#hold resentment over being lied to for years over this. and she’s been lied to about it for longer.

[flippedorbit]

i truly wish my mom would tell my sister the truth

#Rasp Rambles #more specifically about santa and all that. because i personally hate the fact that i have to still pretend to believe for my sister becaus #our mom refuses to tell her the truth that santa isn’t real. i also am still upset with my mom from when i was about seven or eight when i #found out on my own that he wasn’t real and every adult in my life had lied to me for years about it. like my sister is twelve. i still #hold resentment over being lied to for years over this. and she’s been lied to about it for longer. #same thing about our father being a piece of shit who put all of our lives in danger. almost fucking constantly. #he drank and did drugs all the time. he never had a job and would sell weed. our mom was working two jobs most of life because he couldn’t #get his shit together even once. not even after my sister was born. and he’s been in jail or prison since my sister was about nine. #that’s three whole fucking years where my sister has had no clue out dads been to those places. he was in and out of jail several times whe #she was nine and ten. he’s been in prison i believe for the past two years now. or at the very least one year. i hate all the lying and #sheltering and overprotection. this is the kind of shit that will hurt her so much worse when she finds out on her own

[euphoricfilter]

Devil That I Know: The Prologue

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Demon au || Non-Idol au || Yandere au || Reincarnation || Strangers to Lovers

Summary: It's a shame how refuge will become your downfall.

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/ warnings: mentioned death/ murder, sacrifice, sexy demon jungkook who has 4 arms, jimin is just mean (for now), the start of the yandere and just taehyung being a cutie

Notes: she’s back! and better than ever, new and improved, my baby <3 even if you’ve read the old version of dtik, i recommend reading again!! there has been a few added elements + way better writing!

devil that i know masterlist || my other stuff

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[a little death]

[1859]

Death seemed to have found solace in your shadow. Slithering around your ankles and chewing up any unfortunate living being you came across; acting as a parasite, touch of your fingers sticky poison. The rawest form of hatred radiating off your skin into the world, a curse. 

A simple wish for the price of a life, and maybe this was the universe’s sick joke, that you’ll live to suffer while the rest of the world carries the burden of a small selfish wish.

Maybe death has found home in your sorrows, wretched sadness, anguish, ugly ugly emotions cradling you like a mother would her child. Truly pitiful comfort where anger is useless.

It must have been almost a year ago your misfortune had truly started, foolishly leaving a life you never wanted. Though you suppose you never really had a choice, this day was inevitable when you were the odd one out, a leech, a pitiful child– not that that mattered at all to the man who was the starting point of your resentment. 

A wish for a life that was solely your own. A wish you never thought had been too big of an ask, leaving fragile hope in the hands of fate, praying that the world would take pity on your wilted soul. 

Now, freedom was a day’s journey away. Coastline so close yet so far away, a new life, one you’d been dreaming of since young, slipping through your fingers like dry sand– every step forward, the sea pulling away until you’re chasing after sodden dreams, leaving you stranded at the shore. 

Life looked like a damp cell in a run-down village, barely holding on; dependent on trade, though only one other village thrives in this area, hours away– over the mountain. Trips far and few with the horses they have, produce barely worth a piece of gold. 

The true situation of the village should have become apparent at their panic of unexpected visitors. Accusations spat your way, your own life flashing before your eyes, only for your friend to bear the brunt of their temper. No one of them had thought to hear you out, their words like venom, because in their eyes you’d come to spy on their village, a lie that would ruin you. 

You weren’t like them; and so you’d become an easy target. 

Secrets locked behind closed doors, lies fed to those clueless of what really happened when the sun falls over the horizon and the world is shrouded in darkness. 

Corruption was everywhere, the world so unfair, where fickle human emotions consume those greedy enough to sell their souls for power, for something more, anything to get out of their awful little lives. 

If you told a lie long enough, if you yourself believed in it, then surely it must be true. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d never expected your first encounter with death, you suppose no one really does. And in your months of solitude, locked up against your will, you’ve learnt you can’t change the past. No matter how many tears wet the dry ground, how much you scream, how much you pray to anyone listening, the past will forever be how it is and you can’t change that. 

Regret is an awful emotion, a million ‘what ifs’ consuming your mind. What if you and your friend had chosen the village over the mountain? What if you had never decided to leave? What if you had traveled alone?

If things had been different, minute details that could have changed the whole course of your life, then maybe your friend would still be alive. Maybe you’d have found the coast, hair windswept as you stand on the deck of the boat, life that of a bird; free. 

You could never see much out of the small window of your cell, rare that the sun would dare poke its head in to say hello, never there to kiss your cheeks red, or warm frozen toes.

The nights had started to get colder, the few seconds you got to see the outside world through the open door is enough for you to know the leaves had begun falling off the trees. Dusty path blanketed with reds and oranges, footsteps harder to hear on the few days you’re fed– never more than what’s left over from the village men. 

The second time death had chosen to lurk was when a crisis had become of the village. Their crops rotting, black mold greedy in the way it had chewed through their livestock. Animals sent from the gods, lay dead on the ground, useless when their harvest season was right around the corner. 

“An evil spirit has cursed the lands” 

You’d wondered how you’d escaped the clutches of death a second time. But your purpose had become apparent when you’d heard whispers of the demon that lived in the mountains. A ruler of this very land.

Rumors carried by the wind had told you that he’d become restless, that the townspeople needed a sacrifice to sate his growing rage. They couldn’t go a season without crops, and none of the men dared push their wives forward as the gift. 

And so you, had been the sacrifice. The true purpose of them keeping you locked up and alive, was to act as their gift for the one that lived in the mountains.

Human fear is often the scariest, compassion absolutely destroyed, empathy non-existent. 

That’s why you don’t find yourself begging when you’re woken up one morning, cold water a shock to the system. Adrenaline useless as it pumps through your veins. It doesn’t take long for you to grasp the reason one of the village boys had come to see you so early, the sun barely having woken herself. 

You cough, wiping your wet face with the backs of your hand. Eyebrows creased into a frown as your eyes flit over to the entrance of your cell. 

“Get up” 

He mustn't be much older than you, pretty lips turned down into a prominent frown that you have to will yourself not to scoff at. Because really if anyone should frown as though the world were against them, it should be you. 

You don’t move, a dangerous game you’d been playing since you’d first arrived in the village. Because if you acted as though you didn’t understand them, language not your own, then you’d keep a little bit of your freedom. Ignorance covered as misunderstandings; actions out of spite, simply accidents. 

The boy tuts, door to the cell creaking, almost yanked off it hinges as he strides towards you. He’s rough as he grabs onto your arms, pulling you up from the sorry excuse of a bed. You pull your arms from his grip, skin prickly with pure hatred. 

“Change into these” he shoves a pile of clothes into your arms, tattered underwear falling to the floor.

If you had any shame, maybe you’d be a little embarrassed as he turns around, arms crossed over his chest. Though it seemed that any lick of shame that dared plague your mind, was consumed by anger as you yank your clothes off—Wringing your wet hair out, rolling the bottoms of the pants up. 

You flinch at the sound of another voice, “Jimin, are you almost done?”

The village boy turns around, eyes raking over your body, “Almost” he calls back. 

You eye the open door as Jimin steps out of your cell, “Don’t even think about it” 

It’s uncomfortable how tight he ties the ropes, hands bound behind your back where one mean tug from Jimin could send you tumbling face first into the floor. 

And it’s infinitely more uncomfortable how the whole village seems to gather, the chief parading you down the split path of people like a prize as Jimin watches your back.

A gift sent from the heavens to save their village, to save their people. Ironic when months ago everyone had been cursing your existence, asking why they should keep you locked up, why you hadn’t died beside your friend. 

It takes almost a day to hike up the mountain on foot, they may have thought of you as their sacrificial savior, that didn’t mean they were willing to waste their resources on you. 

Sweat tickles the back of your neck, hair clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You’re tired. Moments away from your legs giving way, willing to let the sun melt your skin and bones until you become one with the earth. Summer sun still clinging onto the sky before the seasons truly change.

The world takes pity on you as you stumble over your own feet, almost headbutting Jimin’s back as he stops. Your heart is in your throat as reality sets in, the rumors of a demon true. It didn’t look like anyone lived here; picket fence damp, old in a way that bugs had chewed through the wood.

Your eyes settle on the sign that hangs from a tree branch– “Jeon”. 

Jimin grabs the thick rope of the bell, muscles in his arms flexing as he announces your arrival. 

The shred of hope that you held in your heart shatters when you hear the crunch of footsteps. Silhouette of a man wandering through the archway of trees behind the fence.

You think he looks more like an angel than a demon, hair a fluffy mess, almost cute in the way he almost trips over his sandals. He catches himself before he can fall, stopping in front of Jimin on the other side of the gate. 

He places a hand over his heart, taking his time in catching his breath– and you can see Jimin’s patience wearing thin, heel of his boot tapping against the grass. Face etched into a permanent scowl that you can only assume is your doing.

You wet your lips at the sound of the boy’s voice, deeper than you’d expected, “Hello, how may I help you?” 

Your eyes fixate on the mole sat at the tip of his nose. 

“Are you the demon that resides here?” Jimin tugs you forward, heavy hand falling on the back of your neck. 

“Oh–” the man’s eyes widen, running a hand through his hair, “No, he’s inside” 

You peek over his shoulder, path veiled by trees, dark abyss waiting beyond the rotted gate. A world that looked so far from your own, a little secret hidden between the trees.

Jimin hums, “Here” he pats your back, “A delivery from the village” 

You dig your heels further into the ground as Jimin’s fingertips trail over your back, silent warning to do whatever you’re told. Maybe a cruel little goodbye, because the both of you knew that you might not ever make it out of there alive.

He waves at you as he starts his descent down the mountain, sadistic little smile of his face.  

Now would be a good time to run, though you wouldn’t know where to go. You suppose anything would be better than this. Maybe if you begged nicely the demon would kill you painlessly; maybe listening to your cries of mercy. Granting you an easy death so you could finally rest. 

The demon’s friend slips through the fence, “Do you understand me? Are you okay?” 

You nod. So many words hanging on the tip of your tongue, though you don’t seem to know what to say first. 

“I’m Taehyung” he tells you, smile fragile as he moves to take a look at your bound wrists. “May I?” he asks, and you turn to give him better access to your back. 

“What’s your name?” 

You swallow, wetting your dry throat, “Y/n” 

“Jungkook is really nice, I’m sure he’ll let you stay for a while” 

It’s weird how even as the ropes make a dull thump against the damp ground, you don’t feel any more free than you had when you’d been bound. 

Opening the gate, Taehyung motions for you to step inside, letting you follow him down the path and into the open area. Your eyes wander over the courtyard, freshly fallen leaves the color of a sunset scattered across the grass. Stood through the archway of trees stands the heart of the house. 

Without knocking, Taehyung pulls the door open. Intricately crafted table sat in the middle of the room.

He sits at the table like royalty, posture that of a king– clothes that of a nobleman. He looked younger than Taehyung, book held by one hand ever so elegantly, really he could be mistaken for a royal if it weren’t for the inky black snake that peeks out of the sleeve of his shirt. 

You try not to linger on his extra pair of arms. Breath catching in your throat when they fold over his stomach. Entirely unhuman, something you’d never seen before.

His eyes flicker over your face, turning to Taehyung with his eyebrow raised. You flinch as he shuts his book, full attention now on you and his friend. 

“Who’s this?” 

You feel the embarrassment lick up your spine as he takes in the way you’re dressed, warm blush surely flushing your cheeks pink. Both of your lives so dramatically different. 

Taehyung clears his throat when you don’t say anything, “This is Y/n” 

“Does she understand us?” Jungkook asks, curious eyes meeting your own. Taehyung turns to you, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. 

“I do” and Jungkook hums, a little taken aback with how formal you’d come off. 

“Why are you here?” there’s no malice in his voice, simple curiosity. Something you hadn’t been expecting. And you wish he had just shouted, unexpected understanding strange when you had prepared for the worst. 

Taehyung grabs a pillow from under the table, fingertips barely grazing your back as he helps you sit opposite Jungkook. 

“I’ll make us some tea” Taehyung smiles. A whisper for him to stay stuck on the tip of your tongue as he wanders further into the back room leaving you alone with Jungkook. 

Your eyes stay trained in your lap, picking at your nails, fiddling with the hem of your shirt; really anything to keep you from having to look into Jungkook’s eyes. 

“I asked a question” he reminds you, “why are you here?” 

“I’m a sacrifice. A gift from the people in the village of the east” 

“A gift?” he urges, utterly enraptured by the mind of humans. 

“Their land had been cursed, or so they say” you meet his eyes, “this is an offering for you to save the land, to sate your anger. That’s all I know, no one ever spoke much around the cell they kept me in” 

“Cell?” his eyebrows raise, curious.

You hum, “It is nothing but rumors, but they say the king wanted people like myself dead, the chief had told his people I’d come to spy on them. That my life would be of use, so they let me live” 

“Is that so?” Jungkook falls back, holding himself up by his arms, “Taehyung hadn’t told me such rumors were going around” 

You open your mouth, a question that’s been playing on your mind since a child put to an abrupt stop when Taehyung wanders back into the room. Teacup and delicate little porcelain plates balanced on a wooden tray. 

“Thank you” your voice is barely above a whisper as your fingers delicatly take hold of the cup. 

“So–” Taehyung starts, taking a seat beside you, “are you staying with us?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, a lame attempt in covering a cough as your eyes meet Jungkook’s. 

“Please? I could always use the extra help” Taehyung continues, arm slung over your shoulder, “What do you think?” 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, head tilting in question. It’s strange how far you can get lost in someone’s eyes, how for some it’s ever so easy to nitpick seemingly insignificant changes in expression. Maybe it had been a self-defense mechanism, a means to survive, but you’d always felt you’d been good at knowing how people felt, knowing where to build a wall, draw a line, anything.

Jungkook was a strange being, how what lies beneath his gaze is unattable no matter how long you search.

Jungkook’s eyes gave no indication as to how he felt about you. Expression eerily neutral that even if you were to ask him how he felt, his tone would be of no help. Someone so in control of their body and mind, someone above that of natural human nature; and you suppose thats only fair considering he weren’t a mortal like you or Taehyung. 

“You guys do whatever you want” Jungkook picks up his book, touch gentle as he flips back to the page he’d left. 

You turn to Taehyung, “If it’s okay, then I don’t mind staying” because living a life secluded from the world, protected by the rotting gate at the end of the path, was a safer way to live than travelling alone with no place to call home.

And as long as Jungkook held no resentment towards you, letting you live a life of peace, even if only for a fleeting moment—then maybe you’d hold onto that last selfish little sliver of hope. 

Taehyung takes ahold of your hands, the prettiest smile gracing his face, “You must be exhausted. How about a bath? You’ll have to wear some of my clothes until I can make you some–” 

“Tae” Jungkook laughs, “Slow down, you’ll overwhelm her” 

Taehyung’s fingers intertwine with your own, tugging you to stand.

You turn back to Jungkook before Taehyung can drag you out of the room, “Thank you” you call out to him.

He waves you off, thumb running over his bottom lip, “It’s nothing” and really it wasn't, he already housed one human, what was one more? Not when like Taehyung, you’d been betrayed by your own kind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Have you heard of any rumors circulating the village?” Jungkook asks his friend, Taehyung running a hand through his hair. Having left you to wash up and change before he would show you your new bedroom.

“Rumours?” Taehyung’s head tilts a little.

Jungkook hums, “About the king” 

“None” he shakes his head, “Only whispers about bandits raiding the outskirts of the capital” 

“Nothing about any spies?” 

Taehyung’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, back straightening slightly as he gazes down at Jungkook. “Is this about Y/n?” 

Jungkook sighs, “Something’s happening in the east, don’t go there from now on” 

Taehyung nods, “I’ll keep an eye on her, just in case” 

“I doubt there’s a need. The two of you are quite similar” Jungkook hums, “Just make sure she’s comfortable, that’s all I ask” 

“And you?” 

Jungkook pushes himself to stand, “Nothing much will change around here” 

Taehyung’s role in Jungkook’s life hadn’t been a coincidence. And as much as it felt like Jungkook was the one helping Taehyung, demons were a little more selfish than that. Sure, Jungkook gave Tae a second chance at life, but that was only because he wanted something from him. It all worked out in the end, Jungkook made his first friend and Taehyung lived comfortable. 

You, however, Jungkook hadn’t seeked you out. You were handed to him by the graces of hell, destiny walking you up this mountain. Adorably strong-willed, though perhaps too trusting of the very being that could bring you to your downfall.

Jungkook was anything but a saviour, everything he ever did was only to with his own wellbeing in mind. But you, you were the one thing that he hadn’t planned. An anomaly thrusted in his face, how could he turn away his gift from the world?

Your desire for freedom was endearing, the human will to live something Jungkook found utterly intriguing when all the world seemed to do was fuck you over. Naïve hope disguised by a hard exterior, pitiful in the way the world had rejected your mere existence. Something Jungkook was more willing to use, arms curling around your fragile existence.

Because as much as you thought of him as your refuge, he knew that he would become your downfall.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #bts demon au #bts non idol au #bts

[soulessjourney]

Stranger In The Shadows (Part 2)

Paring: Azriel x Reader (Rhysand's sister)

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: It's been almost two years since Y/N disappeared without a trace during one of her missions. Now, she suddenly reappears just outside of Velaris with no memory and a strange darkness enveloping her mind. What secrets does she now hold after her mysterious disappearance? What lies within that abyss of darkness that consumes her?

Warnings: mentions of violence, abuse, blood, injuries, angst, mentions of vomiting

Darkness enveloped your mind, tormenting you with memories of your screams and the sinister laughter of your captors. Vivid images of fire and knives flashed before your eyes as you pleaded for your life. Their faces remained obscured, almost as if your mind shielded you from seeing their true identities, an attempt to protect you from the horrors you had endured. You sensed something building up within you, as if your body were about to ignite. Distant whispers taunted you, a constant reminder that you now belonged to them. You were no longer in control; your mind and soul had been seized by the monsters who had kept you on the brink of death for two years.

The realization was heart-wrenching. You no longer had authority over your own actions or thoughts. Who were you to become after this? A stranger within your own mind and body, a foreign soul attempting to govern a corrupted and broken vessel. The men standing before you were strangers, their faces blurred and concealed by an ominous, amorphous mass that mimicked an evil presence. "Kill them," it would whisper. "Kill them now." Every part of your being ached, and you struggled to contain your nausea. Your mind felt like a prison, and you no longer had control over yourself.

Two months. Two months had passed since you were taken to the House of Wind, since you had lashed out, expelling the darkness within you. Two months since you heard your mate cry out your name upon finding you in bed. As you gazed at the door, you could discern the shadows of the High Lord and the Shadowsinger moving outside, engaged in hushed conversation. Rhysand had introduced himself as your older brother, and Azriel as your mate. Part of you resented not recognizing your own mate or brother.

Rhysand had considered you too dangerous to be left unattended, especially after you had stopped time itself. The shadows whispered curses in your ears, inciting you to harm the two men outside your door. You detested the condescending tone of those voices as they urged you to inflict pain. Groaning, you leaned over the bed, expelling the food and water you had consumed earlier, the sound growing louder.

The door swung open, and the two males looked at you in horror. There you were, on your hands and knees, retching as a black liquid poured from you. When the sounds ceased, a chilling sensation swept through your body before you collapsed on the ground, pale and drenched in sweat. Rhysand called for Madja as he rushed towards you, only to be halted by a shroud of shadows encircling your body, forming a black curtain. The shadows seemed to calm as Madja entered the room and approached you.

This was unlike anything Madja had ever witnessed. What had happened to you during those two years of captivity? Assisting you back onto the bed, Madja covered you to provide warmth and placed a cool rag on your forehead. She motioned for the two males to move to the other side of the room to confer while keeping an eye on you. "This is unlike anything I have ever seen, and I've witnessed countless things I wish I could forget," Madja remarked. "We need to monitor her closely. I'll analyze the substance and conduct some research to identify it. But what both of you need to determine is what transpired during her absence. Rhysand, work on building trust with her, see if she'll allow you into her mind. Azriel, spend time with her, earn her trust, and encourage her to open up to you. Every word you choose must be carefully considered; you're playing a high-stakes game with her life." Madja then moved to clean up the contents you had vomited before exiting the room.

Rhysand let out a soft sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned to Azriel. "How are we supposed to gain her trust when she wants to kill us every time we come near her?" he asked, his violet eyes filled with sorrow and despair. This was his little sister, the girl he had promised to protect and for whom he would sacrifice his life. His best friend who knew all his secrets, the one person he had trusted more than anyone else in his life.

Azriel remained silent as he studied you. You looked vastly different from the last time he had seen you. Your cheekbones were more pronounced, and you appeared paler. The honey tan that once graced your skin had vanished, replaced by a milky white complexion that made you appear almost lifeless. His eyes caught something in your hair, and he raised an eyebrow. Stepping closer, he gently moved your hair aside, revealing a white streak that started just above your ears and ran through your long curls. Examining the other side, he noticed a matching streak. What had happened? Your hair had not looked like this earlier. Reflecting on the moment you had been on your hands and knees, retching up that dark substance, something about it felt ominous. What had they done to you during your disappearance? What coursed through your veins and controlled you? Sighing, Azriel stepped away and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. "I promise I'll free you from whatever they've done to you," he whispered before leaving the room, with Rhysand following closely behind.

After about a week, Rhysand and Azriel had made little progress in gaining your trust. They sat at a table with the rest of the Inner Circle, with Madja seated across from Rhysand, while the Inner Circle watched her attentively. "After examining the substance Y/N expelled from her body last week, I sensed a familiar quality in the power she possesses, and the substance had a peculiar essence," she explained. The others leaned in, hanging on her every word. "She's connected to the cauldron."

Gasps rippled through the room before Nesta spoke up. "So she's like us? But how is that possible? Her powers now rival Rhysand's, and if she wanted to, she could level the entire Night Court," Nesta said, shifting closer to Cassian, who exchanged a nervous glance with Rhysand. It was true, your powers had grown to the point where they could match Rhysand's, and this fact terrified him. He didn't want to treat his sister as an enemy, but if you remained closed off, they might have no choice.

Madja shook her head and turned her attention to the Archeron sisters. "Not quite. You were created by the cauldron, so you have a connection to it, but she has become the embodiment of the cauldron, meaning she possesses its powers. She can also communicate with it, and it exerts control over her. Now, there is a way to save her, but it would involve essentially pushing her to the brink of death to sever the bond she shares with the cauldron." Madja looked at Azriel. "There are significant risks associated with this process. It could awaken the latent power within her, potentially sparking a war, or we might lose her soul and mind, rendering her incapable of functioning. It's akin to the effects of breaking a mating bond, but even more severe."

Azriel met Madja's gaze as she spoke. He wasn't sure if he could bear the thought of losing you, leaving you as a mere shell of your former self. "Is there a possibility that, if we can't sever the bond, we can help her harness the powers she now possesses and use them to protect the court?" Azriel hated suggesting the idea of exploiting your abilities to safeguard their court, but with powers capable of obliterating an entire court in seconds, it was worth considering to prevent further wars.

"It's difficult to say for certain. However, breaking this bond is crucial because it will ultimately lead to her death. The cauldron is slowly draining the life from her, and it's only a matter of time before she perishes. I need all of you to observe the patterns of her behavior, to recognize when she acts out and when she's at peace with herself. She has started recognizing all of you, but the cauldron will go to great lengths to protect its host." The Inner Circle grimaced at the harsh reality Madja described, but it underscored the urgency of breaking this bond.

For the next several weeks, you noticed an increasing number of visitors, particularly your mate and your brother. They seemed to visit at specific times of the day, coinciding with the moments when the power within you remained dormant, almost as if it were sleeping. But it was far from asleep; it was vigilant, observing everything happening around you and eavesdropping on the conversations taking place. It eagerly sought a weak point within the Night Court to exploit, and it delighted in watching the court unravel as the Inner Circle became more determined to get closer to you.

As you stood at the window, your head began to pulse, and the shadows you held seemed to come alive, almost forming another person beside you. You couldn't help but notice the features it possessed. It was you, taking on the form of you, with those unsettling black pits for eyes. "They're going to separate us. They're afraid of what we are, and they want to sever our connection for good," the figure hissed.

"They want to save my life. We all know my body can't handle the power you gave me. Shouldn't you be relieved that you won't have a host on the brink of death every time you lash out?" you countered, turning your gaze back to the window. It felt surreal to be having a conversation with the shadow beside you, but it was preferable to the constant buzzing in your head.

"You are not weak, girl. In fact, you're quite the opposite. You're strong enough to harness the power we possess, but it's up to you to embrace the power we hold. Only then can we become truly strong," the shadow claimed. You laughed, shaking your head at the words hissed in your direction.

"They believe that breaking our bond will save your life, but in reality, it will kill you. I am a part of you, Y/N. They can try to suppress and separate us, but that task is impossible."

You hummed, crossing your arms and fully facing the figure in front of you. "You want me to harm my family. Why would I give in to you when that's your only desire? I refuse to bring down my brother's court for your amusement. Besides, you're nothing more than a tool, a pawn even, to Beron. Why would you want to be nothing more than an asset to someone who doesn't care about your well-being after he gets what he wants?" you questioned, maintaining your gaze on the shadowed figure. Just as the door began to open, causing the shadows to disperse and hide.

As you glanced towards the door, Azriel walked into the room, wearing a soft smile as he looked at you. The more time you had spent together, the more memories of your relationship came flooding back. It brought you a sense of peace to know that you had someone who loved you more than life itself, but it also made it that much harder to trust him. He was willing to put your life on the line to save the court, and part of you resented him for that. "I heard you talking. Was there someone else here?" he inquired, scanning the room for any signs of an intruder.

Shaking your head, you moved across the room and sat on the bed, picking up a book. "No, just talking to myself. I've had a lot on my mind, and it helps to say it out loud," you replied, offering him a small smile.

"Liar," you silently begged him to say those words, but he surprised you by sitting down beside you instead. "You've seemed happier lately. I got permission from Rhysand to take you out for a walk around Velaris tomorrow. We can get you some new clothes and perhaps some of the sweets you used to enjoy." His words shattered something inside you. Azriel was determined to find the old you within the shadows that consumed you, but you knew you were no longer that person. You had died the moment you merged with the cauldron. Azriel's pursuit of the past you would only lead to disappointment.

You nodded and turned away from him, opening your book. You could feel his gaze burning into your head, and you saw his hand move toward you before he thought better of it. The connection between you two sagged in sadness, yearning for his touch. It was a silent and unspoken longing that hung in the air, a connection strained by distance and emotions left unexpressed.

Perhaps one day, you would find the confidence to yield to his touch and bridge the growing gap between you. Inside, you heard the cauldron's laughter echoing in response to your thoughts. You felt lost, powerless, reduced to a puppet serving Beron and the cauldron's will.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar #acotar fandom #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #sarah j maas #rhysand #angst #acomaf #acosf #acowar #azriel x you #azriel x y/n

[julieverne]

HG Wells shouldn't be alive.

But she is. And she's here, in Myka's bedroom.

In Myka's bed.

Abigail had warned Myka. Abigail had said she'd been unable to locate HG's room.

Because HG Wells shouldn't be alive, and the B&B knows that. The Warehouse knows that. Myka knows that.

But she's sleeping in Myka's bed, and though she lies still she's clearly not dead.

Her hair is a shimmering mass of wonder. Her lips are curled into a smile. She's in one of Myka's shirts, and probably (hopefully) pants too.

HG Wells finally got into Myka's pants. Heh. Myka chuckles to herself under her breath, careful not to wake the sleeping woman in her bed.

Her arms are curled around Myka's teddy bear, and she holds him to her chest the same way Myka does. She seems comforted.

She's alive. She's asleep. And Myka is watching her because there is nothing else in the world she would rather do right now.

Finally Myka steps forward, and she grasps HG's shoulder.

HG blinks sleepily up at her, then a smile breaks across her face, the way waves break on their way to shore. Slowly, steadily, then all at once.

"I apologise for the imposition, but Abigail is still rather new at the business, and she said you were out of town." HG yawns and stretches, and Myka is breathless at the sight of those little limbs under her baggy shirt. She leaps forward and hugs HG, bringing them both crashing down to the mattress. HG is technically trapped, but that's never stopped her from escaping before.

She doesn't struggle. She never does. Not when it's Myka holding the gun, the handcuffs, the gun (again), the Tesla. HG just sinks deeper into the blankets under Myka with a soft, pleased hum as she relinquishes Myka's teddy bear in favour of his owner. Her hands are soft, but her body is hard from years of fighting.

Myka can't quite manage words. HG is alive. HG is in her arms. HG is holding her.

"S-stay," Myka stutters, blushing when she hears HG's pleased chuckle from beneath her, feeling the expansion of HG's chest when oxygen enters it.

"I have nowhere else to go."

Myka should ask what happened, how HG escaped, if this is real, but she's so scared it's not that she can't.

She just holds the only person who knows her until she can form a full sentence.

Which is several hours and several naps later.

When she wakes, HG is sleeping. Sunlight casts long shadows across her face, her delicate brow, her soft lips. Myka nestles closer and tries to stay awake. Just in case the next time she wakes it's not real.

When she wakes, she's cradled in HG's arms. HG is looking at her like she's an invention she's not clever enough to think up on her own, and Myka glows.

She's always known. Since the moment they met. Even after being betrayed, Myka hasn't stopped knowing. She's always known HG, just as HG has always known her. HG's fingers trail over the skin of Myka's arms and the rest of her body hates not being touched by her. The rest of her body resents and envies the tender flesh of her inner forearm, of the inside of her wrist, and finally her palm.

They're never held hands before. They've never slept together before, either, but they both knew that one of them would cave and the other would follow in relief.

"I missed you," HG says, and she's solid. She's not a holograph, or a shell. She's not a dream, not this time. She's together, she's whole, and her clipped accent is music to Myka's ears. A whole sympathy, a whole symphony. Myka lets her fingers thread through HG's so they're entwined. So HG can't skip away again.

"Where have you been?"

"I was in a hospital for rather a while," HG says, and of all things, Myka had expected an artifact to save her, not science. She'd checked all of HG's known aliases. "I appear to be better now. I'll never walk unassisted again. You should know that now, before..."

"Before what?" Myka challenges her.

"Before you kiss me," HG says, so irritatingly certain that Myka had been about to. "Before you commit to someone broken."

"You've never been broken," Myka tells her, and she kisses HG's knuckles. "You've been angered by injustice, and the world has been unjust to you. Are you in pain?"

"Not - not right now. Not anymore."

"Can you forgive me?" Myka asks, her voice cracking, and HG's hand leaves hers only so she can hold Myka tighter.

"Whatever for?"

"For not being in time. For not saving you. For not thinking of a way to save you. I still can't think of one."

"It's you who must forgive me, darling. I could have come sooner. I could have let you know I was alive. But I thought you wouldn't want me."

Myka can see the crutches now, propped against the bed. She wonders how long it had taken HG to get back on her feet this time.

"One more question," Myka says, and she feels HG nod, her chin against Myka's head where it rests on her chest. "Can I kiss you?"

"You would?" HG's voice is shy this time, and filled with wonder. Myka answers that question with a kiss, and HG is filled with enough wonder for an eternity.

HG Wells shouldn't be alive, but she's warm and responsive and moaning into Myka's mouth. And Myka can't waste another moment with her.

#bering and wells #myka bering #helena wells #warehouse 13

[cupcakeslushie]

With the newest update, it's got me thinking a lot about Karai's role in this au. More on her actions and treatment of Leo and what lies in the future for her. It's been mentioned and made obvious that the "sibling" (i say in quotes since Karai doesn't even see Leo as an equal) relationship between Leo and Karai is nothing short on unhealthy and toxic. Thus, Leo learning what a real relationship with siblings is with the Hamato family. Karai wants to be the better soldier in the Shredder's eyes and seems to take any opportunity to bring down Leo. But something I keep thinking about is what happens to her after Leo has the emperyon removed and (along with the apocalypse future) after stopping the invasion. Basically, is there still a chance at some sort of redemption for her, or are her actions throughout the au unable to be forgiven. It's said that after Leo leaves the Foot, she tries to prove to Shredder that she didn't even need him to begin with and can handle herself just fine. The only time we've seen her act nice towards Leo is right after the session with Kitsune, where Leo is pretty out of it, but who's to say how often that happens. And then there's Leo himself and how he sees Karai after all that happens. Does he just try and forget about her, or does he hold any kind of resentment like Shredder. There's the question of whether he would be willing to forgive her for her actions. Though this isn't even taking into how Karai wasn't actually Shredder daughter but Splinter's instead.

I know that the answer to this is most likely spoilers, but I could into a whole character analysis on whether redemption is an option for Karai or if she's reached a point like Shredder. It would be interesting to hear you thought on what you can say. Though for the time being, I can wait to see what happens! Thanks for coming to my TedTalk, I hope you have a great day, and remember to stay hydrated! :D

Some of the future stuff is kinda spoilers, but I will say, she’s not a monster on the same level as Saki. She’s certainly not an angel, but she will have her own arc and we’ll see how the chips fall.

At the moment in the comic, Karai thinks seeing Leo fail is a necessary stepping stone to proving her own worth and she’s very bitter over Leo earning a commander title before her. Once Leo leaves, and she has most of Saki’s attention on her, she realizes that the Shredder will never be pleased, Karai starts to rethink her feelings toward Leo, and realizes how much she misses how they used to be. She also has no idea of Shredder’s full plan to create his own dark armor to imprison Leo.

In the past Karai, Usagi, and Leo were…friends (after a rocky start) for a very few short years. Usagi being probably the most distant, for the obvious reasons of hating Saki and the Foot Clan. But with Karai and Leo following him around, training together, and bunking together, he eventually stops taking his anger out on them, and becomes a reluctant participant in their childish hi-jinks. Unfortunately, that does not last long.

Around a year before Usagi manages his escape, Leo’s goofing around on a mission leads to Karai getting seriously hurt. As a result Saki punishes Leo so severely and Leo gets the crack on his plastron. Usagi goes to see Leo, but it’s like he’s a totally different person after that. Leo no longer smiles or jokes and takes training much too seriously.

Karai isn’t much better. She seems to meet Leo’s cold attitude with one of her own, and her teasing becomes much harsher and biting. They all grow distant and Usagi sees no other option but to try and escape. Usagi even extends his hand to Leo when the two cross paths, hoping that Leo would snap out of this strange, new personality he’s adopted, but when Leo doesn’t even react, Usagi turns and leaves for good.

Things get even more strained without Usagi around to act as mediator. The only time Karai allows herself to show she cares, are the moments after Leo’s sessions because he is so out of it. She assumes he doesn’t remember enough that she can be a little softer with him, and Leo usually never calls attention to those times, so who knows.

Once Leo spends time with his family, and sees how a healthy sibling relationship should look, he often wonders how things might’ve been different growing up in the safety of the Hamato Clan. When the family learns that Karai is actually their sister, Leo makes it his mission to save her from the Foot Clan.

#rottmnt #separated au #rottmnt separated au #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise leo #rise karai #sep!au info dump #ew au #empyrian weeping au

[hedgehog-moss]

I meant to shear my llamas last spring, but ended up having to cancel due to yet another national lockdown—and it was actually for the best since last summer was so cold and rainy; not a good time to be a naked llama.

So we postponed things by a year, and our new appointment was today, and I'm so pleased with how it went! The shearer said, and I quote, that my llamas were exceptionally nice llamas. I'd never had them shorn before, so I didn't know what to expect, and just to be safe my mum and I added crossbars between the posts in the corral earlier this week—it used to be just a wire fence. I thought wooden rails would be more of a deterrent in case of a llama uprising (literally—Pampe's jumped over this corral fence once when she was a teenager.)

Here are the new crossbars, with fresh leaves still attached, for a bonus llama snack (they have now been eaten)

I decided Pampelune would go first. Pyrgus refused to enter the corral with his mum, so he worriedly watched her being haltered and tied to a post from outside—I was hoping for a poignant mother-son nose-cuddle scene like in Dumbo but no, Pampy actually looked a bit offended by her son's wimpiness, and Gus was like sorry :( the corral is scary :(

Pampy was so calm and patient throughout <3 She's a very chill llama so I was expecting things to go well with her. I warned the shearer that Pampérigouste would be another story—that was the reason I wanted Pampy to go first, so Pampe could watch her mother calmly being shorn and see that nothing bad was happening.

The only issue we encountered is that Pampelune likes to wear her ears low behind her head, as shown above, because it just seems to be the ear position she finds most comfortable (and it's the reason she ranked last in last year's ear contest), so we had to grab her ears and move them this way and that in order to shear the back of her head, and she very much resented it. Still, she was very good and was awarded a banana peel and half a carrot.

(Important bit of arcane knowledge: underneath her wool, a llama has the texture of very old and scratchy wall-to-wall carpeting)

At first I hesitated to keep Pampe in the corral while her mum was being shorn, explaining that she might freak out about being trapped in a small fenced place with a stranger wielding a very noisy unknown device. Straight away she started debunking my claims by being very calmly and politely curious about what was happening.

The shearer had been previously told on the phone that she might only be able to shear 1 llama, because the second one is a bit of a pain in general. Pampe's never been shorn in her life and she's Pampe. A free llama. She doesn't like being controlled or immobilised or forced to wear a halter and she's not particularly trusting with strangers. It seemed safe to assume shearing her would be challenging, and the shearer was abundantly warned that she would be dealing with one Good Llama and one Bad Llama.

So, of course, Pampe proceeded to be The Best Llama This Shearer Had Ever Met. Just so she could complain about being unfairly slandered, I suppose. She didn't even dance around or lift her feet when her legs were being shorn, which is apparently something every llama does as a defensive reflex. She just stood there like "?? I'm a model llama. Everyone knows that. A pleasure to have in class. What lies has my owner been feeding you?"

Pampe: "I haven't had an experience this boring since giving birth."

Baby Poldine: side eye

(Poldine was pretty intrigued by the whole thing. You can hear her quizzical hums in the video, and when her mum was freed she immediately went to sniff her and touch her all over with her nose, while holding her tail up very high, which seems to be the baby llama equivalent of cartoon characters going around with a question mark above their head. )

Pandolf spent the morning locked in the barn because he tends to express his support a bit too exuberantly (I bet he would have volunteered to be shorn in solidarity), and when he was finally freed, he also had a lot of questions.

Pampe's wool turned out to be a lot thicker than Pampelune's, and Pampoldine's father is also very fluffy, so I think my next shearing appointment will be just for Pampe & Poldine. The shearer was so happy with my llamas—at one point I was telling Pampy "That's a good llama" and she said "That's an excellent llama!!" and then she called them exceptional, which I've already mentioned, but I'm so proud.

She said she often needs to use a hobble or ropes and force the llamas to lie down on their side, like they do with alpacas, which tends to be more stressful for everyone involved when it comes to llamas, since they're bigger and struggle more forcefully. She'd also told me to have old towels at the ready, to wipe off all the spit we would receive from stressed or angry llamas—and no one was spat on even once.

(I asked her how she came to be a travelling llama shearer, and she said she had two alpacas on her farm, and her shearer offered to train her since there are few camelid shearers in the country; so she's now his successor. She spent the night on my land in her camper van and we did the shearing in the early morning, then had a coffee and she was off to shear 25 alpacas further South.)

After letting everyone out of the corral I went to get a large bag to gather up all the wool, and meanwhile the llamas were rolling and rolling in the still-dewy grass, it must have been quite an intriguing and refreshing sensation! As close to skinny-dipping as a llama can ever get.

Conclusion:

#crawling along #is this a dated reference #probably #okay i just looked up how old the bouncing pixar sheep is and this short is nearly 20yo oh my god

[msookyspooky]

"Bo started the town and lied! It's so obvious he did it all!"

(If yall don't stop babygirling my man Vincent)

Bo and Vince are equally traumatized and equally fucked up in different ways.

Bo never received love or affection without the threat of what would happen if he wasn't good, any negativity was met with harsh punishment and he clearly was troubled at a young age with no help, called a monster as a tiny boy, has physical scars from it he has to see daily, still seems to hold his mother in good regards (Especially script Bo) but subconsciously takes his mommy issues and need for control out on bound women to both re-live his childhood trauma and to possibly get both love and revenge on his mother through women (No excuse obvi just pointing it out WHY I think he does it).

Vincent was encouraged to cover his face and wear a mask even at home, his deformed face was the main focus and his parent's did nothing to make him feel like he deserved normalcy (Mama said your talent would make up for what God took from you), watched his brother be abused and probably had Bo resenting him for it and he might resent Bo for being the problem child ruining their childhood, was groomed to follow in his mother's footsteps, has little to no communication to anyone but Bo (Maybe Lester) and is probably a perfectionist that needs control as well from the pressure of being the Golden Child to his Mother and was the one that waxed her corpse.

So idk WHY we all think Bo was the only one that could've started the town's wax corpse thing??? Yeah he is an arrogant blow hole that loves manipulating people but the entire movie he might as well be the ringleader that's just talking to the audience and suckering people in but Vincent is the one really doing most of the heavy lifting behind the scenes. Yes, that could be Bo manipulating him and making him do it all or it could be them as a team (I vote this one) and Bo is just obviously more inviting or it could be Vincent doing it all and Bo is just helping to reap the rewards of helpless women at his disposal and getting out pent up rage on people.

It could've been Bo looking for an opportunity to finally take out his sadistic rage

It could've been Vincent who did it in severe grief over his Mother aka the Handler that made him codependent on her and is just as twisted as his twin

IT COULD'VE BEEN TRUDY/THEIR MOTHER! Just because Bo lied to Carly; who says he's lying to Vince??? Seriously, Trudy was a shitty Mom and a bit nuts herself if you ask me strapping their fucking child down till he bleeds or making their kid a wax mask to cover their face even at home so who is to say in her final years she wasn't the one that did this??? (Not counting the script that heavily hints Bo killed both his parents after years of abuse but still didn't say WHO waxed the corpses first)

I accept all HC but it would not shock me if Bo convinced Vincent to do it after preserving Trudy...If Trudy did it and they really are trying to make their Mother proud...Or if Vincent in his grief waxed Trudy's body in memory of her but also waxed a person as revenge/spite and Bo being the guy he is went with it.

#I'm not even a Bo apologist but us neglecting the fact Vince is the one waxing ppl always bothered me #Bo barely did anything but lie and tie up women and cut a finger off #Vincent was the one going HAM #like Bo would've got caught or killed without Vince #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #house of wax 2005

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Michael Deacon

Published: Apr 3, 2024

For young people today, finding a partner of the opposite sex must be dreadfully hard. But this isn’t because of the pressure to look like an Instagram gym buff, or the horrors of dating apps, or the fact that no one under the age of 30 seems to drink alcohol any more.

It’s because these days, young men and women have got absolutely nothing in common.

Seriously. All of a sudden, they appear to have developed completely different values. It’s unprecedented. In the past, the two sexes tended to hold roughly similar views on politics. But research compiled over the past five years shows that in Britain – and indeed other Western countries – young women have become more progressive, while young men have become more conservative. And the resulting ideological gap is now staggeringly vast. 

Alice Evans, an academic at King’s College London, is writing a book on this phenomenon, entitled The Great Gender Divergence. She says it’s been caused by a variety of factors, including “social media bubbles” and “economic resentment”. Whatever the reasons for it, though, I think there is a vital point we’re in danger of missing. Which is that only one of the two sexes is strictly responsible.

Recently, the Financial Times published some charts illustrating how the gulf between young men and women has grown in each Western country. And in every chart, there is an unmistakable pattern. The political views of young men haven’t actually altered all that much. Their drift to the Right has been really quite gentle.

The political views of young women, however, have changed dramatically. Their move to the Left has been abrupt and profound. In truth, then, this cavernous ideological divide is almost entirely attributable to them.

Which is curious. Because, whenever the divide is discussed by politicians and commentators, they make it sound as if the problem is young men. They fret endlessly about how young men today are being “radicalised” by nasty Right-wing YouTubers such as Andrew Tate, or horrid Right-wing politicians such as Donald Trump. 

Yet they never apply this word “radicalised” to young women. Why not? I suspect it’s because these politicians and commentators tend to be progressive themselves. Therefore, they see no problem with young women becoming drastically more progressive. In their view, the more progressive someone is, the better. So the fault lies entirely with young men, for failing to emulate young women’s lurch to the Left.

Personally, though, I think this lurch Leftwards should alarm us all. The future of Western civilisation is already threatened by our collapsing birth rates. And this sudden ideological chasm between the sexes is only going to make the crisis worse. No one’s going to be forming couples at all any more, if, on every first date, the woman asks, “What do you think of Gramsci?”, and the man replies, “He’s the type of striker Man Utd are crying out for.”

It’s a chilling thought. So clearly something must be done. Politicians must spend less time obsessing over the radicalisation of young men, and start paying attention to the radicalisation of young women, instead.

As it happens, the Labour Party has announced that, when it’s in power, it will help to combat the influence that Andrew Tate has on boys. Surely it would make more sense to help combat the influence The Guardian has on girls. 

Otherwise, the only way young men are going to get a girlfriend is by frantically boning up on George Monbiot and Owen Jones. And if that’s what the future has to hold, perhaps Western civilisation isn’t worth saving, after all. 

[ Via: https://archive.md/WlLXk ]

==

Apparently, it's not "radicalization" when you're calling for the extermination of the Jews; so sexist and racist that you call everyone else "oppressors"; teaching kids about the objectively true mythology of metaphysical "gender" thetans; advocating for the compulsory elimination of all privately-owned property and its forcible redistribution; and/or chanting for the dismantling of society itself.

No, that's not radicalization. It's just the self-evident values of all right-thinking people.

🤷‍♂️🤷‍♀️

#radicalization #far left #far left radicals #liberal society #liberalism #liberal values #illiberalism #religion is a mental illness

[dirtytransmasc]

what do you think of the relationship between alicent and rhynaera?

its so complicated and messy and I have such a love/hate relationship with it.

I think Alicent has always loved Rhaenyra, whether it be an active love or the love of clinging to what is no more. she loved Rhaenyra even when she hated her and owed her no kindness, cause part of her was holding onto the memories of when they were young and hoping that maybe, just maybe, one day she could get a shred of that back. she has been hurt, used, lied to, and abandoned by her. she's been spit in the face by Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra is a threat to her children's lives, and yet part of her can't fully let go.

her end of the bond is frayed and charred, picked apart, irreparably damaged, one loose thread away from snapping, but still holding on despite it all.

I think there is so much pain shrouding Rhaenyra and everything she encompasses in Alicent's mind and its a pain Alicent has learned to tolerate, she swallows it down and finds herself standing up for Rhaenyra when no one expects her to, when she is bound by nothing but her own good faith and love to do so.

with Rhaenyra, I think she tends to keep her eyes forward, to avoid looking at the bones of her past. She knows what she's done to Alicent, she knows the friendship she lost, she knows she has to keep moving. she had loved Alicent when they were young, she had wanted to flee her life with her, of course she was in love; but now that love is dead and it won't come back to her, so she best move on.

after she hurt Alicent and earned her mirth, she seems to try and avoid her all together, resenting her. she's continued to do things that put her at odds with Alicent, has continued to face her anger, only growing her own resentment.

unlike Alicent she moves away from her, she doesn't come to her aid, she just sorta... lets her float to the back of her mind, but the pain of that loss is always there.

her end of the bond is withered and dusty, untouched and ignored. its sat in the attic of Rhaenyra's mind and heart, uncovered every now and then.

Driftmark put a great gaping wound of distance between them. their hatred and pain and resentment boiled over. Rhaenyra finally stepped farther than Alicent could even pretend to be ok with, she couldn't defend her this time; she had claimed her son's eye, she had trampled over her once again, she had hurt her and she was tired and could no longer let this love prevail over her. Rhaenyra was finally confronted with her true anger, one she felt she didn't deserve. they hated each other in this moment, and for a long time after.

but after years of being apart, Alicent letting her own anger cool once more and falling victim to her fond memories, seeks to reconnect, while Rhaenyra is still trying to move forward, to keep walking, to ignore these recurring memories of a better time. they speak kind words, they have this moment where you can see the hope in Alicent's eyes, that maybe they could be together once more, to any extent.

This hope urges Alicent to protect Rhaenyra and her children's lives at the council meeting, sends the page with Otto to the peace terms meeting, has her telling Aegon to not rule with cruelty against his sister. this again isn't a hope of decency we really see from Rhaenyra.

I think Alicent loved Rhaenyra, under it all, but she did, even when it kept getting her burned, she learned to love the flame. Rhaenyra loved the idea of Alicent, entertained the idea only in her mind, but decided moving forward, furthering her own life, leaving the bones in the closet came first.

they were damned by Otto and Viserys, they were damned b Rhaenyra's anger towards Alicent, they were damned by the years they grew apart.

I don't think there love died quickly or painlessly, it died over the course of years, screaming out in agony. Alicent fostered that pain, learning to love it in her own way, Rhaenyra cut it away from herself.

#I'm biased towards Alicent and can't find many nice things to say about Rhaenyra #but I tried to keep this unbiased #wasn't totally succesful #but you did ask my opinion so I hope that's ok #there were more things Rhaenyra could have done to try and save them and their bond then Alicent could have #at the end of the day it was Rhaenyra who let go of Alicent. not the other way around #alicent hightower #rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #pro alicent hightower #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti team black #pro team green #THIS IS MY TAKE PLEASE IGNORE IT IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT

[your-fave-adopted-you]

Hello!

Can I make a request, please? Recently I was reviewing the finale of season 4 of Stranger Things and the thought came to me: what if fem!MC got an overblot and would be on the verge of death? And, like Max, would be very emotional at this moment, confusingly saying that she's scared and she doesn't want to die?

i really like this one, anon, because it implies that this time, MC is a magic user!

and i also live for the angst so prepare for long ass paragraphs :)

Guardian! School staff + Fem!MC who overblots

Characters : Crowley, Crewel, Trein.

Fem! Reader

TW : reader is on the verge of death, lots of emotional angst.

Context :

Why was this happening exactly? wasn't this supposed to be a dream come true?

You found yourself in a world full of wonders, you made amazing friends and even got an awesome adoptive father!

life back at home could be so boring, so exhausting, so... painful.

It's been a couple of years here, with no trace to verify that your home world is real and not just a long, elaborated dream. But, it's alright, see...

in this world? you could even do magic! sure, you were far behind all of your classmates, who even happened to be geniuses... but that didn't let you down! because you could conjure light in the dark! fire in the cold! wasn't it absolutely amazing?

So why can't you even close your eyes right now, fearing to awaken somewhere...else?

Dire Crowley

Oh man, the GUILT.

this man is actually serious for once in his life, because reality hit him like a truck.

along with your friends, he was facing you, but not quite. The girl that was in front of him was a scream turning into echo. Rage and frustration waved out of you with such ache that he could swear it could turn the air to poison.

You were so filled with fury and resentment, and still it wasn't like other overblots.

You wanted to hurt him. To make him take you seriously. You wanted to crush anyone that would even question you at this point.

You knew that you were out of control, out of your mind. But after all, this wasn't that much about you, right?

Taking care of every mess that Crowley was too "busy" to attend. Most of you were literal kids, saving each other from succumbing to the void. Agression, betrayal, kidnaping, attempted murder... You were supposed to solve all of this, being the absolute weakest link in this school full of prodigies?

Also maybe everyone already forgot but, you had a home back in your world, there were people that would be heartbroken after you were missing for long enough to be presumed dead.

No. you weren't crazy, you weren't just in pain nor out of your mind.

You were a consecuence.

and while it's true that everyone else was worried, and some felt responsible, they knew who was getting the worst out of this.

Because, it was his fault, after all.

He was supposed to protect you. It even seemed that he cared... but did he? did he care enough?

it was honestly pretty easy to beat you, because even when you seemed to be raging, for some reason there was this faint trace of... restraint?

actually no one was seriously injured,

except for you.

For some strange reason, all the damage that you should've done to the school, to everyone else...

It lied within you.

rotting. poisoning your sistem. You didn't want to look, but if you had to guess you would say that your blood would be black by now

no other overblot looked like this.

defeated, you seemed... small. All curled up laying on your side.

At least he was the first one to hold you, making sure that you could breathe well.

it seems that even in that state, there was no chance that you would hurt anyone but yourself.

and finally, as you conjure enough energy to speak, you manage to break his heart even more.

"could you lie to me? tell me that I'm fine, please..."

but he couldn't, petrified, it seemed like he couldn't even blink, watching over you like if he got his eyes off you for just a second you would disappear.

In contrast, your eyes remained tightly shut, as you kept weakly talking.

"what is going to happen now? am i expelled?"

as everyone else called for help and tried to ease the situation,

Your guardian remained silent. But, of course, what would he say? you already asked him to lie, he knew you, and what you wanted to hear... what would it be? what should he say? "it doesn't look that bad"? "at least no one else got badly injured"?

"..."

"it's okay, I'm so sorry, y/n"

"i know, dad."

You muttered as you finally fell unconscious.

Divus Crewel

He wanted to kill Crowley himself.

He knew that it was mainly Crowley's fault, he even told him about it once, but you know the principal, he just won't listen.

As he watched you in horror, he couldn't stop thinking about how he should have noticed earlier, how he should have prevented this from happening,

how he had failed to protect you.

it was such a messy chaos, loud and scattered. all over the place.

It was a desperate cry, calling for destruction.

how could someone who didn't even grow up learning magic cause so much damage?

And despite it all, it didn't take too long to defeat you, especially when Crewel was helping out your friends.

It really made no sense.

And oh, you seemed so small and fragile. A glass that had fallen, all in one piece, but the moment he held you, would you fall apart in his arms?

At least he held you tightly, as if he were trying to prevent that from happening.

"My puppy, my precious. You didn't end him, but i will."

he's pretty much driven by rage right now, but not enough to make him part from you.

"...How do i look?" was the first thing you could mutter.

"Beautiful, as always."

"Are the rest okay?— please tell me i didn't..."

"No, don't worry about that. No one is hurt, alright?" he said as he firmly held your hand.

He knew what had driven you to this state, he knew how you took yourself all the damage, as a part of you had realized how badly things could've turned out for your classmates who didn't even do anything wrong.

And he knew that one day you would go back home to never return.

he had thought for the longest time that the kind of pain he would feel that day just couldn't be compared to anything else.

Losing a daughter.

And is there something as dangerous and debilitating, as precious and tender, as the love for one's daughter?

he had never thought of losing you like this. It just couldn't have crossed his mind. Seeing you part not knowing if you would be okay? if you would be alone? no. there was no way.

"I... I'm scared i don't want to-"

"You won't." He said, worry turning to terror.

"..."

"I'm sorry, Crewel."

It was the most sincere and defeated tone he had ever heard you speak.

And in this exact moment. He got up still holding you in his arms.

he refuses to think about this any longer.

There's no time to waste, you will be okay.

Mozus Trein

Please let this man rest, this is too much.

he doesn't even have the time to get mad at Crowley,

he's just speechless.

The way you had turned into an echo, a shadow of yourself, projected to be so much bigger, scarier. It was honestly a horrifying view.

you had kinda given some signs that this would happen, as early as some months ago, even.

But since you were so inexperienced with your spells, believing them to be harmless, he kind of just expected you to get better on your own.

and you did.

... Right?

giving her space to grow, to solve her problems, to live her life.

That was supposed to be the best way. It had already worked just fine with his older kids.

Could it be that you needed him more than he believed?

But now none of this matter, your friends are trying to take you down, and he can only help to an extent.

And as you fall, defeated, everyone starts to form a crowd around you, and your poor old man has to yell at them to get away from you.

Poor thing, precious child. At the end of the day you wouldn't let yourself harm anyone, right?

Laying like that on the cold ground, you reminded him of the poor birds his cat gifts him regularly, their only crime being on the wrong place at the wrong time.

If only your case was like that, if only it was unavoidable... he thinks it wouldn't hurt as much.

He knows that he can't carry you, but at least he gets down to hold you the best he can

you both look like shit at this point tbh

Then to find out you're in a worse state that he thought you would be,

like if your rage was still eating you alive, consuming the las residue of energy you had inside.

And he was PANICKING. i mean, how would you not?

In the world there's only one rule between parents and their children that must be followed no matter what.

The parent shall never outlive the child.

And there you where, fighting for your breath in his arms.

It may be the first time ever that his students saw this man emulate an emotion other anger, or disappoint it was unnerving to see,

It's only natural, since seeing a pillar tremble would make anyone inside the building panic.

"Sorry...i fucked up." You finally managed to say.

There was fear in your eyes, an obvious fear that any human can recognize. You didn't want to go, not yet, but you couldn't even dare to say it, as if expressing your fear of dying would cast a spell to make you a mortal. At such a young age... no one is, no one is supposed to be.

"..."

"Watch your language, young lady."

When he told you that, he was actually smiling, appreciating that you would say something like that to ease the situation.

Only for that smile to fade away when you fell unconscious.

Help is on the way. Everything should be fine.

But until then, the hands that are holding you won't stop trembling.

#twst x mc #twst x reader #dire crowley #divus crewel #mozus trein

[eclecticmiasma]

They'll Inherit Your Blood (Pantalone x Reader)

There are fates worse than being purchased by Snezhnaya's wealthiest elite.

Now a multi-chaptered fic!

NSFW

[Warnings: afab reader, degradation, forced prostitution, threatened violence]

Art credit: @Yeoboさん on Twitter

The man is serpentine in every sense of the word. You hold your breath as his gloved fingers slither across your skin, tracing your features as if appraising a fine piece of pottery rather than a woman. He hums lightly to himself, eyes like upturned crescents as he voices his approval. His aura wraps around you and constricts.

"This one."

Gratitude drips from the madam's voice, saccharine. In less than thirty minutes her establishment has made more mora than any of the women could have hoped to see in their entire lives. Even as they offer you glances of pity, the workers can't hide their elation. Not only have they been spared a life of servitude under the Fatui, under a Harbinger no less, but their meager lives are much improved when the madam is happy. And she's never been happier.

You are escorted without fanfare to a stagecoach at the back of the decrepit building. Various trinkets and personal items you've amassed over the years are left in your second story bedroom. No doubt they will be fought over and doled out within the hour. Your eyes linger on the frosted window you so often hung out of in an attempt to feel anything- even if it was just the frigid breeze on your skin.

When you turn back to the main cabin, the Harbinger there waiting. He waits patiently, door held for you, same unflappable smile plastered to his face.

Reluctantly, you enter, crossing your legs as you sit upon black crushed velvet. To your dismay, the Harbinger squeezes in next to you. Though you try to make your body small, there is no escape. His presence is suffocating.

As the stagecoach starts to move, you keep your eyes glued to the floor. The wooden slats gleam as if they've been polished recently, perhaps for your arrival. Resentment bubbles up. Just what about this man begets that everything is to be a show? So he bought himself a whore, does that too deserve such royal treatment?

In your brooding, you barely notice that the man is touching you. He's leaned close, breath ghosting across your cheek. His fingers twirl a few strands of your hair as he merely looks on, observing.

"You're unaware of your worth," His voice is deep, but lilting. Your brows furrow as you consider his words, vague anger continuing to build. What worth? The worth you have lies in the last man to purchase your time. There's more value in the glittering white jewel atop the Harbinger's cane than there is in you.

You try to mask a shudder as his hands wander, fingers dancing down your chest. Even though you refuse to meet his eyes, you can see them clearly boring down on you. Pupils like slits as they take in their property. As he closes in on your neck, you brace yourself. His fangs are bared, he's ready to strike-

The Harbinger doesn't sink his teeth into your skin, he presses his lips to the pulsating flesh of your jugular and squeezes your clothed breast. You can't help but breathe in his scent, a lightly spiced aroma with a hint of bergamot and something metallic, like the concentrated smell of mora itself.

"There are clients all over the world who will be fighting hand over fist for your to warm their beds," You swallow hard as he continues massaging your chest, kissing his way up your neck and pressing his nose against your ear.

"Clients?" You find yourself asking against your better judgement, though your voice sounds small. You feel the Harbinger grin against your ear. Before he answers you he drags his tongue along the outer shell. Your breathing hitches when his hand slides under your bodice, one of the rings he wears catching your pert nipple.

"Yes, prelest*, do you think I clean out my coffers without the intention of making a profit?" Though the air around you is thick with tension, the Harbinger carries on exploring your body, twirling his tongue in the opening of your ear and nipping every so often at your earlobe, "Though, you'll have to be much more engaged than this if I'm to see a return on my investment."

You're well aware of his subtle nudge to open yourself up, to let him have his way with you and prove yourself valuable, but you can't bring yourself to move. It's too difficult to breathe. Belonging to the Harbinger is a prospect terrifying enough, but to be sold over and over to the men that would deign to partake in his business dealings is more than a single woman can bear.

"I...don't..." You don't realize you're crying until a thumb drags across your cheek. For the first time you turn to look at the man, it's like coming face to face with death itself. His pupils aren't slits, you find, but they're narrowed all the same. Deep indigo irises the color of a darkening sky glow with delight as he soaks in your fear. The corners of his lips are permanently pulled in a genial grin, so much so that you wonder if you aren't peering at a mask. Another thumb joins the first and the pair trace your cheekbones as the Harbinger sighs.

"There's another habit we'll have to break you of, it seems," You try to pull your face away, but he's managed to lock your head between his palms with an iron grip. Fear that should have settled in your bones the moment you met him finally starts to rear its head, "Name a single man that would want to bed such a haughty, sniveling little slut."

He waits, expression ever still. Fresh tears fall as you continue to try to wrestle out of his grasp. You know he expects an answer, but the words die in your throat.

"You left the whorehouse mere minutes ago, have you already forgotten your place?" You shake your head violently, but continue to push and prod in an attempt to get away. The man is deceptively strong. He sighs again, jewels tinkling softly against his glasses as he shakes his head.

"No matter..." He somehow manages to smile wider, baring his teeth in delight, "...training is one of my specialties."

*precious

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload. please consider reblogging as mature content is often buried by Tumblr!

[KINKTOBER MASTERLIST] [Chapter 2]

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #pantalone #pantalone x reader #x reader #afab reader #tw: prostitution #tw: sex work #tw: degradation #genshin impact #minors dni #drabbles #pantalone got me in a vice grip #harbingers #fatui #fatui harbingers

[ystrike1]

How to Prey on Your Master - By Cha hye-yeong (8/10)

Do you like "mad dog" characters? Alright. You're all set. I should like the art for this, but the faces are too generic. Beware. In the smaller panels the men and women have the same face and it's pretty jarring.

Elle is pretty cool. She's a hard worker. She's a knight. She's from a good family but they have some debt to deal with. So, Elle is truly motivated to work. She's not just another noble knight that cares about honor. She's got real problems.

One of her real problems is Adelaide. Her other problem is Francois. Francois is her chicken shit stupid fiance. Francois got really lucky when Elle, an accomplished knight, agreed to marry him. He throws that away because Adelaide is "more feminine". What a tool. Also Elle is perfectly capable of wearing a dress and being pretty when she's not on duty. Her fiance is literally just weak willed swine. Adelaide was Elle's best friend though, so the betrayal really hurts. It also hurts because she loved Francois. He didn't judge her for being a knight. Some noble men look down on female knights because sexism. Of course as soon as Adelaide started flirting he changed his mind, but in the beginning he was a good fiance.

Elle drinks. She passes out in the garden. She has a weird dream. When she wakes up a member of the royal family wants to be her dog. Theodore is a quintessential mad dog. That's most of his personality, but he's not totally boring. He's a pretty ok male lead. I think Elle was murdered and this is some kind of time loop plot. She keeps having the same nightmare after she meets Theodore. He's obsessed with saving her. He's also obsessed with her honor. He's willing to kill the most minor inconvenience, but he's also sociable and likeable. He's a classic psychopath, with a sword.

Elle is a pretty amazing knight. She belongs to the future ruler of the nation, Pippin. Elle's idiot ex fiance and ex best friend have insulted the crown. Pippin gives Theodore to Elle as a gift. He begins to work as her aide, because his reputation is bad and he needs to be reigned in. Pippin is formidable, but young. She wants to humiliate Adelaide. Elle is less interested in that and more concerned with making money. She doesn't have time to cry over her fiance because of the debt.

Adelaide fucking despises Francois, beacause he's a spineless fucking loser. She does not love him. He loves her, but he might not be fully evil. Adelaide has been using her social influence to spread lies about Elle. Francois believed them because he's a moron. For some reason Adelaide needs Elle to be a villainess. She tries to spin the story in her favor, and make Elle's reputation drop. Elle isn't universally popular because she is a knight, but this plan is doomed.

Elle has friends. Some of those friends are in high places. She doesn't have to rely on Theodore. If her family wasn't in debt she would be one of the most popular ladies in the kingdom. She's beautiful, smart, and skilled.

Her solders love her. She wants the debt gone so it doesn't affect her siblings. She's a little inexperienced about love, but she isn't stupid about it. She was sincere towards Francois, and she wears her uniform with pride. She attained a pretty high knighood at a young age, and she's fair. Also she's super strong.

Theodore can't force Elle to do shit. It's nice. She can hold him down like he's a dog. Elle suspects that Theodore was given to her as a husband candidate, but he's not her type. She genuinely loved Francois for years before he approached her. Basically, she's into soft bois. Theodore is not that. Theodore was actually her friend in the knight academy too, so she has trouble seeing him as a man.

Theodore is in the friendzone, but he doesn't resent Elle for that. Back in school he killed boys who insulted her honor after her family fell into debt. He is genuinely on her side, but he's scary because he discards others easily. I'm kinda sure he caused the time loop thing. To save her and only her of course. In that other timeline Adelaide managed to frame Elle for capital crimes.

Theodore isn't going to let that happen this time. He has a real relationship with Elle, and real love for her. He respects her, and I respect the hell out of his motivation. Elle is clearly being targeted because of her two weaknesses. Her debt and the fact that's she's overburdened by work and judgemental pricks as a female knight. Theodore genuinely intends to assist her and kill her shadowy foes. He is a good and loyal mad dog.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #How to Prey on Your Master

[fullstcp]

"Girl Of My Dreams" by Fletcher Sentence Starters

20 SOMETHING

"If you wanna see my face again grab some paper and a pen."

"Lately I've been feeling kinda lonely."

"It's kinda like nobody knows me anymore."

"Maybe I've been looking for a stranger."

"Maybe I've been living for the danger of the fall."

"But, oh, aren't we all?

"Everybody says these are the best years of our lives."

"Then why does everyone around me look so lost tonight?"

"With us it's all or nothing."

"Scared of what's next so we keep on running."

"Kiss me, we won't remember."

I THINK I'M GROWING?

"I've traveled so many places in my head."

"So insecure, so quick to fight."

"I didn't know I was so co-dependent."

"I didn't know I had so much resentment."

GIRL OF MY DREAMS

"She/he/they could've been the one."

"Forever only made a couple trips around the sun."

"Tequila doesn't hit no more."

"I got a new rebound."

"I'm falling for me now."

"I'm over being cynical."

SUCKERPUNCH

"I was lost in transit, you found me stranded."

"Guess I didn't know that love could hit me this hard."

BIRTHDAY GIRL

"What you gonna put your lips on now at midnight?"

"Do you think of me?"

"Do you wish you didn't, but you have to?"

"I don't know myself without you and I want to."

"Something can be wrong even if nothing's wrong."

"I know those seem like shitty reasons for calling it off."

"There were so many things I couldn't be for you."

BETTER VERSION

"I was kind, I was warm, I was patient."

"Look at you, you're a star, I'm the reason."

"Honestly, you're new girlfriend/boyfriend should thank me."

"Do you think of me when you fuck her/him/them?"

"It's always the next person that gets the better version."

"I loved you at your worst."

"I fixed your heart, but mine still hurts."

"We were young, we were dumb, we had issues."

"God knows that we tried."

"I did the heavy lifting, but she'll/he'll/they'll get the happy ending."

"Now the credits are rolling, I played my part."

"You were kind, you were warm, you were patient."

"Look at me, I'm a star, you're the reason."

"Now some other person is gonna get the better version of me."

STING

"Do you ever miss me?"

"You chose brand new over history."

"Don't you wish I was your girlfriend/boyfriend still?"

"Don't you wish it worked and we were on again?"

"Why does it sting?"

"Why am I still hung up on things?"

"Are you gonna give that diamond ring that's meant for me to her/him/them?"

"It's all I got left of you and me."

"Do you ever rewind?"

"I've been hurting from the goodbye."

"Feelings, do they ever die?"

"I wish we were on again."

"I still feel you right here every now and then."

"How much longer will it sting?"

"What if we could start clean with no hard feelings between us?"

"What if we could go back and take it all back?"

BECKY'S SO HOT

"Are you in love like we were?"

"If I were you I'd probably keep her/him/them."

CONVERSATIONS

"My head and my heart are at war and I'm stuck in the crossfire."

"I make things complicated."

GUESS WE LIED...

"Here we go again."

"We're not friends, no, we're not lovers."

"You got a new life in just six seasons."

"I only know you in bits and pieces."

"I'm losing my head trying to hold onto something."

"If you're gonna lie, do it in my bed."

"If you're gonna lie to me, make it worth it."

"I guess you didn't tell the truth."

"Just tell me you don't need me."

"Break my heart and make it easy."

"I heard you're better off and you're doing fine."

"I heard that you're in love, good fucking try."

"I know we said forever but I guess we lied."

SERIAL HEARTBREAKER

"I tend to overcomplicate."

"I overlove, I underplay."

"I'm not the best at breaking up."

"A sucker for the fuck me up."

"I like my alone time."

"I want somebody to hold."

"I tend to contradict a lot."

"I love you more, I love you not."

"I hate it when you're there for me."

HER BODY IS BIBLE

"I found God the moment that I put my lips on yours."

"You're so hot, I'm freaking out."

I LOVE YOU, BITCH

"I get lost in the moment."

"I'm constantly dating, cause I crave validation."

"I've confessed to girls and boys and to strangers on the internet."

"I'm kinda impatient."

"I'm fun when I'm wasted."

"I feel things in my bones."

FOR CARI

"Everybody's trying to make me someone else."

"I know sometimes I'm too hard to love."

"I've been drinking, so I'm gonna speak my mind."

"I'll say 'fuck you' to the bad vibes."

"I'm a bad bitch and nothing can scare me."

"Had a lot of feelings but none like this before."

"I am what I am and I ain't nothing more."

"This city's too big for the small things I need."

"I'm done losing sleep over things I can't be."

"I pleased everybody, so this one's for me."

BETTER VERSION (feat Kelsea Ballerini)

"I grew up for our difference in ages."

"I never thought we were subject to changes."

"I did my best to fix it."

"Til death cause then I meant it."

#rp memes #rp lyric meme #rp starters #rp prompts #lyric starters #lyric prompts #roleplay starters #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #not the old me. 2.0 me. no it's all of meme combined (ask meme) #when there was me and queue (queue)

[frangipanidownunder]

Hi Vicky :) I have a prompt if you've got time and creativity for one... How does Maggie and Scully's first meeting go after they return from being on the run? I love looking at how Maggie relates to the other characters, and she's been fairly popular in the chat recently.... would you write that scene?

I WROTE A THING! This prompt is super old but it caught my attention today so I scribbled this quick fic in response. Apologies for my rustiness.

Belonging

Rated G. Angst. IWTB era.

She arranges to meet her at a café in the next town over. The house is out of the question. She doesn’t feel she belongs there yet. She doesn’t feel she belongs anywhere yet. She hasn’t belonged for a long time. A different Scully, would have once said she belonged to the X-Files, to the team, to the ideals that propped up the unit, to the belief. Would she have pulled up short at considering she belonged to Mulder? At one time, perhaps she did. Perhaps he belonged to her too, and they were two halves of a whole, not just a working partnership, but an embodiment of one force against another. The truth versus the lies. But now she’s not sure. Fox Mulder belongs to his own private thoughts and dreams, to the scribblings in his study, to the unintelligible murmurings in his sleep. She spends her days orbiting his moods, trying not to relent to the gnawing feelings of resentment and doubt. The house was supposed to plant them in the now and offer a starting block for their future together. But if anything, it seems to have tugged open the stitches of his past wounds and he is spiralling into a dark place where she cannot, will not, follow.

She pulls up in the parking lot next to a small strip of shops where the café promises an hour of comfort and escape behind its quaint façade.  At least, that’s what Scully hopes she’s coming for. As she walks past the other outlets offering antiques, artisanal bread and baked goods, home-made toys, clothing that reminds her of Missy, so much so that she has to stop and breathe. She dry-swallows and blinks away memories of a home long ago, where she did belong, a home where boundaries were drawn and aspirations were shared and secrets were whispered in moonlit bedrooms as things to be held in awe, not buried with unspoken horrors and stunted futures.

She pushes open the door, twenty minutes early, enough time to settle and plan her conversation, think about which moments from the past few years to share and which to gloss over. Which to deny outright. Her mind is sifting through towns and motels and cars and arguments and hair-colours and close-calls with cops and receptionists and surrendering, when Maggie walks in. Also early. Also looking pensive, tired, and perhaps, Scully thinks, a little angry by the way she clips across the floor and pulls out the chair opposite to slip off her coat and hang it, rather than hugging her daughter first.

“Dana, honey,” she says at last, holding the back of Scully’s head in her small, still-gloved hand, denying her the feel of her wedding and engagement rings pressed into her skull, “I’ve missed you so much. Where did you go?” She pulls away and holds Scully’s cheeks, the wool from her gloves cool and wiry against her skin. Maggie’s eyes are watery, maybe from the cold, maybe not. She repeats her rhetorical question in a strained whisper that Scully barely hears over the hum of the coffee machine. “Where did you go?”

“Everywhere, nowhere,” Scully replies, sinking into the chair and chuffing out a bitter laugh. “But we’re back now.”

Maggie removes her gloves and Scully sees the knots of arthritis in her knuckles, the liver spots, the way her rings clank around her too-thin fingers. “How’s Fox?”

“He sends his love,” Scully says, picking up the menu, unable to meet her mother’s enquiring eyes. She’d left him hunched over his desk and told him she was going to get some plants for the yard. She can see rows of tomatoes and beans and corn, she can hear the gentle give of young carrots being freed from the earth, she can imagine him in a sun-hat swigging water from a canteen as he nurtures life from the soil. But she knows it’s her dream. She can only share it with him in the hope that it seeps into his consciousness and pulls him out of his backward-looking slump.

The waiter comes over and they order the same, black coffee, a slice of the vegetable quiche. They smile, turn at the sound of a baby’s cries from a pram stowed next to a table at the back. It’s mother rocks the handle but the baby doesn’t settle. A hard knot sits in the base of Scully’s throat. The crying ramps up to wailing and the mother scoops the infant from its bed and nestles it against the crook of her neck.

“Tara’s expecting again,” Maggie says, “early days. They haven’t announced it yet, but you’re…” Scully thinks she’s about to say ‘family’ but Maggie says ‘home now, so they can tell you themselves. Bill would love to see you.”

“We’re still settling in,” Scully adds quickly. “Boxes everywhere. You know how it is.”

Maggie doesn’t say anything and Scully can feel a shift in the atmosphere. The baby has quietened. The coffee is delivered and the aromatic steam wafts between them. Maggie’s chin tilts, her nostrils flare slightly.

“You should have told me you were going, Dana. You should have told me and I could have been there for you. Instead, I had to sit, night after night, not knowing anything, going mad with worry that you’d…”

“Mom,” she starts. The baby gurgles and Scully twists her hair over her ear so she doesn’t have to hear its sweet noises.

“No, let me finish,” Maggie snaps in a low whisper. “I thought you were dead. You and Fox. Assassinated or whatever word they use for these sorts of things. It was worse than when you were taken by that…that man. At least I had Fox then, keeping me informed, doing something to find you. This time there was nobody. Not even Skinner would help.”

“He couldn’t, Mom. It would have implicated…”

“I don’t care, Dana.” Maggie’s voice is high and strained and the mother on the other table hugs her baby a little tighter as the waiter clears his throat to deliver the quiches. When he’s gone, Maggie leans forward. “I’m your mother. I deserved to know. Bill went wild. He’s still wild.”

“Bill was born wild,” she says but regrets it instantly. She isn’t in the position to offer character assessments.

“He’s right, you know,” and Maggie doesn’t wait for Scully to ask about what, “that since you met Fox, your life hasn’t been your own. He’s pulled you away from everything you held dear. Used to hold dear. Family, the church, the law. And for what?”

The baby chuckles and the mother laughs too. She wants to scream that she has her own mind, that Mulder is family, that the church is a rock to return to, but not an anchor to weigh her down, that the law is a joke and justice is personal.

Instead, she sighs. “We couldn’t tell anyone, Mom. It was safer that way.”

“For who? Me or you?”

The icy cut of truth in Maggie’s words chills Dana and she sips her coffee, trying to stop the tremble in her hands. The baby giggles again and this time she turns towards it, her, a girl with large blue eyes and a perfect mouth and a shock of dark hair and she feels the familiar sting of tears, the burn in her nose, the squeezing pain her heart of all the things she’s lost. Time and family and careers and faith and…

Scully realises why she’s here. It’s not the comfort of being with her mother. It’s not the escape from Mulder’s exhausting moods. She’s here for reality. To be called out. To be exposed. To be seen. To be loved.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispers, and reaches for Maggie’s hands, squeezing those rings into her palms and feeling the dig of the diamond clasp that contains her mother’s worry and her brother’s wrath and months of self-hatred and self-pity. She lets her forehead rest on the knot of their joint hands. Maggie drops a kiss on her crown. This is where she belongs.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #txf #iwtb #angst #msr

[dlanadhz]

Author: DLanaDHZ Beta: @jessicamdawn and @seekingidlewild Rating: T for mentions of homophobia Fandom: Moonlight Chicken Pairing: Heart/Li Ming Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1,740 Additional Tags: Self-Reflection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, helpful boyfriends, Introspection, Eye Contact, Physical Disability, Canon Disabled Character, Boys In Love

Summary: For a long time, Heart resented being deaf and the way it limited his world. When he met Li Ming, his silent world suddenly became so much larger and louder. Heart found happiness with Li Ming, and he loved the other boy so much, but sometimes he worried he was holding Li Ming back with his deafness. But sometimes Heart understood that being deaf was a protection Li Ming didn’t have.

While out on a date, Heart realizes something is bothering Li Ming. Something only he can hear, but Heart can’t.

Read on AO3

When Heart was thirteen, he was pretty average. Well, as average as he could feel when he was realizing he wasn’t the same as his friends - that he didn’t care about flirting with the girls at school or fantasizing about what it would be like to marry or have sex with the hottest actresses and models.

He remembered laughing with his friends about a new movie and then making an offhand comment about how hot the main actor was. The jeers and teasing that went up around the circle immediately told him he’d said something not-normal, and he played it off as heterosexually as possible. None of them guessed that he wasn’t joking.

When Heart was fourteen, he got really sick while traveling abroad during break. First, his whole body ached. Lights felt like daggers to his eyes. The doctors thought it was the world’s worst migraine until the fever struck him down a day later. When sounds started to seem faded or distant, he cried with fear. His parents were panicked. The doctors were nervous.

When the medication started to work on the virus, everyone else seemed so relieved, but Heart wanted to die. His world had gone silent, and there was nothing he or his parents’ money could do about it.

At first, his mother had been a fighter, determined to try anything and everything to help him regain his hearing. While she argued with experts, Heart learned sign language. When his mother wrote down words to ask how he was, he lied and told her he was fine and that he was hopeful about getting his hearing back. But he knew it was hopeless. The doctors didn’t lie to him. It was only his mother in denial.

After a few months, it became clear that this was his life now. He tried to teach his mother basic signs, but she always found a reason to be too busy to watch his hands. His father, also, was too busy with work to dedicate any real time to his newly disabled son. More than ever before, it seemed both of his parents had more to do outside the house than in it. And Heart was no longer allowed to go out to meet them or anyone else.

His once bright world became the quiet solemn loneliness of his house.

Heart was resentful of his solitude, of his illness, of his parents. Eventually that resentfulness turned to sorrow and acceptance. He had not died on the trip at fourteen-years-old, but he had lost his life all the same.

Then, on a completely ordinary, boring day three years later, a delivery of chicken and rice startled Heart into a whole new life all over again.

Li Ming was so loud that Heart could hear him even without sound. He was so bright that Heart could notice him even without looking directly at him. His joy and his anger and his passion were all so intense that it forced Heart’s stagnant world into motion.

Li Ming learned sign language for Heart and helped him communicate. He helped Heart find others in the deaf community, helped him get out of the house and experience life, helped him find a university and convince his parents to let him apply, helped Heart through grief and mended his relationship with his parents. The other boy did so much for Heart that Heart often worried he was nothing more than a burden.

Except Li Ming smiled at him and looked at him like something precious. Li Ming made sure to touch Heart even when they had nothing to talk about, to let Heart know he wasn’t alone. Li Ming called him “boyfriend” and kissed him. He seemed so happy when he was with Heart, and that was usually enough to assuage Heart’s fears.

Heart still wished he could do more for his boyfriend.

Soon they would be in a new country, with only each other to rely on, making their way in the world as a couple and as individuals. They were on the cusp of a whole new world. It was thrilling. It was terrifying.

For the first time in years, Heart looked forward to his birthday. He was turning eighteen, he’d been accepted into the university of his choice, and his parents were throwing a party for him that included all of Heart’s new friends. It was so normal and happy that Heart could almost forget his three years of lackluster celebrations.

More than the party, however, Heart was excited for the afternoon before it. He and Li Ming were going to the movies and then walking down the boardwalk. Movies with Li Ming were always fun, and if Li Ming didn’t have to be his subtitles, they held hands and crossed ankles during the show.

Heart loved playing with Li Ming’s fingers, feeling the soft skin and remembering the joy he felt when he realized this crazy delivery kid was really making an effort to talk with his hands just so Heart would have someone to talk to at all. He loved Li Ming’s hands so much. Sometimes he missed parts of the movie because his eyes stayed on them too long, but that was okay. He just wanted to be near Li Ming.

After the movie, they held hands as they walked out of the mall and down the street toward the beach. Li Ming talked a lot, his hand making what gestures it could, Heart making up the rest by reading his lips and body language. If the sentence was too complicated, Li Ming would text it to him instead and then buzz with energy while he waited for Heart to read it. Stopping by the entrance to the beach, Li Ming typed a long message.

“My uncle bought me a new suitcase yesterday. He said my old one was no good. He also wouldn’t let me refuse it. Apparently it counts as your birthday gift?”

Heart chuckled. “He’s making sure you can come with me to America. Thank him for the gift.”

The message sent, was read, but no typing bubble popped up. That’s when Heart realized Li Ming had also stopped buzzing with excitement. His grip on Heart’s hand was normally lax, but it suddenly grew tight. When he looked up to ask Li Ming if he was okay, he found the other’s eyes intense and focused on nothing.

Heart put his phone in his pocket and tried to sign “what?”, but Li Ming’s eyes darted away from him before he could. His normally happy face was pulled into a tight frown as he tried to look around at people and yet not look at them at the same time. His jaw was tight. His fingers tensed again.

When they’d first met, Li Ming would let his anger take over. He was quick to defend himself and wasn’t afraid of conflict or consequences. Over the year, however, he’d cooled down. He picked his battles and tried not to fight if he could help it. But something was bothering him now. He looked like he wanted to fight. He looked like he wanted to cry.

Heart glanced around, trying to figure out what might have set his boyfriend off. It was obviously something Li Ming had heard, and Heart had no way of guessing where it was coming from or what it had been.

There were many people walking around this close to the shops and the beach, and Heart had to guess it was something to do with one of them. He scanned the crowds and found a group that kept glancing at the two young men. They were talking, their eyes sliding over Heart and Li Ming like a dirty secret, and then looking back at each other as they spoke. But their body language didn’t suggest they were whispering.

When they angled properly, Heart could read a little of their conversation. Mostly it was useless words, filler stuff, but he caught enough. Gay. Disgusting. Gross. Creepy. And they laughed about it. No wonder Li Ming wanted to fight them.

Heart tugged on Li Ming’s hand and the other glanced sharply up at him. He looked shocked, like maybe he hadn’t realized how distracted he’d been by the words he’d heard. He pulled his hand away from Heart’s so he could properly sign “I’m sorry” while his mouth moved too fast for Heart to read.

There was no sound. Heart couldn’t hear a thing, and yet Li Ming’s heart was screaming in front of him. He was trying to play it off and pretend, but Heart knew him better than that. He could see the truth in his eyes, in his mouth, in his hands. Li Ming was trying to protect him from the nasty words he’d heard, but it wasn’t Heart who needed the help. He hadn’t heard anything, after all.

Carefully, Heart gave a pointed stare to the group, so that they and Li Ming knew he understood, then he directed all of his attention on Li Ming’s face. Before his boyfriend could really get started on trying to explain the group, Heart gently placed his hands over Li Ming’s ears and held him in place.

He looked straight into Li Ming’s eyes while he blocked out as much sound as he could, and it seemed that, for a moment, the world was quieter for Li Ming too. Like somehow, the peace that came with Heart’s disability was able to reach him through this small gesture. He placed his hands calmly over Heart’s and rested there.

Li Ming had been acting as Heart’s ears for a year and had helped him in so many ways. Sometimes Heart forgot that he helped ground Li Ming too. He pulled Li Ming out of his head and reminded him about the good that came with being still sometimes.

Under his hands, Li Ming began to smile again, and this time it was real. He lowered his hands and signed, “Thank you.”

Heart dropped his hands as well to sign “For what?”

Li Ming shrugged. “Everything,” he said. “I love you.”

Catching his breath, Heart pressed a hand to his chest and smiled warmly. “I love you,” he signed back. He motioned to the beach. “Do you still want to go?”

Nodding emphatically, Li Ming snatched up his hand again. Even without sign language, his answer was loud and clear. “Absolutely!”

#Moonlight Chicken #heart x li ming #heartling #heartliming fic #MLC fic #thai bl #bl drama #Becca Wrote a Fanfic

[the-great-lightwood-bane]

uneasy lies the head

Malec | Rated general | tw mention of corporal punishment 

Day 7: Shaking Hands | Silent Panic Attack

Summary: Alec's fourteenth birthday dawned bright and sunny. 

Or, Maryse and Robert are shitty parents and Alec has self-worth issues and far too many responsibilities for his age.

A/N: it's my birthday so alec birthday fic ~~~~ except ANGSTY

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

Alec’s fourteenth birthday dawned bright and sunny, unlike Maryse’s expression when she summoned him to her office. 

He’d known it was coming — he’d messed up yesterday, after all, allowing a Dahak demon to get away from him while he was overwhelmed by six other Dahak. It’d been a foolish mistake, to be walking alone at night, to enter the alleyway so carelessly and to lose his phone before he managed to call for backup, and he deserved whatever berating he received. 

Robert had already scolded him for it. Any good Shadowhunter should be able to hold off six demons; Jace could do it easily, so why not Alec; he’d been spending too much time training with his bow and not enough with a sword. All true, of course, and they cut deeper for it, although Alec had not let his flinch show on his face. It was a relief when Robert left off berating him to move on to Alec’s punishment, forty lashes with an adamas whip and ten extra hours of training per week for the next three months. 

Maryse’s lecture would be worse — it always was. Nothing Alec did was ever good enough; no matter how hard he tried, he always failed to meet her standards. He was a Lightwood, and Lightwoods had to be the best. With Jace at Alec’s side, he could never be the best, and sometimes he resented the other boy for that. 

Not for long, though. Jace couldn’t help being naturally good with a blade, nor was it his fault that Alec had never been able to achieve the same level of mastery. Jace could beat some of the adult Shadowhunters, which was a significant blow to their pride; Alec might have been the best in his year, but he could never measure up to the golden boy of the generation. 

Alec kept his face still and silent throughout her lecture, even as his soul flayed open at her words. He knew it was all true; he refused to be so weak as to show his pain at how little she thought of him. 

And she had a new failure to add to the tally: Jace and Izzy had snuck out again last night, while Alec had been out. He hadn’t even had a reason to be out; the oppressive atmosphere of the Institute had simply been too much for him, and he’d wandered out to the streets of New York to escape it all. He’d spent over an hour on Brooklyn bridge, wondering what it would be like to jump, hating himself for being tempted and for not jumping at all. He’d heard the demons on the way back, attacking a mundane, and he’d saved the mundane but failed to kill all the demons, which meant Maryse had needed to send out a patrol to get rid of the one that escaped. And in the meantime, Alec’s siblings had been at a club, which they were definitely not allowed to do. 

Jace and Izzy had never cared about what they were and weren’t allowed to do, though, and Alec did his best to preserve that innocence of consequences. Somehow, they’d managed to escape Maryse’s crushing rules, and they deserved a chance to rebel, to have fun. Normally, he’d cover for them whenever they snuck out, and nobody was any the wiser; last night, he’d been out, and so their rulebreaking had been discovered. 

“You are responsible for your siblings,” Maryse said, voice cool. “It is your job to keep them from getting into trouble, to keep them safe, to control them. You have failed.”

“I will not do so again,” Alec said, voice as carefully controlled as hers. “I accept full responsibility for their actions.”

She considered him a moment, mouth pursed into a moue of distaste, then nodded sharply. “Five more hours of training per week, for six months. Your parade rest needs more practice; spend an additional two hours every day holding it, this week.”

Alec nodded sharply. This week, he’d have four extra hours of training every day beyond his usual five, as well as whatever tactics, history, and politics assignments he received, and then patrols as well. Two hours of sleep per night, if he was lucky. 

Subject finished, Maryse dropped it without preamble and moved on to the next. “You are now of age to take on more duties within the Institute.”

That was true. At fourteen, with four years of training with runes, Shadowhunters were promoted to novice status and could join patrols; they could help with strategy, data analysis, anything an adult Shadowhunter could do, although in a limited capacity due to their inexperience. Alec, as the son of the Institute Heads, had been doing all that for two years already, but that was no reason not to ramp up his role. 

“Your father and I are leaving for Alicante in two hours, to remain there for a week,” Maryse went on. “You will be Acting Head in our absence.”

Acting Head. Maryse and Robert had only left at the same time for short spaces in the past, not long enough to require an official Acting Head, or only one of them had gone to Alicante while the other handled Institute business. Now, apparently, it was Alec’s job to fill in for them while they worked to keep up the prestige of the family name. 

Alec’s silence had been interpreted as acceptance, not that any other response was possible. Maryse turned back to the papers on her desk in curt dismissal, and Alec left the office on autopilot. 

Acting Head. He’d dreamed of becoming Head for years, but those dreams had always lain in the far-off future, past his age of majority at sixteen, likely not until his late twenties if not later. In two hours, Alec would hold the reins of the Institute in his hands, and he would be in charge for a week. 

In two hours, he would have to assume control. Alec’s brain slipped back into the strategising burnt into his bones by years of practice and training. He knew the patrol rosters adequately well, but he’d need to set those for the next week. Reports would need to be corrected, signed, then witnessed by two other Shadowhunters, as Alec was only Acting Head. Supply requisitions, even for everyday matters such as weapons and food, would need to be filled out by him; they’d also need to be witnessed, preferably by different people than the reports. He’d need a few hours to go over his Shadowhunters’ reports every day and make his own report for the day, along with compiling lists of consumption of material and people. And if any diplomatic problems with the Downworld showed up… well, Alec would simply hope nothing of the sort happened. On top of it all, every Shadowhunter-in-training needed to spend three hours per day training at minimum, two hours on patrol, and Alec had his four extra hours above and beyond that. 

The prospect was overwhelming, but Alec pushed that aside. Worrying about it would do nothing; he needed to organise himself and prepare to take over as well as he could. And he’d need to space out his rune usage; he wouldn’t be getting any sleep for the next few days, which meant using his stamina rune as often as he safely could. An iratze would help with the lashes on his back, but it would also mean extra rune usage, which would give him rune exhaustion faster; it was better to simply bear the pain. He had practice. 

The Head’s office was off-limits to anyone under sixteen who had not been specifically invited there, which meant Alec wouldn’t have access to his parents’ paperwork, and he’d need to find a place to work from. His room? No, too informal; he’d take a desk in the library, where at least he’d have access to the records in the Institute of the last few decades. He turned and headed in that direction. 

Desk found and stationary and tablet gathered together, Alec set about learning what he could about the workings of the Institute in its day-to-day detail. He knew such things in the abstract, and he had a relatively good grasp of New York’s system, but he hadn’t been training to enter this position so soon, which meant there was a lot he needed to know. 

Two hours later, a fire message fluttered into the air, alerting him to his new, official status now that Maryse and Robert were in Alicante. Alec took a deep breath and dove back into the sea of paperwork. 

With practice, he knew he’d be able to go through this faster — if he knew the nature of every patrol sent out, he wouldn’t need to spend unnecessary time trying to figure that out from the reports, on top of corroborating each report with the reports of the other members of the patrol, correcting errors, and signing off. He’d recruited Eliza Bellefleur — she’d been at New York for a while — as both a witness and somebody to teach him more about the workings of the Institute; his second witness was Jake Stormheart, who’d broken an arm the day before and wasn’t sufficiently healed to go on patrol yet. 

He wanted to study his parents’ supply requisitions to base his own on, but those were locked up in the Head’s office, so pushing back the mounting anxiety, he resorted to the archived requisitions — most of them at least fifty years old, but it was better than nothing, and served as a template for his own. Stormheart was getting bored, so Alec sent him off to train and requested Georgia Brownwain in his stead; while Stormheart had been quietly disapproving of having Alec in charge, Brownwain was overtly dismissive of his right to be Acting Head, and objected to any errors she could find in Alec’s paperwork. 

He hated to abandon the still-growing stack of paperwork, but when one o’clock struck, he was left with no choice but to leave so that he could put in his required training hours before finishing what paperwork he could and then going on patrol at ten. Alec spent five hours working on his sword forms, and then returned to the library, arms and legs aching and blood dripping down his back thanks to the previous day’s lashes. He had two hours to spend holding his parade rest, and then he could return to his daunting pile of reports and forms and planning and patrol schedules. Showering and re-bandaging his back was an unacceptable waste of time, so he’d simply have to deal with the blood and sweat. 

While forcing his muscles to remain locked in parade rest despite their ache, Alec debated the relative merits of doing his tactics analysis due the next day or skipping them in favour of Institute matters. The Institute came first, of course, but if he failed to submit the analysis, he’d be assigned extra work the next day, which would be a problem — unless he simply skipped all the assignments for this week. That would have consequences, likely sixty or more lashes if Alec was lucky, more training hours if he was unlucky, but at least it would only start after Maryse and Robert were back from Alicante. 

He’d only just come to the decision when the door to his room banged open and two Shadowhunters stormed in — Georgia Brownwain, arm bleeding, and Lukas Silverstone, chest slashed open from shoulder to hip and only beginning to heal from the iratze he’d applied. 

The two Shadowhunters had been on patrol together, Alec knew. Whyever they were here, it almost certainly brought bad news. 

“Acting Head,” Brownwain hissed, her dismissal of Alec’s right to bear the title clear in her tone. “I demand that Silverstone receive punishment for this.”

“Explain,” Alec said curtly, imitating his parents’ tone although he knew well that he had none of their experience or authority. He didn’t let his posture shift; if he did, he’d need to restart the two hours, and he was already nearly halfway through. 

The story spilled out in bits and pieces. Brownwain and Silverstone had been at each other’s throats for years, now, and their arguments were legendary, but this was a serious escalation: while on patrol together, Brownwain had drawn a blade on Silverstone; he’d cut her arm just before a demon had arrived, and he claimed she’d stood back rather than helping him fight it off, leading to his injury. 

The blame for this, Alec knew, would fall squarely on his head. Yes, it’d been Maryse and Robert who’d determined the patrol schedules, but the fight had occurred while Alec was Acting Head; he was responsible for their misdemeanours, just as he had been for Jace and Izzy’s. No matter; that was in the future, and Alec had no time to worry about it when the two Shadowhunters were nearly fighting in front of him. 

“Stop,” he said, doing his best to project his voice so that both of them could hear him above their arguing. Silverstone fell silent, but Brownwain finished her point before quieting; it was a blatant display of mistrust, but perhaps a justified one. 

“No patrols for either of you for a month. Silverstone, a week of ichor duty for harming a fellow Shadowhunter. Brownwain, doubled training hours and a re-testing on the Shadowhunter’s Codex for remissness in protecting your team.” That would keep them apart for a while, in addition to hopefully teaching them a lesson; the re-testing on the Codex likely wouldn’t teach Brownwain much, but perhaps she’d be slower to let a fellow Shadowhunter be hurt in the future. 

Silverstone nodded respectfully enough, but Brownwain scowled and muttered something about a pathetic excuse for a Head. Alec’s parents would’ve asked her to repeat herself, then doubled her punishment for insubordination, but Alec felt the truth of her words in his bones. He was standing in front of them in his bedroom because he’d messed up the night before and was being punished for it; he was sweaty, there was probably blood on his shirt, and he was fourteen years old. There was no reason at all for her to respect him. 

Glading malevolently, Brownwain left without the proper salute, and Silverstone followed her. Alec didn’t let his strict parade rest drop, despite the exhaustion and guilt and pain weighing down his shoulders, until the clock struck eight and he relaxed with a sigh. 

The pain doubled at the movement, training aches combined with lashes that had scabbed over in that posture and were opening again as he shifted. His muscles would be in more pain tomorrow — standing still for two hours directly after training was never a good idea, but there’d been no time for stretching — but that was a matter for later. 

He headed back to the library. There were two hours until patrol, which was nowhere near enough time to do everything he needed to do: sign off on reports, submit that supply requisition, and now he had to submit the paperwork for Brownwain and Silverstone’s punishments — punishments his parents would almost certainly disagree with. It took an effort, but he swallowed down the anxious tension in his throat. 

Somebody approached with a quick step, and Alec raised his head, refusing to let his face show the desperate panic pulling at his chest. “Yes, Bellefleur?”

Eliza looked almost like she pitied him, which was absolutely unacceptable, but Alec had no energy to spare to tell her off for it. “Isabelle and Jace,” she told him reluctantly. “They’ve snuck out again.”

For a moment, irrational anger rose in Alec’s chest — fury that they’d chosen today of all days to run off, today when he had no time to think about them or find them alibis, today when every fault was another punishment to add to his already too-full schedule. Only for a moment, though; then his anger faded, because usually they took advantage of every time Maryse was away to sneak out, and they likely hadn’t realised how little time he had to cover for them. 

“I’ll deal with them when they get back,” Alec told her, dismissal clear in his tone, because he wasn’t sure if he could keep up his calm, collected façade a moment longer. 

“Yes, sir,” she said, and left him alone in the library. 

Alec let out a harsh breath, the worries and fears spilling up from his heart and polluting his mind. There was so much to do, so much responsibility to hold, so many boxes to check and people to take care of — but he couldn’t even take care of his own siblings. If he couldn’t do that, how could he expect to lead an Institute? What was he doing? 

He knew that every moment he wasted like this, worrying and feeling guilty rather than working, was a moment he wouldn’t be able to get back. He had two hours until patrol. He needed to make the most of his time. 

But for once, he couldn’t shove down the terror, couldn’t shut away his anxious thoughts in a box somewhere deep in his heart where they wouldn’t spill out. The box had been blown wide open, and everything was pouring back up, invading his mind until he couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there and tremble. 

His hands were shaking. Part of him whispered stupid, you can’t write like that, don’t be so weak, but most of him was caught up in sheer desperation and unreadiness. Why had Maryse left the Institute in his care? How was he supposed to do it all?

She left it with you because you should be able to do it, Alec reminded himself. Don’t prove her wrong. 

But another voice whispered louder in his ears, louder than his rabbiting heart. You have failed. His mother, only that morning, talking about Izzy and Jace — he’d failed a second time today, for that, and he’d fail again and again before the day was out, and he couldn’t think through this logically because logic told him he had no chance. 

Alec clapped a shivering hand over his mouth to keep in the almost-sob, and shoved back the tears rising to his eyes with a desperate effort. He was fourteen, one step closer to being a proper Shadowhunter. His parents were relying on him. He was having a silent panic attack which he did not have the time for. 

He straightened his body roughly, and felt the scabs on his back break open once more. The pain was sharp, and he used the moment of clear-headedness it gave him to shove down doubts and fears and panic. That was pointless. No real Shadowhunter would feel that way. 

He’d failed too many times already to allow himself to fail more than he absolutely needed to. 

Alec breathed in deeply, ignoring the way it shuddered in his chest, took a seat at his desk, and pulled the first sheet of paper towards himself. 

~

Alec’s twenty-fourth birthday dawned grey and rainy, but with an arm around his husband, he didn’t care. 

He’d settled into his new role as Inquisitor quite well by now, and although the day-to-day struggle of it was frustrating, he knew the Clave was changing. He was making it change. He had a purpose, and the hope of achieving it; he knew what he needed to do, and he could do it. Confidence had bled into his shoulders to replace the tension he’d felt there for years upon years. 

And to top it all off, he had the man in his arms, the man he’d loved for nearly two years now and knew he would never let go of. With Magnus at his side, he could do anything. 

Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane was at peace.

#whumptober2022 #no.7 #shaking hands #silent panic attack #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #fic #my fic #corporal punishment #(mentioned) #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #alec lightwood bane #magnus lightwood bane #magnus x alec #alec x magnus