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fizzingwizard · 4 years

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Yay it’s my favorite time of the week! Digimon Adventure:! Can’t believe we’re already at episode 16! This week somewhat recapped the mission we’ve been on for... 14 episdoes now x’D and I realized I forgot all kinds of shit. It’s so funny, when I was ten and watching Digimon Adventure I could remember everything, but now that I’m sadly an adult I can’t keep track of these high paced children’s shows!

(Supposedly they spoon feed kids stories so they can understand it more easily... but I gotta say I think I’m the one that needs the help, bahahaha)

ALSO... apparently there was an earthquake this morning! It was too north of me so I didn’t feel it (I was... also sleeping >-> so...) But it was right when the show started airing so the info came scrolling across the screen. At first it said

“Just in case, be careful of tsunami”

and like just three min or so later

“There is no need to worry about a tsunami due to this earthquake”

Phew! Also, Digimon causes earthquakes! Hide yo wife hide yo kids! Is that meme still current?? Does it matter???? I’m a millennial, boomers hate me, gen Z hates me, at least let me have my memes! XD

OK enough goofing off, on to what really matters, freaking Digimon man! This episode gave me tons of Taichi spam. Mmm my favorite kind of spam! But it also gave me avocado cheeseburger spam too!

So although I completely forgot about it, I was pretty excited for this ep when they allegedly return to the real world! Last week’s preview made it pretty obvious it was going to be either a fake reality or the evil Digimon had taken over the real world much more deeply than we realized. Fake reality made the most sense. But they tried to trip us up anyway! The opening shots are clear references to the famous episode 21 of 99 Adventure, although given that was the best animated episode of the entire show, this one just doesn’t do it justice.

He’s not sweating, the sun isn’t as intense... it just makes Fizz nostalgic

Finding them suddenly home, the kids are all pretty bewildered at first. Predictably, Mimi is the first to recover. What motivates her?

AVOCADO CHEESEBURGER! AVOCADO CHEESEBURGER!

From Burger Jack’s bahahahaha

Mimi starts excitedly listing all the things she wants to do now that they’re home. Aside from eat delicious burgers, she wants to take a shower, change clothes...

I’m like “Oh, so these kids HAVE been feeling the effects of how much traveling they’ve been doing!”

Seriously though why didn’t anyone comment on it before now?? In 99 Adventure most of the kids couldn’t shut up about the lack of basic necessities and creature comforts. It was really easy to feel how much they were struggling! Everyone in this series is so darn serious all the time. Sora even brought that big bag of emergency supplies but we only rarely see it get used.

Taichi and Koushirou are a little more wary, though they come across as mainly confused.

Mimi wants to go eat burgers right off, but Taichi convinces her they should go home first. “Oh yeah, I have parents” - Mimi, probably.

They get on a train. The Digimon are very cute. They finally notice that no one’s paying attention to them. It took 0.3 seconds for Tokyoites in ep 21 of 99 Adventure to start freaking out over Koromon, so this was a big clue if you somehow missed that there’s something not right.

On the other hand, for a world that is presumably an illusion created by some Digimon, it sure is, er...

... accurate in surprising ways, bahahaha

(no seriously did we NEED bikini girls?? did we NEED them? I know it’s everywhere on every train for all kinds of proucts but did we NEED them here)

(the TEEN 17 in particular is killing me)

Some gratuitous Taichi spam

Mimi lives in the affluent Shibuya area now so the kids split up to continue on home. I love Taichi called her ‘ojousama.’

Taichi wonders if Yamato and the others got home okay too. Koushirou wonders if whatever was causing the blackout has really been defeated. (Mimi’s theory is “Sora-san and the others must have done something about it!” Which I just liked because by naming her she identifies Sora as the one she feels closest to awww)

They won’t say it, but the truth is these two are kinda disappointed... lol

However they won’t be disappointed for long... because this midnight train really isn’t going anywhere. *wink* see what i did there

Mimi’s walk home has also turned into a labyrinth. Which is totally normal for Toyko subways really. Mimi gets so tired from walking that she starts hallucinating that Palmon’s head is in fact an avocado.

Girl you got a problem but no judging. I got the same problem.

AVOCADO BURGER!! Think of it in your heart and it will appear!

Now that’s not creepy at all.

Several episodes ago we learned that Mimi has never seen The Mummy. Apparently she’s never seen any horror movies at all, because she still approaches the counter to order her freaking burger even after seeing the cashier’s shadowy clearly evil visage.

YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR LITTLE GIRL

On finally realizing that this train can’t go anywhere but Shibuya, Taichi and Koushirou get off and reunite with Mimi, who has learned nothing and continues talking to people. The only possible result of this is...

... creepy eyes appearing and trying to EAT her

Mimi: “Taichi-san!!”

she could ask her partner for protection but Taichi’s around and he’s everyone’s big brother so

The cause of all this mischief turns out to be this creepy dude! He’s kind of cute!

Also rather larger and more solid than I anticipated!

Of course this nightmare won’t end so easily.

You know you’re in for it when the walls are covered in glowing red eyes. That uh, shoot laser beams at you.

Cyclops: Not lasers! Concussive optic rays!

It turns out there wasn’t just one creepy dude, there were many. I’ve found my Halloween costume!

Our heroes finally figure out that this world is not their real world when they come across these tetris people.

For someone who’s never watched a single scary movie, Mimi does an impressive white-girl-in-a-horror-flick face.

I know she’s not white I’m saying she’s good at impressions she should become a comedienne

Now that we know the blackout in Japan is still ongoing and causing all sorts of issues, we get our usual peek into what’s going on for the people of Tokyo. We get to see Hikari! She’s cool as a cucumber. Her mom’s freaking out and packing a suitcase. Her mom says “Hikari go get ready!” Hikari just says “Oh I’m ready anytime!”

Hikari: I’m not worried about anything, big brother’s taking care of it!

Awww we get to see Miko! And that looks like a cat carrier <3 Mom’s not leaving their furry friend behind in the dark while they evacuate to grandpa’s place in Ibaraki...

... She is apparently cool with leaving behind her only son though! X’D

The letter reads “Taichi, we’re going to Grandpa’s place in Ibaraki. Call me when you get home.” The arrow says “Address.”

Ibaraki is a bit over an hour from Tokyo (I used to live there!) so not too far and very easy to get to by train. Still... there’s a huge power outage, I can only assume Mom’s reason here really is evacuation and not just “seems like a great time to go on a visit!” but she doesn’t know where one of her kids is and she’s just like “eh no worries he’ll figure out his way home!” Does she KNOW her son is 11? Japanese kids use trains very independently but again, POWER OUTAGE. ONE HOUR+ AWAY.

I’m remembering episode 1 when Taichi was acting like such a Dad and his mom was totally on board. Apparently that is going to be a Thing in their family. Taichi is the kid in Home Alone. Scratch that, he’s like the pets in Homeward Bound X’D

Mimi is understandably disappointed that she doesn’t get to shower... I mean see her parents... I mean, eat a freaking avocado cheeseburger

But Palmon knows how to make her feel better. “We’ll come back here someday and eat avocado cheeseburgers together.”

Mimi: “Heck YEAH I’m psyched!! AVOCADO CHEESEBURGER!”

this show understands the only true way to a woman’s heart is through food.

Our heroes are surrounded by Homunculus from FMA.

They merge together forming the aptly named EYESMON!!! lmao

Look at freaking long Greymon’s cyborg arm is. Whut.

AtlurKabuterimon gets hit by a train buhaahaha. Somehow this was way funnier to me than Lilymon getting hit by a plane or buildings falling on MetalGreymon.

The kids are outnumbered when look who appears!

The three of them sitting on Zudomon is the cutest thing ever also I JUST NOTICED ZUDOMON’S DOLPHIN PATCH WHAT THE HECK HAS THAT ALWAYS BEEN THERE!??!?!?!!?

So this was the reunion ep after all! I’m a little disappointed just because I wanted something more dramatic.

What Fizz, illusion magic and homunculi plus exploding Shibuya isn’t dramatic enough for you?

I mean EMOTIONALLY dramatic. Like, someone should hug.

Oh well. This is the face Taichi makes when he sees Yamato. D’aww. I guess i’ll be satisfied with this.

Yamato gets them started on a plan and they all fight as a group!! But Koushirou’s realized that this Digimon, whatever it is, is what’s causing the blackout. They can’t properly defeat it...

... and it’s already the night of the third day. Soon their 72 hour window will be up. Then Ariel will turn back into a Mermaid and the Sea Witch wins :’<

We end with an ominous digivolution! Next week....

Orochimon!!! I love multi headed monsters.

More Taiyama action!!! Lookin a bit beat up but still cool!

OK so in sum this episode was pretty fun. I still feel like the writers for this season just don’t dig in deep enough to really make things come alive. They’re so concerned with battles that they miss moments for fun character interactions etc. And in the end, the whole of this episode can be recapped simply as “They discover the world they’re in is an illusion and they fight the bad guy.” However, we got a lot of fun with Mimi in particular, and though we didn’t get the kind of Taishiro teamwork my heart yearns for, at least we saw them sticking together and hashing things out.

I really do hope this show dials up the character relationships a bit soon though. We keep getting tidbits so it’s not like they don’t have things planned. It’s just a matter of execution. Anyway I’m happy to have the whole group (well as many as we’ve got so far) together again!

#digimon adventure 2020 #digimon adventure:#digimon adventure reboot #digi spoilers #digimon #fizz watches digimon 2020

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twistedtwinsproductions · 4 years

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In case you’re bored here are SOME of our favorite horror films.... 🖤🖤 Suicide Club Tokyo Tribe Before I Disappear These Final Hours Rubber Suburban Gothic Excision Resolution Spring It Follows A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night I Saw The Devil Man Bites Dog REC Pontypool Splinter What We Do In The Shadows Super Slither The Guest Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer The Battery Red, White, and Blue High Tension/Switchblade Romance Martyrs Inside Pan’s Labyrinth Stoker May House of the Devil Killers Extraterrestrial (2011, Nacho Vigalondo) Timecrimes Re-Animator Bride of the Re-Animator Big Bad Wolves Rabies The Host (2007) Donkey Punch Dead Birds In The Mouth of Madness Possession (1981) Suspiria American Psycho Hard Candy Irreversible The Descent The Loved Ones Wolf Creek Kill List Let The Right One In Willow Creek The Taking of Deborah Logan The Possession of Michael King Grabbers Troll Hunter Asylum Blackout The Ruins A Serbian Film Afflicted The Divide The Skin I Live In The Girl Next Door (2007) Hostel II Triangle Battle Royale Ils (Them) Dog Soldiers Feast Dans Ma Peau (In My Skin) Ginger Snaps Girls Against Boys Funny Games Sightseers Dogville Dancer In The Dark Antichrist The Editor Manborg Black Christmas The Thing Jacob’s Ladder Tokyo Gore Police Society The Exorcist American Werewolf in London The Children Frozen (not the Disney movie) Interview With The Vampire The Shining Under The Skin Poltergeist (original) Evil Dead II 28 Days Later Passion of the Christ Frailty Fat Girl Found Shutter (2004) Audition Creep Shivers Why Don't You Play In Hell? The Sentinel Leviathan Wolf Creek II The Wailing Train to Busan The Perfect Host Colossal The Tunnel Daniel Isn’t Real Knives and Skin The Living and The Dead Bliss https://www.instagram.com/p/CALsP2YFnpNJfs-wzgPhPTPiccr6xyekz836J00/?igshid=12mjnujrryqde

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fight-for-humanity · 4 years

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Hunger

[cw: violence, swearing]

A dim glow of the street lamps illuminated the quiet town of Redacre. From this sight alone, one might make the assumption that it was a normal, peaceful town, where families gathered around the dinner table each evening to have a meal together and spend time in each other’s company, or where kids would go to school to meet up with their friends to laugh, joke, and talk about the most recent gossip or who they were going to junior prom with. But, I knew better. We all did. Dinner tables were often empty. Families were too tired to spend time together, either because they never slept or they dug down in the labyrinth hidden underneath the town all night. Innocent teen gossip was replaced by the somber air surrounding the discussion of who went missing the previous night.

And then there were kids like me, sorry bastards who were fortunate enough to hear Voices in our heads and wake up in the middle of the night in odd places where we didn’t initially close our eyes. I was a member of the esteemed Blackout Club who sought to disrupt the nightly operations of one of these mystifying Voices, often at the expense of a good night’s rest. Fortunately for me, it was the last objective of the night. Upon its completion, I would be able to head back to the boxcar for a quick nap before sneaking back home. Some nights, I had a group to keep me company, but not this night. Schedules clash and accidents happen, especially with the risky work we’re doing. I zipped up my black hoodie to stave off the cold Virginia air. I wanted to get this mission done as soon as possible.

Bzzzzzz.

I froze suddenly, then grimaced. Damn phone. I wish I could just turn it off during missions, but HQ insists we leave our phones on so they can track our progress and send us updates while we’re “out in the field”. Admittedly, it provides some insurance, in the odd case we get suppressed and need to be saved in the morning. Still, I can’t help but jump out of my shoes everytime it buzzes in my pocket. With a sigh, I retrieved the damn thing and looked at the message.

Your Stalker: “Behind you.”

A gasp escaped my lips. My blood ran cold at the sight of the text message. Reflexively, I twisted my head around to see a familiar face, one I hoped I wouldn’t see again. Aaron Costa, leaning against a tree and looking directly at me. A black bandana covered the lower half of his face, and he wore a signature white and red jacket. The last time I saw him, he tried to drag me to the red door, force me to live in an eternal slumber, listening to the same old song forever. He tried to make me a walking puppet for the Voice that was deemed worse than the others.

“Please. Don’t freak out,” he hushed before I could say anything, his hands raised half way in an attempt to appear unthreatening. It was a decent attempt, but at his height, he mostly towered over me. He’d be a threat to the average person. Still, for as much of a threat that he was, my eyes couldn’t help but wander to the scar down the side of his face. It was the battle wound I gave him when I managed to get away from him on that fateful night.

I took a step back. “What the hell do you want?” I hissed, teeth bared. I glanced left and right to look for possible escape routes. I might be able to outrun him. I knew for damn sure I could out maneuver him. The Club’s training made sure we could escape an enemy bigger than ourselves.

“I need your help, RK,” Aaron pleaded, pulling down his bandana and taking a step forward. In response, I took a couple steps back. If he gets within arm’s reach of me again, it’s game over. I’ll be at the red door before I know it, and I have no spare drone part to save me this time. He froze, noticing that I was putting space between us. “I’m…” he stammered. It was odd to see him flustered. He always had this air of calm around him, but I guess that’s just who I thought he was. It was just a ruse to get close to me, so he could convert me to his weird religion.

“I’m sorry about what I did. What I said about your brother was insensitive,” he continued. “I was just…” he paused, searching for words. “I didn’t expect you to respond like that. I thought I could show you how that club lies about us, how destructive they are, how much better it would be with us. I failed, so I felt like... it was the only way to keep you as my friend. It was desperate and stupid.” There was a certain honesty behind those brown eyes, imploring me to listen. I was such a sucker for sob stories, but the voice of reason in my head was too strong. I knew we could never be friends like we once were.

“Well, what the hell did you expect to happen?” I growled, tightly crossing my arms in front of my chest. “You chose your Voice over me, a person! A human being!” Aaron didn’t respond, his gaze sinking to the ground. Did he want to argue about it, but was holding his tongue? I wasn't sure. In a different town, with no Voices, we would have been friends. I couldn’t help but wonder how my other relationships would be different if the looming threat of Voices didn’t hang over everyone.

Here, in Redacre, I wasn’t afforded that opportunity. I always had to remember the grasp the Voices had on everyone, how much people tried to fill in missing puzzle pieces with them, to dull the emptiness and pain that was so common to the human condition. I had to remember what people were willing to do for the Voices. I could never forget. My honest friendship could never compete with a millennia of manipulation techniques. I’m not good enough. I would be thrown to the wolves easily, just like before.

After a moment of silence between us, my curiosity got the best of me. With a sigh, I asked, “What do you need help with? I’m not doing any stupid Chorus things.”

The tension in Aaron’s shoulders relaxed as he let out a breath. “No. It’s nothing like that,” he explained. “We are...being hunted. By the Beast."

"The Beast?" I asked.

"The Hunter," he clarified. "Some of us have gone missing, and I know you have been making notes."

I arched a brow. "How do you know that?"

"Kids talk at school," he answered. "Please, RK. I don't want more people getting hurt. I just need more information so I can help protect them."

"You mean protect more Stalkers like you?" I gave him a skeptical look and planted my hands on my hips.

"No matter what you call them, they are still people," he responded with a frown.

I paused. Dammit, Aaron. He was right, in his own twisted sense. The thought of more people forced under the Hunter's sway hit a particularly sensitive nerve.

With a soft sigh, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a flipbook. With reluctance in my tone, I held it out to him and said, “Here. These are the more recent field notes.”

Aaron reached out and took it, his eyes scanning the little pages as he flipped through them. “The Hunter is experimenting on people?” he asked.

“With these weird tablets, yeah,” I answered with a nod.

“And these curses…” He murmured, his face scrunching in confusion. He flipped the notebook around and pointed at a poorly drawn doodle of a person with sharp, gnashing teeth. “What does this mean?”

I couldn’t help but snerk at my own artistic talent. “That’s, uh, one of the curses.” That answer didn’t seem to work for Aaron. He still looked helplessly confused, and a little concerned. “It’s called the Hunter’s Hunger. It gives you, like… these cravings, where you just want to, like, bite someone. It’s like mental torture if you try to resist it.”

He frowned and flipped to a new page, taking a moment to study before looking back to me. “Can I keep some of these pages?”

“Yeah, whatever. The curses and stuff are the last four pages,” I said grudgingly. Aaron gave me a grateful smile as he ripped the pages out and handed the flipbook back to me. “Do you really not know anything about what’s going on with the Hunter? Are your people not told anything?”

Aaron’s lips pursed. “Anything we’re not told is to protect us and keep us safe. I trust them.” I let out a sigh at his response. Clearly, they weren’t being kept safe if Stalkers were disappearing, but he had such blind devotion that he’d be willing to sweep anything under the rug. Is that how they all are? Every kid who has an attachment to a Voice? Voices become so infallible that they can do nothing wrong?

“Hello? Someone there?”

Aaron and I both froze as a foreign baritone broke the silence of the night’s gentle ambience. The voice didn’t sound familiar, and judging by Aaron’s reaction, it wasn’t a Lucid or anyone he knew either. It definitely didn’t have that Lucid masked-sound to its tone.

“Come on. I knew I heard ya. Come out, come out,” the voice cooed.

“Who is-” I began to whisper, but Aaron halted me with a soft shush, his finger pressed against his lips. He turned around and slowly stepped towards the nearby house, pressing his back against the wall. I followed him as he peeked around the corner in order to take a look at the strange fellow for myself, but Aaron stuck out his arm to block me before I could go further. He turned his head and gave me a look of concern. I shot him a nasty look. Aaron really needs to do something about his annoying “save everyone” superhero attitude. With an annoyed sigh, I grabbed his wrist and pushed it down and out of my way. He didn’t try to hold me back again, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his shoulders sulk.

A man that appeared to be in his early twenties walked down the street, looking under cars and behind corners for us. He wore torn up jeans and a loose black t-shirt. I looked a little closer and it looked like a rock band shirt with a colorful, abstract logo, but it wasn’t any band that I knew of. His shoulder-length dirty blond hair was pushed behind both of his ears.

“Greyson Burke,” Aaron whispered, his brows arched in surprise.

“You know him?” I looked up at him with a curious look.

“He was a senior at Central High when I was a freshman,” Aaron answered, his eyes still trained on Greyson. “After graduation, his band started playing at one of the local bars, but they stopped a few months ago. I thought their band split up, or something.”

Greyson was getting closer. I could see a wicked grin stretched across his face, his crazed green eyes still searching for the source of the voices he heard. A few more moments, and he would be upon us.

Aaron turned his body to me. “I’ll distract him. You go home, RK,” he told me. Sounds like a plan. Didn’t have to tell me twice. I was sure Aaron would be fine. He can handle himself. I gave him a nod as he stepped out of our hiding place out onto the street towards Greyson. I turned the other way and started sneaking back to the privacy fence, but I stopped. Curiosity got the better of me. I retracted my steps and peaked around the corner to watch the exchange.

“There you are. I knew I heard someone,” Greyson said with a sick grin. There was something off about his body language. The way he curled his fingers and dug his nails into the side of his pants. The way he would occasionally gnaw at his lower lip, and how he breathed through a partly open mouth. He wasn’t well. There was something wrong with him. He looked… hungry.

“What are you doing here, Greyson?” Aaron answered, his voice tense.

Greyson gave a nonchalant shrug, his tongue darting out of his mouth to wetten his lips. “I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d take a stroll, and look for a dance partner, y’know?” He took a step forward, approaching Aaron. “Is that… Is that you, Aaron? Aaron Costa?” He craned his neck forward, squinting his eyes to get a better look. “Damn, boy. You’ve gotten tall!” He threw his head back and laughed, hand holding his stomach. Recomposing himself, he wiped his eye with the back of his hand and took another step forward. “Have you been working out? You look strong. I bet you would make an excellent dance partner.” Aaron stood his ground, not responding as Greyson studied him. When his green eyes landed on the side of Aaron’s face, his grin grew wider. “Nice scar. Want a matching one on the other side?”

“Why don’t you just go home?” Aaron said, eyes narrowing. You wouldn’t think he was nervous by the tone of his voice, but I could tell he was by how he gently fidgeted with the corner of his jacket between his fingers.

Greyson released a piercing laugh. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to dance?”

“Are you really looking for a fight you can’t win?” Aaron responded with an incredulous look. He had a point. Greyson was a bit gangly, compared to Aaron. Plus, Aaron had height on him. You could easily make the initial impression that Aaron would overpower Greyson in a fight.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t know about that,” Greyson said with a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair before shoving both hands into his pockets. “You might be a big bastard. But... I don’t play fair.” In a swift motion, Greyson pulled his hands out of his pockets and lunged at Aaron, his hand gripping a pocket knife. My eyes widened as I caught sight of the weapon, a breath catching in my throat. Aaron had a similar reaction and reacted quickly by grabbing Greyson’s wrist. I heard a growl from Greyson’s throat. “Come on, Aaron. Just a little bite!”

I stood paralyzed as the two struggled with each other. Aaron would still be fine, right? Of course he would win. Anxious thoughts continued to run through my head as the battle waged. Greyson was stronger than he appeared, and Aaron was wearing down. Block after block, dodge after dodge. The pocketknife caught his heavy, white jacket a couple times, ripping into the material that was fortunately thick enough to protect his skin. Maybe Chorus does care after all. Aaron couldn’t manage to get a hold on him to subdue him, and every punch he landed didn’t seem to phase his attacker. There was something unseen fueling him, some hunger.

Greyson shoved Aaron back against a sedan, his body slamming against the metal with a reverberating bang. Aaron grimaced and momentarily lost his footing, but caught himself by grabbing the trunk of the car. “Gah...Shit...” Wow. Aaron actually swears. It would have been funny if this was not a life or death situation. I had seen enough. Panic was settling in, and if I did not do something, Aaron would just turn in to another missing Stalker. I stepped out of my hiding spot and made a bee-line towards them both.

“This was fun. Sorry it’s over already,” Greyson taunted. He reversed the grip on the pocketknife and moved in. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, my feet pounding against the pavement. With a battle yell, I barreled into Greyson, catching him by surprise and knocking us both to the ground. The pocketknife clattered against the concrete out of his reach.

I winced as I fell and twisted my head around to where Greyson landed. On his hands and knees, he shook his head, hair draping over his face. He slowly turned towards me. “RK...RK....RK… There you are. Did you want to play too?” he growled as he stood, his face splitting into a wide smile. I hoped I bought Aaron enough time to recover.

I scrambled to my feet, but before Greyson could change his target, Aaron moved behind him and slipped his arms underneath his armpits, locking his hands behind his neck. Greyson struggled to free himself from the hold, his arms flailing in the air. Aaron twisted his body and threw Greyson against the car, his head smacking into the window and shattering the glass. Greyson fell limp to the pavement, shards falling around him.

I flinched at the sight, but I was distracted by Aaron’s urgent plea. “Leave him.” Together, we ran off away from the street and houses, the blaring car alarm becoming more and more distant the farther we ran. Soon, we were surrounded by trees, only the soft glow of Redacre’s lights visible over the dense foliage.

“I told you to go home,” Aaron said after twisting around to face me. He was in bad shape and struggled to catch his breath.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Aaron. You’d be dead if I did,” I retorted, looking at him defiantly.

Guilt flashed across his expression, but he managed a soft smile and held out his hand, extending it towards me. “Thank you for having my back. I hope we can be friends again,” he said to me.

I looked at his hand, lips pursed into a frown. A long moment passed between us before I turned my body. “Be careful on your way home, Aaron,” I gave him those parting words, pulling my hoodie over my head as I walked away.

Never again.

#the blackout club

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carmenlire · 5 years

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When the Lights Go Out

read on ao3

Standing in front of the drink cart, Alec pours one glass of red and then another. Thankful for his vision rune and the dozen candles lit around the living room, he’s careful not to overfill the wine glasses. He doesn’t turn immediately back to the couch. Instead, he looks through the open french doors to the rest of New York and his mouth softens as he takes in his favorite city during a blackout.

It’s different like this. There’s still some noise but nowhere near the frenetic cacophony that his corner of the world is known for. It’s like he’s the only person in the world and he relishes the silence that’s just shy of being oppressive.

Shaking his head a little to clear his thoughts, Alec sets the now empty bottle next to its predecessors, Alec raises one glass to his lips and carries the other to where his husband sits.

His surefooted rune comes in handy, too, and he’s careful not to trip on the edge of the rug, not to run into the corner of the coffee table that’s been pushed out of the way for the night-- he knows thanks to sleepily stumbling through the loft in the mornings just how wicked those corners can be to vulnerable flesh.

“Thank you, darling.” Magnus hums a little as he takes the second glass and he pats the empty space on the floor next to him. He smiles up at him. His unglamoured eyes catch the candlelight, only a thin edge of gold surrounding bottomless black and Alec’s heart clutches, just a little, at seeing Magnus so content and open and welcoming. It’s the most natural thing in the world for Alec to return that grin as he lowers himself to the floor in front of the couch.

It’s piled high with blankets-- their very own pillow fort. Reaching an arm behind Magnus, Alec sweeps a thumb over his shoulder and pulls his husband just the tiniest bit closer.

He noses along Magnus’s hair. There’s laughter in his voice when he asks in a low voice, “You’re telling me there’s no way you can magic some lights in here? Not even a little lamp?”

Magnus, conspicuously coy, looks down and takes a deep drink of his wine. While he can’t see it, Alec can hear the smile in Magnus’s voice, just knows that he’s biting his amusement futilely in check.

“Well,” Magnus starts thoughtfully, in that meandering tone that Alec loves so much. “I suppose I could wave a hand and have the electricity up and running in the loft but where’s the fun in that?” With those words, he turns and looks up at Alec and shakes his head, this time fond, as he sees the impish glint in his husband’s gaze.

But then it eases into something serious and Alec’s attention sharpens. Magnus’s eyes turn unseeing and it’s an expression Alec knows well. His love is lost in the past and thankfully, it looks like he’s willing to bring Alec along on this trip down memory lane.

“There was a time, you know, when this was par for the course.” Magnus turns so that he’s facing Alec more directly. His legs are tucked under him, his robe slipping open to reveal skin turned golden by the scant candles strewn around the room. Alec brings a knee up and ducks closer to hear Magnus who has grown quiet, contemplative, in a way he seldom allows himself to become in the company of anyone else.

“When I was a child, I was very good at roaming the woods surrounding our village. By moonlight, on a cloudy night, it didn’t matter. I knew my way intuitively. I knew by the way a branch snapped if it was a tiger or an orangutan. I could find my way home blindfolded. The stillness was all I knew.”

The low light laps at Magnus, makes him seem ancient and unbelievably young at once. Not for the first time, Alec’s struck by Magnus’s past-- it’s nothing bad, just another reminder that the man next to him has depths that he might still be learning a millennia from now.

It’s a blessing Alec doesn’t take for granted.

“And then I moved. Nowhere for long enough to make friends, for someone to find me. I ended up in London, though, in oh-- the mid eighteenth century? It was a filthy place and dank. At least my corner of it was. You could hear the rats at the end of an alley bickering, make out the conversation through walls thin as plaster.”

Magnus smiles and there’s something fond in it even if the rest of the emotion lurking in the edges is aching sentiment. “And then gas lamps started popping up and the factories were built and you’d hear the engines of these behemoth machines that never turned off. The coal always needed carted, the steel tempered.”

“London during the Industrial Revolution was a sight, Alexander. You’d have hated it.” Magnus laughs a little and his eyes flick up to meet Alec’s. “You like order, darling, and London was a well-oiled machine-- but it was dirty and a labyrinth of opportunity. It took me years to learn its underbelly, for it to become a home that was as familiar as the jungle in Batavia once was.” He shakes his head a little, mockingly dismayed. “You’d have been pickpocketed before you could call out for a constable.”

Alec rolls his eyes, though he has to admit what he’s learned about that particularly era leaves him with a lot to be desired. “Whatever,” he huffs and he’s mostly mollified when Magnus leans close and lays a smacking kiss against his cheek before settling back.

He places his empty wine glass on the floor next to them and turns his full attention to Alec. Alec shifts a little and sighs, content, when Magnus moves until he’s resting his head against his chest, an arm slung low over Alec’s middle.

“I know you shadowhunters love your technology and are always looking for the next gadget but there’s something to be said for sitting in complete silence. It’s like you’re the only person in the world, like the world is spinning just for you,” Magnus whispers and the words catch against Alec’s chest, an eerie echo of his earlier thoughts that he relishes.

Magnus laughs a little. He runs an absent finger over Alec’s side in a random pattern and Alec tries his damnedest to still a shudder at the touch.

“Did you know the first night I had a refrigerator, I didn't sleep a wink?”

It takes Alec a moment to register the words but when he does he can’t stop his little noise of confusion. “Why,” he asks, bemused and interested.

He feels Magnus smile. “Because, darling, it made noise. The lack of humming that makes the loft seem as still as a tomb right now? That was my normal. With the noise of the ice box permeating my residence at the time, it was too loud. It kept me up all night.”

Alec frowns. “You’re kidding right?”

“Oh, Alexander. You can’t quite comprehend what life was like before everything was on, on, on. While I am a man of change and progress, it’s easy for anyone-- especially immortals-- to become stuck in their ways. CDs were popular when Ragnor finally broke down and purchased a record player. But the mundanes were just as bad,” he throws in demurely.

Alec’s voice is droll as he replies, “How so?”

“There was mass anxiety when electricity was first installed in homes. People thought it produced vapors that would be harmful if inhaled. Some people employed servants to waft the fumes away.”

“You’re making that up,” Alec says decisively. He looks down at Magnus with a stern look. “You saw that in a Downton Abbey episode.”

He’s expecting Magnus to grow chagrined and recant. Instead, his husband laughs out loud and pulls Alec in for a kiss that’s as intense as it is short. When he breaks away, he pokes a figure in Alec’s chest. “No, Alexander-- you saw it in a Downton Abbey episode. I lived through it and found that detail added a layer of authenticity to an already wonderful period drama.”

Taking the correction in stride, Alec slouches against the couch. “You’ve lived such a life, babe. I can’t imagine seeing such change and just rolling with the punches.”

“You don’t have to imagine it, darling. You’ll be living it soon enough.”

There’s a gravitas in Magnus’s tone that feels a lot like censure. Alec looks over. Magnus’s eyes are clear, his stare direct. It’s not quite a challenge but Alec shakes his head slowly and lets the smile widen just a little around the corners of his mouth.

He reaches out and gently uses his thumb to pull Magnus’s bottom lip out from where he’d been biting down on it. It’s a little tick that doesn't emerge often and only ever around Alec.

It happens when Magnus is worried that Alec’s unhappy, as if there’s a world where that’s even possible when he’s Mr. Lightwood-Bane.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Magnus,” Alec says softly. Their eyes don’t stray from each other as he continues, “It’s an opportunity most couldn’t dream of and one that I’m eager to experience. There’s a whole world out there waiting for me, us-- an entire eternity. I count it a blessing from Raziel that I’ll live to see such change and maybe, one day, tell someone about it in such fond, awestruck tones. There’s bad with living forever-- but there’s also a lot of good if you let yourself embrace it.”

Magnus is quiet for a moment and Alec lets him have whatever time he needs. Alec will be fifty two this year but he still looks the same as the day he took his vows. This conversation is nothing new and Alec is more than willing to assuage whatever guilt or worry that eats at Magnus whenever he thinks Alec isn’t completely, incandescently happy to have a million lifetimes to spend at his side.

“You’re always surprising me, Alec.”

A gentle kiss that’s more a whisper of intent and then it warms, turning all-consuming. Magnus laughs as Alec urges him to his back, the mountain of pillows and blankets more than comfortable. It’s a sound that Alec promised himself decades ago that he’d spend the rest of his life chasing and as he swallows the sound for his own, he thinks that maybe a power outage isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Not whenever it gives him such a wonderful excuse to ravish his husband. Between clearing his inbox and spending an evening drinking wine and talking with his husband, there's no contest, not even a hint of uncertainty in how Alec would choose to spend his time.

Hours later, when they’re wrapped around each other and sleeping quite soundly, Alec grunts as Magnus pokes him in the stomach.

“Go back to sleep, babe.” His voice slurs but he doesn’t care, can’t when Magnus’s is a warm weight over him. The best damned blanket he’s ever had, Alec thinks blearily.

“Darling, the electricity has turned back on. The lights are blinding me.”

They’d left a lamp on in their bedroom so that they’d know when the power returned. With the small sliver of his brain churning, Alec barely thinks for a moment before he’s grunting again, an intelligible sound that he knows Magnus has taken great pains to become fluent in over the years.

“Then turn them off.” He rouses himself enough to kiss the top of Magnus’s hair before he’s melting back into the bed, already falling back asleep. “Let’s keep the power off for a few more hours. I don't want to share you with the world again just yet.”

He feels Magnus smile against his chest. “Whatever you say, Alexander,” he whispers and Alec feels the charge in the air as his husband no doubt waves a hand and turns the lamp off-- as he leaves the electricity off until morning.

In the stillness, Alec feels like he and Magnus are the only two people in the world. It’s a feeling that’s no less potent for the way he always feels like that, like the world could burn but everything would be alright, if only he and Magnus were left.

Falling back asleep, the quiet wraps around them and seems to sigh, the darkness a welcome reprieve and an escape.

#I'm half asleep so if this sucks don't @ me #i'm turning my suffering into something not annoying as hell #also why can't this be me #anywho #malec fic #my writing #when the lights go out

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esonikofanfiction · 5 years

Text

K: TALES OF MIDNIGHT: CHAPTER IV: ROOK

"You should rest, Mr. Fushimi," The Captain offered.

"Like hell," came the reply.

While all the ranks of Scepter 4 had been deployed from Headquarters and Akira Industries to the unlit realm of darkness that was Tokyo, Fushimi wasn't about to let the tediousness of sleep obstruct him from snatching his last opportunity to catch the aggravating Rei Kiyoka, the nemesis he loathed, the one with whom he shared an equal blame in causing recent events. The blackout, having thus deposited the city into darkness, cast it likewise into chaos, a chaos that the Blue King was then forced to sweep back into order, lest the city overrun itself.

While, no doubt, the police were busy quelling violence springing up amongst the general populous, Scepter 4 had its hands full of criminality pertaining to the realm of the supernatural. Therefore, if Fushimi couldn't sleep on account of utter rage and a thirst for vengeance, it was a guarantee he would find no sense of peace when all of Tokyo lay a seething mass of lawlessness and turmoil.

Fushimi's abrupt response to the Captain's thoughtful — albeit unrealistic — suggestion, was met with no resistance. The Captain made no effort to instruct him on the proper course of action he should take (or not take), nor to inquire as to what Fushimi planned to do instead. He said nothing, which Fushimi ascertained as an unofficial signal to continue in whatever manner he saw fit. It appeared that Munakata had some faith left in his favorite of the Blues, a sentiment that, earlier, Fushimi deemed as pointless and unnecessary. Only then did he discover (however faintly) that while faith was never needed for assurances of friendliness, it did have a way of making his job easier to do.

With this in mind, Fushimi ventured out alone into the dim of early morning, that unpredictable landscape to which, from every shadow in the city, all the little terrors had sprung, wreaking havoc in abundance, free from all restraint, until societal decorum should restore itself again.

Fushimi had spent enough time in dismal situations both personally and — if one could speak thus of the likes of Homra — professionally to know what he was up against. He knew what sort of creatures lingered in the dark. He, himself, for all intents and purposes, was one of them. In places where no sense of light could penetrate, those unpredictabilities and dangers, held no power over him; nor at the very least, on his subconscious. Therefore not an ounce of fear prevailed itself upon him but the thought of Rei Kiyoka and the urge to bring her down.

Just one clue — abysmal and, in truth, perhaps a dead end — was left to him: the ‘circle’ was indeed complete, as Munakata said. The inner radius of Tachibana, Yotsuya and Yoyogi stations left some sleuthing still to do.

If I'm going to find anything down there, he told himself, now's the time: while the city's in shambles. Wait too long, and whatever evidence is down there'll be long gone — that's even assuming something’s there to begin with. That psycho played me twice already. It's not like I'm holding my breath.

Once again, Fushimi understood the sheer absurdity that came from his obsession; likewise he could see the paradox, grumbling at the actuality of it: I can't just leave a clue, no matter how pointless. What’s worse is that she knows it.

If, by some odd chance, obsession and a hunch paid off, Fushimi had hoped to pick up Kiyoka's trail. But then, when are the odds ever reassuring? He fought inwardly, rubbing tired fingers over dreary, blood-shot eyes. Either it’ll lead me straight to her, or it'll be a shit waste of time, or both. Outwardly, he sighed. “Geez.”

Not long after, he was at Yoyogi Station, the most recent place in which he'd picked up Kiyoka's signal. In the dull, deserted station, he switched on his wrist device to reveal a holographic screen: a 3D map of Shizume’s metro system. However this one carried further into the deep labyrinth of windy sewers, tunnels, all those incomplete passageways beneath the subway lines. As it was, no modern map existed of the vast, elicit network known as the Shizume Underworld, nor would one have helped. Part of the mystery surrounding the Underworld was that it was constantly evolving.

Nevertheless, Fushimi had his ways of proctoring the data that he needed, layering what intel he could find until an adequate map had pieced itself together. Riddled still with gaps and forcing him, in sections, to maneuver blindly through, he carried on, unhindered in his search.

Silently, he trekked his way down concrete stairwells, past the service doors, scaling afterward, a rusted iron ladder, to the grime-filled sewers below: the upper echelons of the Underworld.

It smelt of dank and thick precipitation, every little sound a harrowed echo running through an endless web of corridors.

Approaching a massive cavern indiscernibly deep, he found another metal ladder that descended into it, seemingly to nowhere. Without a care, he ventured down, his holographic map his sole illumination in the dark.

The ladder carried down about a hundred feet or so. When at last he reached the bottom, he was met with yet another set of stairs, at the end of which, passing through an arched walkway, he came upon a larger, surprisingly less disgusting chamber than the others; nor was it so life-suckingly dark: a vague inclination, he suspected. It was indeed a contrast to the overly decrepit halls left totally abandoned near the surface: A tactical decision, he divined. If it looks like no one's home, they won't be bothered by too many visitors — only those who come here looking for them.

Further signs of life revealed themselves the deeper in he went. Observing the walls, he found them littered with graffiti, coded guiding signals, evidence of secret trysts: messages encrypted in the slang that only those within the Underworld could read. The damp, as well, had greatly eased itself; the smell of rot and filth had faded to a mild, somewhat cool scent of stone.

Fushimi had hypothesized that many of the Underworld had stolen street-side, no doubt anxious for a chance to enter the festivities. But surely not everyone, he figured, peering all around. The place had seemed unnervingly deserted up until then, an observation that had begun to make him wary. Even those astute in keeping themselves hidden from his eyes could not have managed to conceal a sense of presence that Fushimi would have naturally discerned, and yet he felt nothing, nothing whatsoever; until at once, he did. From utter emptiness to an all-invasive force, he sensed a set of eyes, distinct, pursuant of him and him alone, approaching from behind.

Fushimi didn’t stop. Hiding his perception in his movements, he journeyed on as though he hadn't noticed. Meanwhile, his is slim daggers hidden neatly up his sleeves crept silently into his grasp.

He wound down more deserted halls and stairwells, following his makeshift map, thoroughly engrossed within the maze. The eyes followed.

After some time, sensing the inaction on the part of his pursuer, Fushimi began to feel a bit restless. Let’s see what you're made of, shall we? He decided.

Abandoning his slow and steady course, he jerked himself around the nearest corner, feigning escape.

He broke into a jog, weaving round one corner, then another. Then for the first time, he could hear the steps of his pursuer speeding up to match. Not just a pair of eyes now, are we?

Coming to a forked path, Fushimi didn’t hesitate. Picking one at random, he removed his wrist device and set it on the ground, the holographic map igniting him in dim electric hues. He quickly rose and crept his way down the adjacent fork, hiding in the shadows.

A moment later, he could hear the steps of his assailant growing, thumping ever-louder before stopping altogether.

Peering from his hiding place, he saw the darkened silhouette of a somewhat slight figure, hooded, stooping to retrieve his wrist device. Silently, he crept out from the shadows, taking stance directly in the figure’s rear.

“Looking for me?” He said. Before another movement could be made, he had the figure pinned inside a power hold, a red-soaked dagger drawn below the neck.

His captive cried out in alarm. “Wait! Hold up! I didn’t mean anything, man! I swear!“

All at once the tension ceased. Fushimi slumped with thorough agitation. “You must be joking,” he said, spinning round the figure. Swiping back the hood, he found a grungy teenage boy, staring horrorstruck at him.

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” He stumbled out, holding up his hands in a surrender pose. "I just thought I’d make an easy score, that’s all!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. Just an ordinary nobody.

“Look, man. Clearly I was wrong but –”

“Damn right, you were,” Fushimi interrupted, releasing the boy with a shove. The boy gave back a slight, uncertain look. “Go,” Fushimi ordered. “And don’t come back.”

The Underling perceived. He fumbled back a step, nodding furiously. “Y-you got it, man! I...thanks!” And with another a cautious glance back to Fushimi, he took off in a run, scurrying back the way he came.

Fushimi ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling to himself. “Kids.”

After that, he met no other obstacles, nor could he detect the eyes of further Underdwellers lurking in the shadows far beyond. He was alone, almost uncomfortably so, and then he realized why. I must be getting close, he ascertained. Wherever there are aura-wielders, normal people tend to run and hide – If you could really call these people normal, he added, thinking back to the boy he nearly sliced up with his dagger by mistake. From the look of him, the boy was all of thirteen years of age, yet even then Fushimi saw in him a slithering creature doomed to a degrading life of darkness and betrayal, of filth in every aspect, of lying, cheating, stealing, of ignorance and carelessness to every other form of life beyond that which he knew; but above all, Fushimi saw death – not immediately perhaps, but slowly over time, a festering decay that eats the soul away until there’s nothing left to call a man human anymore. This particular thought brought to Fushimi’s mind all sorts of other things, things he had forgotten, things too close to home. Sensing this, he quickly pulled away as one might redirect himself on taking a wrong turn somewhere. Thereafter, he referred back to his wrist device, following his map as thoroughly as before, lest he start to wander once again throughout a set of mental halls more intricate than those inside the Underworld.

He guessed that he’d been wandering around for about an hour when he came across a thick metal door - the first he’d actually come to that wasn’t already open or partially broken in. On the contrary, this one seemed relatively new. Adding to suspicion, it was locked. Fushimi found this amusing. You’d be better off hanging up a sign that says, ‘Here we are,’ than putting something so obvious as a locked door here. Of course I’m going to go in.

Less than a minute and Fushimi had successfully cracked the keypad and trekked his way inside.

Standing at the threshold, he peered into a room chock-full of blinking screens reflecting neon glimmers off the lenses of his glasses. "Now we're talking," he said, slipping inside.

Near the end of the room, he found a small cluster of monitors and slid into the chair before them, pulling out a thin magnetic disk, which he plopped atop the drive. Instantly, he set to work, scanning lines of code, gathering what intel he could find.

As he did, a screen behind him sounded out a little ding. Spinning round, he found a small IM box open on the lower left-hand side. The chime had been an alert, signaling an incoming message.

Sliding over to it, Fushimi skimmed its contents, subsequently pausing as he read the final line.

“Kawaguchi Industries: Payment received from Aka Shinku Technologies - item K004: localization complete // algorithm link established.”

"A transaction?" He said, squinting. “So Kawaguchi Industries sold the algorithm? But that can't be right. The algorithm was stolen from Kawaguchi. How could they have sold something they didn't even have? And who the hell is Aka Shinku Technologies? Why do they need the algorithm? Or do they actually have it?" Skeptical, he read the message over. Localization complete. Algorithm link established. "But that would mean..."

Scowling hard, his eyes roamed out to all the other monitors, their glowing screens replete with running lines of code. Subconsciously, he followed them, searching, thinking. Something didn't add up.

"Wait a second," he said, checking them again. "The algorithm: it was never actually uploaded to any physical drive, was it? The reason why I haven't been able to find a location for it is because technically, it isn't anywhere. Or I guess, it's currently everywhere at once. It must still be swimming around in some sort of an online matrix. That way, it wouldn't need a facility to house itself, and you could feasibly tap into it from anywhere in the world and have instant, total access to it. And yet, its supernatural influence must be what's making it so impossible to find." Then all at once, it dawned on him. "So that's how she did it. The only way to keep it safe while letting it roam out there in the open is to tie it to an aura, a very unique aura, one that no-one else has. Therefore, the only person who can access it is - “

"The one who holds the aura," came a voice behind him.

Fushimi whirled around, only to be taken all at once by supernatural arms that thrust him by the shoulders to the ground. His limbs as well were bound by glowing chains that suddenly appeared — conjured by two Strains who stood on either side. The more he tried to squirm, the more tightly they would bind themselves around him.

Their task complete, his attackers stepped apart, leaving him to fidget in his place. Struggling uncomfortably, he peered up to encounter Rei Kiyoka propped inside the doorway, her features calm, her arms crossed lazily before her.

For a moment there was silence. Neither one of them moved. How long has she been here? Fushimi wondered. And how much did she hear?

"You'd be right, you know," Kiyoka informed him, stepping into the room. "As it is, you cannot access the algorithm. No one can. No one except me."

Fushimi cocked his head, sending out a look of pure annoyance. "What you're saying doesn't make sense. What about Kawaguchi Industries?”

"What about them?"

"You know damn well what. You said you created the Kawaguchi Algorithm, and yet you also stole it from them? Why would you steal something you supposedly created?"

Kiyoka tapped her fingers on her chin, humming at the ceiling. ”Is it technically stealing if you're just taking back what’s already yours?" Peering back at him, her emerald eyes took on a neon glow from that of the screens.

"Kawaguchi stole it from me. I simply stole it back,” she explained. "Or rather, I stole all of Kawaguchi Industries in addition to my algorithm. Girl needs payback every now and again. So I guess you can say, I am now Kawaguchi Industries.”

Fushimi scoffed at her. ”You?”

"What? You don't believe that I would use the very algorithm I created to commandeer the company that stole it from me, so becoming the head of my own organization?”

"A corrupt organization, I'm sure,” he mumbled under his breath.

"But you're not so sure, are you?” She said, her eyes fixated on him, glowing, searching, eerily calculated. “I can see it,” she went on. “Something in your eyes that tells me, even in its smallest form, that you believe me. But of course, it's only natural that one creator recognizes another, you being the one who built the Yuishiki System after all."

Fushimi scowled, taken aback. "How did you – ?"

“Admit it. You believe that I would create something as outrageous as the Kawaguchi Algorithm because it's something you yourself would create. You have already created it, in your own way. So why is it so hard to believe that someone else could ever be like you?”

Blinking wide, Fushimi stared at her. Like me? He thought, suddenly speculative.

“But if you insist on being stubborn, go ahead, look into it," Kiyoka offered. "Take a peek inside Kawaguchi Industries. Plug it into your prize, the Yuishiki System, and see what you find."

Hold on, He thought. Clearly she’d have a lot to gain from holding me captive. So why is she telling me all this? “Are you saying you plan to me go?” He said aloud. “Again?”

Kiyoka shrugged. “I thought I made it clear - “

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can’t kill me because He wouldn’t like it. But just who is this ‘He,’ you’re referring to? Anyone I know?”

Just then a little glimmer flashed across her eyes; or perhaps it was the haze from all the screens. Either way, Fushimi caught it, and Kiyoka blinked away, almost self-consciously.

“So you let me go,” Fushimi said, ”And in the meantime, you just get to disappear, am I right? While you send me off on another wild goose chase, off you go scot free." He shook his head. “I don't think so. I'm going to find out what it is you’re planning, and when I do, I will stop you. You don't get to be the one left standing at the end of this.”

“And I suppose you believe that you deserve that right instead?" Kiyoka asked, recovering her playful attitude.

"No one deserves that right," he shot back. "Besides, simply being the one left standing doesn't necessarily mean that I've beaten you. You will have tried, failed, and lost, all on your own. And what do I get? Some pathetic sense of victory that doesn't mean shit. That's not winning. The rules of this world don't allow us the luxury of winning. That's why I change the rules. If I'm not the one left standing, it's because I will have made sure that you're the one to fall, even if it means tying a noose around both our necks. I'll take you down with me if I have to.”

Kiyoka clicked her tongue. ”What a stupid way to go."

"For you, maybe. But not for me. Because unlike you, driven down against your will, I will have chosen for myself, a decision you will have failed to take away from me. As it happens, I will be the one who inevitably strips you of that right. That’s when I’ll know that I’ve won: when I’ve taken everything from you, even your ability to choose.”

At this, Kiyoka paused, nodding slowly. ”I see.” Eyeing a chair beside her, she reached her fingers out, fiddling the upholstery. “And are you so certain that I’ve not already made my choice? That I've not already found the path I wish to take down into hell, and that this isn't just my way of carrying it out?"

Gradually, she turned to look at him, a darkness in her eye.

“Perhaps this noose around my neck has already been tied, but it was I who tied it there; I who am now counting on you to let go of the other end, to give the final push. And for that, I can’t have you diving in head first before it’s time.”

”What are you saying?” Fushimi asked. “That you actually want me to kill you?"

“Kill me?” She chuckled sharply. Then her tone fell flat. “If only it were that easy. No, what I’m saying is this: that if I can't rely on you, Saruhiko Fushimi, then what really is the point of you?” All at once her playfulness subsided, as though it were a mask, finally stripped away. Not even in her eyes did he detect a sense of cunning anymore. As it was, her bluntness, almost human in simplicity and earnestness, had thrown him off completely.

“The hell?” He said in actual bewilderment.

Kiyoka didn’t stop. “You know, it would be one thing if you were simply unreliable. But after what you just said — all that blind talk of taking me down with you — you're not even that, are you? You're worse. Because you still can't even bring yourself to figure out why you should be relied upon, and why it is you can’t be. You’re too busy obsessing over the wrong things to even notice the bigger picture.” She shook her head slowly. “Someone with that big of a propensity for oversight is nothing more than a waste of good intellect – not even useful enough to be used.” She made a turn for the door and paused, her voice weighed down, strained. “What a disappointment.” Then with a tired flick of her hand, signaling her men, she exited the room without another word.

Feeling oddly anxious, Fushimi opened his mouth to stop her. Her words, he found, had left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not that he quite figured what to say to make her stay, only that by letting her continue, to watch her walk away, out his sight, he’d somehow lose her further to the darkness, one that no one else could see nor venture through but her. Somehow, this unnerved him, and prompted him to call her back; yet as he did, the aura-chain that bound him rung itself more thoroughly around him, burning him as would a red-hot iron pressed against his skin. He let out an instant cry, mainly from surprise, and that’s when he heard it: the item he'd been waiting on: the metal disk he placed atop the computer drive let out its own alarm.

Sudden action flooded into his face. With a rising grunt, he forced his limbs against the chains, unleashing both his auras in a two-fold blast that overwhelmed his captors, obliterating them, the chains, as well as half the computer room; more importantly, the evidence that he had seen regarding Aka Shinzu Technologies, information he was then certain Rei Kiyoka had no knowledge of. For once, he’d gained the upper hand.

Snatching up the disk, he ducked out through the newly blasted wall, only to discover a small army of aura-wielders in the presence of Rei Kiyoka, turned to witness the commotion.

For but an instant, their eyes met. Something of alarm — no; excitement, maybe? — carried in Rei Kiyoka’s gaze, and then she gave the order and her followers unleashed themselves.

Fushimi held a lasting glance on Kiyoka, observing her, then drew his saber outward in a flourish of his power, and vanished into the darkness.

He could still hear the shouts of Kiyoka issuing her orders to pursue, even when he was certain of escape, and it was several more moments before the final hints of aura flashes dwindled away behind him.

At last, he gained the fresh clean air and early rays of dawn atop the surface, though feeling somewhat strange, empty, as though inside the darkness of the Underworld, where Rei Kiyoka lingered, a part of him belonged: where the fierceness of the light forever failed to penetrate.

Exhaustedly, he stared up at the sky, sensed a gust of wind and closed his eyes against it, letting out a long, unhindered sigh.

Reflecting on Rei Kiyoka’s words, everything about her, everything that happened, none of it made sense. She won’t kill me; she won’t take me hostage; she knows I’m powerful enough, and that those chains would never have held me had I really wanted to escape. She could have used her own aura to stop me, but she didn’t. She let me go. But she wanted me — no, she wanted them to think she did everything she could.

Faced then with the unavoidable truth, he caved. She’s right, I’ve been obsessing over the wrong thing. There’s something more to it. I just can’t seem to see it yet. And that’s the thing: I do actually believe her, or rather, I believe that everything she’s telling me is just one piece of the puzzle - only half the truth. Before, I mistook that for lies, but now I get it. Only half a truth doesn’t necessarily make it a lie. It just means there’s more that needs to be told. And obviously she has a reason for not telling me, which makes her dangerous. I just have to figure out the rest of the puzzle. Only then will I be able to…

Again, he sighed, uncommonly troubled.

Opening his eyes, staring at the yellow morning glow, he hailed the Captain on the comms.

"I was wondering when I'd hear from you, Mr. Fushimi," the Captain answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Yes. No. Hell, I have no idea, he thought. Why does that question seem so hard to answer right now? Therefore, instead, he simply asked, “What do you know about an Aka Shinku Technologies, Captain?”

There was a slight pause. ”Very little, I'm afraid. Merely that it is an organization in name only, but that below the surface lies a collection of supernatural beings with, shall we say, questionable motives."

"You could just say 'terror organization,’ Captain."

"Very well, then. From what I’ve gathered, their primary focus lies in exercising supernatural dominance over those they deem as lesser or sub-standard.”

“Sub-standard? You mean regular humans?”

“Precisely. They believe supernatural beings should be at the forefront of society. Therefore, they employ certain criminal tactics centered on aggression so as to bring about fear, and ultimately submission to that same dominance they believe is owed to them. But why do you ask? What is their affiliation with this case?”

"I believe Rei Kiyoka is working with them. Somehow the algorithm's involved, too, but..."

"But what?"

“I’m not really sure. It could be just a feeling but…whatever it is she's planning, and whatever she’s about to do…I think she wants me to stop her.”

(Chapter III: Hakkā // Chapter V: Allegiance)

(K:Tales of Midnight is an Eso Niko Fan Fiction series based on the anime/manga series K, written by GoRa and produced by GoHands. All fan fiction works written by Eso Niko are categorized as ‘unofficial fan fiction,’ and are in no way affiliated to GoRa and GoHands.)

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raeofalbion · 5 years

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2018 Writer’s Review

Tagged by: @ellstersmash, who tagged everyone who saw their post. (I’m leaving my original writing out of this cuz that folder’s a mess of other folders and I’m lazy, but that’s definitely gonna skew the numbers, sorry.)

Words written in 2018: 295,282 (across all documents; 99,329 made it to Ao3)

Number of short fics/drabbles written in 2018: 5

Number of fic chapters written in 2018: 54

Number of chaptered fics completed in 2018: 2

DoV and Blackout were both completed last year. DoV at the very beginning, Blackout at the very end...like bookends or something.

Fandoms: Fable, BBC Sherlock, Tom Becker’s Darkside

Pairings: Reaver/Hero of Brightwall, Sherlock/Jim, Glory/Roseheart

Proudest achievements: - DoV, honestly. - Juggling two fandoms without having a horrible breakdown for the first time in...a very long time.

I’m honestly proud of everything I wrote last year. It might not have all been good, but I did my best and that’s all I can really hope for, right?

Writing goals for 2019:

- Post Blackout - Finish the Labyrinth AU - Make enough progress on either the Writer AU or the Bakery AU that I can start posting it. - Make progress on the final part of Shattered Albion. - Just. Write. Stuff.

Tagging: @marcceh @rebeldynasty @canadian-riddler @acapelladitty @kiramartinauthor and you, if you’re a writer and you see this and want to do it.

#memes #writing #not a fic #I really need to stop starting new fics and start completing old ones tbh

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shahadaye · 5 years

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5 TIPS TO PROTECT YOUR LAPTOP WHILE TRAVELIN

I've always been lucky myself and except for charging cables and boxer shorts I've never been stolen while traveling. However, many stories tell me that you should protect your technical equipment well. Joe explains in this guest post how to double and triple secure.

I am completely honest with you. My lack of bad experiences and my belief in the goodness of people (or call it naivety) ensures that I handle my technical equipment while traveling partially negligent.

It is quite easy to protect yourself and your laptop while traveling. What possibilities there are (from easy to extreme) shows you guest author Joe Görbert, I recently met in Berlin.

Curtain up for Joe!

For many of us, the laptop is at the heart of our work as digital nomads. One of the biggest horror stories is losing his laptop and possibly being restricted to working weeks for weeks, or even worse, losing irretrievable data.

Many of us may also have legal risks in case of a theft, because as a service provider you are responsible for the security of your customers' confidential data and passwords.

While some afford no-brainer and lose their laptop, on my travels I often see people suffering the loss of this important device (and sometimes other expensive items on occasion) due to less predictable circumstances.

In this article I want you as a long-standing tech Traveling business plan copywriter who lost themselves for over € 5,000 of equipment during burglaries, robberies, pilfering (secret opening of luggage, such as during bus rides or layovers) and Trick / pickpocketing has my Give the best tricks to you, so you never have to do this terrible experience.

# 1: CHAIN IT- USE ALL THE POWER OF THE LAPTOP LOCK

A laptop lock is part of the basic equipment of every digital nomad. Only in the safest of all accommodations is the laptop left unlocked without supervision.

Above all, combination locks are suitable so that you do not lose the key. Incidentally, you should definitely write down the combination / take a photo somewhere. You do not want to know how often I sat in front of the castle after 4-6 weeks break with blackout.

If there are no objects or pipes in the room (bathroom checked?) To which the laptop can be plugged in when absent, it might be a good idea to connect the laptop to the suitcase.

This also makes the theft difficult, as thieves on the one hand prefer short "in-and-out" operations on the other, but they do not want to have to transport large, visible loot.

Also: If you still have one or the other valuable device lying around, it may be enough to satisfy the thief, and the laptop will stay with you. The less other stolen goods, the higher the likelihood that thieves attack the laptop or even destroy it out of frustration if they do not get rid of it.

# 2: TRY 'N' THREATEN!

If there is absolutely no way to secure the laptop in this way, you can make eye-catching writing notes for a potential thief in English or local language.

The note warns of a built-in GPS tracking and impregnation with artificial DNA, with which the device is traceable. This has already saved me in at least one case.

The affected HP in this episode was second-hand and had therefore incorporated an emblem of a magnet in the cover, which at the time went back to the monitoring system of the previous owner, a company. The thieves have left the device behind, but when they broke into my hotel room, they let other equipment worth over € 900 go along.

Of course, artificial DNA is, by the way, also a very interesting thing, especially if the theft occurs in a country with a functioning security system or there are indications of the perpetrator. Some of the DNA tracking products are very difficult to wash off and they are provided with an additive that is visible under UV light.

# 3: JUST PUT IT ON - BECAUSE MORE IS NEVER WRONG

In the meantime, cut-resistant bags such as the PacSafe , which are also secured with a wire lock , are also available for smaller electronic devices . Of course, all wire locks for a small hacksaw are only a matter of minutes of sawing, but most thieves are occasional thieves and poorly equipped.

A small bike lock and a good suitcase with a smart suitcase lock can also help protect the laptop in places with poor security.

When transporting: shoulder bags are easier to tear away than a backpack, but this can be opened in busy places unnoticed from behind. So think about when choosing your equipment.

A small cable lock is easy to weave on most backpacks through the zippers, but also signals the presence of valuables. It may therefore be useful in certain scenarios, to hang a few plastic bags or a towel on / over the backpack, so you do not come over as possible, someone who transports valuable.

Excursus: Preventive data protection in case of theft

Of course, the importance of protecting personal information and passwords is beyond question. The general access password should be as long and complicated as possible. Absolutely critical information is encrypted ( Truecrypt is unfortunately no longer reasonably continued in the course of the NSA affair, which is why VeraCrypt is recommended today).

Also, you always need a USB stick or maybe even a written list of passwords that require a password change after a lost laptop (Paypal, email account, etc.).

I also still have somewhere inaccessible hidden a 500 GB hard drive, where again critical work files are on it. I'm trying to update this disk on a monthly basis.

Of course, in this context, it must also be mentioned that there are already lucky people who have moved completely into the cloud these days and manage the majority of their digital treasure (but of course under the permanent supervision of the secret services) in a completely mobile way and one or more potent computers from can control and serve anywhere in the world with good Internet.

They have other data leaks to worry about, but in any case, the loss of their hardware would, in most cases, make them less harsh - provided of course they have protected all access.

# 4: READ YOUR ENVIRONMENT

If someone decides to rob someone else, he needs an opportunity and he has to look for it. You have to search with your eyes. If you are able to spot a potential thief or robber before he or she recognizes you, you have very little chance of being robbed (especially if you've made some preparations that we'll cover in the later stages) to come speak).

In different environments, there are various ways to attack someone openly or to steal by hand or ambush. Always be aware of your surroundings and move accordingly. Do not be lectured or distracted in any other way.

A skilful laptop theft that happens at train stations in Buenos Aires is the push of a person carrying a bag between their legs, just after a key has been thrown from the other side. Most people do not wrap the loop around their legs (highly recommended in principle, especially for physically inferior people).

The victim looks in the direction of where the key was thrown, is pushed from the other side and the bag is torn away. After that, the perpetrators disappear in the labyrinth of the bus station. There are no cameras, there are not even mirrors (would probably bring nothing). The biggest frustration remains.

Only those who are in the mood for even more nerve destruction or equipment insurance should decide to file a complaint with the Argentine police. That's important for the statistics, so one of the policemen said to me on another occasion. The perpetrators are no longer apprehended in this life.

WHEN IT GETS DIRTY - EQUIPMENT FOR DEFENSE

Sometimes, the circumstances, budget, or stupid ideas in the life of a digital nomad dictate that he has to carry expensive equipment in situations that are totally inappropriate.

In order to make the high risk both neurologically-psychological and in the worst case of the pure superiority of firepower manageable, I advise each digital nomad two things.

Once you are familiar with the principles of armed combat (attention, this link has a fierce image of a knife injury), best Krav Maga .

Secondly, you should always have basic self-defense equipment that will suit your fighting style and physical condition. For many women, this is irritant gas and for men mostly the combination of a strong laser pointer and a small folding knife.

It is not a matter of hurting the offender, but of being able to lead more bargaining power in a dispute , so that a critical damage can be averted.

However, the situation must be read correctly: With an open or suspected hidden supremacy of more than 1 in 3 and the use of firearms, resistance is without question lethal. In the vast majority of cases, however, one is equipped and willing to protect one's stuff, in principle a good opportunity to avert at least the worst by negotiating or responding quickly.

I once knew someone who has built a device in his laptop, which he not only GPS track (see also the following article on built-in GPS tracker ) but allegedly could detonate via Internet command and which in this case destroys the hard drive.

Maybe also an option, if you want to belong to the Extrakrassen. I do not know if the colleagues at the security check it up, but I found it worth mentioning. By the way: Remote Data Destruction Software is also available and should work pretty well.

Conclusion: Some of the hints mentioned here seem to be somewhat violent. But I believe that we are sliding into a future in which we can count less and less on the security forces of the state. At least when it comes to protecting us as ordinary citizens from those who are hungry, hungry and in a laptop of great value.

For us, however, the laptop still has the largest (and immaterial) value. Therefore, we should use all methods of protecting the vehicle of our freedom and prosperity with the utmost care and determination. If you are looking for more information about hp touch screen laptop. visit hp touch screen laptop right away.

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alexcastro-me · 6 years

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Chapter 34: Seal Upon the Heart

Read the full chapter go to “I Don’t Think I Can Live Without You” by Alex Castro

Summary:

Set me as a seal upon your heart; for love is stronger than death

Chapter Text

When a few minutes before midnight the power went off and all of Venice was submerged in complete darkness, Alec knew the time for the final battle was finally here. He looked out the window and saw candles being lighted in several windows across the canal and was thankful that the evening was cold and that the blackout was likely to make mundanes stay in their houses rather than venture out onto the streets. Still, with the blackout, the number of demon and vamp attacks increased, likely another of Annaliese’s strategies to distract the Shadowhunters and keep them busy and away from the center of the city. The only difference was that the Nephilim became the almost exclusive target of the attacks.

After asking Kat to reinforce the wards and Jeremy to ensure that their angelic power generator was functioning properly, Alec and Jace readied themselves and their small team to leave. Izzy returned to the institute as soon as she got Alec’s call, and she along with two of Eldermark’s best soldiers were the only other members of the team. As they had done when they pursued the warlocks to Florence, they had decided to go small and stealthy, hoping not to call too much attention to themselves. If it wasn’t for the fear of getting lost in the labyrinth that was the city, Alec would have preferred not to bring any one else except for his brother and sister. But if Venice was a maze in the daylight, he could only image how hard it would be to negotiate its narrow streets, canals and innumerable bridges in a blackout.

“Alec, keep this with you at all times,” instructed Kat as she attached a small charm to Alec’s quiver. “It will act as a homing beacon allowing me to track you and deliver what you need when the time comes.” Alec replied with a nod that conveyed the trust he felt towards the warlock that in the last few weeks had become an ally and a friend.

“And please do your best to bring that annoying and troublesome warlock back to us,” added Catarina as she handed Alec, Jace and Izzy small bottles containing healing potions. “A little warlock magic to complement your ‘superior’ healing powers,” she said when Jace gave her a questioning look, adding a sarcastic inflection to the world superior.

“Thank you, Catarina. I will bring Magnus back,” stated Alec his voice conveying a conviction that he hoped sounded genuine.

Kat took Alec by the arm and guided him towards a quiet corner of the room. “There is a magic connection between you and Magnus,” she said. “A connection like I have never seen before. You have felt it, haven’t you? You have felt the magic that constantly flows between you. At times, it is very faint, but at others I can almost see it. That connection will be critical in this battle. Trust it to the very end, Alec. You know that this battle will be won only as long as the two of you work together.” Alec’s reply was a single but decisive nod.

“We are being herded,” Jace whispered beside Alec almost three hours later, the glow of his seraph blade faintly illuminating his face.

Alec glanced towards his parabatai and, despite the almost complete darkness, saw the look of exhaustion on his face. Alec thought that Jace’s energy rune must be almost completely depleted and his own was not much better. Their night vision rune was also faltering, but they dared not use witch light for fear of being detected. They had been fighting almost nonstop since they had walked out of the palazzo. Packs of vampires and demons had ambushed them and tried to either stop them or delay them as Alec and his team attempted to reach the Venice Institute on Saint Mark’s Square. Only once, they had been attacked by warlocks, but Alec had repeatedly felt their presence following at a distance as if shadowing them or checking in on their progress.

Venice had proven to be the worst possible place to be confronting demons and downworlders. Its narrow streets, alleyways full of blind corners, bridges and canals made for a traitorous battle field, and the constant need to jump across canals while avoiding falling into the dark waters put their endurance and stamina runes to the test. They also had to remain glamored and avoid mundanes; yet, as their invisibility runes also became depleted, invisibility became harder; glamors had also always been tricky and required more power near the water.

Alec and his team had killed several vampires and more demons that they cared to count. Most of the vamps had been too weak or feral to put up much of a fight. The shax and ravener demons had been another story, and their attacks had been particularly vicious and put their fighting skills to the test. By the time they could see the twin campaniles glowing against the starry night as if fire was being stoked under them, they had lost one of the Venice Shadowhunters to a ravener.

And then, a couple of minutes ago as they creeped along a canal closing in on one of the entrances to the square, they had run into a group of shax demons led by two warlocks. One of the warlocks and three demons had pushed Jace and Alec across a bridge, and, as soon as they were at the other side, the other warlock had cast a spell in the direction of the canal and had raised a wall of water that finally separated Jace and Alec from Izzy and their companion. Jace had quickly dispatched the warlock and Alec had killed the demons, but the warlock standing at the other side of the canal had maintained the water wall in place. “Keep going Alec,” Izzy had yelled from the other side of the barrier. “We will find another way.”

Alec now nodded in response to Jace’s statement. He had suspected for a while that the warlocks were herding them, barring their way or letting them advance according to a predetermined design. They had been under constant attack, but the warlocks had not tried to kill them yet. Instead, they were exhausting them, pushing them beyond the limits of their endurance, making sure that they arrived where they were expected too fatigued to effectively put up a fight. As they creeped, walked and at times run along dark and narrow alleys, over bridges and around blind corners, Alec had felt like a rat trapped in a labyrinth, forced to follow the route already demarcated by Annaliese. He also suspected that they wouldn’t be allowed to approach the square until Annaliese was ready for them. He just hoped that by then it would not be too late.

The question that Alec kept asking himself, as he and his parabatai walked along a dark narrow street towards an archway that led into Saint Mark’s square, was why Jace was being herded along with him. He checked his watch and realized that it was almost time, that in less than ten minutes, the star that marked the end of the way would finally come into alignment.

“Come on Kat, don’t fail us now,” Alec thought as he and Jace momentarily stopped under the archway trying to get their bearings. He looked towards the dark square trying to ascertain not whether, but rather where they were more likely to be ambushed.

He and Magnus has spent an enjoyable evening in the square just a few months ago. They had walked around the plaza, Magnus delighting him with stories of his many adventures in the city; of nights spent in the company of more than one prominent historical figure, or with many of the city’s downworlders. Alec had laughed, and when Magnus asked him whether his stories of past adventures and affairs bothered him, Alec had said that they didn’t, that he liked that Magnus didn’t feel he had to censor himself around him. They had sat at an outdoor café listening to the bands that took turns playing on the different stages set up around the plaza, waiting for the lights to come on, and Alec had idly observed that the square was the perfect place for an ambush. It had only three real exit points: the narrow archway under which he and Jace were now standing, and two exits on either side of Saint Mark’s Basilica at least two hundred meters away, one leading to the waterfront, the other into a smaller square and a narrow street that run along the side of the Basilica. Once you were inside the plaza, you were pretty much boxed in and there was no escape from it that was not through those entry points, unless, of course, you could fly.

“Always thinking as a Shadowhunter, Alexander,” Magnus had said with a flirtatious smile.

“I can’t help it, warlock; it is in my nature,” Alec had replied, and his voice had carried the full force of a promise. All thoughts of ambushes, traps and battle strategies had been forgotten then because Magnus had closed the distance between them and had begun to whisper promises of his own in Alec’s ear. At that moment, thousands of white lights set along the edges of the windows and roofs of the buildings surrounding the plaza had been turned on and suddenly it seemed like the square was floating amid the stars.

The memory of that night offered a striking contrast to the darkness, emptiness and silence that dominated the square now. As Alec looked towards the Basilica at the other end of the plaza, he saw the orange glow of what looked like a fire set between the twin campaniles, and the glow not only broke the relentless darkness that dominated the rest of the plaza, but also marked the end of the line for them, the last target in this bloody war.

“You know we are walking into a trap, don’t you?” Alec asked Jace, as he checked to make sure his bow and quiver remained firmly fasten to his back and were still concealed under their invisibility spell.

“Bring it,” Jace said and he gave Alec one of his golden smiles, the smile containing self-assurance and not a small dose of arrogance. “I am with you all the way, brother, not matter what.”

“Thank you,” Alec whispered and thought that even if it was just he and Jace, there was no one else with whom he would rather go into battle. He tightened his grip in the blade in his hand, the blade and a dirk attached to his leg the last weapons left in the arsenal he had been carrying. “Be careful, we will be exposed in the square.”

Suddenly, as he was about to step out of the archway, a small piece of paper folded in the shape of a bird materialized a meter above Alec’s head. When Alec extended his hand out, it flew down, landed on his palm and immediately caught fire. As the fire message burned and its ashes were blown by the wind, Alec felt a faint rattle in his quiver as if one of the arrows stored in it had vibrated. The fire message burned immediately because it contained no message at all; it was itself a message, a signal, the signal that Alec had been waiting for. He had kept his bow and quiver glamored all through the battle and had not used them even when an arrow would have helped decide the fight in their favor. He had kept them hidden waiting and hoping for the moment when Kat would send the signal that the magic arrow that could decide the battle was ready. He turned to Jace and gave him a small nod, and Jace nodded back, the message clearly received.

“It looks like it is just the two of us brother,” Jace whispered, as he followed Alec into the square and began to walk in the direction of where the fire glowed less than two hundred meters away.

However, they hadn’t walked more than fifteen meters when four warlocks, red and blue blazing magic balls in their hands, emerged from the dark archways that surrounded the plaza and blocked their way. When Alec looked back, he saw that two other warlocks now barred the entrance through which he and Jace had just come in. They were not only, as he had feared, boxed in, but also outnumbered and surrounded.

As he took a defensive stand, legs apart, knees lightly bent, blade at the ready, he turned to look at Jace and saw that his parabatai had taken out his stele and was activating the last of his stamina runes. “I’ll distract them, you go do what you have to do Alec,” Jace said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Alec took out his own stele and touching it to a spot right above his left wrist, activated his agility rune. Gripping his blade firmly in his hand, he leaped in the air, summersaulted and landed at the other side of the warlocks, the movement so blindingly fast that one of them, a young man that looked not older than twenty, didn’t have enough time to turn before Alec’s blade run him through and almost cut him in half. The warlock fell to his knees grasping his chest before collapsing to the floor. But Alec didn’t witness the last second of the warlock’s life because as soon as he pulled back the blade from the warlock’s back, he leaped in the air again and this time graciously landed on the roof of one of the buildings. From there Alec saw how Jace’s blade deflected each one of the fire balls the warlocks sent in his direction. However, he didn’t have time to wait for Jace; for two of the warlocks leaped after him and landed on the same roof just a few meters away.

Alec run along the roof, avoiding chimneys and exhaust tubes, and dogging the fireballs from both the warlocks pursuing him along the roof as well as another that run alongside him on the ground. As he closed the distance between himself and the Basilica, he registered a low murmur coming from a spot between the two campaniles, in the part of the plaza that separated the Venetian central library and the Doge’s palace.

At that moment, Jeremy and Kat were stealthily approaching the plaza hiding between the columns of the Doge’s Palace’s archways. Kat had enchanted a gondola to silently and undetectably carry them from their palazzo to the canal that bordered the Doge’s palace. They had come to a stop under Ponte del Sospiri, and there Kat had performed the last spells required to assemble the arrow that she hoped had the power of sealing a rift to Hades.

As she, Magnus and Catarina had planned, the spells Kat worked were rather simple. Or rather, they were a set of simple spells intertwined to form a more complex and rather volatile one. Still, due to the distances and the many ingredients needed, the spell drained a considerable amount of her powers. With the flick of her wrist, Kat activated the enchantment she had put in the magic flasks she had given Raphael and Luke. After drawing a small amount of blood directly from the werewolf and the vampire’s hearts, the flasks magically transported right onto Kat’s palm. Wherever they were, Luke and Raphael had felt a sudden sharp pain on their chest, but the discomfort had quickly subsided. The blood of the innocent had required a little bit more inventiveness, but a quick and carefully timed visit by Caterina to a neighbor’s house to borrow a candle was enough to procure the small amount of the mundane blood needed. Likely, when the unsuspecting neighbor opened the door and suddenly experienced a sharp pain in the chest, Caterina told them that it looked like they were experiencing a drop in their blood pressure, and that she was a nurse and happy to check their vitals and make sure they were alright. The only ingredients missing were the blood of the Nephilim and of the beloved, but for that they needed Alec and Magnus. Hopefully Alec would be able to perform that last task, she thought as she sent the fire message to Alec and, using the homing signal emitted by the charm attached to Alec’s quiver, sent the enchanted arrow to its destination.

As Kat and Jeremy approached the waterfront entrance to Saint Mark’s square, they noticed that there were no demons around and that the warlocks were not as concerned with attacks than they had been on the way there. They were likely confident that the Shadowhunters were occupied by the demon and vamp attacks in other parts of the city, or believed that any attempt of stop them would simply be futile.

Jeremy gently elbowed Kat and signaled for her to look in the direction of the library at the other side of the square’s entrance. There Kat saw the soft pulsation of a witch light sending a faint signal in their direction from a dark corner of the building. “It is Izzy,” Jeremy whispered recognizing the series of pulsations learned in years of training. He took out his own witch light and sent a faint signal in response, and he was glad that they were not alone, that Izzy too had made it.

As they closed the distance between them and the square, they began to hear the familiar but still faint chanting of the warlocks. Jeremy looked towards Kat and seeing in her expression the struggle she was waging with herself, remembered that she no longer carried the Hades charm that had protected her from whatever force Annaliese had used to summon the warlocks. Turning to Kat, Jeremy held her firmly by her arms. “Kat, stay with me,” he whispered, his eyes conveying not only urgency and desperation, but also all the love he felt for this enchanting, mysterious and strong woman, “I need you to fight it.”

After a moment of confusion, something in Kat’s eyes shifted, as if she had reined in her self-control and she fixed her own eyes on Jeremy and nodded. “I am fine,” she said and with a snap of her fingers cast a spell on herself that she hoped would be enough to prevent Annaliese from taking control of her, at least until Alec arrived. “My powers are low,” she then told Jeremy, “remember your promise.”

Jeremy nodded once, acknowledging that he remembered the promise Kat had extracted from him the night before in the intimacy of their bed; that he would use his seraph blade on her if she lost control of her powers.

As soon as they reached the corner of the Doge’s Palace, Kat got her first glance of Annaliese in the more than five hundred years since she met the warlock in Peru. Annaliese was standing on a spot between the two large granite columns that stood at the waterfront entrance to the square. The columns were as well-known as Saint Mark’s Basilica, and as old as the twin campaniles that stood in the background less than fifty meters away. The columns had served many purposes over the centuries. Gambling had once been permitted in the space between them and they had also been the site for many public executions. Tonight, the columns seemed to mark the place where the rift to Hades was to be opened. Strategically placed magic bonfires provided the only illumination in the plaza and covered the site and the people standing around in an orange glow.

Kat surveyed the scene unfolding before her and saw the enormous pentagram drawn on the stone floor, its red lines shimmering suggesting that they had been drawn in fresh blood. The source of the blood became quickly evident when she looked to the barely illuminated silhouettes standing around the pentagram. Several warlocks guarded shackled and chained werewolves and vampires, their faces revealing intense agony, as their guards used magic to extract a steady trickle of blood from their hearts; the blood feeding the thin stream that made up the pentagram. Mundane children, apparently unharmed despite their vacant and absent expressions, stood at each point of the pentagram and around them, warlocks continued their steady and low chanting. No blood was being drawn from the children which suggested that their sacrifice would come later, likely at the hands of Lilith.

Kat looked to the familiar lonely figure that stood on Annaliese’s other side, somewhat apart from the rest of the group, and recognized Declan, a warlock she had considered a friend once, the one who had taught her the procedure she and Magnus used to remove Alec’s rune. Kat wasn’t surprised to see the old warlock there; he had always held strong ideas about the superiority of Lilith’s Children.

“We are running out of time,” Kat whispered when she saw three warlocks escorting Magnus out of the Basilica. Magnus walked with difficulty due to the heavy shackles and chains around his wrists and ankles, but he looked otherwise unharmed. The warlocks took Magnus to the center of the pentagram and one of them fastened the chain that linked the shackles around Magnus’ ankles to an iron lop on the ground, and Declan enchanted it likely to make it unbreakable. They then removed Magnus’ handcuffs, but as soon as his wrists were free, Declan sent a silvery magic stream that wrapped itself around Magnus’ body preventing any attempt to move, resist or run.

“It didn’t have to be this way Magnus,” Annaliese said, as she approached him, her voice as soft as ever, her face still maintaining its eternal and deceiving look of innocence, her ruby red eyes reflecting the glow from the fires. “You know you belong with us, with me. This has always been your destiny, your home. We have always been your people.”

“Annaliese,” Magnus said, his voice pleading, “you can still stop all of this.”

“But I will grant you a final wish,” Annaliese went on as if she hadn’t heard Magnus’ plea. “I will let you look into the eyes of your Shadowhunter boy one last time.” She then signaled to Declan and the warlock made a semi-circular motion with his arms and directed the magic stream that restrained Magnus to turn him to face the opposite side of the plaza away from the waterfront and from Annaliese. Magnus looked out beyond the glow of the fires, towards the darkness that still covered most of the square, and the sudden change in the echo of Alec’s heartbeat on his omamori mark told him that Alec had seen him; that he was out there somewhere; that he, Magnus, would not have to face what was coming alone.

At the far end of the plaza, from the place where he was perched on the cornice of the Saint Mark’s Clock Tower, concealed in the shadow of its bell, Alec recognized Magnus’ unmistakable figure as he was escorted out of the Basilica and towards the center of the pentagram. When the warlock standing beside Annaliese forced Magnus to turn in his direction, Alec’ heart jumped in his chest as his eyes landed on the handsome face of the man he loved and would love for the rest of his life, and which Alec could clearly see despite the distance that separated them.

Alec rested his hand on his chest and sent a prayer to anyone listening. “Please grant me the strength to do what I must.” Using what remained of his agility rune, he then leaped and landed silently and gracefully on the stone ground four floors below. When he looked back in Magnus’ direction, his eyes met the warlock’s across the long distance that still separated them and, for a moment, Alex was sure that Magnus could see him, for he faintly smiled, as if to tell Alec that everything would be okay.

From the corner of his eye, Alec perceived movement and when he turned saw that two warlocks were carrying an unconscious Jace towards the pentagram. His parabatai was bleeding, but the connection they shared told Alec that Jace was not seriously injured, at least not yet. The warlocks carried Jace to one of the granite columns and chained him to it. Annaliese approached him, the Chasa staff in her hand and she wetted its tip in some of Jace’s blood.

“Since your Shadowhunter boy is to play a different role in tonight’s program, I had to get another Nephilim,” said Annaliese when Magnus turned his head to look at Jace’s inert figure chained to the column. “I need fresh Nephilim blood to reanimate the one I took from the hearts of the dead ones. This one would do nicely because he has the face and the blood of an angel.” She then signaled to another warlock, who approached Jace, a knife in hand, ready, Magnus suspected, to cut out Jace’s heart at the precise moment during the summoning.

Annaliese looked up towards the star-studded sky in search of the one star that indicated that the moment she had been waiting for all her very long life was finally here. She had gone through so much, suffered so much, given up so much. Now, she would finally achieve her goal; she would finally experience the loving embrace of a mother. Through her connection to Lilith, Annaliese felt her impatience as Lilith stood at the border between realms, eager, ready to finally walk across the threshold and return to the garden from which she had been so unjustly expelled by a god too proud to recognize true love.

As if obeying a silent order, as soon as the star came into alignment, the warlocks increased the pace and volume of their chanting, and Annaliese, eyes closed, began to tap the bloody tip of the staff against the stone ground, right on the point of the pentagram that the ancients assigned to the spirit. As she did, the ground began to shake and a loud sound of cracking wood rose from deep underground. Feeling the vibrations beneath his feet, Alec remembered what Magnus had told him during their last visit, that the city was built on millions of alder tree piles. After almost a thousand years underwater, the piles had become petrified and as strong as stone, but just a short exposure to oxygen was enough to weaken them. Venice stands on water and its foundations are fragile, Alec thought as he cautiously and hastily made his way across the plaza, careful to stay hidden in the shadows.

As Annaliese weaken the already fragile fault line that separated this world from Hades, the stone inside the pentagram began to first crack and then melt, and a whirlpool of lava and water began to slowly form at the edges of the pentagram.

Alec stopped just outside the circle of light cast by the bonfires, and knowing that he was out of time, reached for his last dirk fastened to his leg. With swiftness and certainty, he made a thin cut across his lower arm and willed the blood to carry out some of his life force. He then took out his bow and reaching in his quiver for the enchanted arrow that Kat had sent him a few minutes ago, dipped its tip in his own blood before nocking it. He pulled the bow string with all his strength and aimed it towards the center of the pentagram, his eyes fixed on Magnus, millions of thoughts and feelings rushing through him.

Kat had been precise in her instructions, Alec had to pierce the space inside the pentagram, seal it by the combined life force of Nephilim, Downworld and mundane, and for the seal to hold, they needed Magnus’ demonic blood, not just any blood, but blood straight from the heart.

“Magnus,” he whispered, knowing that Magnus would not hear him. “Magnus, get out of the way. Don’t make me do this.”

But surprisingly, Magnus replied, just a small gesture, a nod, a smile on his lovely face. “Do your job Shadowhunter,” he mouthed. Alec clearly read the words in Magnus’ lips just before what looked like steam or smoke began to raise within the pentagram.

“Do your job Shadowhunter,” Alec whispered echoing Magnus’ words, and at that moment, all other thoughts disappeared and just he, Magnus and their mission existed. That, and the memory of what Kat had told him; that there was a strong connection between he and Magnus, a magic bond that he had to trust.

Annaliese briefly opened her eyes and through the veil of smoke rising within the pentagram, saw the dark silhouette of the Shadowhunter, his bow lifted and aimed, and a triumphant smile rose to her lips. She had known all along that when it came to their angelic duty, the Nephilim didn’t care for love or loyalty. Their incapacity to love those they could not accept, their incapacity to see downworlders as their equal, their prejudice and bigotry would be their undoing. Nephilim hatred would be her most secret and powerful weapon, and at the end, she would show Magnus, Magnus who had always been so naïve, that she had been right all along: the Nephilim are only capable of loving themselves.

What happened next happened almost simultaneously and at such a speed that anyone would have a hard time recounting later the exact order of events. Perhaps a split second before Alec made up his mind, Izzy, responding to a signal from Kat, run out of the shadows where she had been hidden and uncoiling her whip from her arm, unleashed it in Annaliese’s direction, its tip making a cracking sound as it flew through the air and caught the warlock in the wrist, momentarily halting the tapping of the staff against the ground, and weakening the veil of smoke rising within the pentagram. The action was meant just to distract and gain time, and Izzy was not completely surprised when another warlock sent a stream of dark red magic in her direction, the blow so powerful that it threw her backward several meters and she landed half-unconscious in a heap on the ground.

However, that was all the distraction Kat needed to step out of her and Jeremy’s hiding place and throw her own magic fireball in Declan’s direction, weakening his hold on Magnus, and forcing him to stumble backwards a few steps. The old warlock looked in Kat’s direction, astonishment clearly written on his face. Taking advantage of his surprise, Jeremy threw his last seraph blade directly into Declan’s chest.

At that precise moment, oblivious to everything else going on around him, Alec inhaled and closed his eyes and, as he exhaled, he released the arrow straight into Magnus’ chest. For a millisecond, a millisecond that seemed to go on forever, the arrow stood still, as if unable to reconcile the kinetic forces exercising influence over it: gravity, friction and push causing the arrow to bend before push prevailed and the arrow took off with unbelievable force.

Taking advantage of the weakening in Declan’s magic restrains, Magnus reached for Alec with all his powers, as if his powers were luminescent tendrils in search of home. Alec responded, sharing his energy across the distance, without the need for touch, for his life force was already intertwined with Magnus’. Magnus experienced a sudden surge of power, as he received the energy Alec shared, and the energy that built between warlock and Shadowhunter was enough to break Magnus’ restrains at the precise moment that Alec’s arrow reached Magnus’ chest.

The arrow, which tip was made of Hades stone and fortified with werewolf, vampire and mundane blood, pierced skin, sinew and muscle as it unrelentingly journeyed towards the warlock’s heart. When it reached his heart, Magnus willed some of his own blood to impregnate the arrowhead before he gave it an additional push that forced the arrow to continue on and leave his body through his back.

As the arrow exited, Magnus, finally free of his restrains, fell on one knee. Using the last of his strength, he turned in Annalise’s direction and extending his arms projected all his remaining power as well as the strength that Alec had shared with him into the arrow. For a millisecond, the arrow floated in midair just before Magnus altered its course, and sent it with renewed speed towards Annaliese’s midriff, directly into her center where he had felt Lilith’s dark powers calling to him before. Since the moment he had felt the energy emanating from Annaliese’s abdomen, Magnus had known that to ensure the permanent closure of the rift, they needed to also severe Annaliese’s connection to Lilith.

“Nipa ẹjẹ angeli ati ẹmi baba, ẹnu-ọna si Hédíìmù titi lailai,” Magnus whispered with the last of his breath. (By angel’s blood and father’s breath, the door to Hades forever be sealed).

The Hades metal in the arrowhead recognized its destination; the magnetic force that called to it; the place it had desperately wanted to return to since, as part of a magma rock, it had been thrown out of its home. As if pulled by an irresistible force, the arrow veered slightly downward and propelled by Magnus and Alec’s shared power, hit home in the middle of Annaliese’ abdomen with such force that Annalise was thrown back a few meters. Just before she hit the ground, she looked at Magnus with a look of utter surprise, and as she let go of the staff in her hand, the ruby red light in her eyes went out. By the time she hit the ground, she was already dead, all glamour gone.

Annaliese’s hatred of the Nephilim was founded on her absolute belief that the Children of the Angel were incapable of loving anyone with demon blood. She thought that incapacity was her most powerful weapon; the key to unlocking Magnus’ magic connection to his father, Lilith’s most beloved son. Annaliese didn’t know that, just like Kat had used the same ingredients needed for opening the rift to devise a spell strong enough to seal it, the love Magnus and Alec shared was stronger than any demonic connection, a force so powerful that no demonic power could undo its magic. Annaliese didn’t know that when Alec’s arrow made contact with the omamori mark on its way towards Magnus’ heart, it also picked up some of the magic created by Magnus when he bound his and Alec’s life force. That magic was the last ingredient needed to seal the rift.

Even before the arrow reached its final destination and killed Annaliese, Alec began to run at full speed in Magnus’ direction, and as he went, he released arrow after arrow hitting and injuring as many astonished warlocks as he could. When he reached Magnus, he fell to his knees just in time to catch the warlock as he fell backwards, his eyes closed, his chest still.

“Magnus, Magnus,” he called, his voice imploring, “please don’t leave me, please, please, please don’t leave me, don’t do this to me.”

Completely oblivious to the chaos unleashing around him, to the Shadowhunters running into the square, to Izzy freeing Jace, to warlocks running in a panic, Alec held Magnus and searched for any sign of life in his beloved warlock. Perhaps by instinct, or perhaps obeying commands only he could hear, Alec laid Magnus on the ground, and undoing the top buttons of his own shirt, took out his stele and brought its tip to his own heart. He then slid his other hand underneath Magnus’ shirt and gently rested it on the omamori mark, the mark now barely visible under the blood that poured out of the wound inflicted by the arrow. Alec closed his eyes and began to draw a rune on his chest, a rune that erased the last vestiges of the scar left by the Inquisitor’s hatred. As he did, he willed bone to fuse, and sinew and muscle to knit together, projecting his very life force into the echo of his heartbeat on Magnus’ chest. As he carved the rune, a multitude of images began to play in his mind: Magnus’ attentive eyes on him the first night they met; Magnus’ flirtatious smile the night Alec helped him treat Luke’s injuries; Magnus’ look of surprise the first time Alec kissed him; Magnus’ wondrous expression when Alec took him to bed that fist time; Magnus telling him that he loved him; Magnus looking up at the stars in the desert; Magnus touching him; the taste of Magnus’ lips, the scent of his skin, the feel of Magnus’ hair between his fingers; Magnus, only and always Magnus.

As he finished drawing the rune, Alec spoke in a low voice, repeating a spell, or perhaps a blood oath, whispered in his ear by the wind in the soft voice of a woman, a spell or an oath he had never heard before and in a language Alec didn’t know he spoke: “Tetapkan aku sebagai segel di hatimu; karena cinta lebih kuat dari pada kematian. Bangun sayang, bangun sayang.”

Alec then held Magnus once again and waited, Magnus’s head resting in the crook of Alec’s arm. After a long moment of still silence, a moment that seemed to have no end, Magnus stirred and took a deep breath.

“Set me as a seal upon your heart; for love is stronger than death. Rise up my beloved,” Magnus whispered and opened his eyes and looked up at Alec, his expression full of wonder.

Alec smiled, one of those smiles that illuminated rooms with the strength of the sun. He then lifted his hand from Magnus’ chest and saw with surprise that the wound that had been there a minute ago was now completely gone, not even a scar left, nothing to blemish the beauty of the omamori mark on Magnus’ golden skin.

The Nephilim had no magic powers of their own. The powers of rune and steles were external and could only protect them and enhance their human abilities. But that night for just a moment, Alec became a creature of magic, a being with the power to reach beyond the veil, to seize Magnus from the grips of death and bring him back. With those words, Alec sealed his bond to Magnus, his very life becoming inexorably linked to the warlock, the way Magnus had sealed his bond to the Shadowhunter the night he embedded Alec’s gift in his chest.

Alec helped Magnus to his feet and, placing a hand against his cheek, kissed him with a passion borne of not only love, but also of immense happiness and gratitude, for he would never stop thanking his lucky stars for the gift of Magnus’ life.

As soon as Magnus was back on his feet, the true magnitude of the situation downed on them. Suddenly aware of the events still unfolding around them, Magnus smiled and told Alec to go do his duty. “I also have a lot to do,” he added, after kissing Alec and briefly resting his hand on Alec’s chest.

After the sealing of the rift and the death of Annaliese, Shadowhunters and Downworlders faced the daunting task of bringing the city back to some normalcy before daylight brought the mundanes out of their homes. With Annaliese dead, her loyal warlocks were easily captured or they voluntarily surrendered to the authority of The Clave. Kat and Magnus assisted those who had been compelled to join Annaliese against their will, and promised them quick release if they cooperated with The Clave in the investigation. Alec thought that it was fortunate that the Council now had Downworld representation; for that would ensure the fair treatment of those who had been forced to participate in Annaliese’s plan.

A little while later and after the situation in the square had quieted somewhat, Alec found Magnus standing by Annaliese’s body, the eyes of the dead warlock now close, her hair spilling like a cascade of black water on the stone floor, her horribly scarred face completely exposed. “She wasn’t born bad, you know,” Magnus said when he felt Alec’s presence beside him, and his voice carried unexpected sadness. “She wasn’t evil; she wasn’t even a very powerful warlock. In fact, I think that the demonic blood in her was rather weak. She was an innocent child once; a lost child like me; a child in need of love; a child that was abused and tortured by people who should have loved her.”

“I don’t believe anybody is born evil Magnus, no matter whose blood run through their veins” Alec responded. “We learn to hate and love as we navigate life. You loved Annaliese once, and perhaps in the time you were together, she experienced what love is like.” Magnus looked at Alec and smiled, and Alec smiled back, and Magnus could see not a thread of resentment or rapprochement in the eyes of the Shadowhunter.

“What is going to happen to her body?” Magnus asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I will make sure it is treated with respect,” Alec promised and was determined to keep that promise.

Thanks to Sarah, the warlock child, the mundane children remained completely oblivious to what had happened and they were quickly returned to their parents aboard their disabled cruise ship. After searching most of the night, Clary, Luke and the other Shadowhunters had finally located the vessel adrift in the middle of the Adriatic Sea, no warlocks or vampires left onboard.

Magnus, Kat and Catarina portalled onboard the ship and with no small amount of magic, and with the help of several Shadowhunter teams, made it appear that a terrible explosion had disabled the vessel and thrown some of its passengers overboard. They spellbound the surviving passengers and crew to forget anything connected to the shadow word they might have seen and to believe the story of the explosion. Before they portalled out, the Shadowhunters shot emergency flares in all directions alerting the mundane coast guard of the ship’s location. The news would report the incident the following day as an unfortunate and tragic accident that cost the lives of at least thirty passengers and crew, many of whom were still unaccounted for. The coast guard would search for days but no bodies would be found.

As soon as the rift was sealed in Venice, the effects that the demonic poisoning had on vampires and werewolves also disappeared, making it easier for Raphael and the Venice vampire clans to bring the remaining of the rogue vampires under control. Very few of the vamps that Annaliese made survived and those who did had a long road ahead of them before they came to terms with their new reality.

Hours later, the first of the morning’s sunlight shone on the ancient floating city and found Magnus and Alec sitting by one of canals, their feet dangling over the edge and almost touching the greenish blue waters. They each held a cup of coffee which Magnus had magically materialized a few minutes before when he realized that neither him nor Alec could take another step without sustenance. They drank their coffees in silence, Alec’s eyes fixed on the gentle waves that barely seemed the disturb the calm surface of the water. Magnus looked up towards the morning sky and thought that Venice in Fall had its charms.

“Magnus, I love you more than I ever thought possible to love anyone,” Alec said after a moment, and he looked Magnus straight in the eyes, not a hint of hesitation or doubt in his expression. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you; I am sure of it. But you have to tell me about the effects of the spell you cast on us.”

Magnus smiled faintly and the smile contained not a small amount of hesitation, and Alec understood that Magnus was afraid of this conversation. “I don’t know for sure Alexander what effects it will have on you.”

“But you do know what effects it is having on you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Magnus replied. “But I don’t know for sure whether the effects are permanent or reversible. Kat and Catarina believe that they might wear off and that, in time, I will go back to normal.” Magnus had noticed the effects of the spell a few days after leaving Alec in Barcelona. He had been in the bathroom in an apartment in Berlin to which Khuno and his warlocks had taken him. He had stepped out of the shower, his mind lost in thought, trying to come up with a way out of the impossible situation he was in. Without giving it much thought, he had glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and then he had had to look again.

Magnus remembered precisely the moment he realized he had stopped aging, the moment he knew he would look like a man in his late twenties for all eternity. He had seen it in his reflection in a mirror, the way the image the mirror returned to him seemed suddenly cold as if frozen somehow, as if immortality had transformed his reflection into a marble statute impervious to the ravages of time. Since then, every mirror had shown him a reflection that seemed like a photograph taken with a lens that colored it in an icy blue hue. However, when he looked in the mirror that morning in Berlin, his reflection hadn’t had that cold frozen quality. In fact, for the first time in three hundred years, his reflection seemed to glow with warmth, a warmth he had forgotten was possible. He had touched his reflection, a look of astonishment and surprise in his cat eyes, and at that moment, Magnus had understood that the clock that had stopped three hundred years before had somehow restarted. He was aging again, slowly, more slowly than normal mortals aged, but aging nonetheless. He should have been alarmed at the potential loss of his immortality, but somehow and for some reason, he wasn’t. For when he cast that spell, the spell that protected and entrusted Alec with his powers, the spell that bound him to a Shadowhunter, he had been willing to pay any price and accept any consequence.

“When will the effect wear off?” Alec asked now, apprehension evident on his face.

“Declan, the magic diagnostician, told me that the aging effect would go away when your life force is no longer tied to mine Alexander.” Declan had been extremely puzzled by the spell and its effect. “What reason could you possibly have to cast such magic?” the old warlock had asked, and Magnus had understood that, in the same way that Annaliese could never believe that a Shadowhunter could love a warlock, Declan could never imagine that a warlock could love a mere mortal. “The spell is structured to wear off once your link to the Shadowhunter is severed, and I think it is meant to make you experience aging without aging becoming permanent,” Declan had declared, his voice unsurprisingly resembling the voice of a doctor.

“Does that mean that when I die you will revert to normal?” Alec asked.

“That is what Declan thought,” Magnus replied, his voice unconcerned and rather casual.

“And that doesn’t concern you Magnus? Alec asked surprised. “You could undo the spell now.”

Magnus reached for Alec’s hand and took it in his. “Alexander, I too love you more than I have ever loved anyone, and in my very long life, I have never desired to get old with anyone like I do with you. In fact, I find the prospect of experiencing what a finite life is like rather exiting. I want to get old, cranky, grey and wrinkled with you. Hopefully not bald though; I love my hair too much. If you would have me, I want to do all that with you.”

Alec smiled broadly and then kissed Magnus, the kiss full of promise and passion and, at that moment, it didn’t matter what life was yet to bring, or how many years he would get to spend with Magnus; for he was exactly where and with whom he wanted to be.

#malec #magnus bane #magnus x alec #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #warlock #boys in love #boys loving boys #the mortal instruments #the bane chronicles #dark magic #magic

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black-strike-otp · 7 years

Text

part 45

♫♪ Deep in my heart, I hear you calling but I won’t let you in. I’m so afraid that I’ll keep on losing, but you’re whispering: “Trust in me. Love me. Open up your heart and let our love begin. Trust in me, and let me in.” ♫♪

Literally ya’ll just a couple of sappy dorks.

From the way Blackout had been looking at her lately, he knew something was off. For the most part Novastrike could swallow down unease and repugnance for what Neutroboost was doing but sometimes it crept on her. She had never been the best at keeping secrets, and this was one she never intended to walk in on.

It didn’t help that it ate away her appetite. Looking upon energon just brought her an unwanted awareness as to how wrong it was for her to keep quiet. The energon stains, the purged vomit on the floor.

She could tell someone. Telling Blackout would be easy, Scorponok wouldn’t be too bad, Guard might be a stretch as she would hate to see how upset it made him. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she didn’t know what would become of Neutro once it was all out.

He wasn’t the greatest mech on the vessel. He’d changed so much since Cybertron alone. But what if someone insisted on termination? What if they just tossed him off on the next planet? What sort of repercussions would the ship demand? Sure, Guard would stress kindness, but there was more than even his voice on the ship, no matter how proud and loud his voice of reason carried.

“Novastrike?” A voice rang out, extracting her from the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

“Hmm?” she managed in the back of her throat, turning to look at the medic.

“Dear one, you’re no help to anyone if you’re slacking off,” she worryingly stated. “Is something wrong? Are you tired? Hungry? Sick?”

“No,” she said with a slight smile. Her tanks gave a hunger churning in her chassis with disagreement. “I’m sorry, I was just daydreaming.”

Raising an optic ridge, the larger femme let out an intrigued hum. “Is that so? Anybot on your processor?”

Nova narrowed her optics slightly, eliciting a snicker from the femme.

“I’m sorry Nova,” the femme cackled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Somebots were way too nosy for their own good, Novastrike thought to herself. There was always the scandalous few who teased about how she was always around Blackout, and visa versa. Why anyone made it their business to snoop or joke about it, she didn’t know. It miffed her constantly. Blackout favored discretion and neither of them openly spoke or confirmed anything, yet the occasional prod just kept coming.

If all the bots on the ship continued with their wisecracks and one-liners, what if it drove Blackout away from her again? They’d just made so much progress; they were finally trying the whole dating aspect. They were a couple. It was touch-and-go but it was somewhere.

Ignoring the optics of the medic, Novastrike placed her attention back on her datapad.

“Little one if you’re distracted, you’re free to go. We can continue the roster another time.”

“No thank you ma’am; if I loosen up now it’ll just mean days more work longer than I anticipated,” Nova admitted. “We’ve only just left the debris field behind two days ago and still only managed to register about half of the items brought in.”

Smiling softly, the medic stepped closer to Novastrike. She knelt down and reached out, carefully placing some of her digits along the little femme’s shoulder.

“Guard would want you to take a break. You’ve been doing this since day one, and you’ve done more than your fair share.”

Nova glanced up at the medic, venting. “I know,” she agreed. “I’ll just, finish this over here-” she swept a servo over her station, “-and be on my way.”

“You don’t sound excited for a little freedom,” she said with some concern. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you? You can talk to me about it.”

“No, I’m fine,” Nova offered with a cheery smile.

The medic looked unconvinced. She never was one to be a good liar. Still, she offered a slight nod and turned back to the materials she was looking over and began taking notes on what she saw before her. It didn’t stop her thoughts from straying back to that awful memory though, no matter how much she tried.

With Scorponok laid out across his lap, Blackout took a brush against the minicon’s frame while he had him sitting still. Luckily they hadn’t been on any planets recently for the little bugger to get himself filthy inside and out, but unluckily he was especially moody being cooped up on the ship for so long and thrashed about in Blackout’s grasp.

“Would you hold still?” he snarled with annoyance. “Don’t give me a reason to EMP you.”

A hiss escaped the minicon as he flailed around. “Let go. Want down.”

“Not until I’m finished, now sit still.”

“Don’t want to. Armor fine. Let down.”

“Trust me Scorponok, you’ll be trilling by the time I’m done.”

Clearly, the bug didn’t agree with him. One of his pincers clipped against the space between Blackout’s servo and wrist and he flinched slightly, offering a scowl down at the scorpion as he continued to fidget.

Grunting, Blackout placed both of his servos on top of the scorpion lightly and waited patiently for him to settle back down. He leaned back, sighing as his optics moved up to look at the desk on the opposite end of the room. A small collection of Novastrike’s energon cubes sat there. Only one out of the stash had been touched; roughly half-gone, while the others were completely sealed still.

The bug attempted lunging forward as he picked up on Blackout’s distraction. Sadly for him, not distracted enough to keep hold of him.

“Down,” the bug whined pathetically.

“Just as soon as I’m done,” Blackout calmly replied.

Collapsing against Blackout’s legs, the scorpion finally relented. He gave an unpleasant chattering sound as he went down.

Giving a quiet hum of appreciation, Blackout slipped a servo beneath the bug’s belly and flipped him over onto his back. Scorponok was hardly pleased. His least favorite stance to be put in; leaving his softer under armor exposed.

As soon as Blackout went to scrap the brush along his belly, the bug twitched and began tapping his spindly legs against his arm. The bigger mech could only roll his optics at his dismal partner’s attempts to make him feel bad. All these years of cleaning up and maintaining the tiny slagger, and he still thought he hadn’t learned not to cave in to his demands? If he didn’t finish cleaning him now, he’d never get to. And with Scorponok being well, himself, the sooner you took care of scrubbing him, the better. Otherwise you were more liable to get damaged parts along the road.

Unhappy clicks came from the scorpion sporadically as he twitched his appendages. He showed just enough patience for his master to finish scrapping along his armor and carefully wipe around the junctions where armor plates met each other. His armor would move and flex out of place just enough to allow the bristles to lightly press between plating, making the bug twitch his limbs with despair.

The door to the room unlocked and Blackout looked up from his companion. Scorponok was swift to take advantage, rolling over and onto the floor as Blackout dove to try grabbing him.

Too late.

Just as Novastrike came wandering in she jumped to the side, narrowly missing being bowled over by Scorponok.

She turned to Blackout, her optics wide.

He could only shrug, showing her the brush.

“Cleaning time?” she asked, offering a weary smile.

“You know how he hates it,” he complained.

Nova gave a brief bob of her helm with understanding as she stepped in. The door closed behind her noiselessly but she was not so quiet herself. In fact, her pedes seemed to loiter as she walked.

Blackout drew his optic ridges down. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” she offered, still meeting his gaze with an affectionate smile.

Shifting his optics towards the stacks of cubes, Blackout turned his optics back towards her slowly. “Maybe you need some energon.”

She looked slightly distracted. “Probably wouldn’t hurt,” she agreed.

Getting up off the berth, Blackout stepped over to grab the unfinished cube of energon on the counter. As he returned to the berth and bent over slightly, offering a servo for Novastrike to climb up on. She did so with a faint smile in his direction.

Returning to the berth, Blackout took a seat and allowed his femme confidante to hop off. He offered out her energon cube to her, which she accepted with a smile. It didn’t reach up to her eyes however; they appeared somewhat troubled.

While she went to take a sip, Blackout gave a quiet and encouraging hum. His armor vibrated lightly from the echoes in his chassis. With a slight force of will, his holoform began to materialize beside the small femme’s side.

She glanced at him and sputtered on her energon comically.

“Don’t do that,” she growled.

“Do what?” Blackout asked with amusement.

“Go startling helpless femmes with your suave good looks. I swear, just- emerging beside someone so close- ‘hello, look I me, I am a dapper, smooth mech with an inviting smile, won’t you please look at me’?”

“I don’t come off like that,” Blackout scoffed.

“Might as well,” Novastrike challenged.

Flicking his servo to her energon cube, Blackout made a rumble in the back of his throat. “You should finish it.”

Her face immediately went from miffed to suspicious. “Why? Did you put something in it?”

Blinking his optics slowly, the mini-version of the giant mech gave a shake of his helm. “No. Why would you think that?”

“No reason, just sounds like someone trying to pull a prank would say.”

“Or something a concerned friend would say.”

Novastrike’s optics slipped away from his as she tilted back her energon to drink it. She drained it like she was starving, but the look in her face was written in nausea.

As she lowered the cube, Blackout took a step closer and removed the empty block from her digits. Dropping it on the ground, he raised an optic ridge at her slowly, examining her faceplate.

“Are you feeling ill at all? You’ve been acting like the energon’s sour lately when you drink and I know very well it’s not; I’ve drank from the same batches as you.”

“No, it tastes fine.”

Why was she avoiding the question?

“Is it... is there something going on with us that’s making you feel unwell?”

“Oooh, Blackout nooo,” Nova promptly fussed. She stepped closer into his space, placing her arms around his waist as she leaned into him.

A piece of himself he didn’t even realize had tensed up suddenly and rapidly relaxed. Unable to suppress his relief, Blackout enveloped his arms around Novastrike’s dainty little form and pressed her closer into his chassis. Warmth was spilling out of his holoform slowly; a comfort he knew she appreciated all too well.

“Tell me what’s been bothering you then,” he whispered quietly.”

Nova nibbled on the corner of her mouth. “Did you ever, I don’t know, see something you wish you didn’t and wished you could just forget it?”

Light danced in Blackout’s maroon optics with amusement. “I think we’ve all seen a thing or two we wish would could scrub from our processors.”

“It’s just that,” she stated simply, a troubled light on her face. “It made me... see someone a bit differently.”

“Are you sure it’s nothing to do with us?”

“Absolutely! It’s nothing to do with you, or us, it’s... someone else. I just see them in a different light now.”

Calmly removing his servos from around Nova’s waist, Blackout reached up to cradle either side of her face. She leaned into his touch with a soft exhale of reassurance. The light escaping her optics softened gradually; the hues of blue melting more into one another as she pressed into his chassis for comfort.

A weak smile ghosted across her face. Blackout could feel his spark pick up; beating faster and harder. The pulses left a feeling like it was trying to ram out of his chassis. It wasn’t an experience he was used to, but one that wasn’t totally unacceptable.

Dropping one of her arms from around him, the small femme reached up and placed a servo on top of one of his. Her digits nestled on top of his own; curling over lightly. He went to shift his digits just enough for her own to press just lightly between his.

“Tell me what ails you, I’ll fix it, I swear.”

His voice must have been far more compelling than he’d bargained for. She looked captured in a spell. Staring at him with absolute adoration and endearment, her ears beginning to emit a blazing radiant light.

“You are just too sweet,” Novastrike whispered. “But for the time being, I think I’ll just let it go.”

“Too powerful of a secret, even for me, hmm?” Blackout asked softly. He turned his servo over slowly to hold Novastrike’s, drawing it over the small distance between them to draw a phantom’s kiss against the back of her servo.

She fidgeted slightly in place. Whether because she was distracted by the simple gesture or made uncomfortable by his words, he couldn’t determine.

“Not exactly,” she quietly insisted. “I’m just hoping I’m seeing too much into something and I want to... give that individual a chance to make the right choices.”

“Maybe you should talk to the bot you saw doing whatever it is that’s bothering you, and let them know how you feel?” Blackout advised, bending his servo away from Nova’s just enough to press another delicate kiss against her wrist.

A gentle, feverish heat was migrating off of the little femme’s armor now. Her ears were lit like a star, giving off a brilliant illuminating glow now.

“Maybe I’ll do that,” she vaguely agreed.

“Good,” Blackout rumbled. “Anything that helps you feel better-”

Taken by surprise, Blackout rapidly shuttered his optics as she stood at the tip of her pedes to steal a kiss.

Well, might as well not leave her waiting, he deduced; thoroughly tickled as his optics winked offline and he returned the kiss. Always so full of surprises.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #Cute OTP

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trickshxt · 5 years

Note

cry wipe away their tears. / ghoststorytm

When he’d made Level 5 he’d been sat in a room, handed a thick folder without a word, and left with a buzzing fluorescent light to read. So he’d done what any good Level 5 Field Operative would do: he read.

And he read…

He read until his hands cramped and the papers trembled - a warning or a whimper even he wasn’t sure - from fingers back to the pile that was as much black as it was white. His eyes blurred until words streaked into grey shapes, grey blurs, a grey mess so thick he checked his fingers for fear of staining.

When Sitwell came back he stood, knees wobbly, and asked one question. “You sure about this?”

Sitwell raised an eyebrow; Barney suspected it was a skill required of Field Lieds. (He wondered if there were mandatory classes.) “About retrieval?”

Barney shook his head. “About keepin’ it from him.”

The mention hung heavy between them and Barney was no fool. He knew the pregnant silence of indecision, could feel it twist in the man’s chest even if Sitwell Jasper showed no outward change. “The decision has been made.”

But by who, Barney wondered. All he could do was nod. “Course it has.”

“Is that going to be a problem, Agent Barton?”

There was really only one answer and they both knew it. “No, sir.”

Jasper shifted, just a minutia, and Barney saw the way his neck tilted, consideration on the man’s mind. But brown eyes flicked to the camera in the corner and Barney, though disappointed, was unsurprised when Sitwell straightened his shoulders. “We leave at 04:00 sharp.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he reached the door, Sitwell added, “And Barton?”

“Yeah?”

“Bring a bow.”

The order had made more sense the moment he’d stepped off the jet. Ice bit into the sliver of cheeks showing through his mask and the overheated cargo pit suddenly seemed far less of an inconvenience. Muttered curses reached his ears as guns were quickly holstered against the rapidly dipping temperature. Barney’s grip just tightened over the grip of Clint’s third best recurve.

Any outward signs of HYDRA had already been erased with the worsening weather. A tip of a boot was the only hint of the siege that had occurred. Medics were zipping up body bags, red snow already brown, and Barney looked away with a tight coil in his stomach. (Sacrifice for a greater tomorrow, he reminded himself.) The fortress, built into stone, was silent to it all. Barney wondered what it would say if it could speak.

What it would scream.

He found Sitwell easily enough; the man commanded a natural authority when he chose to do so. Their base was small, but well organized as such and Sitwell was at the center of it, fielding questions with an easy yes, no, and hold.

When Sitwell turned, he nodded once. “I want you with me.”

He nodded and flicked the quiver open at his waist. “Sure.”

And follow he did. Through a labyrinth of tunnels, each more sterile than the last, the body count higher the further in. The stench of iron presided, a metallic king laughing until Barney realized it was solely the splash of his boots on the floor. He kept his gaze steady, breathing calm, ignoring the way ghostly faces passed in the corner of his vision.

(He’d think about those halls for weeks later, in the dead of night; feeling the cold press into his head and pick at the spot between his eyes.)

Their destination was a single room, no different from the other concrete doors or labs that Barney had seen since he’d started field ops. Beakers of things, tubes of liquids Barney knew he’d likely never know the true function of, consoles with monitors flashing messages in Russian (he’d know that soon enough; his first class was in two days). Barney prided himself on knowing a good deal of things, but this realm? This realm was a life not his.

He paused, however, at something he did know. A heartbeat, low, steady, but oh so low, flashed up on a touch screen, distorted, then started again. With a frown he reached out a hesitant finger and tapped at the screen. A form appeared, levels dipping slowly before rising, a name: Актив

“Barton.”

He left it be and stopped at Sitwell’s side. “Huh.”

Their breath fogged as they stared, all of them, so silent they could hear the zippers of bags closed from further up; ziiiiiiiiiiiip-ziiiiiiiiiiiip-ziiiiiiiiiiiip.

Barney had once argued with Clint, long ago, about legends. They’d been young - not that Clint had lost that idealistic streak - and Barney had been reading out loud from an ancient library book missing half the cover. He remembered stopping, thinking Clint had turned off his hearing aids.

Instead, Clint had bit his lip. “What do you think they’re like?”

“What who’s like?” He’d been annoyed; Pecos Bill had been his favorite back then.

“All of them. Pecos Bill an’ Paul Onion an’ John Henry.”

Barney didn’t bother to correct him. “They’re not real, Clint. They’re just legends.” Clint had quirked his brow so Barney put the book down and repeated it, signing as well. “Legends.”

“What’s that mean?”

“A legend is a story about someone or somethin’ inspiring. Something that makes you want to be a good person.”

Clint chewed his lip. “But they aren’t real…”

“No,” Barney said. “They aren’t.”

“But what if I wanna be one someday?”

Barney had snorted. “A legend?” At Clint’s nod he’d put the book down. “Gonna have to do somethin’ really good then. Somethin’ so big and good and that helps so many people that no one can forget it.”

“Like Captain America?”

“Yeah.”

“But he was real!”

Which is a paradox Barney had to think about for a moment. “Yeah, he was. But see, he only became a legend after he died. People during his time? Woulda called him a hero, but not a legend.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t entirely convinced one Steven Rogers had been the paragon of perfection he’d been touted to be. It wasn’t what Clint wanted to hear tonight.

Clint had gone quiet, still. “You g-gotta die to be a legend?”

Barney had shrugged; it would be a conversation they’d forget tomorrow. “Yeah. So no going and being a legend any time soon, ok?” And he’d smiled, picked up the book, and changed the subject.

Now…

Now he stood there, over two decades later, staring down at a living, breathing, legend and wondered if James Buchanan Barnes didn’t really die years ago.

***

The last time he’d seen Barnes, it had been delivering the cryogenic tube to S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D months ago. He’d been kindly told to leave, now, thank you Agent Barton, and when he’d asked Sitwell a week later about progress he’d been told in no uncertain terms that the entire topic was on blackout and would result in instant termination should it be uttered again.

So he’d left it alone because he had Russian classes to take (though he suspected they’d been ordered a bit prematurely), Clint fell off a building, Coulson needed another body to cover for said falling disaster, and life in general didn’t stop just because a body was pulled from the ice - that he could say from experience given last year.

By the time he thought about James Buchanan Barnes again, it was 3:30am and he was just stepping off a Quinjet with a headache that rivaled the ego of the Chinese crime lord they’d finally, finally tracked down in Thailand.

He hadn’t expected Sitwell to be there, so the even “Agent Barton?” had caused him to stumble on the last few steps of the ramp.

“Jasper?” And he’d almost corrected himself, but Jasper was indeed there, watching him with the eye of someone about to ask a favor.

(Barney knew that look well.)

“If you’re not busy…”

“I gotta debrief…” But Jasper straightened, neck stiff, and Barney could see the collar of his shirt was damp enough to loosen his tie. “Can wait, though.”

Sitwell nodded. “Good. Come with me.” And Barney had followed him to the elevator, watching as Sitwell’s pass was swiped and one of the buttons that never worked for him dinged softly.

“Everything ok?” he asked, careful, because eyes and ears were everywhere, but damn if he didn’t at least have something of a heart left to use.

Sitwell Jasper caught his eye, something akin to a fond smile flitting over the corner of his mouth. “I am quite all right, thank you, Agent Barton.” Barney relaxed. Up until the doors opened and Sitwell asked, smoothly, “By the way, how is your Russian?”

Arguing flooded in, rapid fire Russian, answered in singular, solid blocks of ice that took Barney a moment to recognize as a voice.

A medic - Agent Petrov (new, young, desperate for approval) - hovered around what Barney logically knew was James Buchanan Barnes, aka The Winter Soldier, aka The Asset, aka Bucky. But broad, bare shoulders, sweats that probably would have fit one, and a tangled mop of hair were so still, so quiet, so stoically hunched that Barney felt a chill go up his spine. The air was akin to the mausoleum Barney had broken into on a dare once; numbingly devoid of anything but dying memory.

NO.> Bucky? James? Barnes spoke so suddenly Barney jumped, jaw gritting and very human hand squeezing so tight the bones cracked.

Petrov, bless the kid, reached a hand out before Barney could warn him.

Lightning fast Barnes was on his feet, Petrov backed against the wall with a human hand inches from his head and a wall of well-honed muscle reminding him just how much worse it could be.

Barney noticed three things then. The first was the way that Barnes’ breathing was non-existent. The second was how Barnes’ fingers trembled. The third was how his left arm, dull even in his lighting, didn’t move.

Sitwell stepped forward then, clearing his throat.

Barney saw the way Barnes reacted to that. Knew the reaction well. (Mr. Barton was his father, always a figure he couldn’t, wouldn’t be.)

Barnes let his hand drop and Petrov’s feet found motion then, propelling him toward Sitwell with barely contained terror in his eyes. Barney felt a flare of pity for him. He’d been overambitious; the pathway to Hell and all that.

Barnes didn’t turn to them, so Barney didn’t move. Jasper, bless his heart, motioned for Petrov to get on the elevator and then glanced at him. Barney frowned a bit. Why him? Of all people… He followed Sitwell’s pointed look, saw the way Barnes’ fingers were curled back into a fist, and a small part of him got it. Ah.

All right then.

Sitwell said, Russian accented and halting in places.

Barney’s Russian isn’t that good, but even he knows that tone. That nasty, sliding, bitter hiss.

Sitwell turned, giving him a long look, tapped the phone at his belt once, and then disappeared into the elevator with a near babbling Petrov. Barney found that without them, the silence deepened until he could hear the metal plates of Barnes’ non-functioning arm shift gently.

What do you say to a legend? he asked himself, bitterly. The thought made him snort in derision at the whole thing. Why me?

The sound found two blue eyes pinned to him; unnervingly clear, unnervingly far. Barney swallowed, went still, and tried to think. What do you say to a dead man?

He’s not dead, he’s alive.

But was he?

(Was this what sacrifice for a greater good got you in the end? a dark part of him asked.)

Barney had died once, for two minutes, a few years ago. The whole experience hadn’t left him with any real insight on the afterlife, though the tunnel had been warm and the light certainly had been bright. There had been thoughts: Harold, Edith, Clint, the circus, the army, the time after. So many memories he could only explain it all in gestures rather than words, and even then he fell short of the jarring disconnection that had come when he’d come back.

In the end he had decided he’d been lucky.

Staring at Barnes - the way his eyes never wavered, watching him, waiting for a strike - he realized that this man had yet to decide whether he was lucky or not. Had yet to fully feel out what life was, what it could be, whether he wanted it or not. Maybe, maybe, he could work with that.

Barnes stared, unblinking. Barney winced at his own Russian, wondered briefly if he’d conjugated wrong, and cleared his throat.

He looked around the room - sterile, bare, anything remotely weapon like removed. A poster on the wall with a cat on a branch: Hang In There.

Barnes didn’t move, didn’t breath. Barney pushed his frustrations down and tried not to curse Jasper too much. Some guidance would have been nice. And had Barnes even blinked yet? He thought back to the reading from months ago and took a gambit.

That got a blink from Barnes. The briefest of shifts in weight, metal creaking. Barney inwardly smiled. He added, quickly,

Barnes looked away, but Barney could feel his eyes on him. A curl of something in the slant of his brow now.

He trailed as Barnes looked away, shoulders sloping. A miscalculation, he realized, bringing it up.

The name hung heavy in the air, heavier than the silence, pervasive in its command of them both. It felt odd to say it out loud; he could see it felt odd to hear it. At least they were both on common ground.

Stop.>

Barney is startled at the response. His mouth clicks shut. Barnes isn’t looking at him, but Barney is acutely aware of being seen. If there’s anything he has learned from Clint, however, it’s when to not stop.

Barnes curled a fist. Barney pressed.

Enough.>

He gestured at Barnes.

Barnes’ shoulders tightened and Barney scrambled, unsure of whether that was a good sign or bad. He needed a response. Needed that curl from earlier to be drawn out. And he wasn’t a psychologist, so far from it that it hurt. But Barney Barton had grown up knowing one thing very, very well: that anger brought out something in everyone. Every time.

Still no answer, and he was running out of words. What did you say to a man who had lost everything to a choice not made for himself? What did you say to someone lost in time? What did you say to someone dead?

What did you say to a legend?

It hit him then.

Barney knew Barnes had moved even before he felt the fingers around his neck or the wall against his skull. His feet left the ground and pain exploded through his head, down his neck, into his spine. His hands came up, an automatic response, to curl around Barnes wrist and he could feel skin under his nails. His foot tried to kick but wouldn’t respond as pain, pain, pain radiated all the way to his feet.

ENOUGH!>

Barney creaked his eyes open, blood rushing from the corner of his mouth as he sucked in a breath. Barnes’ eyes were narrowed points, black, and wet-

Wet.

It seemed like minutes passed as he watched. Morbidly curious, dazedly fascinated, as a tear slid out of the corner of Barnes’ eye and glided so, so slowly down his cheek. He could see the trail it left behind. Could smell salt in his nose and taste it mixed with iron on his tongue.

His brain felt foggy and the Russian words rolled around in his mind before slipping out of his ears. He struggled, felt the grip tightened, and gasped. It came out as a creak. “Who….be…”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed, but the grip lessened just enough. Speak.>

Fucker knew English. Of course he did. “Who do y-you want to be?”

Barnes didn’t answer.

Barney licked his lips and fought his brain to loosen his own grip on Barnes’ arm. “Who do you want to be? C-Cause you can be the other guy, or this guy, b-but you can’t be…” He coughed then and fought for the word. “Nothing. You’re not nothing, B-Barnes. So you gotta choose what you’re gonna be…”

The grip hadn’t loosened and oxygen wasn’t coming like it used to. You should probably do something, his brain supplied helpfully. Without thinking much on it, he reached out with a thumb and guessed as to which of the three faces in front of him was the real one. His thumb slid, wiping the second? third? tear away.

“Not nothin’.”

Barney fell to the floor with the grace of a sack of potatoes, knees hitting the ground so hard he groaned. His wrist twinged as it broke his fall, a secondary pain to the fact that his throat was on fire. Oxygen, sweet oxygen, poured in as he gasped, coughing blood against the ground from the bit tongue. His hands came up before he could think of how this all looked, feeling his neck, brain still unconvinced there weren’t fingers there.

He heard Barnes walk away and had already composed a half formed apology to Sitwell consisting mostly of a punch to the face when the steps came back.

When he opened his eyes, Barnes was crouched in front of him. Perfectly balanced, dead arm and all. Holding out a bottle of water.

Barney took it slowly, gulped down too much, coughed, and wiped off his chin with his arm. He stared at Barnes, wary for a moment, before trying another sip. “So?” he croaked.

Barnes had the decency to at least look slightly surprised before his expression settled back into cold uncertainty.

But the words had lost some of the hard edge and Barney felt as if he could speak now without cutting himself on the edges. “Didn’t today.” Because Barney wasn’t fooling himself on this. You didn’t waste money on tools you weren’t going to use.

With one last cough, he capped the water and stood uneasily. Barnes stood with the grace of a trained dancer. It absolutely was not fair. Barney ran a hand along his neck, up to his head. He winced at the soft spot there.

Barnes simply watched.

Barney let his hand drop. “So?” Barnes raised an eyebrow. “Where do you want to go?”

This time Barney let a bit of his irritation color his voice. “Already said,” he wheezed. “Ya didn’t.” Barnes almost, almost looked apologetic. He would have to get better at reading just what that slant at the corner of his eyes meant. “Maybe tomorrow. Today, though, you get your choice of anywhere on this floor. So, where do you wanna go?”

And for a brief, brief moment, Barney could have sworn he saw something not a scowl in the crook of Barnes’ lips. It was gone in a flash. He’d missed it and would likely not see it again for awhile. But Barney needed a win right then and there so he took it for what he thought it was and held it close.

That was good enough for Barney; he took him to a vending machine, letting him pop in quarters for an ice cream bar, and wondered as he watched Barnes consider when he should mention the lie that would come apparent some day.

Maybe tomorrow.

For now, he wanted to know what ice cream living legends preferred.

#ghoststorytm #suicide mention tw #[ oh the memeanity ]#[ I couldn't control myself ]#[ the starter turned into an AU ]#[ then it turned into a monster ]#[ someone send help ]#[ cut half of it for dash sakes ]#[ that's a lie I put like 3/4 of it under a cut ]#[ also I can't bring myself to format this ]

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