#Maelstrom: IF HE BREATHES… HE’S TRAUMATIZED | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monstersdownthepath · 3 years

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Deity: Baron Amberdale, the Lord of Indulgence

Chaotic Neutral Great Old One of Hedonism, Temptation, and Satisfaction

Domains: Void, Chaos, Charm, Nobility Subdomains: Dark Tapestry, Revelry, Lust, Aristocracy Favored Weapon: Rapier Symbol: A chalice overrunning with enticing wine. Sacred Animal: Stoat Sacred Colors: Red and amber(/gold).

There was once a wicked man obsessed with his own satisfaction, a man who bargained with every vile force he could find to debase himself and provide entertainment for a contingent of confidants who clung to him like bloated ticks, supping on the power and pleasure he brought them from the darkest corners of the Great Beyond. So vile was this man that the mountain of putrid karma and profane deeds below him began to rot the very world, and so it should come as no surprise that the cosmos took the first chance it could to purge itself of the living infection that was Baron Abraham Rovius Amberdale.

Enacting a hideous ascension ritual to forever shed his mortal form, the tenuous connections he held to ground himself snapped like rubber bands, and instead of being catapulted into godhood, the Baron and all those attending his final party were instead fired beyond the reaches of known space. At his departure, the world breathed a sigh of relief, and the wound of his presence began to heal. But, as one may expect, this was not truly the end of the Baron... Not entirely, at least. Past the reach of the gods both fair and foul, the Baron found something else waiting for him beyond eternity’s gate.

It was in those regions of space beyond space, in that land of unformed chaos that surpasses even the madness of the Maelstrom, where he was then twisted, shattered, broken, and remade by forces a sane mind could scarcely envision--perhaps even the same forces which once broke the great god Dou-Bral, known now as Zon-Kuthon. Over the course of a century his essence was chewed and churned, the rotted soul within him cracking and sloughing away in massive chunks and leaving behind spaces to be filled. The madness beyond eagerly flowed into these gaps, fixing itself into him even as his remains were finally regurgitated back into known space.

All he once was, now mere drops in the ocean of alien essence that filled him. Whereas most times such a traumatic infusion would lead to a slavering beast from beyond the veil with nothing left of its former self, the mind of the Baron was twisted and guarded enough by his countless precautionary measures that he resisted being entirely torn apart and discarded. This provided a trellis for the new entity to grow along like a massive creeping vine, letting it experience intelligence, sapience, emotions, wants, needs, thirsts... and above all, hungers. It coiled around the promise of sensations, hypnotized by all it knew, tantalized by all it could learn, and excited by all it could do with the power it brought with it.

Baron Abraham Rovius Amberdale is dead, and the Lord of Indulgence has risen from his ashes.

But this is not to say that all the Baron was is now gone and dead.

The Baron is still very much a creature of lust and desire, but now he lusts and desires for others to give in to their own impulses, encouraging those he blesses to abandon the trappings of conventional morality in their pursuit of satisfaction. Eschewing the notions of Good (which he finds too restrictive) and Evil (which he find too destructive), the Baron sees only those who want and need, those who take and those who give, those who change themselves, change others, or who change the whole world in their pursuit of satisfaction, and it is by these measures he judges who earns an invitation into Paradise.

Within the Maelstrom he has carved out his own realm of Paradise, housing (and surrounded by) the transformed remnants of the guests from his final party as a mortal, and its endless rooms stand empty, aching and hungering for a guest of their own. Each room is a demiplane unto itself, warped and shaped by the desires of the Clients they house, changing from mundane (though lavish) manor abode to a reflection of their Client’s hungers as the energy of the place changes the Clients themselves into increasingly monstrous forms.

The reasons the Baron encourages this behavior is in part because of his corrupted generosity, and in part because--deep down--he is still selfish in at least one way. He implants a seed of himself in each permanent guest of Paradise which grows as they lose themselves in pleasure, their bodies warping and mutating to better indulge in their chosen hungers. The more they wash themselves in sensation, the more this seed grows, the more their body changes and the wider this connection opens, turning them from a mere guest to Client. These tunnels into his mind are a stream through which every sensation and emotion they experience flows into him, an endless waterfall that dumps into a greedy whirlpool. It is this constant pressure of pleasure on his consciousness that keeps it contained and focused, granting him the clarity he requires to maintain himself and his realm. Were it to stop, his mind would fly apart, and he would succumb to the madness of the unmade realms.

-------

Obedience and Boons

-------

The Amberdale family, having scavenged his fortune and power for their own use (for good or ill), have found themselves blessed with their patriarch’s return from beyond the Dark Tapestry. Many of the elders in the family have found new strength and even youth flowing into them from a source unknown, with some even receiving divine visions. Most of them, however, gain just a smattering of unnatural luck: Deals that would have fallen through are instead given a second chance, a destructive social faux-pas is instead laughed off, an extra coin found in one’s pocket is just enough to cover a fee, the right words come to their mind just as they run out of things to say, and other such tiny blessings have begun occurring more and more often. The family, once clinging to scraps of a destroyed empire of debauchery, have begun to emerge stronger than ever... just like their patriarch.

As word of his return and the flourishing of the Amberdale family spreads, many souls seeking pleasure and riches have begun to flock to him to seek his favor... But he has not been idle in waiting for worship to find him, oh no, nor does he grant attention to all those who strive for it. The Baron has a keen eye for souls who are wanting, and those who’d be a good fit for Paradise: souls who will create something wholly new to experience that he wishes to have and share with his Clients; souls who will change or shape a whole city, nation, or country with their actions that he views as requiring a reward only he can offer; and all the way down to souls who simply have hungers that he believes cannot be satisfied by anything less than him.

In essence, the Baron’s cult is made of roughly two factions: Those who serve him for their reward, and those he works to reward. Those who seek him out, and those he seeks. As Paradise can suit any taste, so too can faith in the Baron be found in any class or race, in any nation, on any world, in any plane, and his cult is encouraged to be accepting of all creatures and creeds.

As Great Old Ones do not possess a dedicated Prestige Class for accelerating the power of their faithful, one can only enter the actual Evangelist, Sentinel, and Exalted Prestige Classes to obtain Boons at a much faster pace. Otherwise, they are gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. One must have the Deific Obedience feat to enter into the mentioned Prestige Classes, and entering the classes as soon as possible allows one to obtain the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14.

Obedience: Spend at least one hour achieving or aiding other creatures in achieving satisfaction in some way, be it completing a task, making noticeable steps towards a goal, or things far simpler and more immediate, such as a full stomach, a clean body, or sated sexual desires. Benefit: Gain a +4 sacred or profane bonus on saving throws versus charm and compulsion effects, and to Knowledge (Nobility) checks.

------- EVANGELIST -------

Boon 1: An Invitation (Sp): Gain Beguiling Gift 3/day, Detect Desires 2/day, or Suggestion 1/day

Boon 2: Ripe and Red (Su): The hardest part of beginning your best life is convincing yourself to let go and just reach for what you want. Luckily, the Baron’s writhing gardens has just the thing for that. 1 + your Charisma modifier times each day, you can make a wriggling red fruit from his gardens appear in your hand as a standard action. It looks and feels odd, but smells and tastes absolutely delicious. Any creature which willingly eats the whole fruit has its mental and moral restrictions loosened; they become more willing to engage in indulgent behaviors that they would have otherwise never thought to try due to morals or pride, such as eating brand new foods, exploring new methods of achieving sexual satisfaction, attempting new hobbies or projects, or considering new approaches to hobbies/projects they have or problems they’ve been experiencing. Their alignment does not change (though the fruit may cause them to strain the boundaries), so they cannot be convinced to perform actions wholly against their nature. This effect lasts for 24 hours or until any effect which cures poison is used on them. This is a poison effect.

Boon 3: Beckon Servant (Su): Once per day, you may call upon one of the servants of Paradise by undertaking a 1 minute ritual to beseech the Baron. A Servant of Paradise is a Mezlan whose Regeneration is suppressed by Cold damage instead of Acid, and it does not arrive with any stored spells. A Servant of Paradise is intelligent, but is devoted utterly to you. It will follow any order you give it, even if such orders would bring it harm or death (though a Servant cannot truly die; it will merely reform in Paradise). A Servant will serve you unquestioningly for 1 hour per HD you have, though each round a Servant spends in combat counts as 1 hour of this summon duration. You can only have one called Servant at a time. Failing to perform your Obedience causes your called Servants to politely remind you to perform it before vanishing.

------- EXALTED -------

Boon 1: Like Honey (Sp): Gain Charm Person 3/day, Passing Fancy 2/day, or Create Food and Water 1/day

Boon 2: Presence of Paradise (Sp): You can shower the area before you in a wondrous blast of sensation, letting everyone nearby know what will await them if they listen to you. You may cast Waves of Ecstasy once per day as a spell-like ability.

Boon 3: What Awaits You (Sp): You know, above all else, the Baron wishes for Paradise to fill with thousands of indulgent souls, and what better way to assure that than to show everyone what their eternity in Paradise can feel like? Once per day, you can create a towering construction decorated with the iconography of the Lord of Indulgence. This acts as Resplendent Mansion, except if you are physically touching one or more creatures during the casting, rooms suited to sate their own desires (conscious and unconscious) manifest within the manor, and they know exactly where these rooms are. The servants within this manor are semi-physical but mindless Servants of Paradise, capable of performing any actions you or your guests request. They cannot fight and will vanish if combat begins. You can only have one mansion created with this ability at a time, and its existence allows you to easily perform your Obedience. Creating a new manor causes the previous one to vanish, its occupants deposited safely on the ground.

------- SENTINEL -------

Boon 1: The Baron’s Grace (Sp): Gain Cure or Inflict Light Wounds 3/day, Eagle’s Splendor 2/day, or Good Hope 1/day.

Boon 2: What a Rush (Sp/Su): Whether they are merely a job hazard or because you enjoy them, pain and battle are to be expected in the duties of the Sentinel; the cult requires muscle, and that is what you are. The Baron blesses you with the ability to draw extra enjoyment and focus from healing you receive as a reward for getting your hands dirty in his name. Whenever you receive magical healing from any source, you gain a +4 morale bonus to attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws for a number of rounds equal to the spell’s level. In addition, once per day, you may cast Quickened Cure Critical Wounds on yourself as a spell-like ability, or Quickened Inflict Critical Wounds if you are healed by negative energy.

Boon 3: Kiss of Paradise (Su): You have been gifted a further reward for your devotion to the cause, your body changing into your ideal, beautiful form so long as you maintain your connection to the Baron. This ideal form adds an innate +2 to your Charisma score and grants a further +2 sacred or profane bonus to your highest physical ability score. You add your Charisma modifier (min +1) as a sacred or profane bonus to your AC and to your saving throws so long as you wear no armor.

#Original Concepts #Pathfinder #pathfinder homebrew

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sasorikigai · 2 years

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Enjoy your this excuse of happiness while it lasts. You know you are responsible for earthrealm's current state, you are not worthy of Grandmaster Kuai's esteem for how easily you let your emotions to take over you. Sooner or later, he also will need to fulfill his duties as a leader and provide an heir or his own kind, you're wasting his and your time. You should stop nourishing an6 such feelings for him.

With one ask, try to elicit a strong emotional response from my muse || anonymous, mention of @indulgentia || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Too frequently, would Hanzo Hasashi take one look at Kuai Liang and feel something come over him; it would always be like a warm blanket covering the longing ache inside of him. It would always feel like calm to the maelstrom raging inside of him. It is the precise feeling of longing, of connection, of missing someone until he cannot seem to get enough of it. It is the feeling of wanting to wake up, and finding that person as soon as possible. It is the feeling of home he never knew he could ever have again. It is the sweet sensation of knowing someone out there cares for him.

Their complex, complicated intimacy would go well beyond the bones of their souls; more so a cosmic revolution, a million beats on the war drums pounding in their chests. Hanzo would often wonder why he cannot move on from certain relationships, certain people, and certain soul-lasting bonds; it is because they were the first to see him, hold him, and showing the light amidst the vast, unfathomable darkness. Kuai Liang had done all of that and indescribably more; showing him his purpose by speaking to him and breathing out words that would later become his death.

Even in death, you will live on long after I am gone, the gentle swirling winter light of my tormented and traumatized soul. Love will never truly leave us, regardless of how we feel. For my words will always paint the canvas of my heart with sapphire shades of you. It is how we are connected; my bones to your galaxies, my flesh to your constellations. We have always been able to be our true selves to one another. Even through you are apart from me, I still feel you - I still know you are here with me, so I hold onto hope, even if it kills me, because you are the first one I have felt such sentiment ever since I lost my dear Harumi.

There had been no other feeling quite like when Hanzo lost the one he held onto the tightest, the spaces in between where his heart broke, left as reminders of where the excruciating, unhealable pain is. How Kuai Liang becomes his tangible response as to why this heart of his continues to be fueled by wild notions of his cosmic body against his. In this life, and the next, and even beyond, and whatever awaits them, they will remain cemented and entangled in time; for Kuai Liang is the wholesome soul to Hanzo Hasashi’s broken one.

Such unapologetic, candor admission spills intently, as Grandmaster Hasashi’s defiant passion solidifies his unconditional, undying love as he challenges and rebukes such a brazen attitude of irreverence. “The complexity of emotions I bestow upon Kuai Liang is genuine and authentic, lest I may prove myself be inadequate and unworthy of such reciprocation of my beloved,” for they have granted one another the permission to be their one and only, to become the guardians of one another eternally, in order to show one another a new world. “We did not cross paths for no reason, for this kind of connection precedes destiny and fate. We have truly felt one another and grew through one another. I have fathomless and endless faith in the strength of our connection; for we are intertwined in a deep, solemn, and soulful way. The triad of my body, heart, and soul have already made a permanent home in him, and so has my beloved in me. Love is something that cannot ever be pulled to the place where it doesn’t belong, and I have no intention of relinquishing what we are.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#✗ an innocuous unknown (anonymous messages)#✗ endless persistent birdsongs of love (kuai liang || indulgentia)#(thermodynamic equilibrium)#(I like how Hanzo said what we are. not what we have)#(and their love is eternal and beyond)#indulgentia

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

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Internal Affairs, Liars and Lairs

I’ve been staring at this for too long and I have no idea if it makes sense anymore but I’m done, I’m just posting it, and if it’s not clear where Zach’s head is at or what’s going on my ask box is open for questions and I’ll explain my worldbuilding there xD

Warnings: mentions of past torture, vaguely referenced past noncon, talk of human trafficking, trauma responses, dis-association, medical drug use, incorrect use of pain relief, aftermath of whump, traumatic memories, talk of being buried alive, messed up head space, thoughts of wanting to be back with whumper and carrying out whumper’s wishes (please let me know if I missed anything!)

[Previous]

The debriefing room was comically like an interrogation room. One wide table, low lighting, recording devices. Zach hovered in the doorway, uneasy. He bit the inside of his lip, worrying at a half-healed abrasion until he tasted blood. Could he keep secrets in here? Would he be capable?

“It’s sound proofed,” Jordan said, coming up behind him and interrupting his thoughts. “It’s the only reason we’re using it. So no-one that you don’t want to overhear can listen in. Whatever you say in here stays between whoever you feel comfortable knowing things.”

Zach looked over his shoulder at Jordan. “Not going to hound me for details like a bad cop, then? Make me sit here until I sweat it all out?” He was trying for light hearted but it fell flat, his voice cracked with nerves.

“No, Zach. There are some things we need to know, but only in your own time. No-one is going to force anything. This is to help you, as much as it is to help us.”

That would be a novelty, Zach thought. When was the last time anything had been done with his own well-being in mind?

He slunk into the room, sticking to the wall, wondering which chair was to be his. There were two on each side of the table. Bryson and Jordan sat on one side, Lacey came in and sat on the other and gestured for Zach to join them. So, this is who it was going to be?

“We’ll start small for now, Zach. Anytime you need a break, just say the word, we’ll stop, no questions asked. All right?”

Zach nodded, looking at his hands. He wanted to pick at his fingernails, comb hands through his hair, jiggle his leg, but with all eyes on him he was tense and still, no outlet for the energy running through his veins, the anxiety making his heart beat faster.

“Lacey is just here to collect some data, Jordan will help make sure your health is taken care of. I’m here because I’ve known you the longest. Are you comfortable with all that?”

Zach glanced up at his old mentor, frowned in confusion. “Does it matter?”

Bryson reared back in surprise, eyebrows raised. “Of course, yes. We want to debrief you not interrogate you. You should be comfortable, anything you say here will not be repeated outside these walls unless you agree to it.”

“No… no, I mean, we—we have to do this. I’m never going to be… okay with what we have to talk about. So, it’s, it’s...” Zach hung his head. “I would like to just get it over with?”

Bryson reached a hand across the table and squeezed his wrist for a moment. “We’ll take it slowly. Archer, or anyone else, can come in or leave at your behest.”

Zach nodded again. “What first, sir?”

They began with his escape, what he recalled from the hours and then moments before the phone call. Lacey tapped away at her laptop, inputting things and looking at data as they worked backwards, trying to build a map of the places he had passed and for how long he’d run to try and pinpoint where he had fled from.

“And how did you get away that day?” Bryson asked.

The question rolled around Zach’s mind like a marble, or a maelstrom. It all hinged on this. “I… I had been, well, pretending. No, not pretending, um. Giving in, a little. Being, they called it good. But, pliant? I suppose. Not causing trouble. I don’t know—I couldn’t say why or really when it started I just couldn't anymore and I wanted… I knew they would pay me less attention if I behaved the way he wanted.”

“Zach, take a breath,” Bryson coached him. “You don’t have to explain the details, tell us in simple terms.”

Zach closed his eyes for a moment and thought about the most straightforward way to say it. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. But I don’t know if… if they let me, or if I really, actually, got away on my own.”

Bryson considered him for a long moment. “And he was hurt, when we found him?” He asked Jordan.

“Mhm, yes, two cracked ribs, plenty of abrasions. Newer bruising as well as old.”

“Zach is that consistent to the amount of injuries you typically sustained, or did any of them happen during your escape?”

“Only the soles of my feet were hurt when I ran,” he answered honestly.

“All right, then, we’ll circle back around to this.”

It went on like that. Questions. Answers. They checked that he knew basic information like the day and month, asked how much of his work with the team he recalled before his abduction. They asked how he got some of the scarring that had been revealed during his hospital stay, if there was anything pertinent to how he might recover or ongoing problems that he knew he had. It was a dance of back and forth as he tried to work out how much to give away, which parts of his shame to air or keep secret. Zach’s head spun and he gripped the table so that he didn’t feel like the room was tilting around him.

“Do you know where you were held?” Lacey asked, as she scanned the map she had begun to make. “Anything you know will help us narrow it down.”

Zach closed his eyes, his mind tumbling in an entirely different direction to the meaning of the question. The phantom touch of hands on him, gripping, invading his space. There wasn’t one part of him that had gone untouched, not one part of him that hadn’t been exposed. Held down. Held by his wrists, by weight on his back, by hands groping, chains restraining, ropes winding around and around.

“Zachary?” Bryson’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears. The panic was still palpable, but contained, he raised his head from where he’d pressed his face to the cool metal of the table. He couldn’t remember doing that, but he faded in and out of the present sometimes, and didn’t question it.

“There wasn’t only one place. And no, I was blindfolded or… or otherwise not allowed to see every time I was moved.” The same way you brought me here, he thought sullenly. All control taken, he was never permitted to know.

The room was silent until Bryson declared he required coffee, and that they should break for at least a few hours if not the rest of the day. Zach didn’t move from the chair until everyone else had left, and then he went to the bathroom and tried to keep down the meagre lunch that Archer had made him.

They didn’t start again until a day later. Zach had had a restless night, and the pain from his healing injuries was worse until Archer reminded him the pain medication the hospital had prescribed was in one of the drawers in his room. Once the effects took hold Zach felt almost lightheaded, much calmer, and he wondered if one of the tablets was a mild sedative. He hadn’t asked, he’d just swallowed them whole and known whatever came of it was exactly what they thought he needed.

It turned out it made him chattier and he couldn’t be as anxious about his answers. The darkest recesses of his mind whispered how that was their plan all along. To take his ability to think clearly and hold back. They wanted to talk about heavier subjects, some of the details of his ordeal, and here he was, words tumbling from his mouth before he could hold them in.

“Can you tell us who took you?” Bryson asked after the first few questions were out of the way.

That, of course, was an easy question to answer. “Decker. First. And then, when he sold me on—”

“Sold?” Lacey interrupted, squeaking the word out before Bryson’s hand waving could stop her. Zach looked between them, trying to gauge how they were reacting. He knew it wasn’t normal, to say it so casually. It had just been a feature of his life enough times that the sting of it was gone, mostly.

“Umm, yes?” He replied, not sure where the confusion lay.

“But why?” Lacey asked, pointedly ignoring the glares that Zach could feel boring into them from across the table. “You can’t just sell people that’s not--Sorry, I know, it’s just. Fuck. Zach, I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand and he let her squeeze it for a moment before pulling away with a grimace. His hand tingled where she’d touched him, he rubbed at it under the table, both chasing the warmth and wanting it to continue, and wanting to scrub his hand clean of it.

“Why don’t you tell us in your own words what you remember of these events?” Bryson said, clearing his throat and gesturing for Jordan to take an extra set of notes.

“Every-every one, sir?” That would be painful, he shuddered at the thought.

“An overview will be fine,” Bryson said, gently. “Help us understand what you mean.”

Zach wet his lips, tried to find moisture to stop his voice from cracking. “So after, once he’d got what he wanted from me, when.” He took a breath to steady the sudden onset of nerves. “Once I’d betrayed you all, he said he was going to sell on the opportunity for other people to learn what he knew.”

“After you succumbed to his torture? That was not a betrayal, Zach,” Bryson said, and though Zach wasn’t watching his eyes to be sure, he was certain Bryson held steady and believed what he said. Perhaps that wasn’t a betrayal, maybe thinking of it that way was a lie, told to him often enough that he’d started to think of it as a truth. But it didn’t matter, because what he was doing now…

“Yes. Right. Anyway, he didn’t just want to sell the information. He just offered our other rivals, people who felt they’d been wronged by us, or who wanted to get out ahead of any future altercations, a chance to… to get their hands on me and take the same opportunity. Or anyone else who felt wronged and wanted someone to take it out on.”

Lacey stood, her chair shuddering back as she pushed to her feet. Zach glanced up and saw Jordan looked a little unwell too. “I have to, I can come back, I just would like a moment.” She spoke slowly, calmly, but Zach noticed the trembling fist by her side, the only hint that she was distressed. He watched it all in a detached way, wondering what he’d done wrong to upset them. It was so tiring being the cause of everyone else’s actions and trying to judge their reactions. It was easier to let it all wash over him, it would either hurt him, or it wouldn’t, it wasn’t for him to decide.

“Of course, send Archer in instead,” Bryson said.

Archer came and hovered near the door once Lacey left, and Jordan pushed his chair further back, and took some deep breaths.

“So you were tortured for information, forced to endure the same treatment over and over again?” Bryson asked, and Zach thought he heard a wobble in the voice that was usually so steady.

“Yes. Um, partly anyway. In the end… in the end I just answered straight away. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it over and over again. And often they threatened civilians, random people, if they found out that I lied. I couldn’t watch anyone else get hurt because of us--because of me. Sometimes I was just sold to people who wanted someone to hurt though, and I was… I was a good candidate for their revenge.”

The room was heavy with unsaid words, with the weight of the knowledge he’d just dropped in their laps. And Zach knew it wasn’t even the worst of it. He was sparing with the details of what had come after all of that, they didn’t need a laundry list of the horrors that now made up his nightmares.

The silence went on a long time, long enough that Zach was startled back into the present when Bryson cleared his throat and spoke again. If any silent communication had happened between the rest of them, Zach had missed it.

“So which of our old enemies did you take your leave of four days ago?” Bryson inquired.

Zach’s mouth twitched in a small semblance of a wry smile. He huffed, almost laughing, though not sure why it was funny. “Decker.” He could image the raised eyebrows and confused expressions even though he didn’t look up from the table surface. “He wasn’t done with me. The others… that was just the first six months, maybe? He took me again, I’ve been his since then.”

Zach was still his now, the threats and promises that had been made were a slowly tightening noose around his neck.

“Do you have any idea how they faked your death?” Archer asked eventually, as he leaned forward, one elbow on the table, dipping his head to try and catch Zach’s eye. “That’s the one bit we’re still not able to piece together. Do you even know where you when—” Archer’s swallow was audible. “What was happening to you, then?”

Zach looked up through his eyelashes, caught sight of Archer’s red hair.

“I remember,” he said, his voice airy. Dreamlike. He felt himself detach from it. “It was when I was still with Decker the first time, but I think he was nearly done with me.” He frowned, playing back the memories, slotting his injuries into place in his mind. The crossbow bolt entry wound was healed but the scar was still red. He had no fingernails left at that point, which made what came next both a blessing and more painful.

He teased the memory out. Yes, after that, he’d been left alone—completely isolated—for two or perhaps three weeks so that the worst of his wounds could heal and he could regain enough fight that the auction would be appealing. Just enough energy that the next buyer, the next set of torture, could knock the fight right back out of him.

“What do you remember?” Archer asked.

Zach thought he heard him swallow, he felt all the air in the room go still. He’d lost his breath too. “They showed me, the… the footage, the death certificate. Pictures of you all grieving. So I knew no-one was looking for me.”

He heard the gasps, heard Archer swore as Bryson tried to calm Jordan down, who was ranting about the coroner’s report. “It’s not your fault Jordan,” Bryson said. “None of us could have known, it all looked exactly as it should.”

“None of this is how it should be,” Archer’s voice was calm, a controlled quiet. Zach remembered that Archer sounded like that when he was close to losing his cool.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I died.” He thought that would make them all feel better, his foggy thoughts told him it was right, to explain like that.

“What?” Archer said, turning Zach bodily by the shoulders so they faced each other.

He nodded, trying to smile, and not show how scared he was of that memory. “They buried me.”

“I know we did, but… that’s not, what you mean is it?”

“There was a box, and a hole, and they played out the funeral for me, so I knew. What it was like. And, and when I came back out there was nothing left for the old me, I couldn’t be me anymore, because he died”

He’d clawed and clawed at the wooden box and inescapable horror of it, but had no fingernails to find purchase and no strength to break out. It was so small and hot in there, and later it got cold, so very cold as he couldn’t fill his lungs anymore until they’d dragged him out limp and weak. Not even a scream left in his body.

“Zach, Zach are you saying they, that one of the tortures was—” Jordan began.

“Don’t!” Archer interrupted. “Don’t make him say it.”

They all took a break after that, with so much left unsaid.

“Let’s just go back,” Bryson said the next day. “I’d like to revisit your escape, if you’re up to it.”

Zach thought he was. Jordan had explained that he didn’t need to take all of the pills at once that morning and he felt much more clear headed. He was still tired. He wanted this to be over, but he wasn’t sure what ‘over’ would look like and that scared him too. He pushed it all down and attempted to focus on Bryson’s question.

This was it, the moment. To go back, or to go forward. To come clean, or betray.

Words dried up in his throat, and his mind swam with possible ways to answer that simple question.

“Zach? Is that something you can handle today?” Bryson asked.

He must have been quiet for too long. He took a sharp inhale of breath, filled his lungs until they felt fit to burst and then breathed out slowly. He nodded. “It’s… I get confused. But I can try.”

“What do you get confused about?” Bryson asked, a kindly smile playing on his lips even as his brow furrowed in question.

“What happened, and, and when?” Zach picked restlessly at his hands. “Decker had--has--plans. I tried not to get too wrapped up in them, I didn’t want to know, I didn’t think it was worth knowing because I was never getting out of there… only then I did.” he scrubbed a hand down his face. “It’s confusing. I’m not sure how much to say--I mean how much you need to know. There’s so much.”

“Alright,” Bryson said. “You are safe here, anything you say will only be to help you, and us, not to hurt.”

There was a flood of emotions in Zach that he had kept at bay for years. Squashed and compressed down until they only came screaming out of him at the end of a whip, or the ferocity of a forced fight, or the violent intimacy laying his body bare beneath another. Dribs and drabs of grief and terror that made their way out through small cracks before he could close them back up and stem the tide.

These soft spoken words, said by people who cared so much and so openly, chipped away at the defenses he thought he had. The reassurances, the kind touches, the offers of food and rest… all of it was so strange to him now, and bit by bit hot tears kept wanting to make themselves known behind his eyes. He blinked them away, choked them back down.

“I don’t know where I fit in—into his plans,” he said, trying to buy himself time.

These people cared. They cared so much. They’d brought him back into their embrace and kept him safe and every bruise he had was fading, every cut healing. How could he ignore that?

Because you don’t have a choice. Decker’s voice whispered in his ear and he shivered.

Didn’t he? Wasn’t everything a choice? It was just a choice of who got hurt; him, or them.

His plan had always been to lie in a way that was closest to the truth, Decker had said that was easiest but nothing felt easy now. Still, he had no other instructions than the ones he’d been given. He had to stick to the plan.

“He wanted me to help him. He said… if I agreed he’d let me go. So, I agreed.”

Bryson shifted, Archer put his head in his hands. “He asked you to work for him, once he let you go.”

Zach’s pulse pounded in his ears. He felt himself nodding, numb to it. “I just did it to get away, I never meant it. I-I don’t think I meant it.” He frowned. “I just knew if I acted broken enough, uhh, if I went along with it, that was my way out.”

“He wanted you to be a double agent?” Archer asked.

“He wanted me to be his, I convinced him that I was.”

“But you’re not, right? It was all just… you said it was a trick? A ploy?”

Zach turned and saw the sincere, open question on Archer’s face. He wanted so badly to make Archer feel better. “That’s what I tried to do, yes. Must’ve worked, right? Because I’m here?”

Archer leaned over the space between their chairs and smothered him in a hug. He breathed in the scent of Archer, felt the heat of the closeness radiate until all of him was warmer.

“I just wanted to come home, I didn’t see another way,” he mumbled into Archer’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to agree to his games.”

When Archer pulled away Bryson was studying him intently. “This isn’t what you said on our first day.”

Zach gulped. “What did I say then?”

“You said that you saw an opportunity and you took it, but that you didn’t know if that was by your own doing, or orchestrated for you.”

“Yeah, yes. I meant that I didn’t know, I don’t know, if I was convincing enough, or too convincing. If I was clever enough to pull it off. Maybe—maybe I really broke? I don’t know.”

“But you’re here now, and you want to stay here with us? Safely? And not return to Decker?” Bryson asked. “We will protect you no matter what, of course, you’ve been through hell and under no circumstances would we let you be taken again, but you need to understand that if you’re not sure where your loyalties lie we cannot let you remain here.”

Zach licked his lips, his face burned red with some mix of emotions that he couldn’t name. Shame, maybe, a desire to hide and the embarrassment of being seen.

“I don’t want to be tortured anymore,” he said.

Bryson nodded. “Of course. That’s natural. But we need to know, can we trust you? Are you still one of us?”

They’d brought him to their headquarters and Zach knew that in itself was a sign of trust he hadn’t earned and he didn’t want to be reprimanded for it. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. He wanted to be good, he was looking for a way to let this play out and for nobody to get hurt, he just wasn’t sure that was possible.

An honest lie, Zachary, that’s all it takes.

“I hope so, sir.”

[Taglist: @haro-whumps @whumpthisway @hurting-fictional-people @lonesome--hunter]

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elias-veturius-laia-of-serra · 3 years

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*Includes SKY Spoilers*

- Ranked the #1 solider in his class

- Can whittle

- Can do woodwork (Rebuilt his cabin by himself)

- Can cook

- Can dance

- Can hunt

- Can windwalk

- Great swimmer

- Can speak Sadhese

- Can kill 11 men in minutes with his hands tied behind his back

- Took a whole tower of martials out by himself

- Led a whole army of Scholars, Martials, Tribes People, and Mariners by himself

- Was taken away from the only real family who loved him at age four.

- Had to watch his tribal family get taken in by the empire by his friends

- Was the first person to tell Laia that she’s brave and strong repeatedly after she lost her family and was all alone

- Decided to spend the remaining time of his life left in torch saving Darin cause he promised Laia he would save him

- Gave up everything just so Laia and her brother could live

• “Who gave up his freedom and future so Darin and I could live. Who chained himself to an eternity alone because of a vow he made.”

- Led the tribespeople to clear out the scholars from a city so they wouldn’t get killed

- Told Laia he wouldn’t be able to help her cause he had to focus on getting the ghosts back and then came for her the moment she called to him

- Has always seen Laia’s strength before she did and continued to call her strong and believed in her despite all her faults and mistakes

- Grew up without a father and a mother who hated him, purposely traumatized him, and tried to get him killed repeatedly

- A smooth negotiator “He could sweet talk a stone into giving him water

- Is 6′4

- Loves and gets along with kids

- Sarcastic King

-Great sense of humor

- Always has the most romantic lines

- Nearly died three times for the love of his life

• In book 1 risked execution for refusing to kill Laia in the last trial

• Died on the staircase in book 2 in Kauf prison while trying to save Darin for Laia

• Nearly died in the maelstrom trying to save Laia from it

- Encouraged and helped Laia raid caravans and free scholars because she wanted to make a difference in the world

- Faced off the nightbringer and jinn by himself five times:

• Behind me, Elias stills and takes a steadying breath. He meets the Nightbringer’s fiery stare, his face paling in shock at what he sees there. Then he growls, a sound that seems to rise out of the very earth. Shadows twist up like vines of ink beneath his skin. Every muscle in his shoulders, his chest, his arms strains until he is tearing free of his invisible bonds. He raises his hands, a shock wave bursting from his skin, knocking me on my back.

The Nightbringer sways before righting himself. “Ah,” he observes. “The pup has a bite. All the better.”

• At first, it looks as it always does. Then I see her, crumpled on the earth. I recognize the patchy gray cloak. I gave it to her long ago, on a night when I never could have imagined how much she’d one day mean to me. In the trees to the north, a shadow watches. Nightbringer! I leap for him, but he disappears, gone so fast that if not for his laugh on the wind, I’d have thought I’d imagined him.

I am at Laia’s side in two steps, hardly believing she is real. The earth shudders more violently than it ever has before. Mauth is angry. But it does not matter to me. What in ten bleeding hells have the jinn done to her?

• “He blurs into motion, not attacking the Nightbringer, but moving for the jinn with the long spear—Khuri called her Umber. He disarms her with two quick thrusts of his hands, and then knocks her back into Azul. Khuri jumps in front of Elias, glaring at him, no doubt trying to manipulate his mind. But he shakes off her magic, whipping the spear toward her too fast to follow. She crumples to the ground, stunned by the blow. “

• “But now she’s gone, and the Nightbringer turns toward me. I drag Maro back a few steps. The soul-stealing jinn wears his shadow form, and he is narrow-shouldered and slender, almost emaciated. When he opens his mouth, I dig in my blade, and he gasps, huffing in pain.

“You’ve been stealing ghosts, Maro.” I fix my gaze on the Nightbringer. “Tell me how to get them back.”

“You cannot get them back,” the Nightbringer says. “They are gone.”

“What have you done with them?”

“They feed the maelstrom.” Maro’s fear makes him talk. “It must be fed if we are to breach the wall between worlds.”

“Silence, Maro!” the Nightbringer hisses, but all his wrath is for me. “Release him, human.” His magic lashes out like a whip, and it burns the skin of my arms so badly that I nearly release Maro. But Blackcliff has trained me well.”

(...)

“So clever to empty out the city. To use the efrits. But it changes nothing. Your kind is a plague on this world. There are always more humans, and so there will always be more to reap. If not here, then another city.”

“Not if you don’t have your soul thief.” I dig my blade into Maro again, and this time, fire leaks out.

“Stop.” The Nightbringer’s fists clench. “Or I will find her, I swear to the skies. And I will tear her soul from her tortured body myself.”

“Spending time with my mother, I see.” The Nightbringer is usually completely in control. But now his anger is reassuring. He is vulnerable. And I can take advantage of it.

I need to understand him. If he were a human, I would reach out with the tendrils of my magic, a touch too light to be felt. But the Nightbringer will sense any scrutiny—and he will not welcome it. If I want into his head, I will have to force my way in. So I scrape up every last drop of Mauth’s magic and launch my consciousness at him.”

• “They are your weakness, Soul Catcher.” She drips with malice, shakes with it. “You will fall and the Waiting Place will fall with you.”

“Not today, Umber,” the Soul Catcher says. “They are under my protection. And you have no power here.” The softer the Commandant spoke, the more dangerous she was. The Soul Catcher’s voice is very low indeed, and power pulses through him. The air in the clearing thickens. The fire in the jinns’ eyes pales, as if suddenly quenched. The jinn retreat, fading into the trees, and when they are gone, my legs go weak, my wound aching.”

• “Midway through the day, I feel a distant rumble. Thousands of boots marching. Horses. Wagons. War machines. I make for that thunderous drone until suddenly, I’m among the army. I windwalk amid the neat rows of infantrymen, their heads bent against the sharp desert wind. A scream cracks the air. “Breach!” an unearthly voice shouts. “Breach! Find the intruder!”

It’s Umber who cries the warning, and she streaks through the skies toward me, kneading the wind to lend her speed. Though I bolt away before the soldiers notice my presence, fiery hands swipe at my back. She’s caught my scent.

(...)

I force the pain into one corner of my mind and windwalk, spinning sharply around Umber, striking at her with my scims. They dig deep into her hip, and she screams—perhaps from the wound, perhaps from the salt coating I applied to the blade. She tumbles to the earth in an explosion of dust and fire, and I am away.”

- Publicly defied the empire by himself

- Survived torture from Kauf Prison

- Helped free the people from Kauf prison

- Saved Helene from getting trampled despite her trying to hunt him down in Torch

- Tried to understand and sympathize with the jinn so no one would get hurt anymore

• He was the first to face Helene against violence and be a voice of truce with the Jinn.

- Ran in front of the maelstrom just to save Laia

- Survived the maelstrom

- Gave Tas a name

- Is unable to completely forget about everyone he cares for constantly longing for them and wanting to protect them

-Mourned and cared for Sheava despite it being her plan to lure and plant seeds into Elias's head to become Soul Catcher so she can be freed

- Told Helene to stand up and that she was meant to live and comforted her when stabbed and she thought she was going to die in Reaper

- Went out of his way to get to know Avitas Harper and their father despite knowing it would anger Mauth and he would eventually forget about them again

- Changed his family motto from killing and death to dedicate it about his love for Laia

- Gave up his soul to bring balance back into the world

- “I wish I can live a thousand lives so I can fall in love with you a thousand times”

#an ember in the ashes #a torch against the night #a reaper at the gates #a sky beyond the storm #aeita #atatn #aratg #asbts #sabaa tahir #emberling #ember quartet #elias veturius

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grahamcarmen · 3 years

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Hi, so I just finished the new season today! I have so many thoughts, the last few episodes felt kind of rushed? I wished they had gone about the whole situation between Gray and Carm at the end differently. More so on seeing them reunited. My biggest question, is why was he so quick on going back to VILE? He knew what they were capable of yes, was it to feed his criminal impulses? Why did ever want to steal in the first place? What led him to that conclusion and how did he learn of VILE? I was keen on seeing more of his backstory, and still need time to let the story simmer so I can analyze it more. It's just confusing. I guess it's just because the show ended that I feel so bittersweet y'know. What do you think Carmen would've done after they all disbanded? How could she leave them so quickly after she just got back to Team Carmen in the end? Besides wanting to see her mother. I was hoping they'd at least stay together.

i think that more than a few people feel that ( the knee jerk incredulity at her just leaving them a note and yeeting was real)

like disclaimer again: i do love carmen and this season this is just expanding on some little ??’s

on gray and “thinking gray.”: I was also feeling the lackluster on the payoff motivation wise for gray returning to VILE ( which was definitely needed as he was the secret weapon needed to finally get evil carmen back and at least partially inevitable due to ownership of the choices yadadadada )but like when he finally got his memories back he just repeated some things that i never really doubted. that gray did this of his own free will, he probably is of a lower empathy in general (which does not mean incapable of caring and doing the right thing. just that..~~~), that he regretted hurting carmen. in s1 he says his primary motivation as making more money and i was like”mmhmm fits.” being a thief and all and why not since they hadn’t introduced the big “needs to be able to tie up loose ends.” as a operative qualifier to anyone, including some of the recruits there. the only newer thing was his video that he seeked them out. which is interesting and all but sets him up as a go-getter so its so confusing that he’d choose to return to VILE ...a place where he was hurt and is so freaking selfish with what capers they choose to pursue. i kinda went on a tangent on another post that there is a theme of using a false sense of bonding to give them a little more loyalty which is like really heavy considering that means offering a “home” to what looks like operatives who might all be orphans but i don’t think it was highlighted enough to say “HEY YO” even tho GRAY LOOKS SO TIRED TO LEARN ABOUT HIS PAST WITH VILE

its really interesting because of the 3 people who had access to him/nature we got; carmen who only encouraged his desire to help (for the kiddos, for her safety, for assuring her that they were in...whatever... together, and make sure that they weren’t being secret spy jerks) ACME who got like...0 usefulness (riperonis ma guys), and VILE with maelstrom just hammering home all his shadier deeds with “YEAH THIS IS YOU.” AND HIM JUST ACCEPTING IT AFTER SITTING FOR A LONG AF TIME ALONE.

and when this was happening I was thinking about this analysis from another fandom about characters who resign to the law of the strong which could have been a reason for why gray doesn’t seem to hold the consequences for his failure against VILE even though he really should. (if they bothered but listen-)

its something that happens when characters choose to live in worlds they know are unfair, know that they choose to lie and steal and cheat, and thus should not be surprised or hurt when it happens to them in return. which of course lead to them not knowing where to draw the line on what happens to them...and i mean this in like some narratives usually go (hahaha no thats messed up please gtfo being treated like that is not ok and in allowing others to define your limits you are whittling yourself away). and they decide to live in resignation that. i am capable of bad... so i AM bad. (I am that guy. i’ve always been that guy) and makes them absolutely ripe for the (but you’ve been good . you can choose to be better. it won’t erase the wrongs of the past but it will make for a better future)

but that still leaves exploration of “WHY WOULD YOU CHOOSE TO LIVE BY THE LAW OF THE STRONG??” and you know...not having anyone to rely on, poverty, or what was simple rebelliousness turning to darker and darker paths, are some easy reasons to put a spotlight on maybe our operatives having depth and like..arcs. especially any of those reasons combined. ESPECIALLY SINCE THEY’RE WHAT VILE CONSISTENTLY IS SHOWN OFFERING. (shadowsan really is their s-tier character huh)

which i really thought this show would go for when a shivering brunt who is loyal and protective asked if she was really going to be left behind or remember how unsympathetic most of them seemed to see carmen chloroformed because “she did interrupt our heist.” meaning that they understand this world. probably have understood it for longer than anyone should. (antonio being content as a “pawn” is the tenant in my head today) and why shouldn’t more money be important. or honestly how simple it was to accept that someone would just need more money.

with gray they introduced that he could be good and he could be bad but like leaned into “no all that niceness was fake and he’s bad.” due to the hyper specificity of the mind wipe apparently? which also leans into really flat interpretation of evil!carmen (i just mean that there is a lot there ...) meaning theres no really exploration of him and more of a judgment (even though he’s shown to be kind, snarky, and upfront, as himself without a mind wipe.) and then we wait...

the pacing of the last 2 episodes: adrenaline bebe!!! but also there were so many concepts being introduced and resolved and skimmed past so that it is a little confusing at some conclusions. like the scene you’re talking about where carmen just leaves a note and ghosts is like 30 seconds and thats a lot to unpack because ?? i’m really thinking that it might have been insinuating that carmen left them the pen specifically to give them a new home to wait for her because she was going on that little break like she planned (and they knew was the endgoal) because it was behind her note and presumably placed by her but because i was focusing on the letter goodbye like ??? i thought for some reason that it was zack saying he would now like to try ACME because HE thought of it and i was like ??when did you consider this?? and 3rd watch i was finally “ahhh ok ok i think i get it.”

another bitten off scene i think might have been when gray in his first mission is already exhibiting signs of going...”huh this is not good.”

from stopping carmen from unprofessionalism to seeing that new carmen is willing to up and leave the group for mental gymnastics instead of relying on them 100% to going to the ferris wheel where he DEFINITELY SAW HER TRYING TO KILL A CIVILIAN since it showed his reaction after ivy’s. and then it turn to team red because how they feel about it definately matters more than gray but its also so easy to miss that choosing to have gray witness that as the start of what makes him turn himself in (maybe this is just a possible interpretation and its midnight ok)

evil carmen! lost her empathy. ok. so then like thats a static judgment about how they’re gonna make her do bad stuff and she still absolutely cares about her history and VILE still needed to enforce bonding and giving her memories that they comforted her and gave her her coat so thats why she cares about it and her anger at betrayal and sense of loss that she still throws right in shadowsans face when “evil”

carmen thought she crossed a personal line?? like jeeeeeez that’s 6 months of crossing lines and the most recent and horrifying one happened like not even a minute ago and then 5 seconds later we get chief and her reconciling because yes it needed to happen so we’re not gonna address how traumatizing it was or

VILE JUST WENT ALL THE WAY DOWN HUH??

and all these things are important and have the groundwork for happening but man they just happen one after the other and its like

before moving on to the next thing and like let me breathe omg

and yeah that means that so many people were left confused because the show about family (carmen’s family that SHE built ) seemed to disband for carmen to go to see her mother at last alone, shadowsan to go to his brother and a heartbroken pair of red heads to join ACME

and we get a time gap before reuniting but only a few seconds to decide if reuniting was the plan all along(the pressure point)

and there is a lot of actual IN TIME that is broad strokes that many people have already picked whats going to haunt them that wasn’t explored more...

TLDR; i get it on both counts (gray and rushed)! glad there was some sweet in your bittersweet and since canon definitely had team red in the same place they absolutely reunited and moved back into the shop and carmen talked to them about how great her mom is and planned a dinner

#red crackle thoughts #not really red crackle but #ask #midnight me needs to learn what brevity is i swear #cs spoilers #also i am notorious at clipping my pwn thoughts #some of the context in my head didnt make it to being typed i am so sorry

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swordsxandxshadows · 3 years

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4 & 22 (for the hug prompt from Scorpy to Aku)

☯ * hug prompts ☯

4. a hug from behind 22. a protective hug

Touch had become such an intimate and tender act, causing the body to melt under it’s deft, warm, and strong hold that came when arms encased and enclosed around one’s being. Overwhelming at times but not unwelcome or unwanted, maybe in the past, however now it was a need and necessity almost. Intoxicating in a sense. To feel the tender embrace was alighting the senses and brought forth a sense of serene grace that had been elusive before but now could be easily found when cradled in a tender and soothing embrace.

Tonight was such a night that the contact between the two of them was needed and wanted strongly. Another memory of a dark past, actions that were regrettable enacted under anger, grief, and hatred, bubbled to the surface of the sleeping mind of the sorcerer. Getting a restful and peaceful sleep was almost an impossible task at times and tonight seemed to be no different than most. Hands raking through bright red locks, holding onto the roots in an painful grasp and threatening to pull them from the flesh. Breathing heavily, barely able to keep a steady and even breath, which wasn’t helping the nerves that were on high alert now thanks to the nightmares that had permeated their sleeping state. Heat thudding against the cage of the shapeshifter’s chest in rapid succession, being able to hear the pounding loudly in his ears as it thumped away without a pause.

Aku had done his best to try not to disturb the form resting beside him, wanting his beloved to rest peacefully for the night. Scorpion’s mind was just as plagued as his at times with maelstrom of traumatic memories of the past, not allowing a serene rest to come easily at times. The master of shadow and flames wanting him to sleep peacefully and undisturbed when those rare moments of calm peaceful slumber overtook him, loving seeing him have a gentle night of rest when it did come.

A soft jolt escaped the small structure of his hunched over form at the sudden and unexpected contact made, softly cursing for not having been more careful when he sprung awake and disturbed the other. Feeling the broad and warm arms of Hanzo’s wrap around him from behind in a protective manner, drawing him towards him with delicate care. Doing his best to calm down now, leaning back into the other’s embrace and burying his head against that broad strong neck of the other’s. Breathing in the calming scent that was unique to the pyromancer alone, one that he had come to adore and love with his being. Helping calm him down a bit more in the maelstrom of his waking moment.

“I am sorry my heart, I woke you up like this. I didn’t mean to disturb you from your slumber.”

Was the soft mumble against the sun-kissed skin of the other’s form, apologizing for the unplanned awakening that they had both now experienced. Hating having disturbed the other in such a way, cursing more at himself. Fingers finally releasing the lock of hair it was holding onto with intense grip, moving to caress the side of the other’s facial features.

“I am fine...nothing you have to worry about...just my mind tormenting me in the dream realm, like usual. You have enough problems without dealing with mine, love.”

#IC {Aku}#sasorikigai #ask #answered #Hug Prompt Ask Meme #Burning in the Eternal Darkness...{Verse}#Scorched Souls {Aku x Hanzo Hasashi/Scorpion | sasorikigai}#Fierce Inferno of Hellfire {Hanzo Hasashi/Scorpion | sasorikigai}#HAVE SOME ANGST AND COMFORT FLOOF #Cause I needed some cuteness #And these two hnnngh

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kit-herondale-carstairs · 4 years

Text

You and Me, The Moon and the Tides

Kit drummed the fingers of his free hand against the counter he was sitting on while he held a cookie in the other. It was his third of the morning but the only ones who had to know were him and his stomach. Besides, no one made cookies as well as Julian and Kit was determined to eat as many as possible before Ty came back from whatever he was doing in his old room.

It was still strange sometimes, even after several years, to be back in the Los Angeles Institute. Like he was fifteen again, trying not to mourn his father’s death and getting swept up in the maelstrom that was Ty Blackthorn. Kit finished off his cookie and grabbed another, forcing old memories away with a large bite. He was twenty-two years old, not a teenager anymore, and he definitely didn’t want to spend one of the few days off he had with Ty reminiscing on their awkward, necromantic teen days.

“Julian’s going to be upset you ate all his cookies.” A voice, soft and familiar, spoke out and Kit looked up from where he had been staring at a small crack in a tile to see Ty standing in the doorway, his lynx Irene obediently sitting by his right foot. Kit didn’t know why - probably because his mind was still partially stuck in his old memories - but he couldn’t help but be struck quite suddenly with how beautiful the other man was. He was still slighter than most Nephilim - although he had lost some of the delicacy he had at fifteen - but Kit knew, rather intimately, the strength held in his lithe body. He still had a delicate face framed with the Blackthorn dark hair, but his jaw and cheekbones had become more pronounced as he’d lost the softness of children and his gray eyes were as sharp as ever.

When Kit had first seen him after coming back to America when they were eighteen, he had thought Ty had looked the way avenging Angels should look - austere but beautiful, alluring but dangerous. Beautiful in the way a well-wrought blade was as it glinted in starlight.

Of course, Ty’s appearance had been sharpened with righteous indignation and his clothing had been covered with the still-smoking ichor of the demon he’d dispatched just before he’d caught sight of Kit, and it had mellowed out in the months and years since, as he and Kit worked together to overcome their less-than-stellar past and had begun dating. Now, the Ty standing before Kit was softer. Still devastatingly beautiful, of course, but soft in the way he held his body, all confidence and comfort, in the rumpled nature of the worn gray sweater that Kit was eighty percent sure he’d stolen from the bottom of his own dresser in their bedroom back home. Soft in the tussled mess of his hair that, in a rare fit of spontaneity he hadn’t bothered to comb that morning because “you and the wind are just going to mess it anyway, soft in the way his eyes, brimming as always with sharp intelligence, seemed to always soften when Kit was in sight.

“They were for the twins, you know.” Ty continued, apparently oblivious to Kit’s distracted thoughts, as he strode into the room, Irene slinking behind him lithely. The twins were Helen and Aline’s boys, two fair-head, baby-faced five-year-olds. They were sweet but mischievous little fae boys and Kit knew he was in for finding some unpleasant things on his person throughout his stay now.

But no matter. The cookies were worth it. “I didn’t eat all of them. They don’t need much.” He responded, sliding off the counter and turning to brush the evidence of his misdeeds from its surface and to place the lid back on the glass container. “You ready, then?” He added, turning back to look at Ty. The other man had yet to explain why he had insisted they take a portal from their flat in London back to spend the day in Los Angeles. Especially on a day when apparently everyone was busy with something or another - no one had bothered to explain what they were doing or why the Institute stood empty, a very rare event indeed for the bustling Blackthorn family.

“Yes.” Ty responded, apparently refusing to offer Kit anymore information, before bending down and catching hold of Irene’s harness and clipping her leash onto her. Ty hated leashing her but LA had rules and Kit for one didn’t want to have another run in with a mundane police officer about animal safety laws.

Kit refused to be bothered by Ty’s lack of forthcoming. He was like that, sometimes, when he was coming up with new ideas and they weren’t formed enough to share them yet. There were times when Ty would spend days like that, hyper-focused on thoughts only he was privy to, until they finally came together and Kit would be the first to hear all about his discovery about how a mundane serial killer was actually a very clever demon they needed to kill before their dinner reservation about his plan on how he was going to convince their mundane neighbor, a kindly but nosy older woman, to stop snooping around their trash without traumatizing her.

Kit knew that, given a bit of time, Ty would share all his thoughts and plans with him, and he hardly ever worried anymore that if he was not involved every step of the way, Ty was going to go off and do something dangerous on his own. They were partners and Ty would always wind up sharing his plans before jumping in on the risky parts. They weren’t fun to do alone, anyway, as Ty had often impatiently told him when they had first begun working together again and Kit had often let his old insecurities make him mistrustful of Ty’s quiet periods.

Kit didn’t think their sudden visit to Los Angeles or the three days’ of quiet hyper-fixation from Ty had anything to do with an unsolved mystery or pesky acquaintances, but he knew better than to worry too much about it. He was certain Ty was preparing to share it with him, although why they had to visit the beach or stop by the Institute to pick something up first, Kit had no idea. Ty had never made a habit of making a spectacle out of his discoveries before.

They fell into a companionable silence as Ty lightly tugged on Irene’s leash, deemed it acceptable, and made his way to the back door of the entrance, Kit following half a step behind.

The walk to the beach was as short as Kit remembered, although they hadn’t been back to it since Julian and Emma’s wedding two years before. Establishing themselves at the London Institute - which included repeatedly side-stepping old Bridget’s continued attempts to have a Herondale back as the Head, much to Jem and Tessa’s inconsiderate amusement - working with Kieran, Cristina, and Mark to rebuild Faerieland after the Final War, and working with Alec and the rest of the surviving Nephilim and Downworlders to reconfigure the old laws into something distinctly modern had kept them from making frequent visits to their old haunts.

Time apart, of course, did not make the feel of warm breezes on his face or the salty smell of the sea waves all around him any less familiar and Kit couldn’t help but breathe in deeply, basking in the sun-kissed warmth of his old hometown. He and Ty both missed it, even though it had been years since either had actually lived in the city. It was good to be back, even if Kit still had no idea why they were there.

Ty was no more forthcoming by the shore than he was back at the Institute, and their silence continued even as he led them down the beach, Irene making little disapproving mewls as she trotted across the sand. She hated the feel of sand on her paws, Kit knew, and he wasn’t quite sure why Ty hadn’t left her at home or in the Institute.

Questions about Irene’s quickly fled his mind, however, when several tall rocks came into view and it became quite clear where Ty had led them. It was where they - Kit, Ty, and Livvy - had gone to look at the tide pools, the very first time they’d gone to the beach together. It was also where, after the war was over, they had said their final goodbyes to Livvy. She had decided to move on, once Ty - in her words - no longer needed her, and before the emptiness she had seen in Dimmat Tam had any chance to claim her. She had floated above these very rocks, smiling faintly down at them before turning to go across the sea, disappearing in the waves. Kit had stood wordlessly as Ty watched the waves for an hour afterwards and he had held him tight in the shadow of the rocks, when the silence crested and Ty had begun crying.

They, for very obvious reasons, had not been back.

“Ty…” Kit trailed off questioningly, casting an alarmed look at his boyfriend. But if Ty was being overcome with an onslaught of bittersweet memories, he was hiding it well. The only indicator that Ty was thinking about it at all was the way his jaw seemed to clench briefly.

“Come up with me.” Ty told him, after a moment, stooping briefly to command Irene to stay before dropping her leash into the sand. Then he took to the rock, climbing onto the top with all the ease and grace of someone born to battle. Kit, inwardly wondering what the hell was going on, quickly followed. “The pools are still here,” Ty said as Kit crested the top. There was a pleased tone to his voice. “I was worried they wouldn’t be, since it’s been so hot.”

“We came to Los Angeles because you wanted to visit the tide pools?” Kit asked, careful to make sure his voice didn’t betray all the confusion he felt. Ty didn’t seem to be reminiscing on Livvy too much and he hadn’t broken down again since the day of her departure, although Kit knew all too well that he still felt the dull-ache of her loss.

“It’s the first place we went to on the beach.” Ty said matter-of-factly, carefully turning from the pools to look at Kit. Kit’s breath caught despite himself. Ty was smiling at him softly, his whole body illuminate by the sun so that he seemed to nearly glow in the morning light. “And it’s the last place we saw Livvy. It’s an important place for us, don’t you think?” He continued, still smiling that soft, breathtaking smile. Even though he was still confused, Kit could feel his heartbeat pick up, as though it had figured something out before his mind did. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant feeling.

“Yeah. It really is.” Kit answered after a moment. Ty’s smile grew as his eyes - nearly silver in the light - caught Kit’s gaze and held onto it and Kit felt his whole body grow warm in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. Ty didn’t often make eye contact, even after all these years, and Kit’s heart hadn’t ceased to pick up whenever he did. Privately, Kit hoped it never did.

“It’s a bittersweet place,” Ty continued, voice still matter-of-fact. “But it’s where I feel closest to Livvy, and I wanted her to be here for this, even if it’s just in my mind.” Kit was still unsure what “this” was but he was starting to get an idea. They had spoken about it, of course, at great length because Ty didn’t want to do anything without a clear plan, but he hadn’t thought it would be anytime soon. He hadn’t thought Ty would beat him to it.

“Ty…” he said again, his voice suddenly breathless, eyes wide. Ty just shook his head.

“Let me speak, please. You’ve always been the one good at putting your thoughts into words, I’d like to be the one to do that for a change.” Kit nearly laughed - trust Ty to be so official in a moment like this. But then Ty swooped down, his knee hitting the ground with a soft thud, and Kit quite suddenly couldn’t find the breath to even gasp. In complete, shocked silence, Kit let Ty take his hand into his own, staring down rapturously at his boyfriend’s face.

“You once told me, in a ring of fire, that you loved me.” Ty began, his pale fingers softly tracing the mark on Kit’s wrist that he’d made years ago. Kit really didn’t think he needed a reminder of that particular memory at this moment but Ty continued on before he could say anything, no doubt sensing Kit’s inherent sarcasm defense rearing up. “I didn’t know, then, what those words meant. I knew, logically, what others meant when they said them to me, but I really didn’t get it. Actions always made more sense to me - Julian giving me toys to fidget with so Diana didn’t get mad at me in lessons, Livvy learning how to use a computer with me so we could solve mysteries together, Dru inviting me to one of her movies even though she knew I was just going to talk about all the inaccuracies.

Actions were how I knew my family loved me. So when you said them, I didn’t understand. And then you left, and I really didn’t understand. We weren’t talking anymore, and that was one of the worst moments of my life. I had Livvy back, but I lost you. Then you sent me your mother’s necklace. We weren’t talking, weren’t friends, but you’d heard that Livvy and I were struggling and you sent me that necklace. And I understood then, I think, what you’d meant. But I thought it was too late - you were gone and you didn’t answer the letter I sent.

And then, before I knew it, years had gone by without you. And it was strange, how long it took for me to get used to you not being by me, even though we hadn’t known each other long. And then you came back, and it was like - like the sun coming out after a cloudy day. I had been living fine in shadows but suddenly it was warm and bright again. I thought it would take us awhile to get back to what we had, I was angry - you were wary. But being around you was like reciting the alphabet, it came easy and natural. And when you kissed me that first time in Faerie, when we thought we were going to die, I finally, really understood. And when I told you I loved you on the last battlefield, I meant it. I’ll always mean it.

The world may not always work in ways that make sense to me. Sometimes it’s too loud. Sometimes words have no meaning and sometimes people say things I’m somehow supposed to get but it’s just’s nonsense. But you, you’ve always made sense to me. I don’t believe in soulmates and destiny, and all those weird true love things that show up in those cheesy movies you like, but I believe in you and I believe in us. Because we make sense. It’s like -” here Ty stopped, just for a moment. He seemed to be struggling for the right analogy, which was frankly shocking because he had been doing admirably well so far, for someone who claimed not be good with words.

“It’s like you’re the moon and I’m the tides. Without you, I feel strangely weightless sometimes, like I’m moving without purpose. But you draw me towards you, you bring rhythm to my life that keeps me grounded. You draw me back when I’m going too far - when I’m running three days without sleep, you get me into bed even if you have to lay on me like a weighted blanket until I fall asleep.” Kit had only had to do that once, and it had been after a record-breaking two weeks of no sleep except exhausted cat naps right after the war had ended, but Kit wasn’t about to correct him right then. He was finding it hard enough to even hear Ty over the sound of his thudding heart and it was getting hard to look at the other man through a sudden clouding of his eyes that he would later fully admit was the beginnings of tears.

“And you draw me forward when I need to go - you make it easy to bear when the world gets too loud and even though I can be difficult, you never leave me behind. You are endlessly patient, you are kind and generous, and you are just so good that sometimes it’s overwhelming. But I don’t ever want to draw away from you, I want to be by your side through everything that comes our way. I love you, Kit Herondale. I love you, I love you, I love you and I want to keep loving you.” Through blurry eyes, Kit watched as Ty, with one hand still holding tight to Kit’s, put his other hand to his mouth and whistle lowly over the stone. Within moments, Irene had leaped lightly onto the stone and Kit noticed, rather stupidly, for the first time that there was something gleaming dangling around the clasp of Irene’s leash. It was a ring, of course. Kit’s tears continued to flow more freely as Ty reached over and carefully unclasped her leash, catching the ring one-handed because Kit was now holding his other hand far too tightly to pull away.

Ty turned back to Kit then and held out the ring. “If you’d let me.” His voice was a whisper, then but Kit heard it easily enough even above the roar of the waves behind them. He was attuned to Ty so completely that he would have heard the whisper anywhere, over anything.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Kit practically yelled and Ty nearly flinched in surprise. “You’re bad with words? I’m actually crying right now, you - you jerk! What the fuck!” Kit’s rather harsh words - and really, could anyone blame him? he hadn’t expected this when Ty had woken him up that morning- were completely undermined by him dropping down to his knees and swooping Ty into a tight embrace. He couldn’t think of how to put his swirling thoughts into words so he settled for what Ty understood best - he pressed his lips firmly against his and kissed him soundly.

He still couldn’t think of how to say what Ty made him feel - loved and cherished and happy, always so very happy, were some of them but they weren’t enough to explain how he felt, weren’t powerful enough to encompass even half of his emotions. But he could say one word and, at that particular moment, it was the perfect word to say.

“Yes,” he murmured against his fiancee’s lips. “Yes, yes, yes.”

This is also posted on AO3 under GinnyRose.

#kitty #kit herondale #kit rook #ty blackthorn #this was meant to be way shorter #but I have zero impulse control #twp #the wicked powers #gotsm #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #mortal instruments #the dark artifices #fanfic

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ansgar-martinsson · 4 years

Text

Fair Winds and a Following Sky - Part Two

Seat 7A, Business Class, United Airlines Flight 3300 - Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

Ten years. Ten years, two months and fifteen days. That was how long it had been since Anna Fair Sky had been aboard a plane. As she sat in seat 7A, she felt like a child of that very age. Scared, out of place, downright fearful.

I want my mama....

Last time she’d flown was with her then newlywed husband, heading out of the Will Rogers Airport on a tiny jet to a small, semi-private island in the Caribbean. That flight was torturous - full of turbulence, hard banks, and ultimately a not so soft landing on the impossibly short landing strip. Anna nearly kissed the ground when they’d lit from the jet - and had taken a double dose of Xanax, bought over the counter on the island - for the way home.

But she had no Xanax now, nothing to chemically calm her except the cold glass of Business Class whisky on the tray in front of her. It was her second, no... third drink of that flight, served in a thick-bottomed tumbler, rounded spheres of ice, and just a splash of Evian water to open out the flavor. She wondered, momentarily, just how many swigs of the Scottish elixir she could down before she could pass into a joyful unconsciousness.

As many as it took, and all on the credit card. Not as if I’m going to be home to get the bill, she thought. American Express can go fuck itself for all I care right now. Let Mamma Travidge handle it. Main account’s still in her name, anyway. She can go fuck herself too.

“Nervous?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you, dear, are you nervous?” Anna let out a shaky breath and turned to the voice. In the seat beside her was an older woman, white of hair and wizened of feature, yet she seemed to carry herself with a youthful strength, brought through in her voice as well - high-timbred and powerful. The woman set her book down across her lap and turned slightly in the seat to face Anna.

“A little, I... I suppose,” Anna answered honestly.

The woman shifted her hand, resting her curved fingers on Anna’s forearm. “First time?”

“No,” Anna replied, “I... I’ve been nervous before.”

The woman’s eyes went wide, head cocked and lips pursed in a confused moue, but only for a moment, just for a moment before she burst out in a bark of laughter. “Oh,” she chortled. “Oh, no, dear. No, dear. I meant...,” she covered her mouth, and with her other hand squeezed Anna’s arm gently. “I meant... is it your first time flying?”

“Oh, God, no. No... not my first time flying,” Anna laughed, and the laughter morphed into a moment of half-buzzed realization. “I think I might have made a joke, there.”

“Either that,” the woman grinned and took a sip of her tomato juice, “or you’ve seen the movie Airplane a far few too many times.” She patted Anna on the shoulder, turning back in her seat and lifting her book once again. “Flight’s about half over, I think,” she said, “and it seems you’ve got yourself occupied anyway.” Her eyes flicked between the drink on the table and Anna’s computer screen.

“Oh, that,” Anna replied. “Supposing I do.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” the woman continued, turning a page of her book, “but I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been looking rather moonily at pictures of the same man nearly the entire flight.” She pointed toward the image, a black and white headshot of Anna’s quarry nearly filling the screen.

“I’m...,” Anna clipped. “I’m trying... trying to find him. I mean,” she corrected, “I will be trying to find him once I get to Stockholm.” She narrowed her eyes and closed her computer with a deliberate click. “But, I’m not sure what business it is of yours.”

“None. None at all my dear,” the woman replied factually, book still open.

“Correct. None.”

Anna opened her computer again, re-connected to the in-flight wifi, and re-opened the search page. She skimmed through a few articles, using Google to translate those that were written in eye-crossing Swedish.

“Do you even know who that is?” The woman had set her book back down on her lap and crossed her hands over it.

“Him? His name is... is Ansgar Martinsson,” Anna replied.

“No,” she said, “I mean, do you know who that is?”

Anna groaned inwardly, and once again closed her computer. “I guess not. I suppose you’ll tell me.”

The woman continued, unfazed by Anna’s display of irritation. “Not a man to trifle with, I tell you,” she bent toward Anna, her words sotto voce, a whisper, barely heard over the thrum of the engines. “He’s a bit of a shark if you ask me.”

“How... how do you know this?”

“That’s why I asked you if you knew who he was. He’s famous, you know, in Sweden, in Europe. Gossip column fodder. Shows up on the pages of those crap rags now and then, and sometimes on the cover of business magazines.”

“So, he’s a businessman. I kind of got that from the....” she pointed vaguely at the computer, “the articles, and stuff.... what I was able to read, at least.”

“My son works for his company,” the woman said. “We’re from Missouri, St. Louis, you see, but my son moved to Ostermalm, that’s in Sweden too, you know,” she interjected. “Anyway, he moved there to take a job with Martinsson Construction as an architect. I’m going there to visit David... David is his name... I’m going to visit David and his family for the summer.”

“So,” Anna intoned, “Ansgar Martinsson is famous because he owns a construction company?”

“Not just a construction company,” the woman’s chest puffed up a bit, “the construction company - this huge international conglomerate thing. He builds opera houses and civic buildings and universities, just about everything -- he even designed and built almost all of the newer IKEA stores. He’s like... he’s like the Elon Musk of construction, only better looking and less... well, weird.”

“Hm,” Anna said. “I suppose I still don’t understand why he....”

“Come on, my dear,” the woman’s lips curled in a wry, crooked, tight-lipped grin. “Just look at the man,” she said, gesturing toward the screen. “He’s quite charming. Gets out in society, goes to all of the best parties, even throws some himself now and then. He rubs elbows with the rich and famous, knows everyone... and I hear,” she added, “he’s newly single and ready to mingle.”

“S-single?”

“Yes, this is the sad bit, though, this bit here...” the woman gosspied, “his wife... she left him, some sort of traumatic, terrible thing... at least that’s what I heard. And when she did, he went missing. Missing, I tell you! Gone! Poof!” she splayed her fingers, demonstrating. “Gone for about a year and a half, maybe longer, I can’t remember. No one knows where he was or who he was with or what the hell happened to him.”

“Oh?”

“Of course his family wouldn’t talk, and his company people, well... they were tight lipped as ever, don’t you know. My son was worried for his job nearly that whole time! It was in all the papers, all the online blogs -- so much speculation, so many conspiracy theories.... Where is Ansgar Martinsson?” She made little ersatz quotes in the air. “One paper even reported that he’d been kidnapped and tortured by terrorists. Another said he’d been taken by aliens, but I doubt that very much.”

Anna shook her head. “Oh, I doubt that too. The... the alien bit.” She inhaled sharply, ground her teeth together and looked away - collecting her thoughts, her fears, and the increasing, swirling maelstrom of confusion and... and...

...and regret.

I know where he was....

And maybe I don’t belong where he currently is.

Wnat the hell am I getting myself into?

Words like “society” and “famous” and “businessman” and “traumatic” clanged around in Anna’s head. The walls of the plane squeezed inward confining her, the seat a great bear trap, cramping her in place, teeth digging deeply into her flesh, tearing at her spirit. No turning back now. She snatched at her glass of whiskey and downed it, immediately raising the empty in indication to the passing air steward.

The storm in her spirit and the deluge of spirits in her blood made her head ache, made her dizzy, even a bit sick. Thoughts of the Travidges invaded, clouding those of Alan... Ansgar. Was he really like them? Would he treat her the same way? Was she on a thousand-dollar one-way debt-shattering flight halfway around the world only to be dragged into the same feelings of disassociation, of abandonment, of lonliness?

Of... rejection?

“You said you’d be looking for him? When you get there, is that right? Like, physically trying to find him?”

“What?” Anna blinked, the woman’s question drawing her out of her reverie. “What did you say?”

“I asked,” the woman said patiently, “you’re going to be looking for him... in Stockholm, yes?”

“Well,” she sighed, shrugging, “that was sort of the plan.”

But now I’m not so sure....

The woman nodded sagely. “I won’t ask you why, dear. I’ve stuck my nose into your beeswax enough for one flight, but I can tell you what I know. Maybe... where to find him.”

Anna shrugged. “His office, right? He’s probably there all the time. I could just go there and talk to him.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no,” she said, “they have security in that place tighter than Fort Knox. No way in hell you just sidle up into his office.”

“Then... then where?”

“My son told me... David, he told me that Martinsson is kind of an odd duck you know... has his ways about doing things,” she said, “but I suppose a lot of Swedes are like that. Really private and all. Don’t even really like to talk to their neighbors. Can’t even talk to one of them on a flight... but they do like one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Swedish folks... they love their fika.”

“Fika?” Anna squinted, nonplussed. “What’s that?”

“Coffee break. I suppose that’s the best thing to call it,” the woman said. “It’s... it’s something the Swedish just... do. It’s pretty important to them... and I hear... my son tells me that he... that your Martinsson fellow there... he takes his coffee break, his fika, at the same coffee shop and at the same time every day when he’s in Stockholm.”

“He goes to a... a coffee shop?”

“Sure,” the woman said. “No one bothers him, apparently. Like I said, the Swedish don’t molest each other overmuch. They don’t like all that chit chat... that small talk with strangers don’t you know, and if someone is sitting at a table alone they’ll just.... you know leave them be. I mean, Brad Pitt or that hunky George Clooney could be sitting in a Swedish coffee shop and no one would even think of approaching them, taking their picture or otherwise.”

“Do you...” Anna blinked, smiling blithely at the woman beside her, “happen to know where that is? That coffee shop where Martinsson takes... takes his fika?”

The woman smiled back. “Would I mention it if I didn’t know?”

#fair winds and a folloiwng sky

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carmenlire · 5 years

Text

Ever After, After All

read on ao3

Alec lays awake, staring at the ceiling.

He should be the happiest person on the planet-- and he is. Turning his head, something in Alec eases at the sight of Magnus, moonlight bouncing off warm skin, making him look at once ethereal and deeply human.

His fiancé of a handful of hours is stunning, even with messy hair and chapped lips. A part of Alec-- the unforgivably sentimental part that he usually tries to tamp down-- thinks that Magnus is the most gorgeous man on earth, just like this.

Twisting his ring by sight alone, Alec feels the coolness of the gold band and he smiles a little. The happiness that curls around his heart is stymied, though, and he hates it. He hates that there’s room for anything else right now except blinding joy and all the love in the world.

Because there’s grief, too. There’s a weight in his chest that just grows more oppressive whenever he tries to push it away. It’s a dank cloud that covers everything, turning it into the worst sort of purgatory.

Lifting up onto an elbow, Alec leans over Magnus and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Love you,” he murmurs and Magnus stirs, turning onto his side, reaching out for Alec with a hand that doesn’t quite manage to find him. The move warms Alec, pushes the maelstrom away the tiniest bit. Still, he sighs and carefully climbs out of bed, grabbing his phone on his way out.

Using the moonlight, he leaves their bedroom and pads into the living room. He reaches for one of the squat glasses on Magnus’s drink cart and then the decanter along the edge. The low light sets the crystal gleaming and Alec sighs into the quiet darkness, pours a splash or two of brandy and takes a small, lingering sip.

It’s a warm summer night and so he makes his way to the french doors. Opening one door, a light breeze drifts over him and Alec takes a bracing breath as he steps onto the balcony. He sits down on the couch-- or really, he falls onto it.

He feels heavy and exhausted and he’s not quite sure how to fix things.

Shifting forward on the couch, Alec rests elbows on his knees. Head down, slowly rolling his glass between his hands, his shoulders droop.

Out here, like this, it’s easy to imagine that he’s the only person in the world. Like this, it’s hard to know the right answer to a question he’s been asking himself for years.

Frustrated, Alec throws back the rest of his drink. Swallowing hard, he sets the glass down on the ground as he pulls out his phone. The light from the screen glares up at him, makes him wince.

His eyes adjust quick enough though as he swipes to unlock the phone and he opens his contact list, scrolls down to a number he knows by heart.

His thumb hovers over the call button. He hesitates for what seems like ages but he just can’t do it. Forgetting that it’s the middle of the night, Alec doesn’t even know where he’d start that conversation.

Raking his free hand through his hair, Alec doesn’t know what to do. In an ideal world, sure. Unfortunately, this world isn’t perfect and he’s achingly aware of that fact.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Looking up, Alec smiles wanly at Magnus. “You could say that.”

His fiancé has haphazardly thrown a robe on, leaving it untied, and he doesn’t waste a moment walking over to Alec. Sitting down next to him, Magnus wraps an arm around his shoulders, hugs him a little closer before he kisses the side of his head.

Nosing along his cheek, Magnus’s voice is low as he says, “Talk to me, darling.”

Looking over at him, Alec shrugs a little before he looks back down. His hand falls to Magnus’s thigh, strokes an absent thumb over skin and silk.

“I just,” he starts, before breaking off with an exasperated breath. Tilting his head so that it’s resting on Magnus’s arm, Alec stares up at the sky, at the millions of stars twinkling down on them.

“I just,” he repeats softly, “Wish that I could tell my mom that I’m engaged, that I met a man and fell head over heels in love with him and that I know, without a doubt, that he’s the love of my life.”

Shifting over to look at Magnus’s face, Alec sees him already staring down at him, expression soft and full of dawning understanding.

“I wish I could tell her that the past five years have been the best five years of my life and that when he asked me to marry him tonight-- when I finally realized why he’d been stealing furtive looks in my direction for the past few weeks and why he’d seemed so nervous all damn day-- I started crying but it was okay because he wiped the tears away with a shit-eating grin as he held up a ring.”

Alec’s voice is hoarse as he continues, “I wish I could tell my mom that I’m happy and just how much I love you but I can’t. Not if I still want her in my life, not if I still want a relationship with her. There’s this whole part of my life that she knows nothing about and it feels wrong and weird but I can’t change things and I hate that for the rest of my life, she’ll never know this piece of me. I hate that I have to censor myself, that whenever I talk about you, it’s just as a friend. I hate that I’m thirty goddamn years old and afraid to tell my mother the truth.”

Closing his eyes to keep more tears at bay, Alec’s voice is barely above a whisper as he manages to finish, “I hate that I know just how conditional my mother’s love is and that I have to keep these secrets-- that I have to protect her whenever every lie, either outright or by omission, feels like fucking glass in my throat.”

“Oh Alexander,” Magnus whispers. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

With a wet laugh, Alec shakes his head, resigned. “You don’t need to be sorry, babe. I am so fucking happy to be your husband. I just wish I could share it with my mom.”

Magnus’s voice is tentative as he asks, “I know we’ve talked about this before but are you sure about Maryse’s reaction? I know she’s a stern woman but I’ve seen the way she looks at you and she loves you, Alec. She really does. You’ve said yourself that she’s so much better since she divorced Robert.”

“And she is,” Alec agrees before he frowns. “But that doesn’t change how conservative she is. Divorce notwithstanding, she’s very traditional. As much as it hurts, I know that she loves me-- but only to a certain point. We're from an old family and she's always kept those values, that outlook that scorns any hint of scandal. I couldn’t stand to see her face if I told her I was gay, that I was marrying a man. It would infuriate her and devastate us both.”

Alec closes his eyes on a deep sigh, twisting so that he can shove his face against Magnus’s neck. He hugs him tight, breathes a little easier at the heat radiating from Magnus, thankful for the millionth time that his boyfriend-- fiancé, he corrects with a smile-- runs warm.

Rubbing his back, Magnus kisses the shell of his ear before he says, “I support you no matter what you decide, Alexander. And while I’d love nothing more than to shout to the world that I love you and you’re my everything, I’m perfectly content being introduced to your mother as simply your best friend. We've done it for years, after all.”

Silence falls over the balcony as the two of them turn to their own thoughts. After awhile, Alec finds it in himself to laugh. “At least Jace, Max, and Izzy know. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to hide us from them, too.”

Making a little noise of amusement that Magnus would deny to his dying day is a snort of laughter, he pulls back to meet Alec’s eyes. “Yes, it’s a very good thing indeed that your siblings know about us-- just think how traumatizing it would’ve been when they walked in on us that time during vacation if they hadn’t.”

Alec shudders, a little dramatic just to see Magnus’s smile widen. “I never would’ve lived it down,” he replies gravely.

Alec relaxes into Magnus and they stay out on the balcony a little while longer until he shivers in the coolness. Magnus takes that as a hint and urges Alec to standing, guiding them back to their bedroom. Alec’s breath catches as their hands interlace, as he feels Magnus’s thumb run over his engagement ring.

As they fall into bed, Alec finally feels the weight slough off him. He knows it’s but a respite, that these feelings will plague him again, but he has Magnus and he can’t regret anything to do with the man he’d fallen for ages and ages ago.

Turning onto his side, Alec feels Magnus lay a bare kiss on between his shoulders, relaxes under the arm thrown over his waist.

He falls asleep, eager for morning to dawn bright and early, eager for the future he knows will be spent at Magnus's side.

Laughing, Alec opens the car door. Getting out of the backseat, he sees Magnus already standing on the sidewalk, shaking his head in bemusement.

“What,” he asks, grinning. “I’m right and you know it.”

Magnus pouts, actually pouts, and Alec’s helpless to do anything but pull him closer as soon as possible, immediately. He closes the door to the cab with barely a thought, all of his focus on the man in front of him.

Thankfully, the street isn’t busy and Alec’s able to wrap his arms around Magnus, hands resting low on his back as he guides his fiancé back, away from the curb. The doorman opens the door, expressionless, and Alec keeps walking him forward until they’ve entered the lobby of the hotel.

Magnus isn’t fazed at all. Trusting Alec to keep him from running into anything, he wraps his arms around Alec’s neck, sending him a half-assed glare.

“I know nothing of the sort, I assure you,” he says, playfully supercilious and infuriatingly attractive for it.

“C’mon,” Alec wheedles. “Chocolate peanut butter is a combination fit for kings. Our cake is going to be so delicious.”

Magnus voice is dry as he replies, “Alexander, you seem to forget that our cake is going to be three tiers. That’s three different flavors, none of which should be a glorified Reese’s cup. Peanut butter and chocolate is disgusting and I refuse to subject our guests to it.”

“Disgusting,” Alec squawks, indignant. “How can I be in love with someone who apparently has defunct taste buds? Why do you hate joy so much, babe?”

“We have two hours to decide on our wedding cake, darling. I’m sure we can come to an agreement in that time. For instance, mint chocolate chip is absolutely--”

“A no-go,” Alec says firmly.

Magnus nods, grimacing in distaste. “Definitely. Ugh. Now those are people are wrong. Imagine liking that combination, dear God.”

Biting back a laugh, Alec leans in and kisses Magnus before he can get too worked up. He’d once listened to a twenty five minute diatribe on just why mint chocolate ice cream was the devil’s flavor.

It’s early fall and the two of them have started planning things in earnest, having decided on a winter wedding. Neither one had seen the point in waiting any longer and with only those closest to them invited, they’d found a charming hotel in Brooklyn that had an elegantly cozy vibe that they both enjoyed and a weekend free in December.

Working with the hotel’s kitchen, they’d finalized the menu just last week and this afternoon their appointment was to work out their ideas for the wedding cake.

Wryly, Alec thinks about just how different their opinions were on sweets. The next two hours promised to be lively, if nothing else.

They walk to the maitre d and are escorted through the restaurant and back to the kitchen immediately. It’s an off time between lunch and dinner and there are only a few tables taken. Alec’s eyes scan over and see a mother and daughter in the corner having tea and a few elderly women near the front having drinks. There’s a large table on the far side of the room, chatting loudly but it’s full of people in suits and Alec doesn’t pay them any mind.

The afternoon’s productive and Alec gets his peanut butter chocolate layer. It’s the top of the cake, which means it’s the smallest, but Alec will take what he can get. The both agree on the other two tiers easily enough and most of their time is spent on how they want the cake to look instead of what’s in it.

They walk out of the restaurant in the late afternoon, Alec’s arm over Magnus’s shoulder, and come to a stop in the hotel lobby. Magnus comes around until he’s facing Alec, little grin on his face and Alec doesn’t even try to stop the urge to lean in and kiss him.

He’s so caught up on Magnus, on the euphoria of completing yet another step to their forever, that he doesn’t notice that the large group that had been dining in the restaurant are finished with their meal, that they’re standing and coming towards the hotel restaurant’s entrance across the lobby. Smiling into the kiss, Alec’s hands sweep up to the lapels of Magnus’s blazer, hauling him a little closer when he hears his fiancé let out a little hum of happiness.

He doesn’t notice the figure that comes to a screeching stop, her companions continuing on past them without taking note of the couple in the lobby.

“Alec?”

Wrenching away from Magnus, Alec breaks the kiss with a gasp. He looks over at the voice he’d know anywhere. Eyes wide, the flush that had bloomed in his cheeks just a few moments before leaves in a rush, leaving him pale and stricken.

His gaze is glued to his mother, standing in the middle of the hotel lobby, hands gripping each other so tightly that even from here he can see the marks her nails are scoring into tender skin.

“Mom,” he replies hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”

Back ramrod straight, she nods stiffly towards the group that are walking out of the hotel, into the fall sunshine outside, oblivious to the carnage behind them. “I had a business lunch with the firm this afternoon.”

Her eyes flit between him and Magnus. Alec catches the way her gaze lingers on the way one of his hands have come up to rest against the side of Magnus’s neck before she stills and grows pale. Alec stops breathing as he realizes she’s seen the ring on his finger. He feels Magnus start to pull away but it’s from a distance.

Alec jerks back, clearing his throat. His mind is fuzzy and he can’t think. It’s just white noise and terror, nausea building in the back of his throat at what his mother just saw, at the realization he can see forming in her eyes.

Taking another step back, he shoves his hands in his pockets. His shoulders hunch but he doesn’t notice the instinctive need to make himself smaller, less visible.

Maryse’s voice is quiet as she speaks, finally breaking the spell of silence that had decided on them.

“What’s is this, Alec?”

Eyes burning, Alec opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He can feel Magnus’s gaze heavy on him but it’s nothing to his mom right in front of him.

Speechless, Alec can’t form the words he needs to release the tension. He can’t deny that he was kissing Magnus and most of him-- damn near all of him-- abhors the very thought. Self-preservation wars with pride and he’s stuck in the middle, watching hopelessly as his relationship with his mother crumbles into fucking dust in front of him.

All of a sudden, Maryse shakes her head, just a little. She smiles but it’s brittle, already breaking at the corners as she says in a bright voice, “You know what-- I’ m sorry. I forgot I had a meeting and I’m running late. I have to go.”

Without another word or a backwards glance, Maryse sweeps past them, sunlight pours into the lobby from the hotel entrance for a few brief seconds before the door closes behind his mother and then it’s just him and Magnus, alone except for hotel staff that are keeping a discreet distance.

Alec just stands there, in the middle of the lobby. He stares at the door his mother had all but ran through and feels his heart break.

Tears blur his vision but they don’t have a chance to fall.

Magnus comes into his line of vision and Alec looks up to see his fiancé watching him with steady eyes. Alec closes his own as the knowledge crashes down on him about what just happened.

His mother saw him with Magnus and left. His breath hitches at what that means.

Despair starts creeping in, grief an insurmountable wave. He feels the first tear fall and knows it’s going to be the first in an ocean of devastation.

Magnus wipes away the tear, brings his other hand up to cup Alec’s face. He brings them together until their foreheads are touching but Alec keeps his eyes closed, desperately trying to stave off the tsunami of emotion that’s roiling just below the surface. He bites his lip and tastes blood but it helps stop him from breaking down in the lobby of the hotel and for that, he’s grateful.

“Come on, darling. Let’s get you home.”

Alec doesn’t say anything, just lets himself be guided outside and into the back of a cab. The ride home passes in a blur, all of his thoughts still back at the hotel.

Magnus leads them up to their loft and Alec changes mechanically into a pair of pajamas, pulling on a ragged hoodie of Magnus’s from when they were in college.

His fiancé doesn’t say anything, merely climbs into bed with him. Alec crawls over until he can rest his head on Magnus’s chest and even though he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough to hurt, he can’t hold back the sobs that have been building for almost an hour.

Shadows grow long in their bedroom as Magnus’s shirt grows damp. Neither one says anything and Alec’s fingers dig into Magnus’s sides trying to get a handle on the overwhelming pain of knowing that his mom had seen his truth and left him.

He’s an adult, a grown man, but it still hurts. It hurts so goddamn bad to know that his worst fears have been confirmed, that his mom can’t love him despite this one thing.

A small piece of him wishes he could be different for her. A larger piece is angry, furious that she would stop loving him just because he’s gay, because he’s not straight.

Most of him is just tired, though, and sadness is a suffocating blanket that lays over him like lead.

A headache is throbbing behind his eyes when Alec finally falls asleep, Magnus’s hands smoothing his hair, their hands held over his heart.

A few days later, Alec’s phone rings just as he’s about to take the lasagna out of the oven. Preoccupied, he doesn’t glance at the screen as he fumbles to answer, assuming it’s Magnus asking which wine would be appropriate for dinner tonight.

“Hey, babe, I’m making pasta if you wanna get--”

“Alec.”

Everything comes crashing to a halt as Alec hears his mother’s voice instead of Magnus’s.

“Mom.” Wariness seeps into his tone along with dread. He doesn’t know what to think, had assumed that they’d probably just never talk again.

Maryse is brisk and no emotion bleeds into her voice as she says, “I’m coming over tomorrow for lunch. I’ll see you at noon.”

She waits for Alec to manage a weak, “Okay,” before she’s rushing out a goodbye and hanging up.

Pulling the phone from his ear after he hears the two little beeps that signal the end of the call, Alec stares at the screen as it goes black.

He has no idea what to expect tomorrow and he’s startled from the whirlwind thoughts as his phone starts vibrating in his hand, this time Magnus’s name popping up on the screen.

He curses as he shoves the phone between his ear and shoulder, reaching for the oven mitts he’d abandoned just a few minutes prior.

He gets the lasagna out just before it starts to burn and when Magnus brings home a bottle of zinfandel, Alec ignores the inquisitive looks as he manages to drink the entire bottle--sans Magnus’s lone glass-- before they’re even done with their salads.

They make it an early night after watching a few hours of HGTV and when Alec wakes up the next morning, he has a faint headache as dread makes his stomach lurch.

Magnus had left early for work and Alec spends most of the morning cleaning the apartment. While Maryse had been over before, she’d always thought that the two of them were roommates. They’d shared a dorm room their freshman year of college and both had cited time and time again whenever she was within earshot that it was convenient to live with a friend they’d known so long and it helped cut rent costs.

Cursing the fact that he was a writer and had nothing to do since he’d just sent his latest book to his editor for final review-- Alec would’ve given just about anything today to have an office to go into-- he flinches when he hears a firm, insistent knock on the door.

Taking a deep breath, Alec opens the door to see his mother standing there. He’s surprised to find that instead of her usually severely cut suits, she’s wearing a pair of jeans with an oversized sweater.

He can’t remember the last time he say his mother dressed so down.

Her purse is held in a death grip.

“Mom,” he manages, opening the door for her to enter.

Maryse doesn’t say anything for a moment but then she stuns him by stepping forward and pulling him into a hug.

Not knowing what else to do, Alec wraps his arms around her and swallows hard when Maryse doesn’t immediately let go, when she just squeezes him tight and starts swaying them back and forth gently.

When she does finally pull back, Alec’s shocked and not a little dismayed to see tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Let’s have a seat,” Maryse says with a small smile and Alec must not move fast enough for her because she rests an arm around his back and pushes him toward the living room.

They sit down on the couch and Alec watches as his mom takes a deep breath, as though bracing herself, before she looks over at him. Whatever bravado she’d seemed to have has vanished and Maryse looks uncertain as she asks quietly, “How long?”

Taking the abruptness in stride, Alec’s voice is gentle as he breaks the news. He won’t hide the truth any longer and there’s a piece of him that’s glad to finally be honest. “We’ve been friends since college. We started dating five years ago.”

Maryse clears her throat and he thinks he sees disappointment in her eyes as she asks, “And how long have you been married?”

It takes a moment for the question to register but once it does, Alec merely shakes his head. “We aren’t married-- yet. We’re engaged.” His mouth kicks up into a quiet smile. “Magnus proposed a few months ago.”

As her shoulders slump with obvious relief, Alec’s hackles rise. It’s one thing to know his mother’s reaction; it’s another thing entirely to see just how relieved she is that he isn’t married yet.

Before he can snap at her though, she surprises him yet again when she says, “I knew you could afford rent on your own,” as though to herself.

Blinking stupidly at her, Alec doesn’t know what to say.

Maryse sighs and he’s horrified to see tears forming in her eyes. She smiles up at him and it’s sad. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clearing his throat, Alec says the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t want you to disown me.”

Maryse closes her eyes, looking as though she’d just been dealt a blow. “Oh God, Alec.”

When she opens her eyes a second later, she meets his eyes and he’s a little taken aback at the intensity of her stare. “I love you, Alec. You’re my son. Of course I would never disown you.”

While a part of Alec thrills at the words he can’t help the bitterness that coats his insides. “You told me once that it would break your heart if any of your children were gay,” he reminds her. “You said that you would consider them ruined. Remember that and ask me again why I never told you.”

Maryse’s face leeches of all color. Her lips are bloodless as she asks, “When?”

Alec shrugs. “In high school.”

Maryse leans forward. Resting her elbows on her thighs, she stares in front of her, eyes unseeing. The steady ticking of the grandfather clock is the only sound in the room for a long while. Alec feels like his nerves are shredding but he stays still and waits for what comes next.

He remembers that day-- that morning-- with crystal clarity. He remembers the way his stomach had dropped at the words, the way he’d had to hide his unshed tears as Maryse signed a permission slip for Max. He remembers the ease with which she’d said the words and had known that she meant them with all her heart.

Those words had rattled around in his brain for ages before he’d successfully pushed them down. They still reappear sometimes-- whenever he thinks of ever telling her, whenever he sees the looks he and Magnus sometimes get when they hold hands in public. He’s in such a better place now than he was back then, though, and it’s with that thought in mind that Alec steels his shoulders and looks up to meet his mother’s eyes.

He sees tears spill over and Maryse wiping them away with a careless hand. “I won’t pretend to remember saying that, though I’m sure I did. I’ve had a lot of time the past few days to sit and think and I know now that I’ve said things that must have been hurtful. I am so sorry, Alec. I’m sorry you ever felt like I would disown you, like I would-- what? Stop loving you?”

Alec doesn’t say anything, merely nods mutely. Maryse takes his response and her eyes close in defeat. She covers her face with her hands and shudders.

Alec doesn’t comfort her. He doesn’t say a word. Most of him is on tenterhooks but there’s a big part of him that’s getting vicious satisfaction at seeing her so torn up over this. Maryse will never know just how deep her words cut or what he did to silence her voice in his head. They've gone a long way in mending their relationship since she divorced Robert but he figures she can handle a few tears.

Still, she is his mother and he does love her. When she drops her hands to look over at him again, he merely raises a brow, a challenge in his gaze.

Taking a deep breath, Maryse reaches over and covers his hand with her own. “I’m sorry,” she repeats helplessly. “I know it doesn’t mean jack shit, that it’s probably too little too late, but I am. You are my son, Alec,” she says with a smile that reaches her eyes. “You are my darling baby boy and you always will be. I want you to know that I love you and I accept you and there’s nothing-- absolutely nothing-- that you could do to stop that.”

Alec’s gaze drops down to his jeans. He’s suddenly uncomfortable under the onslaught but Maryse doesn’t let that deter her. She moves over on the couch and wraps her arms around his neck, hauling him close for a hug that hurts his ribs but eases his heart.

“I mean it,” she whispers and Alec’s breath catches on a sob as he realizes that this is actually happening. His mom isn’t yelling at him, isn’t staring at him with frigid disgust in her eyes. “I love you more than you could possibly know, Alexander Gideon Lightwood. I spent a lot of years unhappy and taking it out on everyone else, including my children. It shames me now how cold I was towards you, that it was to the point that you felt you couldn’t talk to me, couldn’t share that piece of yourself with me.”

Pulling back, Maryse smiles into his eyes as she thumbs away his tears. “You’re in love with Magnus,” she says softly. “And you’re going to marry him and I had no idea. I won’t offer excuses but I hope that you decide to let me in starting today. I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me, Alec. About anything or everything. I’m always here for you, whatever you need. There’s nothing you can do to make me not love you. Okay?”

Alec’s throat aches and his voice is gone so he just nods.

They both sniffle and end up laughing, wiping their own tears away.

“I love you, mom. Thank you for being okay with this.”

“Of course I’m okay with this. I was shocked when I stood up from the table and saw you kissing Magnus and I didn’t handle that well, I’ll admit. I’m probably lucky that you even opened the door for me today,” she says with a grimace. “But whatever I was feeling, it was about my own blindness and whatever I had done to push you away. It was never in condemnation of you or your relationship. I hope you can believe that.”

“I can,” Alec replies just above a whisper. “It shocked me, too, to see you there.”

Maryse nods a little shakily. It’s quiet for a moment but it’s not awkward this time; it’s not tense. No, instead it’s contemplative and more comfortable than Alec could’ve imagined, to sit with his mother after she knew his biggest, darkest secret.

Eventually, Maryse shifts in her seat and Alec looks over at her to see his mother smiling and it’s teasing, yet still gentle.

“So, you and Magnus? I’ve got to admit that once I got over my shock and thought about it, it’s appallingly obvious that you two have been together for years, that there was more than friendship there.”

“What do you mean,” Alec asks blankly.

Throwing him an unimpressed look, Maryse drolly replies, “There was that time I visited your dorm at college-- this would’ve been your senior year-- only to find you moping around. I took you out for dinner and you spent the whole time talking about Magnus and his new girlfriend and how she was a vampire sucking all the life out of him.”

Alec rolls his eyes but can’t contain his blush. While he hadn’t known it at the time, Magnus had only gone out with Camille to try and bury his feelings for Alec. Alec, thinking he didn’t stand a chance next to Camille, had been heartbroken and snappish towards Magnus for the entirety of the three months the couple had dated.

Neither one of them had been at their best senior year, he thinks back now with a wince.

“There was also that time you and Magnus spent Christmas at the house and Magnus bought you that rare first edition book while you’d gotten him that Cartier ear cuff.”

When Alec gives her an incredulous look, Maryse just shrugs. “I know Cartier when I see it, Alec. I thought it a bit excessive to get your friend a piece of jewelry that easily cost a few thousand dollars.”

Groaning, Alec glares but it’s without heat. The heat in his cheeks returns, though, as Maryse continues.

“Oh, and let’s not forget that time we went on a family vacation and you insisted on bringing Magnus. At the time, you said it was because everyone else was bringing a date and you didn’t want to third wheel the whole trip. But then I went out to the pool one night and you and Magnus were there. Naked. You stammered something about you two forgetting your trunks but still wanting to swim and Magnus didn’t look me in the eye for weeks afterward. I really should’ve put the pieces together sooner,” she ends with a huff.

“I guess we weren’t all that subtle,” Alec grudgingly admits as he hides a smile.

“No, you weren’t,” Maryse agrees and they share a laugh before she suddenly sobers.

“Alec?”

“Yeah, mom?”

“I know that an hour can’t erase a decades-long chasm but I was wondering if . . .”

She breaks off and Alec turns to look at her, expectancy. “Yeah?”

“I was hoping that I could attend your wedding. I know I have no right to infringe upon your day but I would love to see my son get married, to see you happy.”

Alec’s quiet for a moment as he looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his engagement ring. “You know,” he starts. “When Jace and Clary got married, I was Jace’s best man. I sat at the bridal party table at the front of the room and watched as Jace and Clary shared their first dance. And then Clary danced with Luke and-- and you danced with Jace.”

Alec breaks off with a shuddering breath as he gathers his thoughts, turning over to look at his mom. “I watched Jace dance with you and I was struck with an envy so intense I could hardly stand it. I wanted that. I looked from the two of you over to where Magnus was sitting with all the other guests and I burned with resentment and bitterness and grief. I teared up and I cried and everyone just thought I was overcome with emotion because of Jace and Clary. They didn’t know it was because I was seeing something I’d never have but wanted so badly that I could taste it.”

Maryse’s expression is stricken as she listens to him but she doesn’t interrupt as he continues, “When Magnus proposed to me in July, I was the happiest man in the world. There was a piece of me, though, that mourned the fact that I couldn’t tell you, that I couldn’t share that joy. And I hated you a little for it,” he admits now. “I hated that even though you’d changed so much and our relationship was so much better, I still had to keep a piece of myself from you-- a pretty fucking big piece.”

Alec’s voice fades away as he reaches over and covers his mother’s hand with his own. “I would love nothing more than for you to come to my wedding, mom. I want to you to be there on the happiest day of my life. You can expect your invitation at the end of the month but consider this an official offer.”

“Yes,” Maryse chokes out. “Of course I’ll be there, baby.”

Alec smiles tremulously. “Thank you.”

Laughing incredulously, Maryse replies, “No, thank you Alec for giving me a chance. I promise I won’t fuck it up.”

Alec laughs a little at the language, something his mother rarely indulges in. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says and he knows by the look in Maryse’s eyes that she knows how important those words are.

Relaxing into the couch, Maryse looks over at him. “So, tell me all about Magnus, dear. It looks like I have a decade to catch up on and I can’t wait to hear about it.”

Alec looks at her for a minute, a pregnant pause where neither of them dare to breath before he’s leaning into the couch too for a more comfortable position and he starts talking.

He tells his mom about the first time they met and when Alec knew he had a crush on the man. He talks about their friendship and how it had become so much more and how both of them had been idiots for a couple of years before Alec had finally gotten drunk at his birthday party and confessed his feelings to Magnus who-- also drunk-- had immediately surged forward and kissed him.

Things had been a bit of a disaster for a few weeks after that, both of them thinking the other had merely done what they had because of the alcohol, before their friends had reached the breaking point and set them up on a blind date.

The rest is history-- except it isn’t because then Alec talks about their first date and the first time they said I love you and it winds around until he’s telling her how Magnus was his first boyfriend and how he’d realized he was gay in middle school and they laugh and they cry and Alec’s wrung out and exhausted and he can see his mother is the same but they don’t stop talking.

Eventually, when his face hurts from smiling so much and Maryse has curled up in the corner of the couch, his mom changes the subject.

“So, I did some research and I was wondering if you had plans for the afternoon?”

Looking over at Maryse, Alec’s interested is piqued as she reaches for the purse she’d set down on the floor. Opening it, she pulls out a dvd and holds it out for him tentatively.

There’s a hopeful look in her eye, cautiously optimistic, as she explains, “I ended up taking yesterday and Wednesday off. Whenever I left you at the hotel, I walked around for a couple hours and when I went into work Tuesday, I couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. I left before lunch and I’ve spent the past few days reading about what it’s like to have a child that-- that’s gay.”

She holds up a hand defensively though Alec hadn’t moved a muscle. Most of him is pleasantly surprised to see she’d cared enough to do anything.

“I read a few books and when I was online, I found a list of LGBT movies. This one is a newer one and had rave reviews. I thought maybe-- if you weren’t busy-- we could watch it together.”

Looking down at the dvd case, Alec bites back a laugh as he sees Love, Simon. Magnus had taken him to see it see it the day it premiered in theaters and the fact that his mom of all people had bought it and brought it over is an olive branch he never saw coming.

Nodding, Alec smiles at Maryse and catalogs the uneasy tension drains out of her at his acquiescence.

“I’d love to, mom.”

Alec stands and puts the dvd in the player. While the movie previews play, he makes a big bowl of popcorn and when he comes back to the living room with a glass of his mother’s favorite wine, she smiles up at him gratefully.

The two of them watch Love, Simon and while Alec had enjoyed the movie the first time he’d seen it, he’s distracted as he spends most of the movie watching his mother’s reactions.

She laughs and he’s a little-- a lot-- surprised when his mom mutters, “Fuck him,” when Martin starts blackmailing Simon, when she reaches for his hand and squeezes when Simon’s outed and his friends abandon him.

They both cry when Simon breaks down in his room, when his mom tells him that he’s the same person he’s always been, that now he gets to exhale.

When Magnus comes home, Blue has just been revealed and Maryse is crowing in triumph.

“I knew it,” she exclaims, turning to look at Alec. “I knew since he ate the damned orange oreos."

Hearing the front door open, Alec sees the way Magnus’s eyes widen at their tear-streaked yet happy faces. He sees his fiancé start to back away and turn tail, not wanting to intrude or his own sense of self-preservation rearing its head-- but Alec pulls away from where he’d been leaning into his mom to gesture Magnus closer.

Looking up at what had caught Alec’s attention, Maryse focuses on Magnus.

Alec catches his breath, knowing that this is make or break. Maryse can talk but when she’s confronted with the man Alec’s given his heart to, the man he spends his life with, he wonders if she’ll be able to really accept things.

Maryse stands up and Magnus looks caught between fleeing and steeling himself for whatever’s about to happen. His mom surprises them both when she pulls Magnus into a hug, holding him tight. Magnus, for his part, looks stunned but he drops his briefcase and returns her hold, slowly relaxing.

Pulling back, Maryse doesn’t even acknowledge Alec, all of her focus on Magnus as she says, “Thank you for loving my boy, Magnus, and while this is long overdue, I’d like to welcome you to the family.”

Magnus blinks twice before he eases into a grin. “Thank you, Maryse. I appreciate that and I hope you mean it.”

“Oh, I do,” Maryse whispers. “You’ve no idea how much.”

She smiles at him before making her way to the couch and as the end credits of the movie start to play, Magnus heads toward their bedroom to change into something more comfortable and appropriate for the evening they’d planned to spend at home.

Excusing himself from Maryse, Alec follows him and when he pauses at the threshold, it’s to see a dress shirt flying out of the closet to land on the floor. He walks over to Magnus and wraps his arms around his fiancé from behind, nosing along the back of his neck, kissing the juncture where it meets his shoulder.

“It looks like you’ve had quite the day, darling.”

Alec huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. She texted me last night, telling me that we were having lunch today.”

“So that’s why you got wine drunk.”

“Yeah,” Alec confirms before moving right along. “We had a talk and she’s okay with me-- with us. More than okay, in fact. It’s been a hell of an afternoon but we’re good, babe. Everything’s finally out in the open and it doesn’t look like it’s the end of the world, after all.”

Turning in his hold, Magnus lays his hands against Alec’s chest. “I am so incredibly happy to hear that, Alexander.”

The two of them talk for a few more minutes, catching up on their day before Alec asks, “Would you be okay if I asked her to stay for dinner? It’s okay if you had a long day and just want it to be the two of us but--”

Magnus holds up a finger, silencing Alec with a smile. “Of course it’s okay. You never have to ask to have your mother over, darling.”

Alec grins, a little dopey, and he takes Magnus’s hand and leads him into the living room. Maryse looks up at the sound of their steps and while he sees her take note of their joined hands she does nothing but smile.

She stays for dinner and ends up drinking so much that she spends the night in their guest room. The night had ended with the three of them having wine and swapping stories of Alec and while his face had burned in embarrassment, Alec wouldn’t have changed the evening for the world.

It’s everything he’d dared to hope for and nothing that he’d thought he’d ever get. For the longest time, it was nothing he thought he’d deserved and as he climbs into his side of the bed and moves over until he can reach Magnus, Alec’s content for the first time in longer than he cares to admit.

He hadn’t known just how heavy the weight of the truth had been all these years but now that his mom knows, he feels so light that he’s dizzy with it.

He’s the happiest he can ever remember being and he falls asleep without a care in the world.

Later that year, Alec looks up as the DJ announces that it’s time for the mother-son dance. Maryse stands from her seat and he can already see the tears in her eyes as she walks toward him, holding out her hands.

Alec takes them and they start a slow dance as the music starts to play. Maryse had asked to choose the song and as he hears the beginning notes, his gaze flies to hers to see his mom already grinning.

“They were you’re favorite when you were little,” she says with an arch look. “Nick was your favorite wasn’t he? Or was it Brian?”

He rolls his eyes a little, though he can’t help but mutter, “Nick Carter was cute, okay? At least back then.”

He’s treated to Maryse throwing her head back and laughing out loud and Alec echoes her as they move around the dance floor.

He listens to the words and lets the lyrics soak into him. By the end of the song, they’re barely moving, just moving back and forth really and Maryse is crying in earnest. A few tears slip before he can stop them and she wipes them away with a careful thumb.

When the song ends, instead of pulling back, Maryse pulls him close for a bone crushing hug and Alec holds her just as tight as he feels a piece of himself he’d thought gone long ago slot back into place.

It’s the feeling of coming home and whenever his mom eventually guides him over to his husband, she reaches for Magnus’s hand and lays it over his before letting go and saying, “Take care of his heart like I never could.”

Magnus looks at Maryse before his gaze lifts to Alec’s and Alec smiles, faint but real, as the love of his life replies, “Don’t worry, that’s just how I plan to spend the rest of my life.”

Alec hauls him close as Maryse steps back and lays a searing kiss on his mouth.

When they go out to the dance floor a few minutes later, they start an easy waltz as they grin at each other.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Alec says quietly, staring at Magnus like he’s his whole damn world.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Magnus echoes before pulling him down for a lingering kiss that breaks just a few seconds later, the couple smiling too brightly to continue.

#oof i wrote this entire thing today #I think it's some kind of record lol #im so tired #and it's finally time for dinner #ever after after all #malec fic #my writing

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Keep On Rising(Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 17

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

This time: Zavala gets flung head-first into being Amanda’s Guardian. Eva stops by to see his charge.

Notes: I’m so sorry for taking a month off on this one! After a lot of consideration I’ve decided to finish this one off with the conclusion of chapter 19(maybe a tiny epilogue, we’ll see). I’d like to write more for them, but I think it would make sense to package each arc of their story neatly. Expect a sequel about them adjusting to life after Amanda’s injury, including the difficulties of Zavala’s work, and those who have to step in and lend a hand.

He swears he only dozes off for a second, but when he wakes, the light of the sunrise is bright in his eyes, and Amanda’s laying the wrong way in the bed, her head near the footboard. “How much longer?” She whines to Shiori, hovering above her.

“Twelve minutes. How’re you holding up?”

She flops face down with an exasperated groan. It’s enough of a reply.

“What are you doing?” Zavala asks, watching her.

“Stretchin’.” She puts a hand on her right hip, but winces when she pushes down.

“By laying on your stomach?”

“I gotta,” She tells him, turning her head to the side, mostly murmuring into her blankets. “Twice a day I gotta lay on my tummy or my hip gets all twisted ‘n angry.”

“Apparently,” Shiori floats over to her Guardian, “If she does this before therapy, it makes things easier.”

“Y’think the same lady will come in to make me do my leg circle-thingies? She was nice.”

“What?” Zavala looks to Shiori, who gives a Ghost’s impression of a shrug.

Amanda lifts herself up with her arms, shaking slightly. “Ain’t nobody told you anything, have they?” At the Commander’s deer-in-headlights look - which was really funny, she thought - she sighs. “They make me do all sorts a’stuff all day. I take medicine, then I do my exercises, then sometimes the doctor comes to see me. Then,” She stresses, overwhelmed with the thought of all these tasks, “They give me more medicine an’ I nap,” She flushes. “The medicine makes me sleepy.” She sighs. “You really don’t miss nothin’.”

He hums, rising from the rather uncomfortable chair to stretch himself, reaching first to the sky, then down to the floor before using the little en-suite to freshen up.

“When ya leavin’?” She asks after him, around the time when Shiori tells her she’s in the home stretch; Only four more minutes and she can roll back over.

He stands in front of the window on the other side of the room, not returning to the chair. “I am not. Not today. Not unless there is an emergency.”

Amanda absolutely beams at him.

The doctor pulls him out into the hall when he stops to see Amanda towards the end of her physical therapy session. If he’s intimidated by the rank of the man he’s talking to, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he hands Zavala a copy of every medical record they have on the girl, which Shiori immediately transmats it away, scanning and uploading every word to her internal memory and a tablet for Zavala.

“I’m estimating about two, maybe three weeks,” The man says. “The majority of her injuries were minor, leg excluded. Right now, so long as we can keep her eating and she puts on weight, all of her lab values should balance out, and she should be free to go. By then she should be completely mobile on crutches, and in a few months, if not sooner, she’ll be able to start using a prosthesis.”

“I did not expect it to be so soon,” Zavala admits, tucking one fist into the other hand behind his back.

“It’s a traumatic injury,” The doctor muses, “But an amputation is usually pretty clean. Her scarring is not as neat as I had hoped, however, and she will grow. Therapy will be the most important thing. She will compensate with her back and hips for the lack of a knee. Pain will likely be an issue. We’ll get her started on a regimen, but it will be imperative to keep up with it, in order to facilitate a complete recovery. The psychological aspects will be far more intensive. We’ll set you up with someone she can talk with.”

The doctor does not carry on for long before moving on to his next patient. When he goes, Shiori hovers in Zavala’s peripheral. “We have work to do,” She tells him. “A lot of work to do.”

Zavala would agree aloud if she pushed him to, but Shori can already sense he’s overwhelmed, so she opts for a gentler approach. She’s used to reading errant thoughts across their link, well aware that her very stoic, very in-control Commander is actually an anxiety-riddled maelstrom of emotion. He’s very good about not letting it show.

“We knew it would be all hands on deck,” She reminds him mildly. “We’ll take it a day at a time.”

His agreement is silent, between them alone. She shivers out of being in motes of light, her soundless fusion with him like a gentle reassurance, a reminder to breathe.

Two days later, Zavala comes to check in on Amanda mid-morning only to find Eva perched on the edge of the bed. Amanda is standing, holding both of the woman's hands for balance, sweating with the effort. A chair is behind her, to catch her if she falls.

Zavala waits in the doorway, not wanting to spook the girl and ruin her already precarious balance. She forces herself to sit without flopping, putting one hand on the arm of the chair, then the other, then controlling her movement.

"My arms feel like jelly," She grouses.

"New exercise?"

"Zavala!" She tilts her head in the direction of his voice, the cheer his arrival brings visible. Eva smiles.

"Hello, Amanda. I see you have a visitor."

"Eva and I had breakfast," She tells him, looking to Eva. "It was really good."

"I am glad you liked it," Eva tells her, patting the top of her hand. "I'm going to make those pastilleos I told you about. I'll have to bring you some."

She looks to Zavala while Amanda hums an excited mhmm! Zavala's blue gaze meets hers for a beat, giving insight to his gratefulness. When he'd spoken to Eva the day before, she committed herself to helping with keeping the girl's weight up without his prompting, but he was not expecting her to come through so quickly. Really, he should have known better.

"Well, I'm not just here for that," Eva says kindly, retrieving a bag she'd placed on the windowsill. She pulls out a tablet, handing it to the girl. “We have some decorating to do.”

“We do?”

Eva laughs. “My dear, we have to talk about your bedroom! You won’t be in the hospital forever, and when you get home you’ll need a place for-”She breaks off when Amanda’s face crumples. “Oh, don’t cry dear, it’s alright!”

She wipes the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, giving a nervous laugh as the other trembles, propping up the tablet. “I don’ mind whatever,” She says quietly, with a nervous laugh. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, come now, there has to be something you’d like-”

Zavala shakes his head, hardly a gesture at all, really. Amanda doesn’t notice, but it’s enough to silence Eva. He takes the tablet from Amanda without preamble, setting it aside and then leaning down. “Think you can stand again?”

She nods, and he offers her both hands, letting her use them for leverage to pull herself to a single shaking leg. He feels it buckle before she realizes what’s happening and dips, catching her before she’d ever come close to the ground.

“Sorry,” She murmurs, and he shakes his head.

“You aren’t hurt?”

“This happened earlier,” She admits softly. “I’m real weak, they said.”

“You haven’t been feeling well,” He muses, “And your body isn’t used to this. We’ll work on it.” She hums, snuggling into his embrace while he moves aside one blanket and sits in the chair with her in his lap. He reaches for the tablet. “But for now, I think Eva said there were some patterns with ships on them, and we should at least look at them.” He looks down at her, unsurprised by her unwavering gaze. “Did you tell Eva that you want to be a pilot when you’re older?”

“Oh, that’s lovely, dear!” Eva gushes.

“But-” The hurt in her voice cuts the conversation like a knife. They fall silent. She doesn’t have to speak it aloud for the two adults to understand what she’s thinking.

Then, “You have a habit of making the impossible happen,” Zavala tells her softly, whispering the truth against her hair as he searches through Eva’s round up of decorative options. “You made it to the City, fought the Fallen and lived to tell about it. Convinced me-” Her fingers curl over his arm in a pseudo-hug. He kisses her forehead when he cannot continue, waylaid by his emotional transparency. “You’ll fly, Amanda. Believe me.”

She twists to hug him for real, but it doesn’t last for more than a couple seconds. When she settles, she looks over to Eva. “Are there ones with li’l ships?” Her head rests against Zavala’s jaw as she helps him scroll through the images. “I really do wanna fly someday,” She admits quietly.

“There should be,” Eva answers. “And if there’s not one you like, we’ll figure out something different. You leave it to Eva, dear.”

#amanda holliday #commander zavala #found family #destiny fanfiction #shipwright september #(yes i know it's october but let's just keep this organized shall we)

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splendidlyimperfect · 4 years

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Sting and Rogue barely escape Sabertooth with their lives, and Sting turns to the only place he can think of to help - Fairy Tail. While they try to sort out their feelings and recover from the abuse Jiemma inflicted on them, Sting and Rogue must help the other guilds protect Fiore from their biggest threat yet - dragons.

Chapter Summary: Sting fights Rogue's future self, and is conflicted between forgiveness and vengeance.

Chapters (9/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine Characters: Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Erza Scarlet, Lucy Heartfilia, Wendy Marvell, Porlyusica (Fairy Tail), Makarov Dreyar, Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine, Future Rogue Cheney, Jiemma (Fairy Tail), Gajeel Redfox Additional Tags: Dai Matou Enbu | Grand Magic Games Arc, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Platonic Cuddling, Sign Language, Magic Fusion, Unison Raids, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 3 of what we choose to become

**Thank you for all your lovely comments! I know this is *super* angsty but there's a reason that "Major Character Death" isn't tagged and I promise that, however bleak it all looks right now, it has a happy ending. <3

-----

“You all need to be touching.”

Freed’s voice broke the haze of confusion and grief as Sting watched Natsu step away from Gray’s body. He refused to look at Sting and Rogue, instead moving to stand next to Wendy. When she reached out to him uncertainly, he jerked away, wrapping both arms around himself and staring at the ground.

“The spell will transfer a portion of everyone’s power to one of you,” Freed explained again for Natsu’s benefit, quickly drawing a rune in the air over Laxus’ chest. It glowed brightly for a moment before sinking into his skin. “After it’s over, whoever is chosen needs to get up there and try to…”

His voice trailed off and Sting felt Rogue squeeze his hand tightly.

“You have to destroy the gate.” Natsu’s voice was dull as he stared at the ground, nails digging into the palms of his hands. “It’s the only way to end it.”

Sting’s heart ached and he wanted so badly to reach out again, to push past Natsu’s pain and pull him close and tell him I’m sorry, I wish I could change things, if I could trade places with him I would.

Continue reading on AO3

“How?” Laxus’ voice interrupted Sting’s racing thoughts.

“The dragon,” Natsu said softly. He didn’t move as Freed stepped in front of him and started to draw the same rune in the air. “It’s big enough—if it falls on…”

He exhaled, as if those few words were all he had and anything else would cost him too much.

“Everyone ready?”

Sting pulled his gaze away from Natsu to see that the runes were complete, and each of the dragon slayers were glowing with a faint echo of their magic. Rogue’s fingers tightened around Sting’s and he jumped when he felt something brush against the back of his other hand – Gajeel.

Natsu kept his arms at his sides, gaze still vacant, but he didn’t pull away when Wendy and Laxus both rested their hands on his shoulders.

As soon as the circle was complete, a searing pain shot through Sting, tearing at his magic and bringing him to his knees. It burned – worse than the blistered skin on his forearms from Natsu’s flames, or the raw, red marks on his back from the dragon’s breath. A horrible, aching sound filled the air, and it took Sting a second to realize that it was him screaming.

It was all of them screaming.

The sound wrenched itself from Sting’s throat as he dropped to his knees, chest burning, hands gripping Gajeel and Rogue’s so tightly he could feel the ache in his bones. Each breath seared his lungs, ripped ragged breaths from him, dragged him further and further down into pain until—

It’s just pain. You know what to do.

Sting shook his head, gasping around the sensation that wound like fingers around his neck to choke him. I can’t, he thought, forcing himself to open his eyes. They need me. I have to make things right.

Wind whipped around the fountain, carrying pieces of debris through the air that tore at his skin and stung his eyes. Through the maelstrom of rubble, bits of magic sparked and leapt between them – bright colors and sparks and flames that merged into a center of prismatic light.

Leave. It’s just pain.

Then Natsu’s eyes met Sting’s across the circle, dark and so full of pain and regret, and Sting pushed the words away. I’m staying, he thought. I have to, even if it kills me.

The pain stopped.

Sting groaned, spitting out the blood that had pooled in his mouth from biting his tongue. The frantic screaming and whipping wind died away, and all that they were left with were quiet gasps and the sound of the war raging on in the background.

“Did it work?” Sting managed, letting go of Gajeel and Rogue’s hands and wiping at his face. He shook his head, blinking to clear his vision, and eventually realized that everyone was staring at him. “What?”

“It’s you,” Rogue said softly. Sting frowned, looking down at his hands. He was glowing, but instead of the usual holy white light, it was iridescent – sparking, constantly shifting and changing as he drew magic from the others.

“Whoa.” Sting stumbled back as another wave of magic hit him full force like a blow to the chest, and Rogue reached out to steady him.

“Are you okay?” Rogue’s brows furrowed in concern, but Sting nodded, taking a deep breath and getting his balance. His eyes widened as he watched the magic tear through the air, different colors siphoning from the other dragon slayer’s chests and merging into something deadly and beautiful before they crept under Sting’s skin.

He closed his eyes, tracing the lines of magic, separating them thread from thread until he could pick out whose was which. Rogue’s magic, already as familiar as Sting’s own, was easy to recognize, and it calmed the nervous thrumming of Sting’s heart as he made room for everyone else’s power.

Iron crept up his throat, sharp and bitter, while lightning raced across his skin like touching a live wire. The hair at the back of his neck ruffled in a quiet puff of wind, and something like poison burned, deep in his chest. Fire, fierce and hot, coursed through his veins until Sting was sure he would burn from the inside out, but it was suddenly tempered by—

Sting opened his eyes again, staring down at his hands. In between the other colors ran a thin, blue line that cooled everywhere the fire burned.

Sting looked across the circle at Natsu, who was still staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Before Rogue could hold him back, Sting moved across the circle and grabbed Natsu’s shoulders, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

Natsu stiffened against him and Sting squeezed his eyes shut, certain he was going to have some new burn marks on his chest to match the ones on his arms, but the attack he was expecting never came. Instead, Natsu sagged against him, letting out an exhausted sob as they both sank to their knees.

“I’m sorry,” Sting whispered as Natsu gripped his shirt tightly with trembling hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“I h-hurt you… I’m…” Natsu’s words were thick with tears, choked out around the grief that surrounded them both.

“It’s okay,” Sting said, shaking his head and hugging Natsu tighter. “I can’t imagine… I’m so sorry. I wish I could change it.” Natsu shuddered, pressing his forehead to Sting’s shoulder and trying to breathe. They sat for a minute with their grief, and eventually Rogue joined them, running his hand up and down Natsu’s back as he cried.

“We don’t have much time,” Freed said gently. Sting looked up to see another man approaching the group – he looked vaguely familiar, with deep scars through one side of his face. “Mest can get you up there, and then…”

“Okay,” Sting managed. He turned back to Natsu and shifted until they were gripping each other’s forearms. “I have to…”

“Go,” Natsu said roughly, nodding and finally looking up at him and Rogue. “I know.” He exhaled shakily, glancing over at Lyon and then back to Sting. The look he gave Sting tore him apart. “For Gray?” Natsu whispered.

“For Gray,” Sting promised, squeezing Natsu’s arms gently. “I promise.”

Being teleported was so disorienting that Sting nearly fell off the dragon as soon as Mest dropped them off. Rogue, who had insisted on coming with him, caught his wrist before he could lose his footing completely. They both scrambled to the middle of the dragon’s back as it rumbled and shuddered beneath them. Wind rushed past them fast enough to draw tears from Sting’s eyes and he rubbed at his face before turning to Rogue and pulling him in for a quick kiss.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind. Rogue nodded, squeezing Sting’s hand tightly. Sting pressed their foreheads together, taking a deep breath to ground himself, then turned toward the dragon’s head.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging on Rogue’s hand. “Stay behind me.”

They made their way over the jagged scales of the dragon’s back – it seemed oblivious to their presence, making no effort to shake them off. As they moved past its wings, the figure near the dragon’s head became clearer, and when it finally turned around, Sting’s heart sank.

It was Rogue, and it wasn’t.

“Who the hell are you?” Future Rogue snarled. Sting stared, chest tightening at the sight – Future Rogue was both darkness and light, split down the center with a strange tattoo running down one side of his face. Sting could feel his own magic there, mixed with an ugly echo of Rogue’s shadows, and the smell of it made him sick.

“It doesn’t matter,” Future Rogue shouted over the wind. “You can’t stop me. Even Natsu couldn’t touch me.” Thin beams of light and shadows curled between his fingers and he thrust his hand forward, palm toward them. When Sting easily deflected the attack, Future Rogue’s expression darkened.

“I’m not Natsu,” Sting said softly, exhaling as some of the magic was absorbed into his own. It sent an exhilarating rush through him, sparking under his fingertips as the other dragon slayer’s magic rose to meet it.

“How could you possibly—” Future Rogue stopped, eyes widening when Sting stepped closer. “Sting?” Something in his expression slipped, and for a second, he wasn’t a villain, just the scared boy Sting had always protected with his life.

“Yeah. It’s me,�� Sting said, holding up both hands in surrender.

“I killed you,” Future Rogue said softly. Something dark flashed behind his eyes and he said it again, voice rough and jagged. “We killed you. We have your power now.”

Future Rogue’s hands lit up again – one with shadow, one with holy light – and he charged toward Sting, face twisted into a feral snarl. Both his blows bounced off the magic swirling around Sting, and Future Rogue staggered backward, hissing in anger.

“Stop,” Sting said desperately, looking back to see his own Rogue’s horrified expression as he watched his future self attempt to attack Sting again. Sting shook his head, pushing back against Future Rogue’s assault with a mix of heady magic that was both all his own and entirely something else.

“I can’t stop,” Future Rogue growled. “It’s already happened.”

“Why?” Sting asked, voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do!” Future Rogue threw himself forward again, this time breaking through and catching Sting across the forearm with a blast of shadow magic. “I have to be strong.”

The pain of Future Rogue’s attack was nothing compared to the grief that tore Sting apart at those words. “No,” he insisted, pushing forward and shaking his head. “You don’t—this isn’t strength.”

“It’s what he taught us,” Future Rogue hissed. “Only the strong survive, and the weak get beaten into the dirt. We’re not weak.”

“Being kind isn’t weakness,” Sting insisted, dodging another attack. “He was wrong, and he’s gone now. We found somewhere new, somewhere safe.”

Future Rogue’s face was a mix of fury and despair as he charged at Sting again, screaming in frustration when the attack did nothing. “We could never be safe,” he snarled. “There was no escape, just pain, and I had to be strong, and…” He trailed off, and for a second time, Sting thought he caught a glimpse of his Rogue behind the angry set of Future Rogue’s jaw.

“Strong enough to stop her?”

Rogue’s quiet voice came from behind Sting, and when he stepped forward, Future Rogue’s froze. “Shut up,” he whispered, low and dangerous. Sting’s heart broke at his furious, terrified expression – the same look Sting had seen on Rogue’s face whenever he’d come back to the room and been too late to stop Lilith.

“We got out,” Rogue said gently, taking another step forward. “She can’t hurt us anymore. We have people who love us.”

“There was no love for me,” Future Rogue said, but his voice was weak and uncertain. “I had to… I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Sting said, taking another step forward. They were close enough to Future Rogue now that Sting could reach out and grab his arm, could pull him close like he had with Natsu and try to fix this.

But Natsu’s words echoed in his head. For Gray. Gray was dead because of Future Rogue, and Natsu was broken, and Sting had promised.

“It’s okay to not be the strongest,” Rogue said softly. He took another step closer to his future self, and the magic around Sting thrummed uncertainly. “This isn’t what you have to become.”

The expression on Future Rogue’s face shifted rapidly, and Sting caught a million different emotions – fear, confusion, anger, embarrassment. All the things Sting had felt when he’d fallen on his knees in front of Natsu and begged him to help save Rogue’s life. Future Rogue wasn’t just Rogue, he was Sting, too – all the broken pieces of them that hadn’t had anything to pull them together.

Fuck. Sting’s chest ached, torn between compassion and retribution. He looked over the side of the dragon and cursed when he realized they were getting dangerously close to the gate. If they were going to do this, it had to happen soon.

“Please,” he said, taking the chance and reaching out to grab Future Rogue’s wrist. “You can be more than this.”

A heavy, tense silence hung between them and for a second, hope flickered in Sting’s chest. Then Future Rogue snarled, shoving Sting back as a blast of energy swirled around him, a dangerous mix of dark and light.

“No, I can’t,” Future Rogue said as the eerie light cut harsh shadows across his face. “I have to destroy it all.”

Sting sighed, looking at Future Rogue sadly, then shook his head. “I can’t let you do that,” he said softly.

Before Future Rogue could respond, Sting pulled all the magic into him, narrowing each sharp burst of power until it fit in the palm of his hand. It coursed through his body, sharp and terrifying and the right kind of strong.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then opened his hands and released the magic.

The force of the blast pushed him backward toward Rogue, who grabbed his shoulder and held him steady against the backlash of wind that whipped around them. A torrent of multicolored light rushed from his fingertips, tearing everything from him as it raced toward Future Rogue and exploded in a flash of brilliant, blinding light.

A piercing roar tore through the air and Sting quickly clapped his hands over his ears, wincing at the way the noise scraped through his mind. The dragon below them began to shift wildly, head thrashing back and forth as its connection with Future Rogue was presumably shattered.

Sting stumbled forward again, gritting his teeth and focusing all the dragon slayer’s magic into his hands again. It burned, now – too much power to fit into his body – and he let out a pained shout as he dropped down and slammed his fist into the dragon’s back.

“Sting!” Rogue’s hand pulled him back up, and Sting’s eyes flew open, looking over the edge of the dragon at the rapidly approaching ground. They were close to the gate, and a flicker of hope filled Sting’s chest. This was going to work. The crowd that was gathered in the square were shouting at each other, gesturing up at the sky and quickly clearing the area.

Sting shuddered as the magic that had been surrounding him was suddenly ripped from his body, tearing away and spiraling up into the air before streaming back down to the ground, presumably to the other dragon slayers. The sensation left Sting breathless and he gasped, clutching Rogue’s shirt tightly as he struggled to stay standing.

Rogue pulled him close, burying his face into Sting’s shoulder as the ground raced toward them. “Are you ready?”

Sting nodded. “I love you,” he whispered, pulling Rogue in for a desperate kiss before his stomach lurched and he was yanked into the familiar chill of the shadows.

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #ftlgbtfics #stingue #gratsu #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #angst #fanfic #update #new chapter #my fic

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writer59january13 · 3 years

Text

Circa October 7th 2020 papa passed away

Professed paean pronounced

and adroitly produced upon spirit of deceased

named Boyce Brandon Harris.

First year anniversary since

cremains distributed across four winds

his soul remains alive within me.

Impressed upon mine consciousness

birthdate announcing home birth

April 9th 1929, my father

gasped his first breath of air

head populated with black curly locks,

when he uttered that initial blare,

nor preschool instructors extant

to teach him building blocks

inherent in double helix strand,

paternal grandfather (mine) designed many a fancy chair

passed along blueprint pertaining to curious lad forever challenging himself to dare.

Though me dada gone with the wind

well nigh three hundred sixty five days

impossible mission to forget being pinned

with profound grief now sorrowful phase

diminished, nevertheless vague upbringing regarding late father roughly limned

especially recalling dada's mien ways.

Him biological circumstance found

being youngest of three offspring

and second ably linkedin heir

whose inquisitiveness found him

roaming (courtesy donning roller skates)

Manhattan island far and near

plus or minus penchant with science and mathematics

intelligent quotient in stratosphere

those mental cogs, wheels and gear

found those piercing black eyes to peer

way beyond New York City skyline. Demise of him who helped beget me

softened harsh rebukes figuratively rained

upon noggin of yours truly

sole son wishes father understood

my psychological maelstrom

flush with monsters under boyhood bed, and voices inside traumatized head.

Latent smarts did create career

path, which whipsawed him

thru multitudinous exotic places he did dare

to traverse – from Korean front

to General Electric where

he secured employment

as mechanical engineer

within aerospace, industry

completed my academic projects with flair,

who essentially earned me passing grade

just by the chin whisker hair

and by physical might,

I wished he served as bodyguard

when kids did jeer

me quiet skinny boy, who felt intimidated

when bullies spewed names with a leer.

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sasorikigai · 2 years

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| For Mortal Kombat Game. | An incredibly large and looming entity leans low. Looking confused, as his green face draws into an uncomfortable frown. "HELLO HUMAN, BUT I SEEM TO BE LOST. Could you tell the Shogun Of Sorrow where he might be? I seem to be lost."

Random Inbox Shenanigans || anonymous, tagging @yetremains || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The vehement tug of the unjustly slaughtered and suffering souls rope around his heart and soul, and Hanzo Hasashi’s soul remains tied to theirs, even as the Nether’s vicious strings had been long severed, lest his dragged heart continues to steadily bleed. Netherrealm’s power may have significantly waned, for Shirai Ryu Grandmaster’s body, mind, and soul have long liberated from the suffocating hold of Quan Chi’s eldritch magic. He had vowed to let a garden grow in him after having conquered and triumphant over the irreversible finality of his death. How his dermis had dissolved into the soil and his blood waterr the Earth, as the gut of his being was left to decay, along with his severed head. The world was his coffin, a verdant glass field cradling him, as he was left to rot and decay. His ribcage long becoming a fallen log for the moss, as the ivy wrapped around the gleaming ivory of his bones of his remains; his chest an arboretum, his clavicle a haven for chrysanthemums and bleeding crimson roses of Harumi’s gardens.

The ploughed and harrowed land hollowed him out, lest a seed of rebirth burrowed in him there and right there. No longer, the prospect of humiliating death traumatizes the Grandmaster, for the fibrillating pulse of his everburning embers dwell within his viscera as they disburse and run rampant, in order to comfort and protect.

With his hellfire as the cursed blade without his consent, lest his vitriol wrath and vengeance allowed his inevitable descension towards the tenebrous darkness, long relinquishing the scrupulous honor and resolve of the magnificent warrior who used to be Hanzo Hasashi. And even after his resurrection, how his home would remain a body for the dead he collects, as if the Fire Gardens had been collecting its hosts lying dormant in the root of it, as effulgent leaves rustled and scattered, rotted and trampled as the debris of ancient memories decorated Grandmaster Hasashi’s collection of memories.

The proverbial familiarity of his past hovers over, lingering, corrupting the seeds of stone buried beginnings ingrained in the fabric of birth. His home is still a body for the dead, the phantom of hope ambling the halls and tracks of the Shirai Ryu Compounds as a cold breath catches in the carcasses’ of the trespassing Red Dragons’ corner as the Grandmaster’s grip on his flaming kunai snugly tauts. With a burning heart, erect composure of an obstinate, fearless warrior with spirited iridescent white-hot eyes glaring over his mask, Hanzo Hasashi’s hooded gaze ascends, the sheer behemoth of the entity rendering the ninja absolutely unfazed.

“You are trespassing in the Shirai Ryu territory. I do not know this ‘Shogun of Sorrow,’ you refer as, nor I care. Get out of my sight, or otherwise, you will feel the maelstrom of accumulated hellfire ravaging through every bloody inch of your fiber.” Such challenging finality and absoluteness of his severe, dominating intonation marks the end of their conversation; once Grandmaster Hasashi sets his rigid mind towards a decision, he could never be swayed in persuasion, unless this unknown entity had something amicable for the Shirai Ryu, or the Earthrealm as a whole. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#✗ an innocuous unknown (anonymous messages)#(Hanzo vc. get out of my territory or feel my wrath)#anonymous #yetremains

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thingscometogether · 3 years

Text

Dear J --

9/20/20

I know this letter is unsolicited, not a response to anything you’ve written, but if you’ll indulge me I have some thoughts I’ve been wanting to share with someone for a long time.

J, I’m not good at losing people. I’m so terrified that people will leave me that I desperately try to hold on to them, far past the point when other people move on, past when it’s no longer healthy and it’s to my own detriment. It’s why I’m so insecure in my relationships with other people. I’m afraid I’m going to do or say something that will make them not want to be my friend anymore, not love me anymore.

It’s been 17 years and I’m only now understanding the depth of damage my parents’ divorce had on me. I was 16 when it started, and you’re still very much a kid at that age, even though I didn’t understand that then. I was the oldest still in the house and felt it was my responsibility to keep everything together for my younger siblings while everything around us was falling apart. My parents were so destructive -- would have explosive arguments in front of us, would put me in the middle of their own fights. I couldn’t stand being in my mom’s house while she was going through her own anger and grief, so I chose to live with my dad, but then she did and said some deeply hurtful things to me that left scars that still remain. And then my dad, for all the support I thought he was giving me, told me over the phone the day after I moved into my freshman dorm that he had move to another state to take a new job. Just like that. He gave me no indication he was planning to leave, even though I knew it took months to find a new position for what he does. He knew he was going to leave the whole time and never told me. He just left. Checked out. ‘I don’t want to deal with this anymore.’ See ya. Bye.

My life was a story of complete instability for a long time, so many things falling apart at different points despite my best efforts to keep them together and keep moving forward. (Add to it a burgeoning mental illness I didn’t know I had.) I walked without a steady foundation underneath my feet, not even a safety net, and I now understand that the whole toxic maelstrom was a trauma in my life.

Three and a half years ago PTSD burned through my brain like a fireball. I remember the exact moment it opened up. I was walking through a neighborhood in the city where I went to college, a neighborhood through which I’ve walked a thousand times, and all of a sudden I felt this oppressive anxiety. My lungs were constricted and I couldn’t breathe. It felt like a thousand needles were poking at my lungs just underneath my skin. It stayed that way the whole night. When I finally got to bed, I collapsed face-down on the bed and started crying deep, guttural sobs. I remained that way for 20 minutes before I finally choked up enough to get myself a glass of water. But this is the thing that’s so strange to me now: I wasn’t crying about my parents.

How do I explain? The psyche is a complicated thing.

***

The only relationship I’ve ever had was in college with a guy named ___. He was my first boyfriend, and our relationship meant a great deal to me. He was older than me, already out of college and working. It wasn’t that great of a relationship, honestly, although I didn’t know enough to know that at the time. He was patronizing and dominant; he was very good at making me feel very small. But I was with him because he provided the feeling of security I desperately needed in my life. (He was literally the physical embodiment of security, short and stocky, a wrestler; you couldn’t knock him over with a dump truck if you tried.)

At the beginning of our relationship ___ told me he was looking to move to another city. He had interviewed for a new position, and a few weeks after we started dating he found out he got it. He would be leaving in six months. Truly naive, I didn’t see this as a problem, and I spent the next six months playing the role of supportive girlfriend and cheerleader. I sincerely believed our relationship would last, that we’d have a future together, and all we had to do was wait out my senior year until I could move there to be with him. ___ didn’t feel the same way I did and had no such intentions to stay together, but he never told me the truth about this, about how he felt, about what he didn’t want. Before, during and after our entire relationship, he was never once honest with me about his feelings.

When the day came for him to move, once again I was being left behind by a man whom I loved and depended on. I simply couldn’t lose ‘him’ again, so I held on as tightly as I could. The next eight months depleted me of every spindle of energy, emotion and spirit I had. For what I’m sure was a result of his own emotional mechanisms, he could not end our connection. We were not officially together but we were still in touch, and I desperately wanted things to work out, so I held on.

Despite all the little things he said and did that hurt me, I convinced myself that if I just held on tightly enough for the both of us, things would work out. But my self and my condition steadily deteriorated to something well beyond mere depression. I wasn’t sleeping or eating. I wasn’t going out to see friends. I was spending my days entirely in bed, my nights mindlessly watching television eating whatever food came from a bag that I didn’t have to cook. I lost enough weight that my usually tight skinny jeans were falling off my hip bones. I couldn’t get out of my apartment enough to attend classes which, by the end of the semester, I had abandoned anyway. My life had, once again, completely fallen apart.

Shortly after the new year ___ told me he had met a new girl who he was now dating and said, quote, “I don’t think we should talk anymore.” It felt like someone had shot me in the chest with a bullet. All I could respond was “You broke my heart.” Three days later I woke up with the worst case of the flu I’ve ever had, the sickest I’ve ever been. I could no longer take care of myself. A week later I was headed home on a Greyhound bus. I had withdrawn from school, left my apartment, left my friends, left a city I loved, completely broken and a shell of myself. My spirit had died.

***

I didn’t remember any of this for a long time. If you’d asked me the details about my experience with ___, I could have told you we dated and that it ended because he moved, but I couldn’t have told you anything else. My brain had packed everything about the experience into a box and tucked it away far in the recesses of my mind in order to survive and keep going. It was too painful to remember them. But then, eight years later, that day in the city when I had the anxiety attack, I realized it was brought on by a memory I had of ___ and I in that part of the city when we dated. The memory itself was benign, but for whatever reason it was enough to release the dam waters of pain and memory, and I drowned in them. (Terribly overwrought metaphor. My apologies.)

For three years I spent every. single. day. with pain in my chest -- sometimes heavy and suffocating, sometimes an anxious tightness and pulling, sometimes an acute squeezing. I would have fierce, violent adrenaline attacks that would erupt into punching and hitting and screaming into pillows or blankets or anything I could find that I knew wouldn’t hurt myself. Then I would collapse in exhausted fits of sobs on the floor or the bed. I would become irritated by the tiniest things: high-pitched noises, too-bright lights, dog barks that would startle me, being unable to open a jelly jar and throwing it across the room. The worst of all of them was an inability to escape reminders of him in every single facet of my life, however benign and mundane: shopping trips to Target, watching the Super Bowl, pumping gas into my car. I put ___ into the context of whatever medium was in front of me: movie plots, books, songs, other people’s stories, anything. I saw a vacuum commercial on TV one night and immediately wondered what kind of vacuum ___ owned. I couldn’t escape it, and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop any of these things. It was torture, and I was miserable, but no matter how much I tried, I found no relief.

***

In my first therapy session, when I realized that I needed to see someone about my PTSD, my therapist told me that most relationship problems have something to do with our parents. My therapist said both our individual relationships with them and their relationship with each other models for us what a relationship is supposed to look like. My reaction was “What. That has nothing to do with this.” All my PTSD symptoms were about my relationship with ___. But with the help of therapy and through a lot of fucking hard work, I now understand that the original trauma in my life was my parents’ divorce, losing my family (which was my safe space) as I had known it, and losing my dad. It was so foundational in my life that I couldn’t even see it; I was walking through the trees without realizing the entire forest was on fire. Only by reliving the secondary trauma of losing ___ did all of this come into focus. (The psyche is a complicated thing.)

Mercifully, after three years that felt like a lifetime, my symptoms waned to a slight whisper of existence, and now I am left with the task of rebuilding myself. I grieve the lost time and opportunity my traumatic experiences cost me, the things I would have been able to accomplish if I had had a secure and safe foundation upon which to build my life. I miss my family as it used to be -- whole -- which I will never have again even as I have new iterations of one. I miss my dad. His leaving left a hole in my life, one I’ve spent every day since trying to fill but will never be able to because no one can take the place of one’s dad. His departure left me believing I’m not worth keeping, that no man will be ever be there for me when things get tough, and that I’m not worth fighting for.

***

This letter is much longer than I intended it to be. Thank you sincerely for reading it. I don’t expect you to know what to say in response; most people don’t. Knowing that you read it means enough.

I don’t know what this means, J, but do you remember how I said I spent every day for three years feeling constant pain in my chest? When I saw your face, before I could even register a thought, I felt a full, warm sensation in my chest, in the exact spot where I always felt the pain. It happened so quickly, so instantaneously, I could not have manufactured it. It came from somewhere other than my brain.

The spirit makes imprints on the body we’re not always conscious of. So I don’t know what it means, but it was the first time in a long time I felt something other than pain in my chest. And not just not-pain, but something good, something whole and secure. People leave imprints. Maybe that’s why I decided to tell you all this stuff.

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