Hey!! Your working titles were killing me, and I am genuinely curious about so many of them but I would love something from either “Why do these OC-s-have so many backdtory-NOBODY cares Lys” (because I honestly do love your OC’s) or the dragons one (cause I’m always a sucker for dragons).
Hope you are having a good weekend! 💙
Alrigh, somebody else asked for the "Why do these OC-s-have so many backdtory-NOBODY cares Lys” so I'll share the snippet in that ask, so this one will be the dragon one! This is a post-season 3 fic, in which Magnus turns into a dragon after absorbing Edom's power. It starts a bit angsty because Magnus doesn't know what's happening. It also includes some body horror when Magnus gets turned into a dragon before it devolves into fluff because dragon!Magnus is just as besotted as regular!Magnus even when he just turned and is 100% working on instinct.
Alec is just happy to have his boyfriend back.
And my weekend went well, I hope yours did too!💜
The fire in his blood keeps growing, morphing into something more. Different. Changed. His skin itches and pulls, his magic beating inside of him like a caged animal as his body grows too small, too constraining.
Alexander is worried. Magnus knows he is. He sees it in the permanent frown on his face or the hesitation in his eyes when he reaches out. Alexander has always been free in his affections, free and unafraid in a way that Magnus can't help but admire.
Magnus hates that he's changing that, that he's making Alexander doubt his touch is nothing but dearly wanted, but he can't stop.
The inferno inside of him keeps growing worse. Growing painful. Growing out of control. And Magnus can't hurt Alexander.
Not like that.
Not with his magic.
But the itching is growing, tearing him apart cell by cell from within, and, as much as Magnus usually trusts his magic, trusts it to recognize Alexander and keep him from harm, this time he can't.
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Thank you all so much for these kind requests. And for being patient as I worked on this next part
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
A Bird in the Hand, Part 7
The first time the villain heard the voice, it was laughing.
They were on a university campus, having just met with a professor for the purposes of their latest project. Even amongst the bustling sea of students, the laugh rang clear as a bell. It was light, and genuine, and on its own made for a lovely sound.
But that’s not why the villain stopped dead in their tracks.
The laugh flowed through the villain – a warm buoyant energy under their skin. Their shadows rushed to their fingertips, and they had to halt in the middle of the walkway just to reign in their power. They were suddenly filled with a burst of confidence, like they could do anything.
Euphoric. Yes, that was the best word for it.
They spun around, tried to find the owner of the voice. But a large class had just let out, and the quad was teaming with students. By the time the crowd dissipated, the villain was still empty-handed.
Research revealed that the class had been a second-year botany course. But the class list contained hundreds of names, and very little information beyond that.
In the end, that breathtaking voice slipped through the villain’s fingertips.
The second time, the voice was crying.
“You could’ve at least had the good graces to dump me in person.” Just like before, it chimed as though it were the only sound in the world.
The villain didn’t hesitate this time. They forced their way through the metro station crowds, back towards the train car they’d just exited. They ignored the cries of protest as they ruthlessly shoved people aside.
And for their efforts, they were rewarded with the glimpse of a face.
Splotchy, and bright pink, spreading tears on the cellphone pressed up against its side, it was the most endearing face the villain had ever seen.
This person who was rejected. Openly in pain in the middle of the evening rush. Who had no idea the levels of pleasure they could bring.
The villain could ensure that they were never so neglected again.
They sprinted forward. Reached their arm out.
And the train doors closed right in front of them.
The villain watched as the train slowly pulled the person away, still too engrossed in their heartbreak to even notice what had just happened.
But the villain was overjoyed.
Each aspect of the person – face and voice both – were now etched into the villain’s memory.
In the end, when they heard the voice a third time, it was completely on accident.
The gala was held in honour of their nemesis, a celebration of the fact that the hero had trampled their most recent venture. The villain came in disguise, watching in disdain as people toasted to their defeat.
When they learned that the hero wouldn’t even be in attendance, that their partner would be accepting the award in their place, the villain was livid. The hero ruined their plans again and again without fail, and now couldn’t even spare the time to acknowledge it? The villain stood up to leave.
Then, they heard it.
“Thank you all for coming,” the person said from the podium. “It’s an incredible honour to be here, on behalf of the bravest hero I know.”
Triumphs and setbacks always had to come in pairs, didn’t they?
When the villain sat back down, it was, yes, to bask in the wonders of that voice. But it was also to observe. The villain had never gotten such a long, clear look at their person, and they were excited to finally get the chance.
The acceptance speech was good, and their person delivered it fairly well. But the villain’s practiced eye caught their stiff shoulders, the slight tremble of their hands. Clear signs of stage fright. The villain tilted their head, studying it closely.
Fear was an incredibly attractive look on their person.
Of course, it singed the villain, to know that the hero had stolen them. They tried not to think about the hero kissing their person, enjoying their voice, holding them tightly in the long sleepy nights.
Shadows began to form around the edges of the villain’s hands.
They forced their eyes closed, and opened them again. Made themself count to ten.
This was a win, they reminded themself. They now knew their person’s identity, and could thus find any information about them they wanted.
The speech ended, and everyone, including the villain, clapped.
It was only a matter of time before their person was put precisely where they belonged.
---
The civilian awoke to arguing.
“You’re being deliberately difficult with me, doctor.”
The civilian tensed at the villain’s voice, which brimmed with a barely contained fury.
“I’m not being difficult. I’m giving you answers you don’t like. There’s a difference.”
“I refuse to believe that a medical professional of your standing can’t handle a simple poisoning.”
“Simple? What’s simple about it? It’s a minor miracle that the poor bastard isn’t dead already.”
“If they die, you’ll follow soon after.”
“You think I haven’t heard that one before, scumbag? I work for villains, for chrissakes.”
The civilian closed their eyes, and curled their fingers around the bedsheets. They should get this over with sooner rather than later.
“[Villain]!” they called.
The arguing ceased.
The civilian tried to sit up, but dizziness hit them like a barreling train. The villain was the one to catch them.
“What happened?” the civilian asked. Spots danced in their vision.
“[Hero] tried to kill you, darling.” The villain’s voice was somber. “And I’m the one who saved your life.”
The civilian swallowed. “That can’t be true.”
But they remembered holding that blue dart in their hand. They knew of only one person in the entire world who could make it.
The civilian’s vision cleared a little, and the villain’s face came into focus. Dark, heavy storm clouds rumbled in their expression, and it took conscious effort to not flinch away.
The civilian had learned by now that the villain’s anger was a dangerous thing, even when not directed at them. Fortunately, they’d also learned what to say in the face of that rage. They tried to imagine, for a second, that they weren't afraid.
“Can we please go home?”
The villain took in a breath, and their eyebrows rose.
And then they smiled.
“Why, of course, love. Anything your heart desires.”
Part 8
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@d-cs
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