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non-binaryfrankenstein · 2 years

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Ahhh!!! I completely forgot to post these!! I've had these headcanons for so long but I'm only now posting them :( But these are based on the Musical, Show and just my personal whatevers!! :] Also!! There are some things I had to research, however!! Just because I researched doesn’t mean I'm 100% right or understand every aspect!! So if you see something that is incorrect or offensive in any way, please please let me know!! I never wanna be a dick and get things wrong or spread misinformation. Anyways, I hope you guys like them!! :]

Patrick Star

He/Him/His

They/Them/Their

Vibgender Neoboy

Panromantic Asexual

Caucasian

Has freckles! But not nearly as much as Spongebob! :)

Wears make-up sometimes but normally just wears purple eyeshadow :D

Shorter than Squidward, As tall as Sandy, Taller than Spongebob :)

Disabled, chronic back and leg pain.

On Disability Benefits but he also works as a Comic Book store cashier.

Sometimes he uses a walking stick, sometimes he can't walk at all due to pain.

In fact, most of the time he has to lay on the couch only watching tv.

A lot of his ‘laziness’ is just him not being able to move

He is lazy by nature, but he sometimes just, can’t move at all and he feels guilty

Insomniac, Melatonin doesn’t help :(

Smokes weed but they mostly use CBD, both for his pain

Crust Punk >:D

Soooooo many piercings, including tongue piercing, snake bites, eyebrow piercings, septum, bridge, and several ear piercings!!

Most of the time, after work, he can’t move or be active enough to make an actual meal so he just sits on his couch/bed and eats junk food.

Also, unfortunately, like many others, he is broke most of the time due to his little work hours and little disability money

Luckily, he has loving friends. Spongebob and Sandy not only prepare meals for him, but both of them and Squidward give him fresh veggies/fruit he can snack on instead of chips or pretzels.

He tries to ‘pay’ them back by de-weeding their gardens.

They even give him a tiny garden for himself <3

Also, they try to get him to go to the pool so he gets the exercise that doesn’t add more stress to him. :D

However, he is INCREDIBLY strong!

Un-styled, his hair is long and straight, about a bit longer than shoulder length!

But, also like to put his hair in a pompadour :)

His natural hair color is brown!

Paints his nails with Sandy and Sponge! :D

Normally he paints them teal, purple, green, pink or yellow :)

Funky socks 24/7 B)

Does a lot of DIY stuff, such as pins, sewing or even making his own jewelry! :D

His cane is COVERED in stickers :)

Likes to cook, he just doesn’t have the time to do so and it ends up tasting bland/burnt

He loves sweet food the most.

Absent-minded, but not dumb

Video game and comic nerd. In fact, just a nerd.

Himbo

Just a sweetie-pie <3

Their Dad and Mom are divorced and they had joint custody, his mom is not supportive of their queerness, but his dad is

He was bullied as a kid, so he beat them up in return, leading to a bad school record.

But also sometimes couldn't go to school because of the sheer pain they had.

He and his sister are close, even if they don’t talk much

Put flowers in his hair PLEASE <33

Can play guitar and drums :)

They CANNOT sing at ALL

His ring is the BFF ring from the Idiot Box episode! :D

Peach fuzz on his face

Sometimes makes and wears friendship and beaded bracelets.

Dude bruh man

Just a good guy <3

Spongebob SquarePants

Any and All pronouns!! (Including Neo-pronouns)

GenderFluid and Gender Queer

Aromantic and Asexual

African-American

He has Vitiligo and freckles!

Chubby cheeks! <3

Sometimes has bleached and straighted hair, but natural hair is black and has 2c hair type.

But!! Because it's not the best for his hair, he normally just Bleached it and keeps it natura.

Wears thicc square black glasses :)

Hair is Ethan Slater's musical style when straightened :)

They like to wear make-up but normally just blush and mascara :)

But she doesn’t even need makeup, his eyelashes are just on a whole other level.

Proud Fry-Cook of the Krusty Krab! >:D

Loves to Jelly-Fish with Patrick!

Also, he is a total nerd too! Comics + video games :)

They love cooking! And baking, and everything with food!

She tries new recipes all the time!

Wears all types of clothes, from suits to dresses to skirts to crop tops! :D

BUT, zey will only wear boots! >:/ (maybe sandals if he is at the beach or too warm)

Xe loves gardening and trying to grow new plants :)

Both their mom and dad are supportive of their queerness. They just want their kid to be happy :)

She loves his pet Gary so much <33 And pet clam! (That one is actually from the Spongebob Bible!)

Fun fact: Gary is a sphinx cat with a sweater on :) (At least to me!)

They are smart! But very, very naive.

Perfectionist too!

Can play the Ukulele :D

Their Ukulele is COVERED in stickers as well!

Her singing voice is very high pitched yet very sweet and nice to listen to

Normally bikes everywhere because they cannot get their license for her life!

So weak. :( He can barely pick up a can of soup :(

He shows her love through touch a lot! i.e hugs, cheek kisses, and hand-holding!

They love sweets the most!

Matching rings with Pat

Now, this idea isn’t mine but @itsalwayzsunnyjnphilly’s idea! So the paperclip S in “Sandy, Spongebob, and the Worm” was made into a necklace! Please go check them out! :D

Another sweetie pie!

Sandy Cheeks

She/Her/Hers

Xe/Xer/Xers

Demigirl

Demiromantic Asexual Lesbian

African-American

Wears all sorts of makeup! But mainly just mascara, blush, lipstick, eyebrows, and that kinda stuff :)

Xe has Cystic Fibrous and needs portable oxygen therapy when out, but only needs hand-held oxygen at home

Made her bag for holding oxygen look like the periodic table! :D

She is RIPPED, but only works out at home for safety with muscle training.

However, she normally wears her lab coat so she usually looks skinny

She normally has her nails painted white, purple, or pink :)

She rarely follows lab instructions because gets so caught up in the experiment, so xe has a bunch of scars and bandages on her.

Her getting caught up in science also makes her forget to eat, so on Spongebob’s break, both he and Patrick go to her place with burgers and fries to make sure she eats.

Sometimes Pat stays and reads comic books with or without Sandy.

However! She does have a fade so her hair isn’t too long and doesn’t catch on fire :)

Her hair is also around 4b

Speaking of science, she is a freelance scientist in Bikini Bottom, though she sometimes has to travel.

Xe also likes to ramble about science, and Spongebob and Pat just listen and sit there like ‘our friend is so smart <33’

Whenever they watch a Sci-Fi movie on movie night, xe CONSTANTLY question the logic.

Pat and Sponge are just trying to watch a movie and she keeps disproving everything :((

Loves Country music and has a Southern accent

“Country boi,,,, I love yoooooooooooooooouu, EcH.”

Can play the Guitar, Banjo, and the flute :D

Her singing voice is nice and soothing. But Xe can hit some HIGH notes

Xe is a daredevil! Sponge and Pat worry but she’s just like ‘lol’ and does a death-defying feat

Xe loves salty and spicy foods the most!

Her favorite snack is nuts! Shocker :)

Whenever she gets homesick, she likes to be alone and listen to Country music

Just a smart buff lady <33

Sweetie pie #3

Squidward Tentacles

He/Him/His

Cisgender

Biromantic Bisexual

Caucasian

He doesn’t wear make-up but isn’t opposed to wearing it, such as eyeliner :)

Dumpy grumpy >:/

Such a sourpuss!

But, he is like a Sour Patch Kid, bitter on the outside, sweet on the inside.

He is trying to be nicer, but when someone is rude, he tends to lash out. Big Time

This dude is so eloquent yet so simple with insults.

His mother was a single mom, loving and encouraging of Squidward.

His more ‘fancy’ and ‘strict’ personality is from his mom teaching him to behave so they can have better chances in life.

So she never discouraged him or snapped at him! She would never, she was his number one supporter. But, for a better future, he needed to be quiet mostly.

Because young Squidward both loved his mother and understood the severity of his behavior, he listened.

However, other kids would bully him for his femininity, clarinet playing, and quiet nature

As it got worse, he had to have a sharp tongue, leaving people flustered so they’d leave him alone. If he were the asshole, no one would bother him.

However, Spongebob, Patrick, and Sandy started to help him try to grow.

I actually have a story for that if you guys wanna hear it! :)

So now the trio has a new member! :D

Mostly just the awkward, occasionally sarcastic friend.

Touch-sensitive, a fact Spongebob has to be very careful of as not to make him feel uncomfortable

He can play the clarinet, very well in fact! But only when he is confident. :(

Good singing voice too! Clear yet a bit nasally with a hint of depth

He loves to garden and cook/bake

But it MUST be extra. Or else >:(

He has a receding hairline, but his hair is just like Spongebobs when they straighten their hair :)

His natural hair is also black! :)

He only has freckles on his forehead.

He has so many wrinkles, where are they coming from???

Likes to paint his nails too, but only black, purple, or blue. :)

Used to have a cat named Shelly, but had to give her up.

Gives Patrick a veggie basket every time he harvests his garden, making sure to make it look good with bows and flowers :)

Loves loves LOVES musicals!

Loves to also wear suits and button-ups

Loves savory food the most

You know what? He’s the awkward wine aunt friend. That's it. I have decided >:)

Not a complete sweetie pie, but 75% sweetie pie, 25% sour pie :)

I hope you guys enjoyed these, if you read this far, thank you!! :D Have a great day! :]

#spongebob #headcannons #spongebob musical #:]

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ratnasagarjewel · 8 months

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bunastudio · 2 years

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mando717 · 2 years

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goldenlotusinc · 2 years

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thestylesplash · 2 years

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Multi Print Kaftan Dress + Style With a Smile Link Up

Today’s outfit is a flashback to Barbados, which was only just over a month ago but feels like much longer. I bought this dress just a few days before my holiday from a local boutique (where I also bought my orange hat). It was actually this multi print kaftan dress that caught my attention in the shop window and prompted me to go in. I ended up buying several items, including a jumpsuit and some…

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eivaalluring · 3 years

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 2 years

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read on ao3

If anyone asked Kaz where the difference between Race Days in the refined Van Meer Circuit betting halls and Race Days in his decidedly less-refined betting hall in the Barrel lays, he would say that it boils down to the finery of the clothes. Men behave much the same in both, waving kruge bills above their heads and flocking underneath scoreboards, making fools of themselves.

Women are customarily absent.

However, the Van Meer Circuit outside of its betting halls is, truth be told, not a place where most people come to watch horses – in its essence, it is the kind of place where people come to watch other people. In all his years in Ketterdam, Kaz has not been able to find a better stage. Any sort of vaguely interesting thing that happens here immediately creates ripples in the whole city.

When Kaz offers Inej his hand to help her out of the seat of the carriage, he can hear the buzzing of onlookers all around them. Some ladies try to be discreet and peek at the pair above the edges of their fans, and some men pretend not to be looking at all, busying themselves with their cigars.

But he knows they’re looking. They are all looking – the attendees, the staff, the jockeys walking around the grounds already dressed for the race. And he cannot say he blames them.

Horse races are a frivolity, but respectable merchers’ wives still stick to their black, their stiff collars and even stiffer updos comically contrasting with the width of their crinolines. Their wealth is a hidden one, subtly showcased in their wedding rings and the delicate lace of the shawls with which they cover their shoulders. When Inej stands beside them, she looks every inch of what Heleen advertised her to be: an exotic daydream, a wisp of a woman sticking out of the crowd so outlandishly that she doesn't look real at all. Just a fantasy. Just a dream.

Against Kaz’s usual black, she shines in soft yellow, thousands of beads swirling in the elaborate geometric details of her skirts and reflecting light with her every movement. There are white ostrich feathers on her hat, matching the gloves she slipped on during the ride. And her neck – the swanlike line of it – is on full display with her hair up and the high collar of her jacket cut diagonally in the middle, exposing the hollow of her throat

The second she takes his arm and raises her head to smile at him, Kaz can almost hear the jealousy coursing through the veins of every other man present. The funny thing is, Inej would not look that out of place in the rainbow-hued crowds of the Barrel or the Staves. She’s not wearing anything scandalous, even by rigid higher-class standards. It is not the clothes themselves that are scandalizing; it is these clothes here and now, worn by undoubtedly the most stunning woman in attendance – who is also irritatingly, undeniably Suli. The juxtaposition of it all. The audacity.

It’s the amber-encrusted choker on her neck and the strategic wisps of hair falling out of the elaborate crown the maid has braided her hair into, wisps that just beg the eyes of the onlookers to gape at every inch of her exposed skin.

With Inej’s hand resting on the crook of his elbow, they begin circling through the crowd. Kaz dips his hat occasionally and Inej lowers her head in small bows, but they do not exchange any greetings. Not many people here would dare to jeopardize their dignity by actually talking to Kaz, even though they have no problems betting on his horses and sitting in his seats. Usually they only steal glances at him, but today they all just stop and stare. Kaz eats up each and every pair of eyes like a cat feasting on a fat pigeon.

The first person they actually talk to is Albert Hess, a small, constantly sweaty man who is Kaz’s personal favorite brand of idiot: just smart and wealthy enough to be worth spending some time cultivating the connection, but not so smart or wealthy to become any sort of threat. Hess is also new money, and thus automatically a sort of natural ally against the stiff and unbroken front of Ketterdam’s old money families.

“Brekker.” He offers his hand, which Kaz shakes with no hesitation. He tries not to think about the thin layer of perspiration Hess’ touch will surely leave on the skin of his gloves.

“I heard the news, but it has not done your new wife justice. What a beautiful creature you are, my lady.” Hess’s eyes slide up and down Inej’s figure as though he could not possibly take in the sight of her. Kaz feels her arm slither from under his as she takes hold of her voluminous skirts to properly curtsy.

How does she even do it? These damn feathers on her hat don’t even fucking tremble when she bows her head.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you, sir.” The apples of Inej’s cheeks redden a bit as she smiles at Hess, and her eyes crinkle. The man seems too stunned to speak.

Kaz wonders, not for the first time, how none of these fucking men seem to be able to see through what is essentially just a very well-played act. Are a pair of lovely, dark eyes, a rather pleasing shade of skin, and a length of shiny hair enough to render their brains useless, is it all that it takes? Desire truly makes everyone stupid.

Kaz has perhaps never been more thankful than now, after acquiring a wife, that his own affliction cured him of this particular weakness.

“Yes, she is very pretty indeed. Did you come here to bet, Hess?”

As Kaz carefully tries to steer the conversation toward convincing Hess to bet on The Dawn (and lose quite some money in the process), Inej reaches inside a small green purse hanging from her wrist and procures a fan.

When she opens it, the sound feels like a slap.

Hess’s eyes simply – slip from Kaz’s face, as though pulled by an invisible magnet, latching onto Inej’s delicate wrist bones moving underneath the white silk of her glove, watching as she begins to slowly fan herself.

“I have to admit, I do not know much about horses, certainly not as much as my husband,” she says slowly, letting the fan edge briefly caress her cheek. “However, it would certainly make me very happy if you did bet on this horse. He ate an apple from my hand this morning, and I must admit I am very fond of him. And his mane matches the shade of my dress!”

She giggles and snaps her fan shut again. Hess flinches slightly; he has a faraway look on his face, as if concussed.

“So it would be a great wedding gift for me if you put your money on him. Would you be so kind, sir?”

*** read more on ao3 ***

#kanej #kanej fanfiction #kanej fic #soc #soc fanfiction

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dreamcloudbymelinda · 3 years

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Etsy listing available in my shop

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ratnasagarjewel · 4 years

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Apatite Gemstone Beads

Apatite Gemstone Beads are natural dark blue beads. Apart from blue color this gemstone is also available in yellow, green, violet, purple, pink and brown colors. Apatite beads is a versatile gemstone which apart from being used as jewelry item for enhancing the looks, it is also used as a healing stone for various physical ailments. Contact Ratna Sagar Jewels at 1-800-490-3092.

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lamalefix · 5 years

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Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 4

read this work on ao3

[ch1; ch2; ch3]

It’s a strange feeling, perceiving your own body.

Precisely perceiving, feeling every part of your body is weird, if not gross. Because normally, anyone should concentrate on identifying that exact toe, that specific point behind the neck, that very particular place at the base of the back, especially those like Alec, who have always been much more attentive to what happened around them than to what happened inside them. Yeah, he could reach the very end of his strength, he could find himself with a bloody hand and his shoulder displaced, he would have hurt himself very badly, but he certainly wouldn’t have felt every little part of his body.

It has happened at other times, to feel so tired, so utterly exhausted that every single millimetre, every small particle of his cells, could become clearly identifiable. It happened to Alec a few times, and usually this exhaustion, this complete tiredness, went hand in hand with something else. With the satisfaction of a satisfying intercourse, completely and unquestionably perfect in every single sense, in every detail.

But Alec remembers it, why his body is now so perceptible. And it should certainly not be, so perceptible. He still feels the contours of the burns left by a handful of healing runes, which certainly won’t do much except ease his pain, something they can’t even do much anymore, since their effect seems to last less and less with every single reactivation. Alec can smell burnt flesh, the annoying stench of the ichor and something else putrid that is torn away from him, right from his own body. From that wound that runs through his torso from shoulder to hip. But it’s his head, his head will drive him crazy. He could swear that he even felt the drops of sweat beading his forehead, he could say that he was able to identify which hair is more sticky than the others, in which precise point of his scalp there is this tiny but annoying abrasion that hurts so fucking much. He feels the blood in the beds of his fingernails, that is beginning to thicken and give him an additional sense of dirt. The blood on his hands, on his arms, seems to have become as thick as mud, and now that it is drying it seems to weigh on him like a flow of tar. The clothes, or what’s left of them, feel caked against him.

Everything hurts, but it’s the head that will drive him crazy.

Now that the darkness has cleared, even that dim light that invades the room, the cell ─ was it a cell in which he had slipped in to limit the damage in a moment of strange and unexpected lucidity, right? ─ weighs on his eyelids as if it was molten gold. The corners of his forehead, precisely two fingers above his eyebrows, seem to be about to explode, it seems that the skin is threatening to tear itself apart if it hasn’t already done so, or perhaps he had hurt himself and this could explain this pain.

And then there’s the noise, the voices, the clamour of people who don’t feel comfortable. It is a constant coming and going and if he were not certain that he had seen Magnus, shortly before closing his eyes, Alec wouldn’t believe his ears now that from time to time his voice, gentle but peremptory, velvety and strangely severe, tries to give orders.

And Alec would like to reopen his eyes, but he can’t do it, as busy as he is perceiving his own body. Maybe his head will give him a little peace and let him sleep a bit.

It takes hours, the activation of a lot of healing runes and the use of almost all the energy that is left in Magnus’ body and that has been patiently supplied also by Simon and Clary , to make Alec’s blood completely clean, finally clear of any sign of poison. At the umpteenth groan, Magnus decides to stop. Tissue damage is clearly more extensive than what the warlock, in his current condition, can heal. He can hardly keep his eyes open. He catches his breath and his fingers tremble. His whole body is drained and if he has to use the little magic he still has inside him, he will have to use it to ease Alec’s pain. Alec himself cannot resist much: the runes burn away their effect faster and faster, and his body can’t hold any more magic. The next few hours are crucial, and it will be all in Alec’s own strength.

So, Magnus recovers some shreds of sheet, and begins to cover every wound by hand, without snapping his fingers, first the big one that crosses his chest and that still has those jagged edges, and then all the others. He wraps his head, Alec has an ugly sign on his forehead that reaches the left eyebrow, like a crescent moon, and another slightly smaller on the other side a few inches over his brow. Then the palms of his hands that have these big burn marks that are now drying, the scratches on the arms, on the legs. With a little bit of luck and a little more magic, maybe he can make those scars disappear.

It was clearly a furious battle, even the rest of the Lightwoods don’t seem to be properly at their best, but he, Alec, clearly struggled at the end of his strength.

With a little luck, and a little more magic, but the signs will disappear almost completely. Only if he─

“Magnus?” he hears Jace talking to him in the immediate proximity. He hasn’t spoken at all, and Magnus’s almost surprised to hear his.

He turns, his eyes a bit clouded and sees him, stretching out his hand.

“Take it, take it all. Please save him”.

A small part of him thanks that the blond Shadowhunter has remained there until now, and that, above all, he has stopped Magnus’ stream of consciousness. Those thoughts were aiming at a very dark corner of his head, the possibility that now is more palpable than ever, but he’d better ignore it.

Magnus swallows, and tries to sketch out a half smile. Jace needs him awake, because as soon as Magnus won’t be able to keep his eyes open Alec will need his parabatai to go back, to find his way back, and the rest of his family is drained of their energy and has been dismissed perhaps no more than half an hour ago. “No, not now,” he says. And he only realizes at that moment how weak his voice is. He is thirsty, a thirst that perhaps not even the most crystalline water would be able to appease. It’s the thirst of those who saw death in the face, of those who risked dying.

“Then let’s call the Silent Brothers, or... or let’s call Catarina... we have to heal him, right?” and he’s so loud, yet even his voice has something different: he looks terrified. He is terrified. “The runes no longer have much effect... because he is exhausted but─”.

Magnus sighs and shakes his head slowly: if Catarina were informed of what is happening to Alec she would try to help them, but she would also be hunted down by the Clave. As long as this thing remains between them, there won’t be too much collateral damage.

Jace moves, and maybe it’s a vague attempt to get Magnus’ attention. His hand is still there, outstretched. “Take it, I’ll activate a couple of stamina runes and refresh me, don’t worry” he reiterates. “We have to heal him, if you want to do it... that’s fine, but you’re exhausted, Magnus. Alec wouldn’t let me... take it, please...”.

The warlock then reaches out to cover Jace’s hand. “We have to let him heal. In small steps, it will take a little longer but...” he says and the words die in the back of his throat. It’s difficult to explain this concept, and he is not really of the trade. “At least for the next few hours. His physique would hold no other magic, be it mine or that of a healer...” he adds. “And then we can’t call anyone now.”

“Why?” He asks again.

Magnus swallows noisily and looks back at Alec, gently stroking his face with his fingertips. “Call your family it’s time to explain...”.

There is a great ruckus. It is as indistinct as the buzz of a very crowded street, like a murmur that burns in the ears and seems to get stronger and stronger.

He could swear to hear the sound of his own blood flowing in his veins, rising and turning in the swirls of the auricles, climbing up his back and reaching the base of his skull.

Alec is not a noisy type, he has always been good at listening, drawing his conclusions and living in a heavy silence, a silence made up of bottled thoughts and hidden and denied desires. The noises around him come from afar, yet they are close. It seems the din that his brothers have always made. He has never had chaos in his head, he has always been a methodical type who proceeds with a cool mind. He could swear he never dreamed, or at least he never dreamed of anything striking, nothing to declare aloud, nothing that lingers on his skin the morning after. His head has always been full of thoughts, all bottled, capped well and hidden in a dark crevice, far away even from the eyes of the other part of his soul.

And then Magnus arrived, and everything changed. The ruckus around him took on the connotations of a calm chaos, regulated by the continuous flow of his magic, warm and gentle waves, delicate like light caresses. His thoughts are no longer bottled up in that remote corner of his mind, and every now and then he also gives voice to the most hidden desires, he usually whispers them because it’s still a bit scary to give them a voice. And he knows how to listen and holds his breath and no longer draws his conclusions in a heavy silence. Now, when he goes to bed, when in the evening he falls asleep sometimes he dreams. Because he knows how to dream. And in the dream he clenches his fists, holds his breath and stands there watching. And perhaps he has always known how to dream. But in the morning he has something on him, he has the signs of that desire that hung on his skin, out of the dream, he has the signs of kisses and love, he has the signs of Magnus’ presence and of what he was always afraid of dreaming, of asking, and now he can finally say that belongs to him.

There is a lot of noise around him. And it’s all dark. And perhaps it was a dream but he saw Magnus in that black mist that surrounded him. Magnus who dispelled the darkness. Magnus who spoke to him, in such a soft and low voice.

And maybe it’s not the end, it’s not the end of his life. Of their lives.

Or maybe Magnus is just trying to accompany Alec where he is.

Maybe in another life, in another circumstance, they will have better luck.

Or from that dust and darkness, something else could be born.

Or maybe Magnus is already there, just waiting for him to wake up.

And perhaps it is so, because in that confusion, in that great din, and his head has always been pretty good at identifying that voice, his favourite voice and excluding all the background noise, all the buzz, Alec manages to intercept it: there’s Magnus right beside him.

And Magnus speaks softly and seems to be looking for the best words to say about something that Alec isn’t able to grasp, and he seems to be holding back heavy thoughts and weighing the words, and he seems so worried.

Of course, Alec is confused, and his thoughts are not at all cohesive and coherent, outlined and concise. He is not only confused, he is tired. And maybe fatigue makes his senses benighted and what he saw before him was nothing but Magnus’ ghost who said goodbye to him, and his voice now it’s just trying to guide him. What did that ghost say?

“Okay so you said you would explain everything...” someone mumbles, and Magnus is really careless right now. It was enough to leave him alone for a minute with Alec, and let himself go and closed his eyes for a moment. Certainly, he cannot say that he rested: that kind of half-minute nap in which everything was dark, confused him completely. More than expected.

He wrinkles his nose, sighs and tries to find the words. He swallows and attempts to keep his eyes away from Alec for a moment. Magnus loves drama, and if only he were just in a slightly different situation, he would tell this story with his usual melodramatic intonation, to give it an ancient and magical, almost fairy-tale sense, mostly because something ancient like this deserves some satisfactory performance. Now, instead, everything comes out monotonous. “It is a very antique lore,” says Magnus, his eyes fixed on Alec’s impossible pallor, on his forehead beaded with sweat, on blood-drenched bandages, which he may have to change sooner than expected.

The silence is deafening. He can only hear the choked breath, the half rattle that starts from Alec’s half-open lips, Alec who is doing his very best to stay alive, with his own strength.

Magnus closes his eyes and tries to shift his gaze again and point it at one, any of those present. “Probably, a good part of the Silent Brothers doesn’t even know the whole story... there is a book in the library, in the forbidden area, in which there are early bestiaries... and this legend, it is a short article on an illuminated manuscript, and perhaps it is included in the bestiary only because it is reputed folklore” he mumbles, and his adding words is a dancing around, it’s an attempt in every way to lengthen the broth, to gild the pill.

“Magnus” hisses someone, and maybe he’s so tired he can’t tell if it’s Isabelle or Jace the one who’s talking, of course, whoever it is, they just want him to get to the point.

Magnus swallows again, noisily. And maybe it’s because he’s very tired, because he used so much of that magic that he can’t take it anymore. Or maybe it’s because they are heavy thoughts, they are heavy words, and opening his mouth could do enormous damage. “It’s said that if you bathe in the blood of a hundred demons, in a night of eclipses in which Mars also bloods the sky... you can become more like demons”.

“No, I don’t understand,” Clary mumbles furrowed brow on her confused face.

“Was that magic Alec’s? It wasn’t yours, you said it... so...” Simon deduces, his eyes wide as the realization slaps him. Isabelle also has the same shocked expression. “Is Alec becoming a warlock?”.

“They are just legends...” Jace begins to say . “Right?”.

Clary sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose . “Well, we are immersed in legends. Legends are true”.

Magnus shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably one of the ancient warlocks really knows someone who turned like this, maybe they know the real story behind this tale... Ragnor believed that some of the very first magic-users had become such in this very same way. It’s as if the blood of a demon corrupted the existence of others, and it’s rare because it happens only with the conjunction of multiple factors... it’s like the fall of angels…” he sighs and drops his words when Alec groans louder and his breath breaks at the bottom of his throat. And Magnus looks at him and loses all his attention: Alec’s parted lips are trying to bite the air in front of his nose, just to get more oxygen. And Magnus’ heart breaks a little more.

Isabelle is talking. And a part of him thanks her mentally for pushing him. “Do you think...”.

“This would explain many things... Alec can use magic, a magic very similar to mine, because he has angelic blood.” Magnus nods without even looking up.

“But he can use the runes!” Clary objects . “It doesn’t make sense...”.

The warlock half-closes his eyes and sighs feebly. “I don’t know.” he admits softly. He was hoping this was just a legend and Alec could get better, but he’s seen the magic sparkling between Alec’s fingers so… “I would assume that, since he is not corrupted by the demonic factor, his runes still work. Maybe that’s it…”.

And he waits for any reaction, but nothing comes.

“I mean” he reiterates. “It’s extremely rare, and I don’t know if those like you can survive, I don’t really know if anyone ever survived the transformation. If this can be called transformation... we know little… I know little about it. And Alec is strong, I know he is, but I don’t know how much he can resist, he’s lost a lot of blood and I don’t know... I don’t know what will happen next...” he says again and realizes that it is a stream of consciousness, he’s simply giving air to the mouth, he’s actually spewing all this information onto them. He should stop, he should weigh his words.

Isabelle tightens the hold on his shoulder, but she doesn’t say a thing.

No one says anything, or maybe Magnus is so tired, so confused, that everything around him is beginning to lose all his interest. The only thing that interests him, frankly, is Alec who has this face all wrinkled in a contrite grimace. But somehow, he also seems to have listened to everything, and Magnus merely moves his hand to rub his cheek in a light caress.

He finally opens his eyes in a moment of dread.

Magnus is still there, hastening with his fingers sparkling in the blue flames of his magic and moving on him. Alec cannot move his head but he is sure that his situation, that of his body, is not exactly the best. But the magic moves slowly, and seems to only alleviate the pain. And that’s okay, he can’t ask for more. There is other magic that slowly approaches his body, it’s more precise and surgical, it’s Catarina’s. And she is in the limit of Alec’s field of vision, a dark blue spot that observes him curiously.

She seems to say something, but there is that continuous noise. That noise in his ears that seems to become even more pressing, more deafening. An impossible clamour. There are other people there, besides the two warlocks, and he can’t recognize where he is, but of course the bed is uncomfortable and every inch of his body hurts. From the tip of his hair to the bead of his feet.

Yet when at last Magnus looks into his eyes, the noise disappears and there is peace again. There is a tired smile that curls his lips for a moment, and Alec would like to tell him that he has to stop, that he can see from how his eyes are dull that he is tired, that he can’t do it. That he is so drained, so exhausted and he must, he must rest. Alec will make it. It will take longer, but he will make it. If Magnus is alive, he will make it. He has to do it.

And he opens his mouth and tries to say something but only a dull sound comes out, and something that scratches his throat, a lump of blood and pain, gets stuck in his trachea.

When he starts to cough, Magnus is alarmed and says something to someone who is nearby, beyond the periphery of Alec’s field of view, and even if it was in the immediate vicinity, his eyes as always are only for Magnus.

A very slight smile seems to tremble on Alec’s lips, but that thing that has climbed in his throat seems to have taken away all his words.

Alec isn’t good with words. He’s better at listening. And he is even better, a champion in this, to live in a endless series of heebie-jeebies. And right now it’s even better, even more so, to look at a situation objectively.

And he is objectively dying.

And Magnus was objectively dying. A few hours ago, or it was probably a few hours ago, and now he is there using all his magic to remedy a situation that has no remedies.

He is dying.

It’s an objective fact.

And it doesn’t matter.

It’s like dreaming in fits and starts. The light that flickers in the immediate distance. And then it disappears, and the darkness takes over his visual field.

Alec is really tired of this story, he’s tired of head that is in this continuous chaos.

He doesn’t like chaos, he prefers to bottle everything and forget about it. They will be a problem for later. He doesn’t like chaos, he doesn’t like nightmares that take possession of his sleep, that take his breath away and that always have the terrible taste of absence.

Usually it’s enough to stretch out your hand and tighten his grip on Magnus and the dream disappears and the rest of the night passes in a whisper of smoke. And in the morning, he leaves the bed reluctantly, but with a certain satisfaction on him.

Now he can’t even move his fingers, he can’t look for his hand and maybe in his head everything is confusing again, and it’s all taking on the over-defined form of an absence. If Magnus no longer exists, then it isn’t worthwhile for him to exist.

Maybe he gets lucky and reincarnates into something that will have the same duration as Magnus sooner or later. In something that Magnus will love even half of what he loves now. It must not be him, Alec who is dying, the love of his life. Because Magnus is timeless, without expiry, and will live long and love again and again and again and again─ And maybe Alec is a little jealous, and he feels like crying, but it’s not the pain that clouds his vision, but the farewell that weighs on his tongue but that lump in his throat can’t get out.

It is an objective fact. He is dying. And Magnus is in danger of dying too from using all that magic. Because he was in pieces. Alec felt his life abandoning his body. Magnus was dead.

And maybe this is a dream. And his head doesn’t allow him to die in peace, because it’s his fault that Magnus is dead. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault.

And perhaps the chaos has disappeared because he doesn’t hear anything afterwards.

But it hurts. It hurts like hell. Damn.

And he deserves it a little.

It is the third day. Or maybe it’s the fourth. Magnus doesn’t really know, to be honest, he is rather exhausted to elaborate concepts and systematize them.

Alec opened his eyes a few days ago and yet, yet no sign of recovery. Of course, the wounds are healing very slowly, but they are healing. And perhaps the only thing Magnus can hold on to is that he breathes, and nothing can be worth more: Alec is still alive.

“You don’t look so well,” Isabelle tells him. Even she, to be honest, doesn’t look so good: her hair aren’t that shiny black, now opaque, her big eyes are marked by the livid tiredness of sleepless nights, in which she attempted to make Magnus leave Alec’s bedside for more than those twenty or so minutes for a quick shower and a bite, or for carrying out some physiological function.

And Magnus moves his gaze and looks at her with his usual friendly smile. “My darling Isabelle, I’ll excuse you because I know I’m not that fabulous right now… I’ll tell you the truth: one can’t be fabulous when he’s trying to prevent his love’s death and not ending up killed in the process himself”.

Isabelle never asked that question, she never asked if her brother will survive. She never even questioned it. But that question has been on Magnus’ shoulders since he saw Alec with his eyes open that time. Magnus knows, that this whole situation is all in Alec’s hands, in that internal struggle that is wearing him down very softly, but definitely. Isabelle doesn’t ask that question.

But now the question slips between her teeth, she looks low and lost, and runs a hand through her brother’s hair, damp with sweat and encrusted with blood and ichor. “Will he make it?” and her tone, the tone with which she asks that question, snatches Magnus’ breath.

He doesn’t know how to say it, he doesn’t know how to explain to all of them what’s happening and, above all, he doesn’t know how to put into words that, probably, even with all his magic, with all his good will, Alec might not make it.

He squints and then looks back at Alexander, motionless, the breath coming out of his half-open mouth sounds like a rattle. “He is strong, you know” he replies.

“Magnus,” she calls him, and maybe she is using the same tone Magnus used only a few days ago to ask her if Alec was alive.

The warlock, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, shakes his head and looks at her, his tear ducts seem to be on fire. “I don’t know, Isabelle.” And maybe Magnus has a more definite answer, but he doesn’t want to give it a voice. It’s always in that dark corner of his head, in that black and tumultuous corner of his life. There is where he encloses his worries, where he puts all the terrible thoughts concerning Alec. Alec, who is the love of his life. “It’s all in his hands,” he says, wrinkling his nose and doing his best not to cry, and brings Alec’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, one by one. “I won’t let him die, I can tell you that,” he adds and feels a new and more powerful determination burning in his eyes. “I’ll do my best to keep him with us, but now it’s all in his hands, I can only ease his pain”.

Isabelle heaves a long sigh between her teeth, and perhaps tries to hold back a sob. “Do you want to move him to the infirmary?”.

Magnus looks at her for a moment and shakes his head. “No. There are runes here that block the magical influx. It is certainly safer to keep it here. Maryse , are you coming? “

“No. She is still at the London Institute” she murmurs. “Should I send her a fire message?”.

“No.” says Magnus. “No. The less people know about this, the better”.

“Catarina said you’re reckless” she mumbles.

“I know.” he nods with a certain fondness that stretches on his face. “I really deserved her pep talk...”.

“Magnus, she can help us. She can help Alec, help you...” she replies, shaking her head.

“First: she already helped,” he starts, and maybe he’s too harsh, his voice is too severe. He tightens his lips in a thin line and gulps again his words, trying to buy time and reformulate. “When I said that the Clave would hunt Alexander, I mean that it will happen. It’s not just a possibility. If Alec survives─” he stops, and he just needs a moment to find the words, tears stings in his eyes saying it out loud makes it true. “When─When he’ll open his eyes, he will be hunted by the Clave as soon as his magic appears...”.

And Isabelle draws her breath between her teeth and sits on that ramshackle bed next to her brother, as if her legs can’t hold her anymore.

“The same thing applies to Catarina. She already knows too many things, she helped us, if they knew she tried to help us... she will risk what we all risk: a life sentence. You could be ripped off your runes and I...” he stops, squeezes Alexander’s hand and brings it to his mouth. “You know what happens to the Warlocks who break your beloved Law.”

“But we’re not breaking the law, Alec was dying... you...” she mumbles.

Magnus smiles at her calmly. “I couldn’t do otherwise. We could not do otherwise.” he replies and does his best, with all of himself, not to let his voice tremble. “But, Alexander is strong, and I’m sure he will do his best not to leave us… I don’t know if and when he can control his magic. His magic is very strong,” he adds. “It’s dangerous and the Clave will hunt him because he is dangerous, Isabelle. Because he is outside the rules, because he is against the law... because a Nephilim cannot become a warlock”.

Isabelle sighs again, her shoulders tremble, but she seems to hold the blow, she smiles at him, in her eyes there is a resolution that is clearly the Trueblood’s heritage. “Take him away, then. As soon as he wakes up, as soon as he is able to travel, take him away. You definitely have a place where you can protect him... and where you can help him control himself... and surely you know a glamour that is powerful enough not to be intercepted by our sensors...” she adds.

And Magnus is speechless for a minute, and when he tries to open his mouth she continues.

“If you can protect him, Magnus. My family and I will do our very best to support you. We’ll make up excuses, we’ll come up with fake missions and all… we will figure it out. We will make sure to take his place alternately. We will also talk about it with mother...” she adds and shakes her head slowly.

And Magnus still has his mouth open, but no sound comes out.

“If my brother lives, I’m sure, I’m sure you can help him,” Isabelle adds, even more resolution that sparkles in her eyes, and almost seems to delete all that exhaustion that lingered on her face. “And then fuck the Clave. If they strip me of my runes for helping my brother, a warrior, a hero of the war, two heroes, my family, then that’s fine. I’ll gladly be a mundie...”.

And while a tiny smile is approaching Magnus’ lips and he is about to answer her, something attracts his attention. Alec calls his attention.

His lips are parted, but no sound comes from his throat. That rattle that was his breathing, doesn’t come anymore.

And Magnus snaps his fingers and calls his magic back to him.

Is he─

It can’t be happening.

No.

The shock of magic that rubs against his lips suddenly seems to help him breathe better. And the weight he had on his chest, a weight he didn’t remember he had, or Alec doesn’t know how long was there, seems to disappear.

The throat is now parched, the trachea asks for water, but he can’t find the words. Maybe he doesn’t even have the words. And he really wants to say something, because that’s Magnus’ magic. His magic kissed his lips and made him breathe. And now Magnus is talking, talking to someone. His voice is velvety, as always, but it is weighed down by an impressive tiredness, and fear, and worry. The words that roll up his tongue, like when he speaks but he is slipping into that satisfying slumber after a night spent together.

Alec forces himself to open his eyes. He doesn’t even remember when he closed them. And it takes all his determination, all his good will to open them.

And when the light enters, when he finally manages to open his damned eyelids, the one that appears in his field of vision is Magnus, with the terror in his eyes and the face that seems to contract into something indescribable, or at least something that Alec couldn’t describe right now. His eyes widen, his pupils dilate and the tiny tired smile that curls on his lip looks so so happy.

And if Alec has looked at him even once like that, as Magnus is looking at him now, he can be satisfied.

It seems that a heavy weight has been taken off his lean shoulders and his eyes are shiny and maybe it’s fatigue, maybe it’s something more, maybe tears. And Alec frowns, and the mere gesture of wrinkling his forehead makes a weird and unpleasant shock that climbs his spine and reaches every single point in his whole body and obscures his vision. But he can’t close his eyes, because he has to drink him, Magnus.

Magnus. All dishevelled and opaque hair, clothes that certainly aren’t amazing and flashy, they are clean at least but certainly had seen better days, but yet Magnus is so beautiful that Alec perhaps for a single moment forgets that even breathing hurts so much.

Magnus seems to have lost his words, or maybe he can’t find them. He has his lips parted and two small tears seem to crown the corners of his eyes, his green-golden iris is just a small, small frame for the black pit of his pupils broad and dilated.

“Hey” Alec finally manages to say with a whisper. His throat is parched from an impossible thirst, and the voice seems to come right from the other world but he couldn’t feel more alive than this. Every single inch of his body doesn’t hurt anymore, he just wants to feel Magnus on him. Even just a kiss. Or ten. Or a hundred. Or a thousand.

But for now he can be satisfied even just looking at him, like this and letting its eyes warm up his heart and ease his pain.

[ch.5]

#malec #malec fic #malec angst #angst with happy ending #warlock alec lightwood #alec lightwood #magnus bane #pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra #lamalefixwrites

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myhandmadepassion · 7 years

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Red Coral Earrings, Crochet Earrings With Coral Chip Beads, Hawaiian Jewelry, Natural Stone, Silver Wire Earrings, Girlfriend Gift

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dreamcloudsbymelinda · 3 years

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Etsy listing available in my shop

Check out this item in my Etsy shop https://www.etsy.com/listing/1066928891/spider-earrings-with-black-volcanic

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hautekurture · 6 years

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[para] blaine and kurt’s fight club

characters → @happilyeveranders, @hautekurture

location → nyada campus, new york

timeframe → dec. 10, 2017 morning

summary → blaine wants to learn how to fight to protect the boy he loves. kurt isn’t that boy, and wanted to be. however he knows he can’t be, so it’s time to give up, isn’t it.

notes → violence, blood, drowning mention.

Kurt was waiting for Blaine to be finished changing into the outfit he had prepared for Blaine. Even if Kurt was literally helping Blaine win over some other boy, and he was trying his best to give up on ever having Blaine like him back that way, Kurt could at least enjoy the eye candy that would be Blaine Anderson and sweat. It’s the little things that Kurt was living for now. Pathetic is what he would have called himself last year. Kurt tapped his feet, his black Reebok Combat Noble trainers were snug against his toes. He next fixed the sleeves of his dark blue Fila sports jacket, and fidgeted. Kurt picked through the one of the holes of his Army of Me distressed fitted T-shirt, and then stretched down to his toes, pulling down the ends of his dark blue Puma ribbed detail sweatpants.

Blaine’s outfit was already coming together in Kurt’s mind’s eye. He had put together a white Puma long-line vest top, covered by a mesh lace see through jacket in black, and a Plein Sport gray jogging shorts. He had gotten Blaine the same type of shoes, in an alternate sandstone and ash variety, because that little pop of color read Blaine to him.

They were going to do something easy. It was the basics of boxing. Kurt didn’t want to teach Blaine how to handle sais, and Blaine himself was used to fencing anyhow so in the case Blaine lost his weapon, he could find these moves useful so that he could avoid the worst of injuries. Kurt’s head throbbed when he remembered the underwater cave again and how Kurt had failed to share his air mask with Blaine. Blaine could have drowned and died. Kurt stretched up and looked once more at the boxing equipment he rented from the stadium’s equipment shed. Kurt wasn’t the best boxer however there was YouTube to fill in the places he was weak at. As long as Blaine didn’t know that Kurt was taking the time to study and learn the moves in preparation of this Rocky parody training montage, Kurt could live with how embarrassing he was behaving just to hang out with Blaine more.

Blaine arrives to the training room, a faint blush on his face at the rather self-conscious clothing he’s attired in. But hey, it’s from Kurt’s expert suggestion, so who is Blaine to question mesh... right? “Alright, let’s start -- hey, why are you wearing that?” It’s a mixture of curiosity and now ensuing embarrassment and Blaine’s hands draw themselves protectively across his chest with folded arms, trying to vehemently to keep both warm in the sheer outfit and cool down from his flaming sense of “what-have-I-gotten-myself-into-figuratively-and-literally.”

Kurt replied easily. “Because I’m your trainer, Blaine. I thought you were all about Rocky. We’re living your training montage fantasy. Come here.” Kurt picked up some handwraps from the pile of equipment next to him. “Let me show you how to properly wrap your hands. Hands are the most important things we have.” As Kurt brought his eyes back to Blaine, he smiled with selfish pleasure. Kurt very much outdone himself with styling Blaine. I should create a lookbook for this. k.e. hummel collection, featuring Blaine Anderson. We could run a limited magazine print through L’Homme. It’ll sell fast, become a rarefied and iconic collaboration, like Louis Vuitton and Yayoi Kusama. Kurt thought as he unraveled a length of the wrap.

Blaine can’t argue with that logic. “Oh! Does that mean you’re the Mickey Goldmill to my Rocky Balboa?” His eyes shine with the eagerness that they get to be recreating a Commons Classic Film™. Blaine bounds over, presenting his hands for Kurt’s scrutiny. He nods in agreement to Kurt’s declaration; the hands are important. Blaine himself has taken utmost care for his own hands as well, considering the fingerings he’s learned over the years for piano, guitar, and other strings like the violin and its extended instrumental family. “What will we do next? Put on the gloves? Do some boxing with the bag?” Blaine already imagines himself doing sky uppercuts and spinning kicks; he’ll be the next Punch-Out character!

Kurt ‘s hairs on the back of his neck rose when his and Blaine’s fingers met. It felt so unreal how the tiniest of touches gave Kurt shivers that lasted throughout the day. Blaine’s hands were fine things. He has piano fingers with calluses where he must have worn them out playing guitar or something, Kurt thought. Kurt wrapped the cloth once around Blaine’s palm. It went under and over. Kurt wanted to do the same. Don’t forget this isn’t for you. It’s for someone else. Kurt reminded himself and killed his own vibe. He was the party pooper all the time including for himself. At Blaine’s random comparison, Kurt gave Blaine a blank stare. “What. No. First of all. How dare you. Why would I be Mickey Goldmill? Have you seen Mickey Goldmill? I’m naturally Adrian Pennino. And before you ask why I know characters from Rocky, my dad is a blue collar white man living in Ohio. Of course I know Rocky. Secondly, no. We’re doing this.” Kurt smacked Blaine’s wrapped hands away with more force than necessary. You’re his friend. Don’t hold his hands longer than he needs to. Kurt picked up and held a jump rope in the space between Blaine and himself. “Warm up first, Blaine.”

Blaine feels a coziness in his shoulders as he raises his hands to chest level for Kurt to apply the wraps. He’s focused on how Kurt’s fingers deftly weave the wrap around Blaine’s own skin, and makes notes on what to do. When Kurt’s hold lingers on him whilst Kurt lectures him about their assigned fictional roles, Blaine can’t help but chuckle sheepishly and have a warmth spread across his face evenly. He wants to reply that Adrian Pennino is the love interest for Rocky, but his wrapped hands are discarded aside and the sudden chill from the air makes Blaine involuntarily long for contact again. He gulps. It’s just a bodily impulse to be warm. He shakes his head and takes the ends of the rope, casting his gaze over to the ground. He says, quickly, “Right. Warm up first...!” The rope opens as Blaine’s hands pull apart to his sides. Blaine gives Kurt a beaming smile, “This is going to be great, Kurt. Boxing, from my understanding and expectation, is perhaps the most challenging of all sports. Requires speed, agility, finesse, power, endurance, and ultimate mental fortitude.” Blaine steps forward and readies the rope -- and away he goes in a sharp tap against the floor. Jump rope is actually simple for someone like Blaine, who’s characteristically light on his feet. The speed is whirring the rope as Blaine talks in ease, “Boxing pushes you like no other, pitting the finest and highest level athletes against each other... A sweet science of measured approach, but at the same time, a raw and brutal sport of extreme physicality and bestial natures!” The rope smacks repeatedly against the ground like a staccato rhythm -- on speed. Taktaktaktaktaktak! Blaine’s face has no strain, and only a single bead of sweat starts to form at his temples. “Boxing takes you further than you ever thought possible for yourself. Boxing makes you more alive than ever, more humble in defeat, and most glorious in victory, revealing the true fighter deep inside every single one of us... What do you think, Kurt?”

Kurt was shocked at Blaine’s crazy speed. No one is pressing a fast-forward button here no? I’m fast however not as fast as Blaine. This is troubling if he’s also the type to finish fast too. Kurt put up his hand to slow Blaine down. Blaine had great burst energy but how long could Blaine last? Kurt needed to test out Blaine’s endurance. How much could Blaine take before he was the point of collapse. “Ok, you dork.” Kurt replied not knowing how to react to Blaine’s very poetic ideas about boxing. It’s two people hitting each other in the face, Blaine. Kurt hid an amused smile on his face as he ordered Blaine around, pointing at him. “That’s enough. Now run around the training space two times. Don’t sprint too hard, it’s not a race. Do it so your muscles are warmed up. Let’s stretch afterwards.” Kurt pulled out his phone from his jacket’s pocket to measure the time.

Blaine “Yeah, sure!” Blaine does as he told, running at a pace that seemed to suit Kurt’s strict criteria. He manages to flash a smile at Kurt as he turns a lap, and then jogs back up to Kurt. Pulling his arms over his head and then bending down to touch his toes, Blaine says to Kurt, “So, um, thanks for helping me do this. I know we’ve had some hard conversations in the past, and I know how much you hate being pulled back into the conversation about Lusus Naturae... but I appreciate you and this so much, Kurt. You’re... you’re a really good guy.” He lifts his head up to look at Kurt. He really means what he says; Kurt has changed so much.

Kurt “No, I’m not, Blaine.” Kurt’s face darkened as he helped Blaine stretch himself more. He did not note how flexible was Blaine was. He did not not lie to himself at the moment. Kurt thought it was enough when they stretched for the next ten minutes. They were feeling warm. He said, “Trust me, this is helping me as much as it’s helping you in a way. Please don’t ask me why, we should move onto the next thing. Gloves. Put them on. I’ll put mine on too.” He handed Blaine a pair of boxing gloves and then started putting on his own.

Blaine notes the way Kurt’s eyes seem to overcast and smiles to brighten up the situation. Take it on Blaine to keep saying the wrong things to Kurt. Blaine agrees, “...Alright, let’s move on. Oh, sure!” The boxing gloves are leather-like material and shiny black. Blaine covers his wrapped fists in them with Kurt’s help. Colliding the gloves together with several thumps, Blaine grins mischievously at Kurt. “Snug as a bug. Hahaha, Commons idioms. Wait, you’re putting them on too, I thought we’re only doing bagwork?” Blaine raises an eyebrow at the white boxing gloves Kurt is slipping on.

Kurt “Blaine, fighting anyone straight-on is 90% mental. In close combat, you only a fraction of a second before it’s your neck or theirs, your blood or their blood.” He said and gave Blaine a measured, calculating stare. He raised his fists into a stance and stepped toward Blaine. “Responsive training is more important than drill training. But I’m not going to fight you. I don’t think I’m ready to do that. I’m going to teach you the stance and footwork.” Kurt pivoted so that he was next to Blaine instead of facing him. He couldn’t fight Blaine in combat again. No, not like last time. Having Blaine’s blood on his hands was a deeply traumatic experience.

Blaine instantly finds himself in a tense state when he sees that look in Kurt’s eyes. It’s hungry. Blaine wants to come closer yet draw away from the nakedness that stare brings out of him. Good thing Kurt’s by his side now and Blaine can refocus on something else, even if it’s unpalatable. He murmurs with a squiggled lip, “My blood or theirs... ah, of course.” Blaine glances over and tries to mimic Kurt’s pose. “I don’t want to fight you, either, hahaha... we all saw how that went. Right, footwork! I’m going to float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!”

Kurt snorted at Blaine’s dorkiness. It was cute however. Kurt used his own leg to lightly hook against Blaine’s and nudged it into the position he wanted. Kurt didn’t have to do it that way, however he was trying to be casual about moving Blaine around. “Your front toe and back heel are on this center line. Dominant hand back... ” He helped Blaine equally distribute his weight evenly across both legs. The knees had to be slightly bent and the feet had to be at a diagonal, wider than a shoulder width apart. “Raise that back heel, babe. Blaine.” Kurt blushed as he accidentally called Blaine a pet name and made up for it by streaming more commands. “Elbows down! Hands up! Head behind your gloves, put that chin slightly down--I said slightly! Your eyes see over the gloves, don’t forget to relax, breathe, ok, perfect.” Kurt left Blaine alone and got into his own stance. Kurt showed Blaine an example of a left jab. “Now punch like me, don’t only use your fist but swing your body into it.”

Blaine is pretty sure he heard Kurt call him something else, but his concentration departs to acquaint itself with other orders, namely the positioning of the boxing stance. Blaine angles his limbs as instructed, feeling solid as he shifts his weight between his two feet. His gloves rise to meet just the underside of his line of sight, and he gives Kurt a small nod before he throws an example punch. His fist swings with a rush of air, copying Kurt’s motion though it’s slightly shaky. “Like this?” Blaine asks, relaxing out of the pose.

Kurt sighed when he heard Blaine’s glove whiz by. There was hesitancy in there. He faced Blaine. “No, with intent. Like you want to kill. Exhale as you throw the punch. Tighten your fist and body muscles right at the impact.” Kurt pushed his glove against Blaine’s. “Release your hand back to you.” He said and explained more of the boxing footwork. He taught Blaine how to pivot and once Kurt felt satisfied, he moved away from Blaine to look over the overall form.

Blaine ‘s shoulders stiffen at the command. “But... I don’t want to kill,” he replies, resolute. He does what Kurt asks but it doesn’t feel right to him.

Kurt could feel the weakness in Blaine’s punch. He scolded Blaine, “The reality is that by living we’re destined to kill. The faster you learn that, the easier it is to live. Move your foot there. Punch.” He held a hand out for Blaine to hit, ready to pull it away if Blaine wasn’t paying attention.

Blaine replies, “If living an easy life means not caring about anything or anyone, and just living through the motions, I don’t think it’s for me.” Blaine punched the target, but it was too slow. Kurt whizzed by him.

Kurt sighed. Why did he have to... Kurt shook off his weakening feelings. He had to be firm. He took on an instructive voice. “The jab is the most important punch in boxing. It can attack, defend, counter, score points, make space, and many other things. It’s your longest, fastest punch, uses the least energy, and leaves you the least vulnerable.” He then showed Blaine the right cross, the left hook, and the left uppercut. When he was done, Kurt was sweating at the temples too. He was overexerting himself, wasn’t he? All for someone who didn’t love him back. Pathetic.

Blaine fell back to the ground on his butt, tired out after all the different moves. He didn’t get any hit in on Kurt but he dodged a lot of the blows too. All in all, he felt... good, like he had achieved something of his own means, and didn’t feel helpless. Weakness wasn’t uncommon to Blaine. The thing that got him was the helplessness, the feeling he was no use to anyone. However, with Kurt training him, Blaine felt weight behind his clenched fists. He got up, legs shaky, and clapped Kurt on the shoulder before drawing the other student into a hug. “Thank you, Kurt. You’ve taught me something so valuable. Thanks for taking your time out to help me.”

Kurt was quietly enjoying the view of sweaty Blaine when all of a sudden Blaine brought him in a hug. Oh. This is the worst. Kurt’s heart pounded as Blaine spoke. “You’re welcome, we should do this another time. Practice makes perfect.” Kurt’s voice cracked. “Any time. I have time for you any time.”

God, when did he become this person.

#ref: paras #para: blaine anderson #// lol we took forever

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