i don't even know what this is ok

Fanon Lotor be like

i am not even sorry just take this

  • person: *talks about something they're passionate about even if I don't know much about it or can relate too much*
  • me: Listen. Listen. I love listening to what you're passionate about. It's fun listening. You don't have to apologize. It's good talking about things you like. Enjoy yourself.
Band instruments as things I've heard them say
  • Piccolo: .... (I don't think I've ever heard them speak. Thinks they're better than everyone and doesn't talk to other band kids)
  • Flute: guess what 'band director' said about 'piccolo'
  • Oboe: *quietly playing a solo, very concentrated*
  • Bassoon: *squeak*
  • Clarinet: we're gonna play those two notes ff instead of p so it sounds like 'DOOT DOOT' wanna help
  • Bass clarinet: I don't think I play here
  • Alto saxophone: I can fit my whole mouthpiece down my throat I'll show you
  • Tenor saxophone: we either play 4 half notes the entire song...or constant 32nd notes....I don't understand
  • Bari saxophone: so do I do sectionals with the trombones, or...?
  • Trombones: *screams into instrument*
  • Tuba: why am I even here
  • French horn: (secluded, doesn't speak much. Very put together. Know what they're doing)
  • Trumpet: *clearly plays wrong note* that wasn't me
  • Percussion: *screaming* RATCHET SUPREMACY

The contrast between the two of them. The open, unfiltered honesty of Alec almost astounds Magnus. From the get go it’s been this way with them. Alec surprising Magnus. For the simple reason that Alec is just so blunt, innocent and a little bit naive. The heavy weight of how Magnus looks at Alec as he confesses his love. Like he’s watching this extraordinary, young, beautiful man discover everything for this first time. And the look of disbelief on his face comes from the fact that he can’t believe he gets to experience these things WITH him.

All of the shit that Magnus has been through, all of the heartbreak, all of the LIFE he’s seen. It weighs so heavy on him, especially here. While Alec is all nerves and anxiety and just pure, unfiltered, raw, gut instinct and EMOTION. Magnus is measured, sure, compassionate, awed and steady. Just how different they both are, in everything, but especially this moment is incredibly beautiful. It’s interesting. It’s unique. It’s captivating. It’s everything.

anonymous asked:

hi just wanna ask u, as a lebanese muslim, what defense do u have if any, for israel's invasion of palestine. i agree completely that Jewish ppl deserve a homeland just as any one else does but to invade an already existing and developed nation is cruel. i know ur not 100% pro-israel but i just want to hear ur side bc u don't seem to extremely support either israel/palestine. also, im antizionist but i fail to see how this makes me antisemitic? i have nothing against jewish ppl, just israel. ty

OK. I’m going to break this down a bit because there’s are many components to your ask and some of them are contradictory.

1. Agreeing that the Jewish people deserve a homeland is a form of Zionism. I’m frustrated by the term “anti-zionist” for a number of reasons, especially considering very few people who use the term seem to actually know what Zionism even is, or what it sounds like to most Jews. 

2. Many far right Jew haters use the term “Zionist” interchangeably with Jew and many anti-zionists who are predominantly concerned with the plight of the Palestinians end up buying into all sorts of antisemitic ideas because they’re sold as “anti-zionist.” This is incredibly dangerous to us as it allows antisemitism to be transmitted under a different label and far too few anti-zionists bother to challenge these ideas, allowing them to spread. This is dangerous for Jews and it makes it harder for us to take anti-zionists seriously when they say they aren’t antisemitic.

3. As far as Israel is concerned the circumstances are complicated and too many people try to simplify it by acting like either the Palestinians don’t exist as a people, which is wrong, or that the Jews were pure colonialist invaders which is equally wrong. This drives me nuts. So I’m going to have to break this down a bit. 

Most of the challenges I see to Zionism as practiced by Herzl and Ben Gurion are cherry picked and largely irrelevant to the cause’s necessity. Had there not been multiple waves of refugees, I probably wouldn’t support what they were doing. I also wouldn’t exist. Let me break this down a bit.

British Mandate Palestine’s Jewish Population DOUBLED between 1933 and 1939. The reason for this is twofold.

1. Nazi Germany came into existence, took over neighboring countries and began their steady process of destroying Jewish rights and safety. We all know where that led.

2. Britain, who was controlling Palestine at the time, kept immigration there open when most other countries, including the British mainland and the USA were closed. History has proven that they did, indeed, save their lives by fleeing there.

In 1939, the White Paper, in response to Palestinian protests and revolts, severely restricted Jewish immigration to British Mandate Palestine, left Jews with almost nowhere to run, right when WWII was beginning and the worst effects of Nazism were about to be felt. 

Now here’s my question. Would you bar Jews fleeing Nazism from entering the country? Knowing what we know now? Knowing that nowhere else was taking them in? 

Jewish immigration to Palestine slowed to a trickle during the Holocaust and Jews were literally trapped in Nazi occupied Europe and North Africa. 6 million died. This is historical fact.

After the Holocaust, the survivors who tried to go home faced pogroms, yet were barred from immigrating. They were forced to live in refugee camps. Again, no country made a significant effort to let them in. The USA wouldn’t until 1949 until AFTER Israel’s founding. My grandparents came to the USA because of the Refugee act of 1949. For survivors before 1949, it was Israel, pogroms or homelessness.

The next major wave of immigration to Israel were Jews in the Middle East and North Africa who were driven out of their own countries for being “Zionists” regardless of whether or not they actually were Zionists. These Jews actually form a majority of Israel’s current population. They were driven out and Israel took them in. What alternative did they have?

Finally Jews from the USSR and Ethiopia were facing brutal, systemic oppression and they came to Israel to live safely and freely among their own people, options they didn’t have elsewhere.

Now, here is my problem. Much of the rhetoric and tactics employed by anti-zionists don’t just demonize the Israeli government or state, but Israeli people, the majority of whom are Israeli because they were fleeing for their lives and safety. This is thrown in the garbage bin in favor of throwing out false equivalencies to the Boers or the British Empire. There is a level of hatred thrown at average Israeli Jewish citizens I don’t see thrown at the residents of any other country that is guilty of comparable crimes. I don’t recall seeing people damning Russian actors for being Russian the way I see Gal Gadot being damned for being Israeli. I personally live in the United States, a country built on slavery and genocide, and I don’t see instant hate the way Israeli Jews do. And, had circumstances been even slightly different, my grandparents would’ve moved to Israel instead of the USA after the Holocaust and they would’ve suddenly been treated as evil.

I don’t particularly care at this point about a one or two state solution, though I oppose the idea of annexation as being suggested by the Settler movement because it would result in genuine apartheid. What I do care about is fostering a reality where Jews and Palestinians can live side-by-side as neighbors either in neighboring countries or in the same countries and that will be impossible so long as demonization of Israeli Jews remains a major part of the pro-Palestine movement. How do you expect Jews and Palestinians to live as neighbors when they are taught to hate each other and are egged on by foreigners? 

Peace of any sort can’t happen until people actually want peace and the current environment is so grotesquely driven by hatred and demonization that I don’t see any solution as viable until we see major changes in how it’s discussed. But when Israeli voices, even moderate and liberal ones, are shut up, that is impossible. You can’t make peace with people you refuse to even talk to. This has to stop. 

Annoying tutor Jimin (but also my biggest crush)

Headcanon. I don’t even know how this appeared in my head, it just did. JK is a friend of Jimin’s brother and is terrible at math. Jimin helps him with math and he keeps being a lil shit until Jimin stops studying with him… It’s nothing much, but maybe someone will like it. :)

• „Okay now, do this equation – number five on the second page,” Jimin quickly runs his eyes over the textbook in front of him and waits for Jungkook to scribble down the numbers.

• Jungkook’s not moving in a slight way and glares at Jimin. “There’s no need. I won’t do any more exercises.”

• Jimin sighs. For almost two hours he tried to go over the math with Jungkook, and for almost two hours Jungkook tortured him the same way as he always does when they study alone. He was supposed to help both his little brother Jihyun and Jungkook, his brother’s best friend. But once again, Jihyun went on a date with his new girlfriend and left him all alone with this little punk. It was true that Jihyun didn’t need Jimin’s help as much as Jungkook – he was passing all his tests and improved significantly ever since Jimin took his time to help him with everything. Still, Jimin wished he was here, because in his presence Jungkook behaves more like a person than just an ass.

• Jimin stares right back at Jungkook, trying to control his irritation. Jungkook was just two years younger than Jimin, celebrating his sixteen birthday month ago, yet Jimin would swear he’s thirteen, tops. “I don’t care, Jungkook. But did you at least understand what we practiced today?”  

• Jungkook’s lips curls in a grimace and he groans. “No. No, because I hate fuckin’ math. And I hate you.” Jimin just rolled his eyes, same old song. “I don’t understand how Jihyun can live with you in one house! How can he even like you! You’re so annoying,” he huffs.

• Jimin is still watching him, now little disappointed, because really? Nothing fresh to use to insult him? He heard this one – about his brother and living under one roof – many times before.

• “It’s a good idea, Jimin,” his mother said. “You will help Jihyun and Jungkook can learn, too! He’s such a sweet boy.” Sweet boy his ass. Jungkook acted like sweet little angel every time he visited their house with Jihyun. Jimin’s parents loved him. Hell, even Jimin loved him at first those years ago when he met him for the first time. Jungkook was just cute. And he still is, with his big chocolate eyes, messy brown hair and smiling expression, even without actual smile. Unbelievable, how deceiving looks can be.  

• “Well maybe you wouldn’t have to spend so much time with me, if you’d check those goddamn exercises for once. But you’re still on a level of first grader, so sorry for trying to help you.”

• Jungkook flashes his eyes over Jimin’s face, almost like he was trying to stab him with bare sight. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

• Jimin shrugs, fed up with Jungkook’s attitude, and starts packing all the things. “Okay,” he says, for the millionth time in past weeks. The thing with Jungkook was that even when he was acting like little shit, his mom always paid Jimin more than enough for finding the time to tutor him, even when he helped both his brother and Jungkook at the same time. For just two hours it was nice amount of money.

• “This time I’m serious Jimin. You’re not helping me at the slightest, I don’t like you and I will find someone else!” With curious look, Jungkook waits for Jimin to react.

• “Okay,” Jimin shrugs once again before finishing packing up, says bye to Jungkook and leaves his room.

• After the door closes, Jungkook throws himself onto his bed and punches his pillow repeatedly in frustration which is not caused by math or Jimin’s tutoring.

• “So how was it yesterday?” Jihyun asks Jungkook, waiting for first class of the day to start. It’s math and they’re gonna have an exam.

• “Useless. He’s a terrible tutor and he’s so annoying. How can you stand him, being your brother?” Jungkook huffs.

• “Watch your mouth you prick,” Jihyun never understood where this antipathy for Jimin is coming from. His brother was the sweetest person to Jihyun, always helped him; was smart, funny and overall perfect. And when he explains all of the math equations to him, it really helps – that, however, doesn’t seem to be Jungkook’s case. But even though he badmouths Jimin, he never, even once, tried to find someone else to help him study.

• “I don’t want him as my tutor anymore. As much as I like you, I can’t stand your brother,” Jungkook continues and Jihyun rolls his eyes.

• “Okay, Kook. If you fail even this test, I will tell Jimin to not help you anymore. He has better things to do with his free time anyway, you know.”

• “Good.” Jungkook bites inside of his cheeks, frowning at his hands.

Not-so-surprisingly, Jungkook fails the exam, achieving five points out of thirty.

• Jihyun tells Jimin that there’s no longer need for him to help Jungkook with math, as it seems that he’s really not helping and Jungkook will find someone else. Jimin is slightly saddened – he liked the money he received for tutoring him. For a short while he can’t help but wonder if Jungkook really hates him that much – after all, Jimin never did anything bad to him.

• Jungkook gets in huge fight with his parents when they find out about his latest grade. Immediately, they find new tutor, young college student.

• Poor guy runs out of Jungkook’s room not even half an hour after he started to tutor him. Jungkook did his best to scare him off. He managed to do the same with next one, pretending he’s possessed by some supernatural force.

• He never really thought Jimin will stop tutoring him. There’s no way he will let anyone else to sit with him like that and explain all of those things to him, except Jimin. He wants him back (he didn’t want to get rid of him in first place, but it’s not like he would ever admit it to his parents or Jihyun.)

• Jimin receives a phone call from Jungkook, who politely asks him to come and help him once again, because, allegedly, “This hella guy just stopped coming.”

• Jimin doesn’t even know why, but he decides that okay, he will help his brother’s friend once again – after all, it was the first time for Jungkook to ask for his help.

• When he walks in Jungkook’s bedroom he finds him sitting on the bed, surrounded by few cans of beer and packs of salty goods.

• “What’s that?”

• Jungkook gives him uncertain look and jerks his chin towards the small empty space on his bed. “I thought I will… apologize today. Sorry, Jimin, I lied. I like it when you study with me.”

• Jimin’s not sure what to think about it, but he carefully sits next to Jungkook and takes a beer that Jungkook hands him. “How did you even get these?” Jimin asks and Jungkook just grins. “That’s a secret. Cheers.”

• So they sit on the bed, eat some junk and drink “secret” beer while chatting about silly things. Jungkook finishes his second can of the beverage just as Jimin’s telling him a story about their homeroom teacher, when he can’t help himself but kiss the older guy. Jimin just looked so… kissable at that moment, with smiling eyes, hands clutched around the can, lips wet with the beer he sipped just seconds ago.

• Jungkook’s not moving his hands at first, but then he remembers what to do and let them tangle in Jimin’s hair. His heart stops for a second when Jimin’s lips finally move against his. It doesn’t take long for Jimin to push Jungkook off.

• He’s in shock. What was that? Did he like the way Jungkook kissed him? What the fuck? Was this all Jungkook’s plan all along?

• “What the fuck Jungkook?” Jimin jumps off the bed with shocked expression and Jungkook notices the glimpse of hurt in his eyes. “Do you hate me so much you planned this as a way to… humiliate me?!” With back of his hand he wipes the saliva off his mouth.

• Jungkook feels panicked. Yes, he sort of planned this, but not to humiliate Jimin! He had no idea he will kiss him, all he wanted was for Jimin to tutor him again and for himself to stop being an ass to Jimin.

• “N-no! No, Jimin! I’m sorry if—“

• Jimin grabs his bag and shakes his head in disbelief. “You even tried to get me drunk, is that so? I can’t believe I thought for a second you’re serious about being sorry. Oh my.” Jimin turns on his heel and runs through the door. He doesn’t hear Jungkook calling for him, neither the thump of Jungkook, falling into his pillow as he did so many times before.

• Honestly, Jimin’s not sure what pisses him off more. The way he felt so comfortable with that brat after all those things he said to him in past, the naivety of his when he took the beer Jungkook gave him or just the fact that he fucking answered the kiss and almost made out with his little bro’s shitty friend (and liked the feeling of his lips on his own).

• Never before someone disrespected him this much. Jimin stormed into his house, ran up the stairs and slammed the door behind him. What the fuck. What the fuck… Did Jihyun say something to Jungkook? It was not even a year ago that Jimin came out to his family as homosexual. He thought nobody else knows – but now… No, Jihyun would never do it.

• The next day Jimin sits in his room, reading, when he hears some voices outside his door. He tries to run towards the door and lock it when he realizes that one of them is Jungkook, but it’s too late and Jungkook suddenly burst through the door, closing them behind him.

• “Jimin – just hear me out please.”

• Jimin takes small steps backwards, just to be as far from Jungkook as possible. “Get out. Get out of this room. You really don’t have any boundaries, do you?”

• Jungkook almost looks like he’s about to cry. His hands are gripping bunch of papers and notepads and he take a small step towards Jimin.

• “Get. Out!”

• “Please Jimin, I’m so sorry about yesterday, but it wasn’t like that at all! I really just wanted to apologize and ask you to tutor me again!” He nervously shifts on his feet.

• Jimin barks. “Really, that’s why your mouth was all over mine, right? As a peace offering!”

• Jungkook looks hurt now, big eyes staring at Jimin. “No. I just- okay. Okay. I just wanted to kiss you. I wasn’t thinking about it – only thought I had was how pretty you are,” Jimin laughs again, but Jungkook continues. “That is… that is why I couldn’t stand you studying with me. I think you’re too pretty and I – I don’t know why, but I think I like you.”

• Jimin glares at him, judgingly. “Nice try, you prick. Please, leave now…”

• “No. No, I didn’t tell anybody, but I’m not that bad with math,” claims Jungkook hurriedly. “I was just… trying to… I’m not good at this, it’s awkward!”

• “Oh god Jungkook, just…” Jimin’s about to say something, but Jungkook shoves all of those papers and notebooks in his face. “Look!” he says. “These are all those exercises I was practicing for last month. Just – look over them, I’m not lying!”

• With raised eyebrow, Jimin flips through few pages and his eyes jump over scribbled notes in corners of the pages like: “Jimin said A = 1,5! Remember this!!!” or “Solve this like Jimin – his way is better!”

• Jungkook’s not lying; dozens of pages are all filled with equations, numbers and notes. Jimin looks at him, confused. “What—“

• “Sorry Jimin. I don’t know why but I just… I guess I like you. Like I know it’s weird. You’re Jihyun’s older bro, but – trust me – in no way I meant to disrespect you yesterday!” Jungkook watches his shoes and slowly turns towards the door. “That’s all – I’m sorry – I get why you don’t like me…”

• Jimin thinks for a second, then walks over to Jungkook and grabs his hand. Younger male looks at him, surprised.

• “You’re a really stupid kid, you know?” Jimin stares at him but there’s no anger in his face. “You can’t act like this if you want someone to like you.”

• Jungkook doesn’t know what else to do, so he just nods.

• “I will start to tutor you again,” says Jimin and Jungkook smiles.

• “Really?!”

• “And we could maybe work on your behavior towards your crush, don’t you think?” Jimin gently grabs Jungkook’s other hand too, smiling nervously.

• On his following exam (month later) Jungkook achieves a “C” with ease. Jihyun facepalms over his excited rambling and watches him, as Jungkook types a text to Jimin.

• “Was this all really necessary? If you liked my brother, you could’ve just told me earlier…” he whines. Jungkook just punches his arm as he grins over his phone, now reading a response from Jimin. “I’m proud of you, brat ♥

anonymous asked:

Would you be able to make a Yandere Jumin? Or even more Yandere Yoosung?

I’ll definitely make more Yandere Yoosung! lool

And Yandere Jumin? Hmmm

Maybe I can draw some Yandere Jumin~

when ppl describe having bpd as “literal hell” and all the sudden ur spiraling into panic bc is my life actually hell?? if it’s not, do i Not have bpd??? am i making this all up???? what does “normal” even feel like??? is what i’m feeling “normal”???? is my functioning even at all impaired, or is my level of dysfunction “normal”??????? did things used to feel worse????? bc i can’t remember at all what i’ve felt before????????? who would i be without my bpd label???? who am i???? am i ok??????????

I know this probably goes without saying but Alec and Magnus as individuals are so fascinating and complex. Each with such well-rounded, real struggles and stories. They are both so strong in different ways and vulnerable in others. It would take me far too long to name all of their unique qualities that make them the amazing, fleshed out characters that they are, mostly in part thanks to the insightful performances of Matt and Harry. But the depth that they have seriously blows me away. Alone, they are some of the most interesting, flawed, intriguing characters I’ve ever seen. And the fact that they are in love with each other and compliment each other and help fill in each other’s missing pieces in this sweet, chaotic, inexplicable RIGHT-ness is so incredible and we are so lucky to have these characters in our lives.

Does this count as inktober

  • Luke, broken coffee machine on the table: Who broke it? I'm not mad. I just wanna know.
  • Clary: I did. I broke it.
  • Luke: No, no. No you didn't. Jace?
  • Jace: Well don't look at me. Look at Simon.
  • Simon: What? I didn't break it.
  • Jace: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken.
  • Simon: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.
  • Jace: Suspicious.
  • Simon: No! It's not!
  • Isabelle: If it matters, probably not, but Magnus was the last one to use it.
  • Magnus: What! I don't even drink that crap!
  • Isabelle: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?
  • Magnus: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles everyone knows that Izzy!
  • Clary: Ok, ok, let's not fight I broke it let me pay for it Luke.
  • Luke: No! Who broke it?
  • Simon: Luke, Alec's been awfully quiet.
  • Alec: Really!
  • *arguing breaks out*
  • Luke, to the camera: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.
  • but a humble gay dirtfarmer, simple and true: i'm disappointed that this character designed with a fashion that historically has been used by women to show that we're not straight is, in fact, straight
  • the hetero masses, concerned, affronted, aghast: egads! what have we here, hmmm??? don't you know you're stereotyping yourself by just *assuming* every girl with short hair is a lesbiaaaan??? butches are actually never progressive ever and i know this because of reasons. it's actually really hard to be a straight girl with a fashionable pixie cut because of you, ok :( the real homophobes were the gays all along.
  • me, my crops withering in the field, the sun unbearably hot: please, my crops are dying

multiotp  asked:

"I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANY MORE!" "I DON'T RECOGNIZE MY SELF!" That's in all caps because I see it as screamed. Can you do that for boyf friends sorry I'm so awkward and used to being able to hide behind anonymous but I've fallen in love with your writing lately. Only if you want to you don't have too

I FINALLY DID IT AH! So sorry it took me so long, I could go on about exams and all that shit but I’m sensing you will hopefully get the picture.
Regardless, thank you for the prompt/request!


It was a Saturday night and the boys were spending their time wisely - playing video games in Michael’s basement. They weren’t sure how long they had been in there but neither bothered to care.

Finally, after hours of waiting, Jeremy was released from hospital. After the eventful school day on Friday Michael had offered that Jeremy stay at his house that night to catch a break, and Jeremy whole
-heartedly agreed. As soon as they arrived home, Jeremy collapsed onto Michael’s bed and fell asleep, exhausted from all the questions he had received that day. Michael soon followed suit and before they knew it the two woke up at 3am on a Saturday morning.

Now, with nothing else to do, the boys were still playing video games. Eventually, the inevitable red with white text ‘GAME OVER’ flashed onto the screen, ending the particular match.

“Awe come on!” Michael complained, setting down the controller and flopping onto the beanbag behind him. Jeremy sat adjacent, frowning at the TV. “I thought we were finally gonna beat that one!”

“Y-Yeah…” Jeremy replied, still staring at the TV. After a few seconds passed, Michael sighed, hoisted himself upright and went to eject the disk from the console.

“Woah Michael, we were playing-”

“Not anymore,” he announced, returning the disk to its place on the shelf. “I wanna play something I know we can win.”

Before Jeremy could question him, Michael pushed an unknown disk into the slot and bounced back into his beanbag just in time to see the words ‘Apocalypse of the Damned’ appear on screen.

“Oh…” Said Jeremy in response.

“Come on dude,” Michael cheered, grabbing his controller off the floor and hitting play. “This one is no match for us.”


An hour later and Michael was seriously starting to worry about Jeremy. Not only had they not gotten past their usual warmup match but had been stuck in the same God damn area for 60 whole minutes. And Micheal knew something was up when Jeremy didn’t respond to his usual code words for 'Zombie, right behind you’ or 'Use the axe not the riffle for this one’ - the list went on. Eventually, he jammed down on the pause button and turned to face his best friend.

“Ok, what happened?” He demanded, snatching the controller from Jeremy’s hands.

“W-what?” Jeremy stuttered in response, completely oblivious to his best friend’s reasons for questioning.

“Something’s up, I can tell. You’re usually great at this game bro! Even better than me. But something’s off tonight.” Micheal shuffled closer and rest his head in his palms. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Jeremy shifted awkwardly on the beanbag, trying not to meet Michael’s gaze.

“I..I-it’s nothing really I just-”

“It’s the Squip isn’t it,” Michael said, instantly recognising the type of hesitation he was being given. For the past few hours Michael had tried to ask Jeremy about the Squip but all that he received was the same 'it was nothing’ stammer each time.

Jeremy looked up, something shifting in his demeanour.

“I don’t want to play this anymore.” He stated, slowly and every words feeling like a drop of venom.

“W-what?” Michael said in response.

Jeremy locked eyes with Michael and arched his back so that he was sitting upright. He spoke even clearer.

“I don’t want to play this anymore”

“Yo Jeremy, dude, calm down.” Michael started, reaching out to his best friend. But Jeremy flinched backwards, slapping Michael’s fingers away.

“D-don’t touch me tall ass!” He cried, falling off of the beanbag and into the floor. Instantly he recognised the words that he had spoken, covering his mouth with his spare hand. But Michael had already heard them.

“W…what did you just call me?” He stammered, slowly rising from the beanbag. Jeremy climbed off of the floor to meet him, stuttering an attempted apology.

“I didn’t mean- that’s not what I - fuck - Michael I, that- that wasn’t-”

“T-Tall ass?!” Michael cried, stepping away from Jeremy. “What the hell dude?”

“No Michael I-”

“What happened to you?” He questioned, louder this time. “What has he done to you Jer? Was it worth it? Making you popular but turning you into… this?”

“I don’t-”

“Dude I don’t know who you are anymore-”

“I DON’T EVEN RECOGNISE MYSELF!” Came Jeremy’s answer. Michael flinched at the sudden increase in volume, eyes flying up to meet his best friend’s. Jeremy’s bright blue eyes soon began to fill with tears as he slumped against the wall.

“He’s gone Michael… but he won’t go away…” he muttered, head flying into to his hair. “Everything I do, I can still hear that voice in the back of my mind telling me what I’m doing wrong, mirroring his exact words. And I do it! I listen to it, because that’s what I’ve been programmed to do.”


“And you know what the worst part is Michael? That voice isn’t even real! It’s inside my head, because it’s my voice. It’s me telling all those things. I CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT MICHAEL! I-”

Jeremy was interrupted by the sudden feeling of arms wrapping around his waist and pulling his close into Michael’s chest. The boy hung on tightly, head hidden in the crook of Jeremy’s tear-stricken neck. Soon, his hands lowered from his hair to return the hug and the two slowly slid against the wall onto the floor.

No words were spoken between the two, just the action of each other being there was enough. The soft hum of the console filled the basement, the smell of candy and Mountain Dew carried through the air.

Eventually, Michael spoke, breaking the silence.

“I don’t care what he told you Jeremy, but you will always be my player two and nothing will change that ok? We’ll fight this, and we’ll come through stronger.” He tightened the hug between them. “I’ll always be here for you Jer.”

The tall boy smiled, returning the pressure of the embrace. He couldn’t help the shift in his smile as he spoke:

“That’s what friends are for yeah?”

Michael’s expression wavered as he responded.

“Yeah… best friends.”

“Which Sondheim Musical Are You?” quizzes be like

What’s your favorite thing to do?

  1. Read fairy tales
  2. Paint
  3. Waltz
  4. Whistle
  5. Search for love
  6. Reunite with old friends
  7. Alienate old friends
  8. Murder my customers
  9. Murder the President of the United States of America
  10. Invade Japan
Elorcan Werewolf Part 10

Are you ready? I’m not. [Unedited]

All my wolves, begin to howl
Wake me up, the time is now
Oh, can you hear the drumming?
Oh, there’s a revolution coming

Elorcan Werewolf 10

She soared on wings of misery and ruin, every feather slicing slivers of sores and wrecking welts through her. Ripping pain rippled through her, muscles burning and tightening. Her skin had shed, her nails stretched, the very roots of her hair screaming in agony. A rattling vigorously shook within her, bones bending and lungs lifting. Her spine arched, with her nostrils flaring. Hair prickled across her skin, acidic akin feelings coursing through every inch of her screaming pores. Saliva bubbled in her throat and a dryness coated across her tongue.
After the flame came the ashes, where the the mind slaved down memory lane: roaming and raging with flashes of sickened smiles and the whistling whip raining over her, pale skin blemished with purple and red hues, salty and thin liquid warming the stones. Afar she watched the strippings and the beatings, the ghost of the red and the pain a figment of reality that no longer her drilling appeals of feebleness. The phantom face of the predator in victory and ruined triumph leered down on her.
It was neither hot nor cold.
It was all nothing.
And dark, and more dark.
It was another cell, a transformation from a weak, ruined flesh to hardened, strengthened possessions. She distantly was aware of the shivering wracking her skin, but the cold cell had been far worse, a numbing to the perspective of an outsider welcoming the pain, and relishing in the wrongs of the singular and surroundings. A part of her swayed to an unsung melody, trapped within the bleeding ears and scarred tongue, scratches and screaming echoing through her head and bouncing around her walls. Her head throbbed and swabs of cotton smothered her vast space and thoughts of process.
It was cold. The loneliness had left her for the embrace in pain’s open arms. The itch at the back of her mind eased as the darkness swept in, consuming every crevice and corner, calming the chaotic condensations once crammed down her throat. A bubbling sensation rose up, smothering down her body, lying still in a seemingly blackened alley where the crickets no longer chirped and the roaches had long deceased. Pacifism arose with those lying words of calm and soothings, for she was not alright, and had not been.
Distorted images and mangled bone rose within her vision, and she could see the image of a trembling girl huddling in a damp corner, tears coating a grime-caked face with equally dirtied and bloodied skin, crimson liquid bathing her skin, sticking to her tongue, and filling her nose. Scars decorated her, blood crowning her black burnt strands. Smoke and ashes filled her insides, slithering into her veins.  
There had been the warm, tepid hands of longing and hope, shattered by the epiphany of what came after pain, numbness. A string of stress snapped within her,  a balloon of remembrance sleazing a decrement of undulated joy and innocence. Her lungs opened and filled with a vast broad suck of air, and Elide Lochan exhaled, breaking from her cell.

Lorcan laid his mate in the center of the dark cave, running a hand over her burning forehead, leaving traces of red welts over his palm. He hadn’t expected the circumstances to trigger whatever hidden Lycan gene within her to detonate, especially within the bounds of being able to finally hold her within his arms safely and securely.
He would never let go.
He was sure of it.
A sob escaped Elide’s mouth, and her body lurched forward from her previously prone position. Lorcan immediately pressed wet towels against her burning body, and hissed when her temperature plunged into dangerous, icy textures, mist escaping her breath.
A damned old Lycan, and through his entire life span, he hadn’t seen a transformation like this. He could not fathom why fate or the moon goddess would pair him with a beautifully and tragically broken creature who would suit another male of purity and trueness, but he supposed that Elide had enough with attempting to be molded into a higher figure as a priestess with inked and poison insides.
He murmured his mate’s name soothingly as he rocked her in his arms, and whispered his assurances into her ear, her skin already hardened and smooth from the beginning stages. In certain intervals of seizures, her eyelids would flare open, dark, onyx pupils glistening in true, speckled darkness even the cave could not swallow. The final stages of the process had come, the coldness shattering into the shedding of wrinkled, outgrown exteriors to sleek skin, and muscular limbs.
Lorcan studied his mate’s even breathing, and gently wrapped himself around her, stroking her hair. All the troubles for her to live immortal along him, to see the world through a deeper, more powerful eye’s of restrained responsibility and flying faults, would mean tethers to the true. To have another soul to care for didn’t seem the burden’s weight when the very fabric of mates meant equality and sharing, a bond of the better.
Elide’s eyes darkened into pure obsidian, and her spine snapped straight, a sharp gasp of breath wrenching itself from her mouth. A rasp of sound crackled through the dampened darkness, and Lorcan gently poured a little stream of water into her mouth, allowing her to swallow. His body lit afire, his mate’s perfectly situated with him, both tragically broken. A rumble of possessiveness shook his body.
Her wet hair, curling into thin curls and loops, slicked back against her forehead and plastered against her pale skin. Cold hands wrapped around the nape of his neck, and erratic breaths burst from her, chest heaving deeply. A roaring sensation fired from some hidden depths within, matching the turmoil colliding within his own mate’s eyes, filled with a blankness that sends him reeling over.
“Elide,” he whispered, and leaned his nose against her forehead.
The hands slid down his neck and across his chest and right over his beating heart, thrumming just for her. A phantom of a breath ghosted over his skin, and a tremble ran through him, in forever peace and contentment within the splits of a second.
Fingers reached up to cup his chin, and dark lashes blinked up at him.
“Lorcan,” Elide Lochan answered, and the edges of her lips curled up, revealing white, canine teeth.
A dark, questioning look flickered across her features, a spell of quick agony. By the dilation of those hardened eyes from the once-softness, and the tang of fear and anger spiraling through the air, Lorcan knew that his mate craved a revenge full of vengeance so deep that the ocean itself would be envious.
He could not rightly offer he what she wanted now so he endowed her with what she needed; not of the bloodshed to beckon her away from the abyss of numbness but another stolen piece from her scratched and strung tapestry of life. The pads of his thumbs brushed over her cheekbones down under the curve of her jaw, cupping her neck and smoothing one shoulder; pulling his mate in, Lorcan kissed her deeply. Elide responded instantly, her teeth nipping over his parted lips, and wrapping her own hands behind his neck, viciously pouncing on top of him, his back kissing the cold, hard ground.
Her body was warm, and suddenly the cave seemed full of the hidden potential that had coasted over his own ground, soiled and covered with dirt. His Lycan within him responded to the roaring in his female’s, and his nerves set afire with each stroke of her hand that set him into a frenzy of no return past deep despair. Her skin touched his, her full breasts pressing against his chest, pale and porcelain legs wrapped sinfully around his waist. She gasped as he sucked on her neck, the sound full of rich forbiddenness, sending him close to free ferality.
“My mate,” she whispered, and leaned her head back, exposing her neck to him.
“Mine,” he growled, and stared into those onyx eyes, waiting for that permission to confirm past the disaster that had dented their destiny, waiting for that spark of what should have been theirs since the beginning, waiting for step towards surety and security.
She merely cupped his chin, forcing him to stare at her, not quite consenting. “Do you love me for who I am or for what I do to you?”
“You are referring to the mating bond?”
“What else?” she said, almost bitterly.
Dark eyes narrowed. “I do not need the mating bond to fall in love with you, Elide Lochan.”
He could see the doubt in her darkened eyes, and the slight chill coursing through her. Lorcan held her tighter, and buried his nose within her damp hair, cradling her stiff and new body, one with unbridled potential and higher capacity.
His Lycan side growled, needing to assuage his mate’s concerns and fears, and Lorcan abided.
“I do not need the mating bond to see how the light catches against your hair,” he murmured, brushing her hair from her forehead. “Nor how you twist the strands when you’re nervous or thinking, a quiet foreboding. How you lick those fingers before turning a page or to remember the taste of what you last ate. How you believe yourself inferior when you have surpassed the limitations of your expectations. How you cross my mind, as if I can see the magic in the world, as if “I’d been searching for you all my life, a lost soul without an anchor.
I have made a plethora of mistakes in the entirety of my life, but if each of this missteps would have let me to you in the end, I would commit each single atrocity again. If every inch of darkness and insanity was so that I could have you, then I forgive the cursed fates. I had never planned on falling love, much less with another person, didn’t think it was possible, much less it possible to love someone so much with all of me. I barely held control and focus, but with you, it’s not about these things. It’s about honor and cherishment, about you, Elide Lochan.
“The darkness lived and lives through me; it simply does not live around me. So when you cannot see the light, I will sit with you through the darkness. I look at you and the twisted things that have come between us, and I know that I will choose you in the next life, in the next realm, in this life, through death, through whatever shape or form, to whatever face of shadow will appear. I broke and will break my rules, my mind, myself, just for you, just to see you hum to yourself as you continue in your beautiful, complex symphony, a passerby such as myself forever granted the pleasure of hearing.
“I do not care if we are not soul mates because I had never believed in the concept of love, nor bothered to listen to its proof of existence, not when fear would win out in the end. But I fear for my love of you, and I fear for myself for what ends I would do for you. At your beck and call, I do not know what bounds or limits what I could do and destroy for you. In the middle of the chaos and lunacy, you were there, with my heart, and I’d let you keep it for the eternity. With you, I can breathe a little bit more, and fill the dead skin and smothering ashes sweep away, filled with a sound melody, one that will reverberate for as long as your heart beats.
“If I could turn back the clock to be the male you deserve, I would do so in a heartbeat. For you deserve every twinkle in the stars that lights up the night and the rays of the sun in coldness. No longer do I think I deserve nothing but stark bareness for my brokenness, but one who craves so deeply for more and seen too much that perfect shards would not be enough. You need to paint, Elide, and need to unleash your emotions jailed, and I will be your palette should the need arise. I have conquered and silenced but never have I loved, and now, I think that I can finally do such a thing. Everything I have not done, I want to do with you. With you, and only you. It’s always you, Elide Lochan.”
Elide stilled, pressing her cheek against the top of his chest. “You—”
Lorcan brushed a knuckle under her chin. “—I could not learn about my mate as a human, so I chose my weakened wolf form to present to you.”
“Lory,” Elide murmured, her lashes fluttering, inevitably floored.
His inner Lycan twitched, and he pressed himself harder against her, needing more than their touches, needing to fulfill that animalistic need driving him for completion.
For awhile, simple silence filled the cavern, a blanket of the inked dark providing solemn, sincere need of time as a sponge to soak in the words and occurrences of the chaotic, distorted past.
But the present was a gift for aknew.
A laugh slipped past Elide’s lips, and his mate smiled knowingly at that tent in his pants, screaming for her, ready for her, slaving to her. Elide bared her neck wider. “You are mine, Lorcan Salvaterre, and I will fight for you.”
Trust and certainty bound between those eyes.
Lorcan brushed his nose over hers, and a deep rumbling resounded from within his chest, a noise that had been locked and swept along with the ashes of unspent time and burning emotions. Baring his fangs and revealing the aura of his true other side, unhinged, Elide leaned forward, waves of longing from what time and distance had built between them.
Lorcan bit down, and watched Elide’s eyes flutter open and close, a murmur of content escaping her mouth and her skin shuddering with pleasure. Her lidded eyes gazed into his, a smile smoothing across her features. When his fangs retracted, his tongue licked the blood pooling across her collarbone, his mate’s breathing uneven and ragged, her body ready for what followed next. The scent of need and hormones permeated the air thickly.
But Lorcan could not give that to her, not when they needed to seek cements of closure from the cowardly confronted. So he pulled his mate into for another kiss, one which their their inner wolves howled together in synchrony, a stimulation ceases his current worries and fears, save for the warm body in his arms.
When they pulled apart, both mouths dripped with blood and sores, Elide ran a tongue over her ripped lips, and gave him a wicked smile.
The scent of mixed arousal pierced through the cave, flowering in the darkness, matching their smoldered songs of suppression and satisfaction.
Lorcan’s hands ran over her thighs and skin, not to claim, but to heal, kneading those tight, new muscles that would need to be broken in. Tomorrow they would face the new freshness of the world together, hand in hand.
So he said, “Sleep,” and curled her body against his own, molding their flesh together and against one another.
Elide reached out to grasp Lorcan’s hand through the darkness, resting her head along his torso. “Goodnight,” she whispered, voice muffled.
Elide could almost feel the other Lycan male’s smile warming her skin, a rarity at odds against all.
“Goodnight,” Lorcan rasped back. “Elide Lochan.”
“My mate,” Elide whispered, and allowed the dark oblivion to wash over her, carrying her further with an anchor into the abyss. No longer was she only human, a simple, disposable gem in this dim world, but a larger player, one with cards to hold and discard, with a lover at her side, one to fit her perfectly, one she’d love forever, through everything.

Elide awoke to warmth, her body tucked within another’s. As soon as she stirred, the male holding her gripped her hips, and a satisfied growl rumbled deep from his chest. She traced her hands across his chest, and closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead, stealing another one from her lips.
Tracing her fingers along his lips as they parted, she could feel them curving up into a feral grin.
“A run?” her mate proposed, and her body surged with power at the request.
She didn’t respond, and instead channeled in the raw depths of power and dominance within her. Elide closed her eyes and focused on her inner Lycan, the unknown beast within her that had slumbered for years in silence. Feeling her bones crack and rattle, her teeth shifted and hands grew, paws hitting the floor, her tail wagging. By the time her nose sniffed the air, the scent of humanity had no longer reeked within the cave, the other in front of her radiating the typical-Lycan authority. Her mate took off and out from the cave, Elide surging forward behind him.
The hints of light peeking through the demented trees drooping over with hanging branches and sickly yellow leaves dripping thick, orange meshes. Their bodies wove through the firm trunks with white claw marks and deep indents, stale, brown blood caking the curves. Stalks of yellowish grains spurted from the left fields, the tips dotted with crimsons colors.
Their wolves streaked by, and Elide pushed her legs faster and faster, feeling the wind tearing at her face and her lungs opening and expanding, the infinity of forever within unleashed within the trapped seconds of a limited body.
This was freedom.
She hadn’t been a believer in hope, that sliver of beautiful shreds ripped within her and howling to another wolf. She didn’t need hope when her true passions blazed from the wrongs and flaws hampering her true state. She couldn’t be restrained, not in this body, nor in the next. She had been scared of her future from her past, but she swore to herself no more.
As they raced through the forest, the trees grew straighter and taller, the air crisper and fresher, no longer stale stenches of the rotted filling her nostrils. Rich green flashed across her vision, an array of colorful, vibrant hues rising from the soiled Earth, full of the minerals and sprinkles of waters. The sunlight glared down harsher, and no longer did the shadows loom over in hulking forms, cowering the damp dirt. The first willing surrender came with chasing her mate, allowing him to hold her heart.
She lost track of time, allowing the figment of that necessity to slip from her mind. She followed her mate, with her giving trust, the last piece of what remained from her fractured heart. She nipped at his paws when he slowed down, and eventually took the lead, leaping over fallen logs. They raced further and further in the morning until her tongue lolled out, and Lorcan slowed down to a trot, leading her to a crystalline river.
He nudged her to the edge of water, licking the tip of her ear. Pushing her forward from her behind, her mate eagerly walked them down the bank.
Elide’s snout reached down to lap up the water, but stopped at her reflection.
No longer did white-fur coat her, but midnight dark streaks to match her mate’s fur. Darkness.
Elide’s ears twitched, and Lorcan stalked next to her, rubbing his snout affectionately against hers. Elide can only stare at her reflection, at the darkness, and the pitch-black coat that she now owned. A tiny part of her shivered, and wondered what her once-jailed would have thought, at the winning inklings that he’d left in memory, perhaps even a victory. Her uncle had molded her so that staring at any reflection had her turning away, scared of her own ruined image full of tears and washed dreams.
He’d seen her heart as a piece of plastic, his own mind a red-hot brand, hands his hammer to pound with pain. The salted liquid brimming on her eyes had held no value, full of empty emotion, a natural response from her body, damaged and depressed.
The cold cell had been a war with herself, a pity for her own weakness and feebleness, for her foolishness in believing for much more. It had been a cry for wonder, her own pity party in the trapped and isolation. The only beginnings had been the flames in the night of broken memories and crooked laughters.
And now, this river, with the sun beating down on her, filling her with unwanted need that a past shape of her would have needed awhile ago.
Pure, undulated light.
Light that could not outshine the dark hole inside of her.
She could feel a calling to fulfill the need in wrecking pain against her uncle, and having bloodshed run along with her bloodlust. It was an animalistic, acute sense that had her almost on her knees, but her mate was next to her, holding her, a pillar of solidity.
The fact that her pelt had transformed into rich tufts of dark fur to match the midnight quality of her mate’s had her mate often licking her coat, and content rumblings emerging from his throat.
Their wolves had gotten to acquainted with one another too well, and too much. Most hunts ended up in playful banter between the them, rolling on top of another, the male allowing his female to yip her victorious by pawing him on the ground.
After drinking their fill of water, two dark, ethereal shapes raced through slanted and crooked trees, the onyx eyes the predator and feared as creatures of the night and strays of the moon, bent on their own love and no other facets wedged between or among them.
No longer did she have to hide the things she hadn’t like about herself, flaws or facts in the hands of vices clamping hard around her. She had freedom and fullness, no longer a mangled ankle, where she could howl and push her legs faster and further as one with the wind, the whispers of might and glory at her heels, her mate racing right next to her, sheer power and strength exuding from him.
The first kill had been a bear, to which they’d taken down easily that Elide gained a grasp of her own power. The male bear had not withstood a chance against the two hungry Lycans, Elide ripping chunks of his hide, her maw drenched with the warm blood oozing out. Lorcan had scratched the bear’s face, and easily clawed an ear off, slamming his body into the bear’s side, sending their prey into a tree, which promptly collapsed.
Lorcan had dipped his head at her, allowing her to take the first bite. After digging past the ribcage and licking the bone clean, she’d allowed her mate to finish devouring the other meat from the liver and stomach. Leaving the carcass in the burning sun, they’d returned to the lake afterwards to clean the blood off their faces.
She lapped from a lake greedily, ignoring the sense to reach out to her past Alpha and Beta, and nudged her mate’s proud head towards the water. Lorcan had taken in the habit of standing guard whenever she ate or drank, but all she wanted was her mate to eat with her, two forces of nature sharing a meal together.
She slowly lost herself with her mate, to the wildness and its call, while the itching for revenge grew at the back of her mind. By the time the sun set, and the shadows loomed, preaching the misfit and the outcast, Elide had nudged her mate’s head. Lorcan responded by licking her mated mark, sending sensual thrills over her body, tail wagging furiously.
The floating feelings of ecstasy ended as the loneliness diminished, the rage filling her, claws digging into the soil. Lorcan brushed himself over her, intertwining their scents, a question in his eyes.
She swallowed, and twitched her eyes, pawing the ground. Reality would sink in one way or another, and it seemed it would always harbor anguish. Tugging on that firm thread between them, Elide allowed her mind to coast and seep over the sanctuary between them, shattering them with her syllables.
Where is Vernon?
Lorcan’s tail stopped wagging, and his snout touched her nose. After silence reigned over them for awhile, Elide reared back and shot off into the distance. If her mate would not give her the answer, then she knew someone else who would willing. Following that thin thread of connection to former warmth, she touched the link between her old pack, feeling the storm of voices and waves of shouting.
She could feel Lorcan at the back of her mind, growling, but the itch grew more pronounced. Focusing on that past link, she channeled into the Fireheart Pack, feeling the soothing remembrance of belonging on some interval.
Aelin’s link soared over her first, sending her a set of coordinates that Elide followed easily, weaving through the trees and jumping over rivers, knowing that her mate would be on her tail despite all odds.
Manon’s voice easily boomed over the little murmuring in her mind, demanding how she’d survived the shift, if she’d been marked and mated, if she was fine.
Elide didn’t know what fine was, but merely repeated her previous question. She’d be fine once the scratch within her went away.
Aelin hadn’t responded, and Elide could imagine her musing over the consequences of telling her, while she sprinted towards them, pushing her new body faster and harder.
Manon didn’t wait. Locked in the middle of a human city Las Vegas in human form so no wolf can get to him. Council banned any werewolf in any form from entering.
Elide nearly tripped over a dip in the ground, but continued to leap forward and run and run and run. Then I cannot get to him? He’d gotten to her, wormed his way into her, darkened her, hurt her, broke her.
Not without breaking Council rules, Aelin piped in. There is a death penalty, Elide. Come home.
Elide abruptly swerved to the side, and shut down the link of her past, before leaving her farewell. A death penalty would not serve when there were worse things than death, a figment of this reality she no longer feared. Home was no longer with the Fireheart Pack when she was destined to rule to Perranth Pack, buried under the disgust and falsities of the Morath Pack. She deserved her empire and her people, one where her Alpha blood reigned, now mixed with Lycan genes.
Her home was herself. She owned herself to her mate, another creature of the night and wind and darkness, and her broken mind and shattered heart. Closure seemed a distant concept with seeping ailments howling within her.
She would no longer be feared. How could she settle for less when she’d been given none in return, given a body as more?
Lorcan had feared for the depths for her, his love for her, and now Elide only feared what she would do when she saw her uncle. She left her scent through the forest as she broke out into the clearing, allowing whispers of her to trail behind for her mate.
Pushing her legs faster, her paws pounding against the Earth, Elide ran, her lungs capable of more, her muscles able to absorb more, and her heart ready to devour.
She crossed borders after borders, a set destination carving in her mind, to quell that urge for more.

Elide’s scent had ended past a run-down railroad, his own wolf growling and snarling in frustration. She’d blocked her own link to him, shutting down a window on her mental side, leaving traces of bitterness. Shifting and showering his own dark residency in the castle, Lorcan headed towards the Fireheart Pack.
Rowan, to his credit, didn’t speak a word as his hooded face stalked into the Pack House and slammed the door shut. An arm was wrapped around his mate, Aelin, and across the table sat an empty chair where the half-Lycan should have been.
The lack of activity when he had passed border lands sent him on edge more than usual, and by the blank faces staring at him, numbness had settled in.
Lorcan slammed a fist on the table, staring at the thick wad of papers sent from the Council. Across in bold were the consequences if any wolf in any form dared to set foot or paw into Las Vegas without authority.
Rowan nodded, hearing his linked question. “It’s where Elide went.”
He let out a growl, anger rushing through him. “Do you know what you’ve done?” Sometimes secrets were for the better good, for the sake of sanity, one lesson he’d learned over time. Information was too gold, too heavy, and too greedy for those whether unwilling or drowning.
Aelin sat higher in her seat, and pressed her palms against the table. “Manon told Elide, and is tracking her down currently. You can’t cage someone again when she’s been locked up for too long.”
“And if your Beta fails?” Lorcan hissed, and Rowan leaned forward, his natural instincts to protect his mate.
But at least the Lycan Prince had his mate near him, while his own was a shattered mosaic of wear and tear.
Rowan ran a thumb over Aelin’s arm. “Then the Council will issue a death warrant.”
Lorcan stared at them dully. “Everyone has their secrets, some more deadly than the rest. But my mate held the most dangerous. She harbored her Lycan side in.”
The monster had thrashed within her, claiming divine retribution.
Lorcan allowed himself a brief second to close his eyes, at the wrenching and snaring tugs at his heart. Without his last shred of fulfillment, he had lived without honor, but to live without experiencing the brighter spectrum to only listlessly carry on with the dulled cowardly and bloodied halves had already ingrained into his mind. His duty had shifted from the killing fields to defend and cherish another soul, a match for his.
“She’ll be fine,” Aelin whispered, flatly staring at the stack of papers with vivid contempt. “She lived in Morath all her childhood.”
“So Elide’s been through worse,” Rowan clarified. “You have a strong mate, Lorcan.”
But even the strongest fell, and Lorcan feared that for once, this concept of more, of hope and love, would not be enough. He tore off into the fading sunlight, his clothes tearing and body shifting into solid muscle and full wolf, a deep howl full of pain and sorrow erupting from his throat, a sound that no other echo would capture, and no other wolf could vocalize in the forbidden night.
For Lorcan would reclaim what owned his heart and keep hers beating. He promised her as much. He flew across borders and pushed his body to the limits, all for her, all to have her, all to live for her. 

Aelin cradled the picture frame, tracing a finger over the young dark-haired female in the middle, Rowan’s arms wrapped around her waist.
Three women had stood proudly in the picture as the sun’s rays had casted over their tanned bodies, their toes curled from the wet sand and waves lapping at their ankles.
Aelin had taken Elide’s right, her hair seemingly catching on fire at the angle, Manon the pillar of ice and height on Elide’s left; Elide had smiled gently into the camera without Aelin’s own signature smirk of wildness or Manon’s sneer of ferocity.
She had been their rock, their gentle tide, their voice of calm reason against all raging reasons. It seemed the fates were bent on disorder and chaos from false notions of tranquility.
“She’ll be alright,” her mate murmured, staring at her instead, offering his warmth. Rowan slid the frame from her hands and guided her to the bedroom.
“I’m afraid,” Aelin murmured. “That in the dark she chose herself because we all fully refused to give to her. Her pack, her freedom, her strength. She’s been so cooped up for so long, I’m afraid what the oppression has molded into Elide’s heart.”
Rowan leaned down into her. “Elide is not evil, Aelin. She will come home.”
“The problem is, Rowan, where exactly her home?”
Elide was heir to the Perranth Pack, an Alpha in her own rights. She’d been a second Pack Doctor within the Fireheart, and could now have a place in the Lycan’s royal palace as a mate to one.
Aelin didn’t even know where her future laid with the Prince of Lycans, one where she was a simple female Alpha, one with a dirty past no clean palace could harbor. She’d killed many, had many blood and lines on her hands, and played dirty. By no means was she ready to take up the Princess title.
“You do not think she will return to your pack,” Rowan mused, brushing a hand over her neck where her mated mark would have shown. He’d been surprisingly patient with his feral dominance to take things slow. He hadn’t displayed the typical possessive behavior in vying to mark his mate that every male inherently held.
“I do not think Lorcan will return to your Pack.” Aelin shrugged off her leather gears, noting the scorching gaze Rowan shamelessly directed towards her. He shucked off his own clothes, pulling off his boots, and headed to the washroom.
She could imagine two Lycans on solid, ivory thrones, heading the Perranth Pack. A new type of signal in a new world with darkness and lightness colliding like never before. A force Elide and Lorcan would hold as two blooded Lycans, mated to one another. A new empire forged from the darkness into the light, one with scores to settle.
Lest her own Pack fall apart, her Beta was missing, Manon radiating another ancient power of her own, her authority matching that of an Alpha and strength comparable to the Lycans. Their functionality seemed to end as time poured over.
Sense evaded her.
Rowan tucked her under his chin, his naked torso slightly wet, steam escaping from the washroom door. “Elide and Lorcan have each other.”
Aelin blew out a breath. “They will reinstate the Perranth Pack. If the Council does not demand their deaths first.”
If not—
She felt rather than saw Rowan’s wolf rear at the thought of the blood and deaths that would be shed, and Aelin’s own skin matched his shiver. A dark dawn was emerging, one that time had cultivated, and it seemed like the fire would not be able to out shine the shadows. Ashes had scattered too far.
Sleep did not find her, a restless itch at the back of her mind. Even her mate’s presence was not enough. Even the chocolate gifts he’d bestowed on her no longer tasted sweet in her mouth, sourness gathering at her teeth.
When the clock strummed twelve midnight, a beeping emission rose from her office computer. Aelin blandly arose from her mate’s embrace, and sleepily headed towards her device, scanning an email from an unknown address.
Frowning, she dragged her tongue over her bottom lip, doubling clicking the link. Her eyes skimmed over the package, and her cursor hit start, she listlessly stood up, and cast one look at her mate, the Prince of the Lycans.
Her focus returned back to the video.
A gown had swished around the Princess of Lycan’s hips, her cunning eyes taking in the male in front of her. Minutes later, the beautiful fabric had been ripped and discarded, skin on skin. Rowan and Remelle had been more than acquaintances, and it seemed like the Lycan princess’s claims of lovers had been more fact that false. Aelin didn’t bother to mute the moans from the video and the flashes of naked skin that sent her inner wolf reeling. From shock and disgust.
What we did meant nothing, her mate had said.
But by the mated mark on Remelle’s neck, his words had meant otherwise. And would explain why he felt less of a tug and shift towards to her, not matter fate’s plans in destiny.
You are mine, Prince, Remelle had smiled, moments before Aelin had once upon a time entered the castle for Elide to confront Lorcan, before all pain and chaos had broken, before she had allowed Rowan to court her.
I am yours, her mate had said, holding Remelle in his large arms, embracing the Princess.
For she had come too late. For timing had been everything, a facet of life destiny had not granted her.
She was as good as rejected, and without her mate, her pack would not fully function.
And her pack came first.
Aelin stormed out of the Pack House, masking her scent, and shifted, damning the Council, and shifted into her blood-red wolf, sprinting off into the night. She had enough of games, and without her rock here, bloodlust was calling.

Manon tore through the forest and past the streets, a blur from the cars and trunks, the buzzing and honking, the shiny lights and cursed mumbles streaming past her ears. Once the sights of the looming, towering structures came in sight, she quickly shifted, and stalked through the night, cracking camera screens before glimpsing the dangerous, seething woman.
Sliding through thin doors, she picked a set of clothes from the racks, flipping a black hood over her white-hair. Filling the pockets with the familiar curve of blades, Manon strode into the human-filled streets. It was a filthy, ugly disgrace here, where innocence bled and corruption ruled.
The disgusting cards littering the cracked streets and whistling catcalls had her gripping her blade at her waist. Walking up the steps to the Caesar’s Palace, Manon could feel the eyes boring into the back of her head, and the thumping of other foreign heartbeats. She could not stop Elide from her mandate, but she could complete it for her, lest she suffer from death, live without experiencing the joy of having a mate and belonging in unity.
Manon moved behind a pillar before an arrow drove through her spine and out her heart. She barely had time to dart away before the pillar collapsed and the human screams erupted.
You are not welcome here,” a voice hissed, a slight rasp and undercurrent lying beneath the syllables.
Manon drew out Wind Cleaver, her eyes adjusting to the smoke billowing in the hallway. She swore as the marbled statues glowed and shuddered to life, moving towards her. The water from the fountains rose to the air and slammed against the ground, rushing towards her.
Her lips thinned, and she rolled underneath the first lash of a fist aimed at her head.
She hauled herself onto the higher beams, and dodged the first strike of the Poseidon statue, slicing off the trident. When the chariot flew through the air, the water flooding the entire floor, Manon dove, and swam deeper into the hotel. Rivulets of stream wrapped around her ankles and tossed her back to the entrance, the back of her head hitting the wall.
Gritting her teeth, Manon ducked as a wheel from the chariot flew right above her head. Her nails dragged along an outlet, and with a wince, she clawed at the walls, climbing higher.
When the next stature flew towards her, Manon loosed a dagger at one of the columns, the marble collapsing on top of the magiced solid. Panting, she hauled herself into an alcove, and grasped blindly at the stones embedded in the walls. She jerked her body to the side as a hammer grazed the edge of sweatshirt. Finding the Lycan stone, she twisted hard on it, and when it didn’t budge, she drove Wind Cleaver through the middle, and the entire building shook in response.
Turning around, she flashed her blade in front of her, watching the statues crumble into dust, and the water drain beneath the tiles. Dropping onto the ground, she continued deeper into the hotel, scenting the darkness and wretched scent of twist distorment.
The next hall shuddered, and the ground shifted within her, tossing her body to the side. Darting up the middle stairs, Manon slashed Wind Cleaver through the incoming volley of arrows. One arrow exploded in front of her, and while Manon had seen many explosions in her life, she didn’t think she’d seen one where the flumes aimed straight up her nose and mouth. Snarling, she pressed her blades against her face, and muttered an archaic Crochan command, spoken from eons ago.
Wind Cleaver flashed out, forming a mask around her face, thinning out to a veil around her eyes. Then she darted behind a curtain, ready to jump out the window if the attack continued.
It did.
A large spear shot above the curtain, crumbling the entire mainframe of gems and sparkling hues.
Manon swung herself back into the staircase, her exit now blocked. She palmed two daggers, and then dashed down the main hall. Two knights standing against the wall shuddered to life and groaned, their helmets turning into her direction.
The Council must have hired experienced witches to fortify the entire hotel with magic.
It was too bad she was half-witch.
Manon ducked and danced between the two knights, dodging each blow. When the last sword embedded itself into the wall and the other knight dug his lance out of his foot, she launched herself in between, and stabbed both her daggers through the would-be hearts, disconnecting the magical chain. The armor clattered to the floor, and she dusted off one metal hand clinging to her elbow.
Sheathing her daggers, Wind Cleaver peeled off her face, and landed comfortably back into her palm. Manon slashed the blade through the cracks of the grand hall door, and then yanked the doors open with a crash, tasting the blood slipping out her scratched lip.
Wind Cleaver nearly dropped out her hand as she leapt forward with a no, her face straining. For she had been simply too late.

“Well, well,” the face of her nightmares chuckled in front of her. “Have you come to finish me off at last, my dear niece?”
Elide smiled at him, a curl of lip full with ice. “I don’t need to kill you when you’ve been dead for some time.” She stalked in front of the silver-chained monster. “But I suppose death would be a nice touch.”
Especially if she were to break Council laws.
“You touch me, you cannot touch your Alpha title as Perranth.”
Dark shadows had blossomed under his eyes, and his body had thinned considerably, skin faded into gray, feeble meshes. His teeth cracked at the edges from grinding his jaws harshly together, and his nails were shredded.
All the lies and tells in her life…maybe one day she’d have all the pieces.
But maybe it was better she be reckoned as shattered and broken.
Elide hefted a chain in her hands, her heart thrumming. “Look familiar?” she cooed, and swam in the despair and fear in her uncle’s eyes.
She had drowned in those emotions a long, long time ago.
The chain jerked around his neck, the shackles at Vernon’s wrists and ankles and waist screaming against his scarred flesh, burning from the metal. His neck snapped to the side, his eyes unfocused but glazed over in determination.
She’d burned for so long that the sight did not an ounce of satisfaction to her.
Elide stepped forward, and the balcony window shattered.
A sigh of relief bubbled from the Vernon’s rasped throat, but quickly dissipated into a squelch of agony as a hatchet whistled through the air and pierced across his ankle, destroyed the chain and the flesh underneath.
A howl of anguish shook the Alpha’s body, but he continued smiling.
For he had believed crafted the perfect monster and carved a hole into society, a shard in the masterpiece of society.
His legacy, his faults, his nightmares.
A reality.
Little did he know that he hadn’t destroyed her.
She had destroyed herself.
He had willingly retreated into the abyss of dark and ink.
Elide tightened the chain, and waited for the newcomer to reach her.
Warm hands wrapped around Elide’s waist, and her mate kissed the base of her throat.
The ground beneath them shook.
“Together,” Lorcan rumbled, and wrapped a hand around her wrist.
Elide knew what her mate was offering. To end Vernon himself, to take the burden off of her.
But this was what something that she needed to carry by herself.
Shrugging off Lorcan’s hand, Elide offered her own smile at her Uncle, who shivered violently, teeth bared weakly.
“I’ll see you in hell,” she said sweetly, and jerked the chain violently down, watching the neck snap completely.
The doors burst open, and Lorcan arranged himself in a protective stance around her.
Manon, looking as if she’d been dragged across the grave and back, hissed, her eyes purged into utter block. A single no hissed out of her mouth, and Elide felt the thin thread bound to the Council snap, and a fallen order blanket across her mind.
A death sentence. Issued and ordered.
The hotel floor shook again, and Elide braced herself for the consequence.
Manon slammed the door shut, and stalked towards her, not sparing Lorcan a second glance. Blood dripped from her sides, black sweatshirt torn and ragged.
Her past Beta dipped her head and gripped Wind Cleaver solemnly.
“I stand with you.” She bared her teeth, and nodded towards Elide’s mate, just as the balcony drapes flung apart, and the white uniforms of the Council guards flew in, wolves of order leaping from behind.
The South wall shuddered and collapsed, fire ringing out and bursting into flames around them. Lorcan pinned her to the floor as a burst of flame brought it down.
An Enforcer flung a sword towards them, aim at Lorcan’s exposed back, but a wolf leapt through the fallen wall, a red pelt slicked with flames flying through the air, and taking the weapon.
Aelin Galathynius slammed into the floor, the sword sticking from her back, blood swirling with the flames around her. Her wolf shuddered and stilled.
Elide roared and tossed Lorcan’s weight of tons off of her and ran towards her fallen friend, the echoing howl of Manon’s having the tiles shake. The tide of Enforcer did not stop, but Lorcan flung his dark magic forward, sending the first wave of wolves out the window.
Darkness swept across Elide’s eyes as she nosed her previous Alpha’s body.
She watched the flames surrounding them wink out.
She felt the Alpha of the Fireheart’s pack fur turn to ice.
Elide howled, and Lorcan roared his own, Manon’s screeching nails tearing across bodies after the next.
The doors from the upper floor cracked open, and Elide’s heart soared as she saw members of the Fireheart stream in, wolves of all colors with snapping teeth.
The floor became a battleground for unseen justice and stringent consequences.
The Fireheart Pack had openly issued their statement in disloyalty as rebels and resisted the Council’s orders by heeding their Alpha’s call. As Elide launched herself against the nearest guard, she knew the deaths would come.
But she welcomed it. For once.

Lorcan ripped off the pelt of the nearest enforcer, and kept an eye on his mate, whose claws had dug into a guard’s eye. After the wolf laid dead as his feet, he raced towards her, hauling the bleeding enemy off her back, and tossing him into the rubble. His mate rubbed her maw against him, and together they leapt into the mess of hissing and tearing and howling.
They killed every beating heart of human or animal in their way. She became the silencer and the executioner.
He was death. She was desire.
They slaughtered the Council guards and the Enforcers.
Without a blink or thought.
And together—together they could bring down kingdoms if they wanted to. In another realm or world.
For their limits came as the Council themselves stormed in, and the floor levelled off, the ground shaking and infrastructure collapsing around them.

Rowan awoke to a cold bed, and felt frosted agony worm through his body. He tore through the Pack House in search for his mate, and found not one trace of another Pack member.
Aelin had to have more logic than to dare step foot or paw into Las Vegas, but by the true absence, it only seemed plausible.
He swore, and opened his mind link with Lorcan.
Blocked out.
Of course.
Snarling, he shifted into his silver wolf and followed the Council orders to the edge of Nevada where the desert ran for miles. Uneasiness ran through him as he picked up speed.
The sun baked his fur, but he continued to push. Riddled and bristling trepidation coasted over him, driving him over an edge. When his paws no longer hit grass and soil, churning over sand, his pace slowed down considerably, a sharp searing pain digging into his side.
The Prince of Lycans howled as he felt wedge drive within him, pain flowering within him to unknown depths. From his peripheral vision, dread building within him, he mustered up his well and stalked to the camp where the flying white flags of the Council shone.
The guards parted, and his wolf strode through the line, noting the scent and stench of metal and wolfsbane.
As the line of guards ended, a white elder with wrinkly face came into sight, and Rowan halted.
The King of the Wolves.
Rowan dipped his wolf’s head, not meeting the golden-ringed eyes of the other Lycan.
The final authority and the highest honor, King Erawan, wolf of the order.
The full-blooded Lycan merely handed his scepter to a helper next to him, and maintained his posture. “As the Prince of Lycans, you are authorized to uphold the law,” the King droned, and parted to the left.
Rowan’s heart broke at the sight.
A red-ash wolf laid bloodied and broken along the sand, face caked with tears and grime.
His mate.
“Aelin Galathynius.” A pained look crossed over Rowan Whitethorn’s face.
The King nodded, a sneer on his face. “She has broken Council law and is sentenced to die. As Prince, you will set an example.”
An example.
That law was first.
Over love, over morality, over need.
The King beckoned a finger, and Rowan shifted, clothed in his royal garb. His Lycan within him howled in anger and fury, a turbulent storm raging within him.
But the duty called. The first bond he had swore.
His tongue filled with ash as the solemn words washed over him. One his animal side could not yet overcome.
“Through my Lycan blood in me and through orders through the Council, you are condemned to execution for slaughtering and violence, death and destruction. Your disloyalty holds charges with the end.”
Rowan felt his legs lurch forward, his wolf howling within him, a sound his mate did not echo.
Betrayal ran in his mate’s eyes, deeper than the execution.
Disappointment and sorrow.
He knew the sight would haunt him for the rest of eternity.
Another Hell on Earth.
The King snapped his fingers, and the helper handed Rowan a dark blade, crested with obsidian gems on the hilt. He could feel the order pressing down in his mind, caging him.
He lifted the blade. 

Aelin merely grinned at Rowan Whitethorn, still finding the strength within her failing lungs. He wasn’t on his knees grovelling, serving her, honoring her, cherishing her, protecting her.
He wasn’t.
Not when his mark laid on another’s neck.
Not when a silver blade inked with darkness was directly over her.
Not when the Council themselves had swarmed the hotel, and Remelle had triumphantly dragged her bleeding body across the city and into the desert where her veins had been ripped and displayed.
Her Pack was in ruins, more than demolished.
Only thirteen of her pack members had survived, and had fled with Manon—Aelin’s last order as Alpha.
To survive and to remember.
Aelin watched her mate take the dark blade from the King’s hands, and felt hatred boil up within her.
Felt her inner wolf agree and hiss out, “I, Aelin Galathynius, reject you as my mate.”
It would be easier this way, for the pain to fuel her, and for the pain for him to end her without rational thought. So that he could live with the burden that he had no control over his animalistic side, and lost his other half by priorities. That it wasn’t the sword of the King that ended the chance of more, but the emotions of the rage and embittered.
She supposed this was her fate. To be stuck within that scale.
And she did not stop her once-mate as the feral growl rippled through him and his bones shifted, a silver wolf leaping towards her, fury in those eyes.
Aelin supposed she knew how Elide felt, how the physical pain of her skin being ripped apart and blood gushing out, pooling around her—it compared to nothing in the slightest to her heart breaking, not from the sheer force, but from her mind collapsing down on her and giving up, diving into that black abyss, and over the edge and into the what waited in the next life.
“I hope Remelle is everything you wanted,” Aelin managed to whisper out as her spine cracked and her neck snapped.
And she saw the darkness.

Lorcan stared at his mate, his love, his fate.
“Elide,” he whispered.
Elide blankly stared at him, a little trickle of blood running down her face.
“Elide,” he repeated, his voice cracking between the syllables.
Elide part her mouth. “Lorcan,” she murmured, and her hands fell limply to her side. “What have I done?”
He swallowed harshly. Rid the threat before the threat rids us, as ordered by the King Erawan. Kill the girl.
Pure ferality and unbridled bloodlust.
His mate, his fate.
The Council members closed within them, blank faces.
Another cage, another cell.
Lorcan felt his paws holding blood and sand, reeking of gore and flesh. Holding his and his mate’s defeat. It had not been enough.
“I am sorry,” Lorcan whispered, despairingly. “Moon goddess forgive me.”
For his first oath had drilled into his mind and wormed its way.
The silver blade lurched forward, driving within his Elide Lochan’s ribcage, piercing through her hardened flesh and out her other end.
The onyx eyes widened before her lids fluttered shut, and she croaked out his name thickly, her upper body collapsing on top of the blade.
“Forgive me,” Lorcan said, and embraced her. Darkness and madness swept through him, a cord of sanity pulling into a reach beyond him. Her nest of hair fell across her face, and the salted stench of blood filled his nostrils again.
He wrenched the blade out, and a silent scream stamped onto her face, pale features turning into whitened ash.
“Forgiven,” Elide rasped out, and went limp, her eyes closing.
For they had both sinned beautifully in the tragic world.
Lorcan held his mate in his arms, and blankly stared at the silver sword tainted with crimson, staining the ground.
He had promised to not let her go. Promises, his oaths, his only living shred of morality in this world. He would not let it slip from his fingers as further dishonored.
Lorcan slowly reached down and wrapped the warm hilt around his roughened hand, his other wrapped around the drooped body, a sack of emptiness. Inhaling the fast fading scent of his source of elation one last time, Lorcan drove the blade inwards without a figment of restraint.
The Council wolves stared blandly, empty holes drilled into their eyes.
Two bodies collapsed onto the soiled ground, blood intertwining between them, tying them closer than ever before than in life, through the decay, and to death.
Even his Lycan genes could not regenerate him fast enough, as the fast fading mated mark disappearing from Elide’s neck snapped his own tether to this world.
For when his mate had been sentenced to die, so had he. She hadn’t needed a ring on her finger when he had claimed her, a claim that went into the next life and realm, a long, long dream of what could have once been and whispers of fantasy of might and true love, an easy conquerment to whistle through his heavens only to plunge into the depths of hell.
For death had been their wedding with eternity.

Manon tossed away the flowers that littered the three graves she had built near the entrance of soom gloomy and haunted cave in the middle of a darkened forest. 
Elide Lochan. Aelin Galanthysius. Lorcan Salvaterre.
It would have been suicide to return back to Las Vegas where the Council awaited, with too much dark enhanced power and foreign allies.
The Fireheart Pack remained in spirit, but the name was filled with too much raw memories. Settling her heart in steel, Manon headed into the wild, Alpha blood coursing through her veins.
She’d rebuild up this pack, and forge them into their own masters, not weapons.
And the dawn of the Crochan Pack arose, filled with thirteen beautifully broken members.
Thirteen survivors with the blood bathing over their bodies and minds, sculpting their souls.
She had revenge burning within her. In memory of her fellow wolves, the fallen who had fought against the stringent orders.
And so the Crochan Pack sprinted into the distance, where they’d forge the next era.

Elide jerked up, panting, and stared at the darkness within the cave. Lorcan immediately sat up, and wrapped his arms around her, offering his warmth.

She yawned, and her mate yawned back. 

A run? Her mate proposed.

She didn’t respond, and instead channeled in the raw depths of power and dominance within her. Elide closed her eyes and focused on her inner Lycan, the unknown beast within her that had slumbered for years in silence. Feeling her bones crack and rattle, her teeth shifted and hands grew, paws hitting the floor, her tail wagging.

Elide waited for her mate to shift, watching the powerful muscles ripple through currents in the dark cave. When Lorcan finished shifting, her nudged her in concern. She moved against his pelt, shaking off the vivid images that had flashed across her head. Elide licked her mate’s ear affectionately, and wiggled her tail in anticipation.

Her mate took off and out of the cave, Elide surging forward behind him, into the breaking light of slanted rays, ignoring the murky and hidden feeling of deja vu running underneath her. 


anonymous asked:

I really want to come out as nonbinary, but I feel like I'll never have the courage. I've been putting it off for years. I'm sick of hiding my identity from everyone, but the idea of telling even close friends is terrifying. what if they don't understand? what if they're dismissive? i just really don't know how to do this. do you have any advice?

My advice is this: WAIT.
I know, I’m supposed to say Bust that closet door open, be bold, tell the world!
But that doesn’t work for everybody. If you’re terrified, just wait. It’s ok to wait.

What you’re waiting for, is the moment when being closeted and pretending feels LESS SAFE than anything that could happen when you tell people. 💛💛💛💛