much better.”

Laughing, he lifted you up and dropped you in the middle of the pool of gloriously warm water only for you to come up a moment later, coughing and laughing and cursing him all at the same time.

—

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#uruk hai #orc #orc x reader #orc boyfriend #exophilia #some typical fantasy violence where uruk-hai are concerned #but a lot of it is fluff #orctober #orctober prompt

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honeytea8 · 4 years

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“Mister Fix-it” - Josuke/gn!Reader

A/N: Something I posted a while back on AO3 and now I’m dumping it here, I edited it to be gender neutral, pls let me know if I missed anything, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: When your brand new air conditioning system doesn’t live up to the hype, you’re left with no other choice but to call Josuke Higashikata, the neighborhood handy-man and Morioh’s local heartthrob. (Post-canon; Josuke is 19/Reader is 23ish)

There is not a single ‘moderate’ thing about the summers in Morioh Cho and you come to this shocking discovery during your very first year back in this crazy, noisy town.

One early morning, a wave of heat sweeps in like a thief in the night, creeping over your body and making your nightshirt cling to you like second skin. A relentless force of nature that saps any residual moisture in the air. Everything is left high and dry—you lament over your dying succulent.

You can’t count how many cups of ice water you’ve guzzled or how many cold showers you’ve taken just to end up sweaty again, but something’s got to give. The day after Kai Harada announces the possibility of record-breaking temperatures in the following weeks, you delve into your emergency savings for a solution only money can buy.

Two days later, a portly electrician comes and installs a new air conditioning system for your home. He’s yammering on about how it’s supposed to be the best on the market. State of the art and all that jazz. You don’t really care for the details; you just want to be comfortable in your own house lest you end up a melted pile of goo. Who the hell would take care of your vegetable garden then?

You inspect the newly installed system with subdued interest. Truthfully, it doesn’t look like anything but an eyesore that’s completely thrown off the ambiance of the entire living room. It’s practically hanging out of your window. However, the only thing keeping you from complaining about its appearance is the dusty fan overhead that’s been circulating the same muggy, warm air for over an hour now. You prefer functionality over appearance, screw feng shui, you needed this AC.

“So, you’re positive it'll cool down the entire house?” you question one final time.

As if to prove his point, the electrician flicks a switch and the machine attached to the wall comes to life. The droning hum is annoying and would take some getting used to but it’s blowing the coldest air you’ve felt in a while. Both you and the electrician remain standing in front of it for a few seconds, basking in wonder.

Like magic, the heat-induced stress and tension leave your body all at once.

“Well then,” you say with a smile, “It’ll do.”

One week. Seven days. A hundred-and-sixty-eight hours of pure, absolute, uninterrupted bliss. You are in heaven! Your plants are flourishing as usual, and you aren’t sweating profusely like a pig for slaughter. Life is oh so good.

Until you wake up on the eighth day at four am with the worst case of cotton-mouth you’ve ever experienced.

You tumble out of bed, delirious from the sudden onslaught of heat that has transformed your bedroom into a sauna. Loose cotton sheets tangle with your ankles and you hit the ground, chin scuffing against the floor in your haste. The adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you from wincing, or even feeling the pain. All you can hear is the sound of your own two feet pounding on the polished wooden staircase.

“Please, no, no, no, no—“

You sweep into the living room only to find the new air system is completely silent and no amount of switch-flicking or button-punching is going to change that. Mouth screwing into a scowl, you glare at the overpriced piece of junk with unbridled disdain.

This has become personal.

A hard smack from the palm of your hand to the surface of the machine echoes through the room—still nothing, not even a stirring.

Big fat tears well up in your eyes. Whatever hormones fueling your rage are now flooding you with sadness. Your hand and chin are throbbing from the pain. The money spent on this crap was gone and now you’d have to shell out another hefty amount just to get it fixed. You want to pull out your hair in frustration.

Glancing around the room, everything is so still and calm. It’s still quite early in the morning, a few hours before dawn and you are tired as hell. The heat is making you lethargic, so after drying your tears and chewing on some ice cubes, you curl up on your sofa and go back to a fitful sleep.

Later in the day, you’re hanging clothes out on the line when your neighbor comes out to greet you.

She’s a grandma who lives alone except for when her grand kids come to visit, and despite her penchant for being a nosy gossip, you kind of like her. She waves and meanders over to the edge of her fence.

“This is some heat, I tell you.”

“Right! I didn’t realize Morioh could even get this hot,” you pick up another sheet and toss it over the wire. “Would you believe that I spent two paychecks on an air conditioner that doesn’t even work.”

Your neighbor gives you a look of pity. “Oh dear, such a shame.” You watch as she adjusts the chairs and tables around her patio.

“You know, I have a teacher-friend with a son who has a knack for fixing things. Had him take a look at my plumbing a few weeks ago and he had it working right as rain. I can ask him to come by and take a look at it for you.”

You shuffle the empty bamboo basket in your arms. “I...guess that could work. Have him drop by sometime.”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Two days later, you’re tending to your many plants—because you’d be damned if another died because of this heat—when a Greek god falls from the sky and onto your doorstep.

“Hi! I��m Josuke Higashikata, your neighbor said you had a problem with your air conditioner.”

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement: the young man standing on your porch is a damn stunner. His pouty lips, broad shoulders, and slim waist are more than enough to fuel a wet dream or two. Your brain short-circuits for a solid minute. Is it hot in here or what?

(And for once, you aren’t talking about the actual weather.)

He shifts nervously from one foot to another when you don’t immediately respond, but all you can do is stare. You’re thirsty for more than just a drink of water right now.

“Um,” he looks down at the sticky note in his hand and mumbles to himself. “This is the address, right?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. You internally berate yourself for looking like a gaping idiot in front of this knockout.

“YES! Ahem—yeah, y-you’re at the right place.” you move aside and allow him in. And good Lord, he’s tall. You wouldn't mind climbing that beanstalk.

Josuke is dressed in a striped yellow tee and pair of boardshorts that fit just right, a real sight for sore eyes.

You try not to swoon and realize rather belatedly that your own attire isn’t hiding much from view. Since the air conditioner stopped working, you reverted back to wearing tank tops and shorts around the house. Josuke, for what it's worth, isn't ogling you but he’s obviously noticed if his reddened cheeks are anything to go by.

“Right over here.” You say breezily.

The sway in your hips is subtle enough that it doesn’t look intentional. You guide him over to where the AC is sitting in the wall like a heap of scrap metal. Josuke didn’t bring any tools with him, so you’re skeptical about how he plans on fixing it. Honestly, even if he can't, you plan on making the most out of this.

You enter the kitchen adjacent to the living room, allowing him to take a look at the thing without you hovering.

As you’re straightening out the dining table, you ask, “So, how old are you, Josuke? You look a little young to be a handy-man.”

There’s a pause in his movements. “I just turned nineteen!”

Your fantasy dies a swift death somewhere deep within the dredges of your subconscious. Of course he’s young, as if you hadn’t noticed. Dialing back on the flirtation, you hum out an ‘oh cool’. The last thing you want to be is a cradle robber!

You aren’t that much older than him...but it still feels a bit wrong? You’ve never been with a younger guy before.

A startling hum resounds throughout the house and you feel a gust of cool air coming from overhead. Josuke has managed to fix it! You rush back into the room just in time to catch him stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“All done!”

“That—That was really quick? What was wrong with it?”

Josuke only shrugged. “Not sure, but it seems to be working now.”

You stare uncomprehendingly.

“So...was there anything else you’d like me to fix?”

Blinking you look around for something but come up short. “No, not unless you can bring plants back to life.”

Now it’s Josuke’s turn to blink as he takes a look around with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed all the plants in the various corners of your home, he had been too distracted by—

“Which ones?” He says before he can stop himself.

You point to the succulent perched on the coffee table, it’s dried up and brittle in some parts, but it’s not completely dead. He kneels down to its height, touches some of its chubby petals. Then he silently calls on Crazy Diamond and with a single touch, it’s restored back to its normal health.

A few years post-Yoshikage Kira, Josuke has gotten a lot better with his powers, utilizing his stand with ease. He turns and gives you a smile and has no idea he’s giving you heart palpitations just by looking like that.

“Woah! Josuke, what the hell was that?”

“Ahh, it’s hard to explain. Just know it’s something I’ve been able to do since I was a kid.”

“Wow, th-that’s some trick,” you glance at your plant in shock. It’s literally back to normal. You recall all the time spent nurturing it, along with your other plants. All the sweat doled out during back-breaking gardening. How could you ever repay him for making sure your hard work didn’t go down the drain?

Before you know it, you have his face in your hands and you don’t know what the hell you're doing but you're holding him and staring tearfully.

“Thank you times a million. Seriously.”

Josuke just gulps and nods. “Uh huh, not a problem.”

You really try to ignore the way he’s staring at your lips or the heavy blush on his cheeks because, again, you are not robbing the cradle. With more self-control than you knew you had, you let go of his face and step back.

“S-So would you like some tea, or lemonade or—“

“Lemonade,” he says as he stands to his full height. “Lemonade is fine.”

You nod with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. He is so cute. You scamper off into the kitchen and pull out a full pitcher of homemade lemonade. Meanwhile, Josuke is left to take a look around your house.

There are plants everywhere, most are leafy, green, and healthy. The ones that aren’t, get a boost from his stand power.

Josuke wants to compare your home to a jungle or the Amazon, but that’s not quite an accurate comparison. Even though there’s clearly a lot going on, it’s not cluttered or disorganized at all. It’s just...really freaking amazing! There’s even a flourishing terrarium built in the walls near the staircase.

With your obvious love for nature, Josuke thinks you’d get along great with Mr. Jotaro, but for some reason he doesn’t feel too inclined to introduce you two.

When you finally return, you catch Josuke eyeing your little turtle tank with a weird look.

“That’s Kame, I just got him a month ago.”

Josuke laughs, “Kame, huh? That’s pretty clever.”

“I thought so too,” you hand him the cold drink and as he takes it, his fingers graze yours. “He doesn’t do much, so if you’re expecting him to do a trick, you’ll be waiting a while.”

“Oh nah, it wasn’t that. I’m just…kind of afraid of the little guy.”

Biting back the urge to say ‘awww’, you usher him over to the engawa overlooking your vegetable garden. “A fear of turtles is understandable. But would you believe that I used to be afraid of fish?”

“Fish? No, I can’t say I would. But I also wouldn’t judge.”

You smile at that because of course, he wouldn’t judge you. “Yup, had a bad experience when I was five. My father used to live in Morioh, near the coast. He was a fisherman,” you pause, momentarily distracted by the bob of his adam’s apple as he takes his first sip.

“H-He umm, took me fishing once... and it was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on a real fish. Needless to say, I screamed my head off.”

“No! Seriously?” Josuke chuckles and it’s so contagious and addicting. Soon you're laughing too.

“I swear, I cannot make this up!”

“So, what happened?”

“Okay, so I’m screaming like a mad person and running away. You know what my dad does? That asshole chases me with the thing still dangling from his fishing rod.” You shake your head at the memory. “I literally got sick and threw up that night, and boy did my mom chew him out for it.”

“That sounds so hilarious and yet so traumatic.” He laughs again. “That’s terrible!”

“Right! I could never look at a fish after that or even be around them. It took years before I finally got over it.” You sigh and shake your head again.

Silence ebbs between you for a moment before Josuke clears his throat.

“So, this might seem a bit forward, but would you like to go on a date with me?”

The question doesn’t register in your head all at once, leaving you to stumble over your words until you can finally think coherently. “Josuke I...I’m a bit older than you. Shouldn’t you go for someone more closer to your age?”

“No, and I’ve never believed age should stop two consenting adults from getting to know each other better.”

“Josuke, I’m old enough to be your big sibling though.”

He quirks his brow at that like you’ve just said something weird. “Well, Mr. Joestar, was like ancient when he met my mom so that really doesn’t bother me.”

For some reason, that comment breaks the tension. You barely hold back a grin. “This Mr. Joestar guy is your father then?”

“Biologically speaking, yeah. He’s pretty old now and I never really knew him, but my mom still loves him with everything she has.”

Okay. Now you are really having heart palpitations.

Josuke is exhibiting a surprising amount of maturity right now, making you eat your words about him being too young for you. Why did he have to be so convincing on top of being cute?

“Give me a chance,” he says. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

After mulling over it for a moment, you finally acquiesce.

“Alright, Josuke. One date, and we’ll see from there.” and just to catch him off guard, you peck his cheek. “Okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Of course, it’ll be perfect!”

Taking the empty lemonade glass from him, you both re-enter your home with smiles on your faces. Josuke stays a little longer and you both chat for a while then make plans for your date. You get to learn about how much of a hopeless romantic he is and how he’s a firm believer in love. He makes it very clear that he doesn’t want a fling and that he’s looking for long-term. All of these things surprise you, as they aren’t what you’d expect from someone as gorgeous as him.

By the time the sun is setting, you know it’s time for you two to part ways. Josuke stands at your foyer with pursed lips and a blush on his cheeks. “Can I...kiss you?”

To answer his question, you lean up and press a soft kiss on his mouth. Josuke’s strong arms snake around your hips, drawing you closer into his sturdy frame. His plush lips are gentle and pliant against your own.

When Josuke finally pulls back he is presented with the sight of your closed eyes and kiss-reddened lips and it’s the most enthralling two seconds ever. He thinks you're so freaking beautiful.

“Alright handy-man,” you say as you give him one last peck on the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure thing!”

Ironically enough, you have this nightmare of a heatwave to thank for your date with Morioh Cho’s favorite dreamboat.

#josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #jjba x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure #diamond is unbreakable #jojo #jjba #my writing

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