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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

An experiment with a Fairchild

Alastair goes to the Fairchild's house to visit Charles, but finds only Henry home, who is working on something.

CW for toxic relationship

Taglist: @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

I don't think this really adds up with the timeline since I'm not sure Henry was actually in London at the time but I don't care. It's somewhere during early Chain of Gold.

Alastair knocked on the door of the house in Grosvenor Square. The consul was currently in Idris and would not be home, and Alastair was fairly certain Matthew was someplace else with his band of bandits or whatever they called themselves nowadays. Charles’ father he wasn’t so sure about, but Alastair imagined he would have gone with her. He sincerely hoped Charles would be home. He’d missed Charles and hoped they could talk about his engagement. Alastair could make him understand, how unhappy it made him. They would work something out, Alastair was sure of it. It would be like Paris again, just the two of them. He could be happy, as long as he had Charles’ love.

The door opened, but it wasn’t Charles standing in the doorway, nor any of the servants. Instead, sitting in a bath chair, was Charles’ father. Henry Branwell, known for inventing the portal, although Alastair didn’t think he got the recognition he deserved. He didn’t know much about Henry beyond that, Charles was far closer to his mother than his father and Alastair didn’t think Charles really understood his father’s work.

‘Good afternoon,’ Henry said. ‘I’m not sure we’ve met? I’m Henry Fairchild.’

Alastair didn’t realize Henry used his wife’s name. He knew Charles’ mother had chosen to give him her last name instead of Henry’s because of her position as consul, which was an unusual decision, but he’d never heard of a husband taking his wife’s name.

Charles often claimed his parents hadn’t married out of love either, that his mother had married his father because she needed the support of a husband to advance her career. Therefore, it was fine he was marrying for political reasons and would never love his wife. But Henry Fairchild must love his wife very much, to have taken her name.

‘I’m Alastair Carstairs,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m here to see Charles, is he home?’

‘Right, you must be Charles’ friend. No, I don’t think he’s at home right now.’

‘Oh that’s too bad,’ Alastair said, attempting to hide the disappointment in his voice. ‘Do you know where he is?’

Perhaps he was at his club, Alastair thought. He’d been there once before with Charles, who’d wanted to introduce him to the club. Alastair had not yet managed to win much approval there, but he was determined to keep trying. Many high standing shadowhunter men were members of the same gentleman’s club Charles went to, and Alastair wanted so badly to fit in there. Even if deep down, he knew he never would, not really. Even with his hair dyed blonde, his skin was still too dark to pass for a white English man. At most they would accept an act he put on. Still, Alastair tried the best he could to be what they wanted and win their approval, especially Charles’.

‘No, I’m not sure. But I expect he’ll be home soon. Why don’t you come in and wait there. I am working on something fascinating.’

Alastair hesitated, but he guessed it couldn’t hurt to come in. If at any point Matthew arrived, he could always make his way out. He didn’t hate Matthew, not really. He thought Matthew was immature, and sometimes Alastair was jealous that it was so easy for Matthew to be himself, but that was all, and Alastair deeply regretted his behavior at school.

However, Alastair thought it was best for all parties involved if he stayed away from Matthew, who was clearly still mad with him. Who could blame him, honestly? Charles knew, of course, about the bad blood between them, but had chosen to believe Matthew had been a brat at school and did not blame Alastair for his behavior. While that was true to some extent, Alastair had been far worse. However, if he was to be accepted, he should not show such weakness, and the best course of action was to stay away. Perhaps coming here was a bad decision.

Henry retreated into his lab, and while Alastair waited with some tea provided by a servant, he felt very awkward. What were his duties here? He would have expected someone inviting him in to stay with him, although a conversation with Charles’ father would have been just as awkward. Where was Charles? Was he coming?

In the end, Alastair did decide to take a look in the lab.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Henry said. ‘You were taking your time with that tea. Do you prefer it colder?’

Truth to be told, Alastair didn’t like the way the English made their tea at all, but he reserved his complaints about the awful food and drinks of this country for when he was having tea with his mother and Risa.

‘It was quite hot,’ was all Alastair said.

‘After some deliberation I’ve decided to give the Phosphor another chance,’ Henry said. ‘It was unfortunately, a failed invention, but I still believe I could make it work.’

‘What is it supposed to be?’ Alastair asked.

Henry fell into a lecture of his work, how he’d wanted to invent a light source five times brighter than witchlights. So far the Phosphor had mostly resulted in fires, and Henry had abandoned the project in favor of the portal. Alastair noticed how passionate Henry seemed when he talked about his interests. He could be passionate too, but Charles said that was not a good thing. It was important that he appeared rational at all times, not clouded by emotion.

‘Nor did I like working with something so highly flammable while Charles and Matthew were small,’ Henry said. ‘It would be too dangerous with small and vulnerable children depending on me. But they’re growing up so fast. Charles will be married soon and move out with his wife.’

Alastair wasn’t so sure what Charles intended to do. He’d assured him the engagement was temporary, that he would not marry miss Bridgestock. But she was under the impression the marriage would take place. Then who was Charles lying to?

‘So now is the right time to give it another try?’ Alastair concluded.

‘Precisely. However, something is not right with my calculations, and I cannot figure it out. Do you have an interest in science yourself, Mr. Carstairs?’

Alastair had once, although not to the extent Henry did. He was good at math, at least, and fascinated by the theory.

‘A little,’ he said. ‘But I’m mainly interested in politics.’

Alastair glanced over the calculations Henry had written down. They were complex, but Alastair was good at math and at least this part of the inventing process he could follow along.

‘There’s a mistake here,’ Alastair said. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s not working.’

Henry moved over to look at the calculations, and Alastair pointed out the errors, working with Henry to fix the errors. Would it work now?

‘Are you sure you’re not interested in becoming a scientist or an inventor?’ Henry asked. ‘You’re quite clever. I think it is limiting, to think of shadowhunters only as warriors. Some are, and that’s fine, but there are more ways to make the world better than just killing demons. The experiments Christopher and I do all serve the purpose of improving life for shadowhunters, yet so few understand.’

Henry sounded resigned, had he accepted the way he was viewed? Alastair found it difficult to imagine. He knew what it was to be mocked, and he never wanted to experience that again. He didn’t think he could bear it, but perhaps Henry was simply stronger than he was.

‘That’s their loss,’ Alastair said. ‘There are many ways to improve the world beyond fighting. I’m not an inventor, but I hope I can improve the Clave by getting into politics someday.’

Alastair wasn’t completely sure it was what he wanted anymore. Even if he did succeed, he knew people would gossip. He could never be the perfect politician shadowhunters expected, not without a wife, and Alastair was determined that no matter how much he pretended to be something he was not, he would never pretend to love someone he could never have such feelings for. He admired Henry, for not caring what people thought of him. He wished he could be like that, be himself, and be appreciated, if not by society then by a smaller group of people who loved him. But Alastair didn’t think that was possible, because no one could love the real him, could they? After pretending for so long, he didn’t even know who the real Alastair was anymore.

‘Ah, like Lottie,’ Henry said. ‘I so admire what she does. I could never make people listen like she does. And Charles wants to be just like her. Truth to be told, he’s a far better assistant to her than I could ever hope to be.’

‘Charles is good at what he does,’ Alastair said.

Alastair hoped some day he would be too. He read all the books Charles recommended, he worked tirelessly on formulating his own ideas. But whenever he presented his ideas to Charles, he was met with laughter. As if his ideas were just a joke to him, as if he were far too young and silly to understand. It made him feel awful. Alastair usually tried to downplay it then, pretend he hadn’t been absolutely serious about these ideas. Because clearly if Charles didn’t take him seriously, his ideas weren’t as good as they’d seemed at first and he needed to do better. He’d convinced his mother that he could help their family’s social standing by succeeding in politics rather than marrying, but how could he if not even Charles thought his ideas were worth anything?

‘I must admit I don’t understand his work nearly as well as you must,’ Henry said. ‘I’m glad he has a friend like you. I have worried about him. Always so focused on work, he doesn’t have many friends and I worry he’s lonely. I think he finds it difficult to make friends. But you and he, you are good friends are you not?’

‘We are,’ Alastair said, suddenly terrified Henry would suspect he and Charles were not quite friends, but lovers instead.

He wasn’t quite sure what Henry meant about Charles not having many friends. Charles attended his club along with many shadowhunter men, and he seemed friendly with many of them. Of course, even then he mainly talked about politics and tried to build alliances to further his career. Alastair wasn’t sure Charles really cared about any of them, perhaps he was the only one Charles had former a true connection with. If anything, it made him feel more special to be the only one trusted and appreciated by him.

‘He’s lucky to have you,’ Henry said.

‘Father, what are you doing here with Alastair?’

Charles was standing in the doorway. He looked weary, and Alastair wanted to go to him, but he didn’t dare, not when Henry Fairchild was still here to witness them. Although strangely, he suspected if there were shadowhunters who did not condemn men like him and Charles, it would be Henry.

‘Ah, there you are, Charles. Your friend has been waiting for you.’

Charles sighed. ‘Please do not bother my friends with your experiments. I am sorry for this, Alastair. I was caught up at the Institute, you know how it is.’

Alastair was a bit shocked by the way Charles spoke to Henry. Compared to his father, Henry seemed kind, if only a bit absent minded. He knew Charles did not understand his father well, but it was quite rude to speak to him in such a manner. His mother certainly wouldn’t tolerate it if he spoke to her like this.

Henry didn’t say anything else, and Alastair left the lab with Charles to go upstairs, to his bedroom. As Alastair understood it, Henry rarely left his lab and there was little danger of him interrupting him.

‘Are you very tired?’ Alastair asked.

‘Just work,’ Charles said. ‘It’s becoming a bit much lately, but that’s alright. This is my chance to show my best qualities, after all. Exhaustion is a small price to pay. And I have you with me now, and that more than makes up for it. I could use some relaxation.’

And Alastair obliged, as he always did. Even if part of him was still upset with Charles, he knew that if he wanted to earn his lover’s affection and loyalty, he would have to be there for him when Charles needed him and give him what he wanted. At least now he could experience what if felt like to be loved, and Alastair knew love was supposed to hurt. It was better than nothing, better than being alone. Still, he wished he could be more like Charles’ father, doing what was right for him and being who he was regardless of what anyone else thought. But Alastair had lost himself a long time ago, the only time when he felt even remotely like himself was when he was in Charles’ arms. And even then, he still did not feel quite right and couldn’t figure out what was missing. He did not know who he was anymore.

#Alastair Carstairs #Henry Branwell #Henry Fairchild #Charles Fairchild #the last hours #fanfiction #fic

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mortalfaerie · 3 years

Text

To Fake an Engagement (M.F.)

part 3/?

mathew fairchild x (fem) reader

wordcount: 3k

synopsis: part 3 of this series. reader and mathew are reunited at the london intstitute’s famous christmas party, and spend some impromptu alone time in the games room, where those 3 little words make an appearance. flirty, but no smut (yet). no coi spoilers.

You couldn’t help but feel something had shifted for the better after Anna’s party. Winter had descended now, covering London in a constant white cover, but you still wrote letters regularly to Matthew on the days you didn’t see him, and he wrote you back enthusiastically.

As Christmastime approached, Will and Tessa sent invites to the annual Christmas Ball at the Institute to members of the Enclave, and you diligently ticked off the days on your calendar to December 25th. Shadowhunters didn’t typically exchange gifts or celebrate in the way of many mundanes, but as it aligned with the time that the greater demon, Lilith, was banished to Edom, it warranted note and minor celebration among the nephilim.

But, for the young and carefree members of the Enclave, it was a party, and that was enough.

Your dress for the event had been a gift from your parents, and was far more extravagant than the practical day dresses you normally favored. All the same, you felt a sense of private vanity as you regarded yourself in your bedroom mirror, dressed and styled for the occasion. The dress was a lovely green velvet, ideal for the colder weather, with wide, slashed sleeves and lace trim. Your maid had drawn your hair up in the popular “Gibson Girl” style, with stray curls framing your face and a decorative sprig of winterberries tucked into a hairpin. You felt, seeing yourself, like you were viewing a rare exotic animal, far from what you displayed on a day to day basis.

With a knock on your bedroom door, your maid alerted you that your family was gathering in the foyer to depart soon, and you gethered your skirts and hurried downstairs. You shrugged on your coat and allowed your mother to fuss over you a moment before shooing you into the carriage. Your father nodded in that sort of patriarchal approval most moderately wealthy fathers did, and asked if you had your weapon on you- you turned out your pocket to show the hilt of your dagger, sheathed over your petticoat. He nodded again, satisfied, and you were on your way.

The Institute at Christmastime never failed to amaze you. Tessa had an admirable eye for design, and always the ballroom and foyer were transformed with berries, bobbles, garlands, and sprigs of pine. There was even a felled tree decorated in the entrance, which had carved wood rune ornaments adorning it. As your parents greeted the heads of the Institute, Tessa tapped you on the shoulder to whisper, “They’re gathered in the games room, if you’d like to join them.”

There was no need to clarify “them,” it was only ever your closest friends, the merry thieves, Lucie, and now Cordelia too. You nodded and excused yourself, gathering your skirts and hurrying down the corridor to the closed doors of the games room, where you took a deep breath and pushed through.

When you entered, you found James and Christopher engaged in animated conversation, while Matthew, Cordelia, Thomas, and Lucie surrounded the billiards table as Lucie lined up a shot. Just as she cracked the balls on the carpeted table, the doors clicked shut behind you and all turned to look. A soft silence fell across them for a few seconds as they looked at you, and then Lucie broke it by throwing down the billiards stick and exclaiming, “Oh, good! Y/N, you’re here at last.” and enveloped you in a hug.

You laughed at her enthusiasm, and went to greet the others. Having not seen eachother in some time now due to the weather, hugs were exchanged when normally they were not upon greeting, and Thomas patted the berry garland in your hair, commenting that you had not gotten taller in the past weeks, to which you stuck out your tongue.

The room resumed its activities before you had arrived, and you took a spot against the wall behind the billiards table, where it was now Cordelia’s turn. Matthew drifted back from the table to lean against the wall beside you. Matthew, unlike the others, had not hugged you in greeting, but smiled warmly and kissed your gloved hand.

“Hello again.” He murmured as he took his place beside you.

“Hello yourself.” you replied, bumping him with your hip.

“Is it too soon to ask for your first dance tonight?” he asked, his voice still a whisper. You turned to regard him, but saw he was serious.

“Well, Mr. Fairchild,” you said with mock formality, “my affections are not otherwise engaged.”

He smiled and replied, “Most capital. I should look forward to meeting you on the dance floor, Miss. Y/L/N.”

After that, the comfortable silence slipped over you again, as it had at Anna’s party. Your hands were close enough at your sides that your fingers brushed his, and you noticed him looking down thoughtfully as they did.

Before long, Will appeared at the door to tell you the enough guests had arrived that you all should make your way to the ballroom, and Lucie came to link her arm in yours, just as James took Cordelia’s hand, and the remaining 3 walked side by side. You thought to yourself, watching James and Cordelia warmly proceed ahead of you, that their fake marriage seemed to be faring better than you anticipated. Perhaps, not all sentiment they displayed for the public was fake.

In the ballroom, guests were finding their places at seats arranged along the walls, and you let Lucie guide you to a table in the corner, where often the 7 of you congregated during balls. As the piano turned out a german waltz, Will and Tessa took to the floor, as the hosts always have the first dance together. As they did, the young members of the enclave began to talk amongst themselves, finding partners for the next dance. Matthew found his way to your side just as the waltz ended, and the piano began into a joyful portland tune.

“Shall we?” he asked, a gleam in his eyes.

You grinned in return. “I believe we shall.”

He led you onto the dancefloor, where you took your place alongside other pairs, and began in with the lively, gliding steps of the portland polka. You laughed intermittently throughout it- the polka was a fast, fun dance, leaving little time for conversation. It was a dance to have with an experienced partner, one whose company you were comfortable in. Over the past 3 months, Matthew had proved to be all of those things, and you couldn’t help but smile as he spun you about.

At the end of the set, you bowed to each other, as was custom, and he asked, “Join me to procure refreshments?”

You held out your hand for him to take, which he did eagerly. “Lead the way.”

He offered you a sherry as you passed the refreshments, and he told you all the gossip he had gleaned from his parent’s conversations over the past few weeks as you leisurely walked a circuit around the ballroom. You smiled and laughed at his comments, but secretly you were anxious that he would drink too much as the night went on. You didn’t mind him drinking a bit, you thought, and it was fun sometimes to drink with Matthew, but you detested being truly drunk yourself, and you had waited weeks to see Matthew again in person, you wanted to savor this Matthew, uninhibited, as best you could.

You sipped your drink until you emptied it, at which point he suggested you dance again. You knew that to dance with the same man multiple times was to declare your interest, but it was well known you two were friends, so it shouldn’t seem so odd. You let him lead you in a country dance, and then turned you to Thomas, then Christopher, and even James, who was as he always was, the picture of propriety. When came a partner dance, you even danced with Cordelia, who was remarkably graceful, and then Lucie for a more jaunty circle dance that you both tripped and giggled through.

After an hour of dancing, you had slipped back to the wall near the table when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Matthew, who said, “Blast. I seem to have lost something in the games room. Would you come with me to look? I could use another pair of eyes.”

You smirked. “A button, perhaps? You do have so very many on your frock coat today. But, yes I shall help you, Matthew.”

He linked his arm through yours, and led you to the games room, making cordial conversation the way there. When you reached it, you slipped in and found it empty. Still, not wanting to make a loud noise, you gently pushed the doors shut behind you and leaned against them. Matthew, several feet away, regarded you.

“I didn’t lose anything here, Y/N.” he said, his voice low.

You cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Then why did you-” but he cut you off short.

“I missed you.” he said, quiet, as through confiding a secret. Your heart swelled, but you worked to steady it.

“I am here. You have been with me all night.” you breathed. “How can you miss me?”

He walked closer to you, standing only about a foot away. “I have been missing you every moment I am not alone with you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, your blush creeping up your neck. “Do not play with my heart, Matthew.” you warned, quiet as a mouse.

He placed his hand with the ring- your family ring- over his heart and said, “I am not playing with anything, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched and you clicked closed the lock of the door. The sound of it sliding into place reverberated through the room. You stared into his emerald eyes, searching for the sign of a lie or a joke, but found none.

Finally, your heart in your throat, you said just loud enough for him to hear, “Then kiss me, Matthew Fairchild.”

He obliged, his ring-clad hands coming to cup your face, leaning down to close the distance between you, and you gasped and rose onto your toes to meet him. Your arms came around him, one on his chest and another on his back, holding him to you. You could feel his pulse, wildly fast, under his shirt and vest, and he pressed his lips to yours in a movement that was both patient and frantic, practiced and entirely unready.

You knew Matthew had kissed people before. You had seen it, actually, at parties and at The Devil’s Tavern. Even still, his hands shook as he cupped your face, and you moved to cover them with your own, to assure him that you wanted this too.

Instinct taking over, your lips parted as he moved against them, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You made a small noise of surprise but didn’t pull away, instead pressing yourself further against him. A sort of need burned inside you, a need to be as close as you possibly could. Your hands moved to knot in his golden hair, feeling the softness of it, and he made a noise akin to a moan against your lips when you closed your fingers around a tuft of his hair firmly. Startled, you pulled back to look at him, and he returned your look of surprise.

His face was flushed, lips pink from the pressure of kissing, and his green eyes were glazed with want. “Sorry.” he murmured somewhat sheepishly. Now, that was a moment to remember, a sheepish Matthew. “I… liked the feeling of it. I didn’t think.”

You playfully bumped his head in response. “Don’t be. I was just surprised.”

This was the Matthew you loved. Unguarded, smiling in earnest, he looked like he had when you had first met him, the look of childlike wonder restored in his eyes. You moved your hand to his cheek and he leaned into it, looking at you with an expression that was so warm and full of awe.

“Wait a second.” you said, and moved to pull off your gloves. On your hand, catching the witchlight, was the Fairchild ring, hidden under your dress gloves but worn as a private reminder, as a hopeful prayer. He smiled seeing it glint as you placed your gloves on the bookshelf beside the door. Then, you turned to him again and said very matter of factly,

“I want you to kiss me again.”

This time, you were ready. More confidently, you let your hands travel up his back, savoring the smoothness of his silk vest. He cradled your head like you were all that was precious in the world, and the kiss became faster, more eager, until you parted again, panting.

“Can I pick you up?” he asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows, but nodded. In response, he swept you up in his arms, leaving you to wrap your arms around his neck. You didn’t look away from him as he carried you to the billiard table and sat you on it, making your height level. Your legs dangled off the edge, and you kicked off your shoes mindlessly and you grabbed hold of his tie and loosened it. With your hand still around the knot of it, you pulled, bringing him back to you as his hands went to steady himself on either side of you on the table surface.

“Y/N…” he murmured against your lips. It was like a question, a warning, and a plea all at once.

“Please.” you murmured in response, and he moved to devour your lips again.

Suddenly, you heard someone try the handle of the door. At once, you were thankful both that you hadn’t lit any more lights than the usual witchlight, and that you locked the door behind you. Likely, it was another young couple looking to steal away somewhere, and they moved along the hallway in search of some other place. Matthew dropped his head into the crook of your shoulder and cursed, as you threaded your fingers idly in his hair.

When you were certain they had passed, he pulled back and looked at you. “What are we doing?” he asked, a little breathy.

“I- well, you were kissing me.” you supplied, missing the warmth of his body.

“No, I mean, what are we doing? What is this?” he asked, gesturing to the space between you.

You removed your hands from his hair and wrung them in your lap. “Well, I... I enjoyed my evening very much so far, please don’t think that I haven’t.”

He placed a hand over yours to stop you from worrying at them. “But are we doing this because of the deal? Because it’s convenient?”

Your heart fractured at the suggestion. Haughtily, you scooted off the table and paced, shoeless, away from him.

“Y/N?” he asked to your back.

“Do not speak about convenience to me.” you said, more sternly than you intended.

“What does that mean?” he asked, an edge of exasperation in his voice.

You whirled. “It means, Matthew,” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, “that I have loved you since I was 14 years old, so do not think to speak to me about convenience!” you hissed, still aware that you had to keep your voice down.

Matthew laughed humorlessly and raked a hand through his hair.

You simmered in your building rage. “You said you would not play with my heart.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he replied, “And I am not.”

“Then why would you suggest that you have brought me to an empty room and kissed me because of convenience?” you demanded.

“I suppose I thought because you would lose so little in this deal, that it might just be convenient excitement for you!” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

Your face burned. “I had thought better of your opinion of me.” you moved to go grab your shoes, but he caught your arm.

“I had no idea that you loved me!” he said, trying to halt you in your path.

“Why else would I agree to this?” you demanded. “Why else would I hope that at the end of a year, you might love me? Why keep the ring?” you flashed your hand to him. “Why entertain ideas of marriage, Matthew? Why suggest I marry you if you didn’t think I loved you?”

“Because I didn’t want to think I would have to be alone!” he admitted. His eyes were sparkling with the suggestion of tears in the dim witchlight, but none spilled over.

You couldn’t take it. You might have been red with frustration and deeply annoyed with him, but you never could stomach Matthew to think so desperately low of himself. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his chest in a hug, and he froze, then enveloped you.

“Matthew, you would never be alone. You have a parabatai, friends, and you would have found love regardless.” you assured him, but you felt the tremble of his body and accepted his nonresponse as him trying not cry. You hugged him closer, and listened to his heart rate as it began to finally slow, and his breaths became more even.

“I don’t deserve you.” he said quietly.

“That is not for you to decide.” you countered, not releasing your hold on him. “I am happy when I am with you.”

He rested his chin on your head as he spoke, “But would you be happy if you married me?”

“Not for you to decide.” you repeated. “A marriage is a partnership. Its success would be as much my work as yours.”

He was quiet for a moment, before taking your face and turning it to him. “If you would marry me,” he began, “I would be forever thankful to you. I would spend each day in service of your happiness.”

You kissed him again, sweetly this time, savoring his taste. When you pulled away, you said, “We should return to the ball before there’s much suspicion. Oh, and fix your tie and hair.”

Matthew’s hand went indignantly to his hair, which was thoroughly mussed by your hands.

You smiled as you put your shoes back on and gloves, then peeking out of the door to be sure no one was there. You slipped out, Matthew’s arm cordially laced in yours, as you cut through to the kitchen to grab a piece of cake. While slipping through the adjoining sitting room with your spoils, you found your friends already there, having stolen some of the cake as well.

“There you are!” Cordelia exclaimed, and gestured for you to join them, hiding out from the ball.

James snickered, however, and added, “But first, look up.”

Confused, you looked first to Matthew, and then up to the archway above you, where a sprig of mistletoe was hung, probably by Bridget, with her folk traditions.

You flushed immediately, and began saying, “Oh, really-” but before you could finish, Matthew snaked an arm around your waist and pressed a sweet, soft kiss to your mouth. You broke away, still blushed a deep red and regarded your friends who wore expressions of laughter, surprise, and suspicion. Lucie regarded you with a look that said you’d be explaining yourself later. For now, though, you went to join your friends eating pilfered Christmas cake as the night went on.

#matthew fairchild #matthew fairchild x reader #the mortal instruments #the last hours #the infernal devices #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare

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astriefer · 3 years

Note

“Please hold me.” for thomastair (ofc bc that's what you said) 🥺

Thank you for this! @littlx-songbxrd you asked for this as well. I'm sorry it's so bad.

~~~~~

Trust me with thy heart

Pairing: Thomastair

Words: 4,537

Contains mild angst, some self harm and hurt/comfort.

Note I am awful at writing angst or hurt/comfort. This whole poor writing is based on miscommunication, much or less, or the fear to let others close.

~~~~~

Thomas wasn't fond of fights.

Demons were one thing. Their destiny as Shadowhunters was to protect mankind from those filthy monsters who invade their world. They brought disorder and death. The people he cared about were a different tale.

A light jest with his friends, why not? A banter with his father about taking the coat or not while going outside? Sure. But not a very tumultuous, tempestuous strife with them. He preferred them all to get along with each other.

Thomas liked even less when it was him involved in the disagreement.

He spent the last day jogging between massive training seasons, hanging out with his friends, and losing himself in his thoughts. Now, he avoided everyone in favor of reading Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. He made a special effort to tell no one where he was going, so non could bother him and ask him questions.

So Thomas was stunned when Ariadne Bridgestock, of all people, rushed through the entry in an unmatched combination of grace and ivory skirts, then flopped herself onto the armchair in front of Thomas.

While she had had a pleasant expression on her face, there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. If Thomas hadn't known better, he would've sworn she came here to murder him.

"You and Alastair fought," she stated.

Thomas glanced between his book to her determined face twice, considering his options. Then, on behalf of good manners, he put a bookmark on the current page he pretended to be reading for half an hour. "Is it Alastair's way to tell me to speak to him? If so, please tell him not to embroil any other folks in our relationship."

"He hadn't sent me," Ariadne ignored the last part of his sentence. "But he did not arrive for our conclave."

A spark of concern lightened up in Thomas, yet he repressed it. He was angry with Alastair, Thomas reminded himself. "And what have you speculated I can do about it?"

She looked at him funny. "Talk to him, I presume."

"Ariadne," he tried, weariness falling heavy on him. "While I appreciate your concern, I doubt Alastair wants to see me. In fact, I doubt whether I want to see him right now. I know you confide in each other-" more than Alastair does with him, the bitter thought tore its way into his head. "And your intentions are well, but I will highly prefer to keep this between myself and Alastair."

He thought this would give her down and make her apologize. "Alastair wouldn't have sent someone else, and he didn't solicit help from myself," she said instead. "He would've given time to you both to collect your minds, and then come to you in clearer mind."

It was right. He knew it was. "So this parley is all you?"

"As I said, Yes. I worried for my friend, who happened to be your partner."

Thomas brushed his thumb on the spine of the book, musing over her words. "Why would you be worried?"

"He stood me up. I came by your flat later, just for him to say nothing has happened. When I asked where you were, he conceded you two had a big bump in the road."

"That's a nice way to put it," Thomas murmured. "I frankly wished to be left alone. It's nothing-"

"Thomas," Her amber eyes met hazel ones. "You are good at many things. Fighting demons, and keeping the rest of the Thieves out of trouble, for example."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Lying is not one of them."

Thomas swallowed, endeavoring to hide the feeling of hurt off his face. Recalling what happened a few days before made his whole body ache in pain. "So Alastair and I had a row. It always happens with lads."

"It's not just a lad for you," she pressed. He was wide aware of the chastisement in her words. "It's Alastair. And never have I seen him the way he looked when I checked on him."

"What do you mean?" he asked after he perceived her words. "Alastair was absolutely fine when I left the flat."

"You have to see for yourself." Ariadne said, "Go to him."

Despite the knots formed in the abdomen, he dithered. "Things ended up stormy when we last spoke. Maybe he's still mad. Maybe I'm still mad."

It wasn't just Alastair who was mad. He wondered how Alastair had been this past day, and how was he feeling, among many other thoughts. Yet the cloud of exhaustion and hurt surrounding him perturbated the nervousness. He was allowed to be upset about what happened. It sure wasn't nothing. Not on his part, at most. Why couldn't Alastair just-

"Excuses are not appreciated," Ariadne announced, "So you better confront him already, or I swear I shall chase you to the end of the Earth with my electrum whip." Ariadne threatened, and that what had taken to wake Thomas out of his hesitation.

"Of course," he sighed, "Because I don't have enough troubles already."

She brushed it off again with a smile, and Thomas felt mildly annoyed. He hadn't shown it. "Sort it out. It will benefit the two of you to tackle the problem."

She left no place for arguments. Utterly abandoning the book, Thomas rose to his feet and went to leave the room.

He was glad to get out of the grip of this confusing confab, but he was even more unsure if to listen to her advice.

He was still angry with Alastair.

~~~~~

A veil of fog surrounded the city. It was a prevalent London day, cool and cloudy. The wind is blowing hard, welcoming passersby in a burst of freezing breeze. A thunderstorm on its way, they said.

But those were the last of things that perturbed Alastair's peace of mind. It matched his mood just fine. If someone was to describe him, curled up on his bed alone, he could imagine being portrayed as forlorn and tormented.

No, what bothered him was a particular someone that left and hasn't returned. Alastair hated he still hoped Thomas would return and make him less cold.

His breath was heavy, and his lungs burned like fire. He remembered words that haunted him for weeks in the past. I believed you were more than what others said about you. I conceived myself beneath all the harsh words, was someone with a kind soul waiting to be seen. Was it all a lie I told myself?

Darkness flooded his senses. Trying to get any portion of self-control on his body he could, Alastair rose to his feet, glancing out of the window on unsteady legs without seeing anything at all. Gather yourself together.

But the words burned deep then, and they burned deep now. That was a battle against himself he meant to lose. The cold spread not only from the world beyond the window but from within him. It pulled out his ugly head, writhing and furious, desperately trying to break free and rise to the surface. People walked in the streets, oblivious to his troubles just as he was to theirs.

Thomas wasn't there.

Thomas wasn't there, and Cordelia wasn't there, and anyone he loved wasn't there. He locked himself in their flat for the past day, overthinking and speculating and wondering why did he have to be the way he is. If Thomas had finally realized he deserved someone so much better than Alastair, would he be surprised? Alastair was aware of this fact too well. The way he looked at him when they fought, the shaky hands when he opened the door, and the hours of waiting in case Thomas will return, just for nothing to happen. What does it mean if not that Alastair finally made Thomas give up and leave?

This inner part of him was crying, demanded to be heard, to be set free. A shrill cry came to his ears, and it took him a moment to perceive it belonged to him.

His vision became vague, his head ached, and everything spun around. He tried to lay a hand on the wall - only to find he miscalculated the distance and fell ungracefully on his knees. His heart pounded in his chest while the darkness tried to pull him in; He tried to take a breath and dozens of small knives tore his lungs up. He shrank, gasping for air that didn't come.

Everything seemed blurry, all his mind could engross in was the words Thomas Lightwood told him, the cold truth dripping from them, freezing Alastair all over again.

Alastair was accountable for all the hideous things he'd done and said, unquestionably. How weak is he that he hides behind shallow faces and vicious words? What a dolt he is, hurting a person, mainly the only person outside of his family that seemed to genuinely care for him. His words rang in his head, Thomas's voice haunting every corner.

He sank lower, his breathing gurgling, reaching out in search of something stable, something that would serve as a pillar in the chaos that ensued around him. His hand extended out to the still air and then groped for something to hold on the floor. That came the way of a cold, sharp object that lay on the ground. He gripped it tightly, and he groaned in pain and relief at the physical ache that eased his mind.

"Alastair?" A voice called.

~~~~~

Thomas was about to lose his right mind. Alastair was trembling vigorously, barely able to stand on his feet that were shaking like a leaf swaying in the wind.

"Alastair," Thomas stuttered, with no response back. His indignation vanished to immediate panic. "Alastair?" he repeated more stubbornly.

His chest went up and down quickly; His eyes were wide like that of a deer caught in the automobile light. When Thomas tried to take a step toward him, the smaller man stiffened and stood bolt upright. Thomas stopped dead.

"I came at the behest of Ariadne," he said, just for the sake of talking. Alastair hadn't told him to quiet, so he kept going. "And because I was worried about you."

"Leave," Alastair hissed out frantically. Thomas couldn't stop the throbbing burn striking through his body.

Thomas took a few steps back, allowing Alastair his space. He had no temptation to leave as he requested - Thomas simply waited aside, for a chance Alastair would change his mind. He recalled the nights he woke up from a nightmare, dazed and overwhelmed with emotions, and how Alastair always reassured him in the dead of night.

This Alastair seemed lost in his own mind, unable to escape, and it terrified Thomas. Yet, he shoved the dread aside and put on the most relaxing facade he could. He was told to be quite good at it.

"I'm right here, Azizam."

"Everyone leaves. You can do as well."

Somewhere in his mind, the pieces joined together, like a colossal puzzle. Was he afraid Thomas would leave him? That he would give up on him? he told him he could leave in their run-in, because he thought everyone will leave him in the end?

"I don't know. I don't know how to do it." To cease making the wrong decision. To cease pushing people away. To cease hurting people. "man nemidânam."

"Alastair, can you hear me?"

As he found out, Alastair did not hear him. "I don't want to hurt you. I already hurt you so much." Alastair went on, choking on his own words. Thomas was in full panic mode, and he hurried further toward Alastair with barely contained alarm.

I find you worth any pain to come, Thomas thought.

"It's fine," Thomas said. "I am fine. I want you to be fine as well. It's much more important to me than whether you may or may not harm me."

Something split in his face, and he took a deep breath down his throat. His eyes snapped to Thomas. The terror on his face made Thomas's heart sink.

"Alastair?" he asked, but it didn't manage to elicit a response from the other man.

Thomas drew closer to Alastair, not missing the flinch passing the half-Persian's body. Thomas could hear his breath, shallow and trembling. He could painfully see the tremor of his hands. The wide eyes that so clearly tried to hold back tears. He took one step closer, and Alastair took one back.

Thomas imminently came to a halt. Alastair squeezed hard against the wall. He looked like a captive animal on the verge of losing hope, a man pushed to the edge, an injured soul.

Thomas took one step closer. With his enormous figure, it all needed to reach Alastair. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, didn't let go even when Alastair squirmed, trying to shove him aside, fought to set free from Thomas's grip. His hold only tightened, and he used his strength to shove Alastair's head into his chest. He kept him close, kept even when Alastair protested, kept his hold when Alastair Surrendered abruptly, sinking into the soft material of Thomas's clothing, even when sobs began and his chest got wet from the tears of his love.

Thomas pressed his lips to the dark hair, held Alastair steadily while he cried. No words of reassurance passed between them. Truly, Thomas wasn't sure Alastair would have heard him if he tried. He knew the touch was what Alastair needed. Their embrace was clumsy and distorted, but it was enough. Enough to tell Alastair he wasn't alone; Thomas wouldn't have let him go through this alone.

With a soft sigh, Thomas finally let loose of his grip. He started to pull away and was surprised when he felt fists clasping on the fabric of the front of his sleeveshirt.

"Please," Alastair whispered desperately."Please hold me."

Thomas couldn't find it in himself to deny it to Alastair. They slipped to the floor. Alastair buried his face in Thomas's chest once again, shaking silently. Thomas felt his mouth forming words on his chest, although he could not tell which. All the while, his hands embraced the slim, shaking form of Alastair.

A few minutes had passed. Or an hour. Or a couple of days. Thomas didn't feel the time had passed while he tried to console his beloved one. He closed his eyes and concentrated on moving his hand on Alastair's small back, kept him close. The other hand came to caress the space between his ear and jawline, where he was creating circles on the tender skin.

Slowly, The dark-haired's breath became more even.

"Here you are," Thomas let a breath of both exhaustion and relief leave his body. "Can you hear me, Eshgham?"

"Y-Yes."

"Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"

"No."

Thomas sighed inertly as he held the other gentleman in his warm hands, promising reassurance and no judgment. Alastair, for the matter, clang to him as if he was drowning and Thomas was his only lifeline.

He never liked to fight with Alastair. It rarely happened, but when it did it left a bitter taste in his mouth and a pang at his heart. But he was not going to give up - not on this. He remembered his mother once told him couples fight, sometimes, because they still care about what the other does. It was their first argument with their new agreement. It didn't make him feel any better at the time. All his life he had been surrounded with unconditioned love, never exposed to the arguments and the imperfect details. It made him view love as just sweet and honey, while he learned that there's more with Alastair.

There's the giving. And the receiving. The trust in the other's intentions and the willingness to make them your priority foremost of all. The disagreements make you understand when your boundaries are and open a place for learning and acceptance. The balance you build with time, something he hoped he could shape with the man in front of him.

The trust part, to his belief, was something they still were working on. Alastair had leaned on him, and Thomas wondered it he thought now he calmed down, Thomas would leave him again. He did the last time.

"I'm not leaving," They locked eyes, and for some reason, he felt hope. "Alastair, I'm not leaving."

There are very few things he wanted more than Alastair. Verily, He was what he longed for above everything else. He wanted Alastair and everything he was.

Alastair didn't answer, but he averted his eyes.

"Are you ready to go now?"

Alastair seemed slightly lost, but he nodded and weakly stood on his legs. He followed Thomas while Thomas flung himself up and let Alastair sat on their bed beside him. The comfortable place always made both feel better - The mix of English and Persian and Spanish books on the bookshelves. The notebooks full of poems Thomas kept beside his side of the bed. Alastair's spears collection. The artworks they bought when they visited art galleries.Even the soft yellow light was a source of relief.

"You are mad," proclaimed Alastair in a hoarse voice.

"So are you," Thomas returned. Alastair shook his head, and Thomas's eyebrows rose. "So what then, if not mad?"

"Mostly nauseous," Alastair murmured, managing to startle a breathy chuckle out of Thomas. "But also bloody exhausted."

Thomas fumble after the right words, before deciding he should be candid. "I didn't like being apart from you in those few days. But I stick to what I told you before, Alastair." He saw it happening - the wall of defense Alastair was building up again after the last one had crushed. "Let me bring some fresh air into here."

Thomas tried to ventilate the room well while Alastair sank into the mattress and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. "If you call the London foggy, polluted air fresh, then sure."

A bit of relief passed because of Alastair's quip. He didn't lose it. "It seems you and my father share this opinion."

Thomas scanned Alastair, then noticed the cut on his right palm. Absentmindedly, he approached his side.

"Why did you do it?"

It took Alastair a moment to conceive what he was referring to. He hastily covered it with his other hand, but Thomas saw it. "I - didn't mean to."

Thomas watched the cut in awe as if it was imaginary. However, when he grazed the skin, Alastair winced.

Thomas wasn't sure how to counter this. Their fight. What just happened. Alastair didn't either. Or did he wish to pretend none of this happened? That he -both of them- weren't hurt?

This thought wasn't toleratable to Thomas.

And that's why, after he took his stele out of his dresser and was applying an iratze on Alastair's forearm, that he asked, "I want to talk about what happened the day before yesterday."

He could feel Alastair stiffening, his muscles tensing. "I was upset," Alastair said cautiously. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, Tom."

"You shouldn't have," Thomas agreed. He was done with the iratze and put the stele aside. "But that's not why I'm distraught."

Alastair shot him a tumultuous look. Thomas took a deep breath before looking Alastair dead in the eye. "You were upset, but you wouldn't tell me why. You grumble about things relentlessly, but when you're truly shaken you don't share at all. It's not - just this argument. It's not just one thing. Those small moments you hesitate whether to tell me the truth. The times you don't." He inhaled, letting the cold air fill his lungs. He resisted looking away from Alastair's face, didn't let his eyes flutter around the room like they were trying to do. "Love is also built on trust and communication. If we don't have those, what is left?" He didn't need to hear Alastair's reply. "We talk, and we share, yet I cannot understand why you're so grumpy at times. I need you to tell me."

"Can't one just be pissed off at the world?"

"Alastair."

"Many things can upset me," Alastair said. Thomas might have hallucinated it, but his voice was a bit shaky. "Do you want to hear them all?"

"Yes," Thomas answered immediately. His tone was sincere.

Alastair's hand reached to the other side of the bed, a nonverbal request. They still couldn't stop staring at each other. But not playfully, or lovingly, but earnestly.

Alastair, naked of his facade and any snide remarks. Alastair, whom he grew to know and rarely showed up to many else.

I do trust you. I care for you. were the meaning behind Alastair's gaze. All Thomas wanted is to lean on and forget everything. But still - it was not his pride making him relucent. That was much deeper than that.

He lingered there just for a moment too long, enough to make Alastair believe he declined the request, and his hand quirked in pain for a moment. His face became emotionless - and Thomas had feared he misleadingly deceived Alastair that he didn't want them after all. That he didn't want him.

In moments, he climbed on the bed. He coddled Alastair, silently and diligently. "Tell me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," Alastair retorted eventually. He rubbed his eyes and laid back on the bed board. Then after a moment. "Everything."

"I hate it when I see you suffer and I don't know why," Thomas whispered. "I want to help. More than anything. But you push me away and I am left to think it might be because of me, because-"

"No," Alastair said firmly, extending his hands to cup Thoams's. "You have never been anything but good to me. It's just-," he broke off.

Thomas searched his foggy eyes. "I don't blame you," he told him, "If it's hard for you. But trust me enough to tell me what bothers you, thus we could face it together." He collected his hands in his own, lifting them so he could kiss his knuckles. "I know I want to stand by your side whatever the cost." he was certain about that; No whirlwind to come could change it. "Will you let me?"

Instead of an answer, Alastair kissed him.

Thomas knew he was kind, forgiving, trusting. He knew Alastair was slow to trust, slow to reveal his true feelings, hiding behind sharp words to secure himself from being harmed by people close to him. He knew the world broke his heart - so viciously, and that he took the pieces that were left. It was undoubtedly hard. Alastair had changed so much, yet Thomas wanted to understand, to reassure Alastair they were in this together.

"Hamsar-am," Alastair said when they pulled away. "I will try."

Thomas smiled at the endearment term. His heart was throbbing fast. "I was mad," he confessed, "because you refused to tell me what's wrong. You pretended. And I - I don't want facades, my love. I want the truth. I want you."

"I don't want to be weak around the people I love," Alastair whispered, and Thomas understood. To what extent did he fear that if he shows weakness, his friends and family would suffocate him again, shield him from the world as they did when he was younger? How much he feared at slightest of weakness shown, he would be smothered as Thomas had been when he was too small, too fragile?

But Alastair never did that. He supported him in his way, allowed him to be weak without acting as if Thomas was made of glass. "So not weak to everyone," He was astonished he found it in himself to laugh softly. "Each other will be enough. We can be vulnerable with one another."

Alastair stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, a faint smile appeared on his lips. "Okay."

"This is just another way of trust."

So Alastair told him. He told him about the rumors he heard from the London enclave about his family, the looks he had gotten. Of the words of people who were white while Alastair was brown. He didn't mind, much, but it drew attention to his family. And to Thomas. Respectable family and a kind heart seemingly weren't enough to make the rumors - and who spread them - silence. The opposite is correct - the fire burned even brighter, and its flame was like cutting knives. The people who matter didn't care about their agreement, and Alastair long stopped paying attention to rumors. But when it was about Thomas, he said, he had been furious. The stories unfolded, the truth shone through, and the more Alastair talked - not just about rumors, but on the way some of the people treated him, of the Cornwall's townhouse and its residents, the things his soul troubled about were finally out.

Thomas listened, understood, stroked Alastair's cheek when he seemed to start shaking again, but now out of relief instead of concealed agony.

They sunk into a comfortable silence in the end. Up until Alastair inquired, "You were out for so long. Where were you?"

"At the institute," Thomas replied. The concept of coming back to his parents' townhouse, admitting the quarrel, rewinding it all in his head countless times while enduring Sophie and Gideon's worrying looks, was nothing he wished to do. "Or somewhere I could avoid anyone."

"And now?" he asked tentatively. "You come back?"

"I have no intentions to leave this bed even if Ariadne herself will come to pluck me off the sheets." He affirmed.

Alastair's smirk became genuine this time. "Ariadne was here today."

When Thomas said "I know" he got a quizzical look from Alastair so he supplied, "She found my whereabouts and made me go confront you. Not much subtly, may I add."

"Yes. This jinx made me open up the door and refused to leave until I told her what happened."

Thomas silently laughed.

"I..suppose it was rather cathartic," Alastair said. It was evening now, Thomas noted, and none of them found it in themselves to get up and eat supper. They just kept their bodies close, relishing their air of comfort.

"Indeed. This, this was good. Splendidly better than reading the same page over and over again in the Devil's tavern or pretending to care what waistcoat Matthew is taking to the impending party at Anna's flat."

"You thought the place you and your squad go to hide is the best place to hide from them?" Alastair asked.

"It seemed reasonable at the time," Thomas murmured. "Each of us has a kind of hideout, have we not?"

Where was Alastair's safe hideaway? At home, with a book in hand? At museums, drinking in art and beauty? Was it hiking in the streets of London by himself and enjoying the view and the whispers of nature?

"You," Alastair said. Thomas hadn't realized he voiced his question aloud. A tired, small smile played on Alastair's lips, yet his words were soft, plain and simple. Their eyes locked, and he could feel how genuine Alastair was. "You are my hideout."

~~~~~

Dictionary:

man nemidânam - I don't know

Eshgham - my love

Hamsar-am - my equal head, my better half

#alastair carstairs #thomastair #thomas lightwood #the last hours #my fics #thomastair fics #for the matter Thomas does NOT know how to help Alastair in the state he was in. He doesn't know the right way to approach this.#They just found solace in physical affection so he found it fitting there too #I'm sorry #littlx-songbxrd #carstairstessa #Besides I take centuries to write because not only I am extremely busy (and sunk way too deep into the fluff fic and Choi)#but have to wait for inspiration to strike. It works not another way.#so sorry

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writingmanaged · 3 years

Note

So I just recently found your blog- and I absolutely love it! 💕✨ Could you please do a Jem Carstairs x fem reader scenario where Jem and the reader has been dating for a while in secret, but Will eventually finds out and teases them for it? Please and thank you 💕✨

A/N: Thank you so much, you are so sweet! I love the idea, I had so much fun writing it!

Fandom: The Infernal Devices (Shadowhunter Chronicles)

Ship: Jem Carstairs x Reader

Type: Fluff

Words: 1,511

Secret (Jem Carstairs x Reader)

It was a quiet day in the institute... And of course, the past tense was used very rightfully. Silence didn't quiet suit the London Institute. And that was alright. The shadowhunters who lived there couldn't have it any way differently and neither could Y/n.

Y/n was filled with happiness over the past month. You would too if the guy you were in love with for years had asked you out. She had yet to believe it. She woke up everyday thinking I'm going to see my crush again today. And then she would giggle to herself, as she had to correct the thought by replacing crush with escort.

But they kept quiet about it. She had no idea why. Jem hadn't really asked for it. But the day after he asked her, they had both been very quiet during breakfast and so they reached the conclusion it was a secret. She had always wondered if he had told anyone about this. Of course, one particular person came to her mind. His parabatai, Will Herondale. She thought he probably knew even before she did. Parabatai didn't keep secrets from each other. She knew she wouldn't if she had one.

She went to the kitchen and made breakfast for the both of them. She smiled at the thought of bringing him breakfast in bed. She was glad Sophie wasn't there. She said she would shop for ingredients for scones. Y/n felt nervous around her. It seemed Sophie could see the hidden meaning behind every single one of her smiles.

She placed the scones on the tray and saw Church the cat, who favoured Jem as much as Y/n did, staring at her. "Oh don't look at me like that. I didn't share his bed, I was in my room the entire night!" She blushed. She knew the cat's thoughts were probably something like this food better be for me but she knew if a human knew what she was doing, that would be their question.

She quickly ran up the stairs, her feet being as light as Church's, and quietly opened the door to Jem's bedroom. It was still dark with only a few rays of sunlight coming in through the slides the curtains did not cover.

Jem looked like a literal angel, like the one who's blood he shared, but even more pure. Y/n felt so lucky to have the right to call that man her own, even if she didn't dare to do so out loud. She quietly sat beside him on the bed and placed the tray on it. But Jem, being a light sleeper, slowly opened his silvery eyes. "Y/n?" He mumbled her name in a still sleepy tone, and to her it was the most melodic sound in the world.

"Good morning, Jem. I'm so sorry to wake you up. But I thought of making you breakfast." She smiled gently and Jem's face lit up. "Oh dear, you are simply the sweetest." He told her. He placed the tray a little bit further away, where there would be no danger of it breaking and gently took her arm. He pulled her down, so that she fell right into his arms.

"Won't you look at that? I fell for you. Again." She chuckled and Jem laughed gently. He stroke her hair and rubbed her back in circles. She stared at his gorgeous face. It was perfect, every single aspect of it. But at the moment she was focused on one part of it.

Those light pink lips. Jem had already kissed her ones and it was the most beautiful moment in her entire life. She was sure that if heaven ever came to earth, it was during that one kissing. They were in his favourite spot in London, a bridge. He had brought her there for a walk and after confessing his feelings he gave her the most passionate kiss in the world.

Perhaps it was egoistical, but she wanted to taste it again. "What is it? What are you thinking?" She heard the angel's voice speak. But she could not answer with words. All she could do was connect their lips. There it was again, she was back to heaven with her guardian angel.

The kiss was deep but gentle. At first she was leading but he soon let all his being melt into the kiss. He placed his hand on her cheek as he continued to kiss her with all his might. His other hand was gently on her back, on the very spot it had to be for her dress to be off, but he didn't dare make a move.

She was about the break the kiss and tell him to continue, when she heard a whistle from the doorframe and they both departed. Right there, under the wooden doorframe, stood Will Herondale with the most stupid grin on his face. "My, my, James. When we were sharing our news yesterday you forgot to mention that. Unless it was an one time unplanned thing of course, in which case I am very surprised and maybe slightly proud."

The nerving assole!! How dare he speak like that of you? Your fiance's parabatai truly had a way to anger you with his mere greeting. "Of course not." Jem spoke up calmly as he sat up on his bed and held your hand. "I am sorry I didn't tell you any earlier. But I would really appreciate it if you didn't speak like this of my fiance."

Will's grin disappeared and he blinked. "Fiance?" Remember how Y/n was earlier wondering if Will knew? At least she got her answer now. She cleared her throat and stood up. "Um... I should go. Jessamine told me to go by her room. So uh... See you! The breakfast is still warm so eat. Farewell!" She said quickly and raced out of the room in embarrasment. Farewell, really Y/n?

The rest of her morning moved smoothly. She trained with Charlotte and had a lovely chat with Jessamine. During both, she was was thinking about Jem Carstairs and Jem Carstairs only. And during both, she did not dare utter a word about him.

At lunch time, the parabatai pair joined them last. Jem's face was decorated with a magnificent smile as soon as he saw you and Will was wearing his usual asshole smirk. Thankfully, it fitted with all of his outfits.

Jem sat beside you and held your hand. "Hello, darling. How was your day?" He asked you and everyone looked over to your seats in surprise. Will's face had never been so mischievous. "Yes my fellow shadowhunters and not" He pointed at Sophie at the end who gave him a rude gesture. "Our dear James and Y/n are engaged! They have been for a month in secret, the sneaky beings."

Y/n blushed but she couldn't do anything but awkwardly smile. Soon everyone was at them, hugging them and congratulating them. Everyone but Will, but Y/n supposed it was because he had already congratulated Jem earlier.

Will was smiling during the whole evening that they spend talking about the two of them. And yet Y/n could see him looked at them melancholically when he thought nobody was looking, and even glaring at them at times. He even threw a couple of sarcastic comments, though not as rude as they usually were.

When everyone went to sleep, Jem held Y/n's hand and they had a nightly walk around the institute. Jem was saying something about how beautiful the stars were and talking about how she was his own star. And while it was really sweet, her mind was somewhere else.

"Hey Jem?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Is Will okay? He didn't seem himself today." She asked him, her voice showing some serious concern.

"between us, I doubt Will is ever himself." Jem answered generally, something he did rather often.

"Yes but today it seemed as if he hated me. More than usual." She managed a fake laugh.

"He doesn't hate you... Look, Will is complicated. But as for today... I think he was jealous."

Y/n laughed at that. "What? You think he was in love with me?"

"I'd hope not." Jem replied honestly. He thought Y/n was so lovable that it was never an unlikely option. "He is jealous of how close you are in my heart. It's as close as he is. That's all. You know like a child when they have a new brother or sister and are jealous of the attention they get from their parents. He'll get over it. Eventually."

"So eventually..." She used his exact word. "He will stop teasing me?"

The cold breeze of the London night flew between them. Jem took off his coat and placed it over her shoulders, wrapping his arm around her, bringing her as close to his body as possible while they continued to walk. "Oh, dear, the teasing will never stop. In fact, it'll be even more intense once he gets to know you and like you."

#tid #the infernal devices headcanons #the infernal devices #the infernal devices x reader #tid x reader #will herondale #jem carstairs x reader #jem carstairs #will herondale x reader #london institute

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high-warlock-of-brooklyn · 3 years

Text

And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, let me live that fantasy (chap 1)

Ao3 LINK

Summary: On the eve of the ball of Hunter's Moon, a day long celebration with hunts and parties, Prince Alec receives some news from the Queen that forces him to consider his future. Still reeling from his decision, Alec comes face to face with the same golden-eyed boy he met a ball similar to this one, twelve years ago.

Soon, it becomes clear that Alec's childhood enigma is none other than Prince Magnus of the neighbouring enemy kingdom, on his way to inherit his father's throne.

Chapter 1 square filled= Hunt (for @shadowhunterbingo)

..........

A Prince doesn’t cry for his parents like a normal child. A Prince is supposed to be strong against all adversities, big or small. Being afraid of the dark, or missing one’s parents is definitely not a condoned manner for a responsible Prince. Alec’s tutors had told him so more than once.

So Alec would put on the bravest face he could muster, and get through the day, and wait for those five minutes before bedtime when the Queen would come into his room to check in on him, so he could beg her to tell him the story of King Jonathan and the mighty fearsome dragon Sammael.

Every time, the story started the same. A thousand years ago, there was the mighty dragon Sammael who ruled over the Five Kingdoms. He terrorized the people, looted them, and kept them starving and poor. But every rebellion against him failed, for Sammael could breathe fire, and would summon shadows that darkened the Sun itself, and attacked the rebels until they died off one by one. Then the mighty dragon would plunge the world into darkness, and sleep sound, knowing no-one but him could bring the light back.

Until one night, a simple hunter named Jonathan Shadowhunter, saw the pain and suffering for humans and animals alike. Jonathan, ever faithful to the Angel Raziel, prayed for a miracle, when Raziel, moved by his devotion and determination, sent a comet to light his way to the dragon. A whole day and a whole night Jonathan walked, till he reached the Castle where Sammael lived, and challenged him to a duel. Sammael, ever so evil, plunged the world in darkness while Jonathan tried to hunt him. The comet kept shining brighter than the Moon, and finally, just before the first ray of dawn hit the ground, Jonathan plunged an enchanted dagger into the heart of the dragon. The comet was thereby named Hunter’s Moon, for it became the light of the night while he fought, and Jonathan was crowned the King of Idris.

Alec would listen to the story, fascinated, while Maryse reminded him how he is descended from Jonathan himself, who saved the world from great evil, and it is Alec’s duty to protect the very country Jonathan fought for. Then realities of a Prince would crash in, and Alec would be put to bed, despite his wishes.

-----------------

Logically, he knows that the story is fake. It has to be. Dragons are a myth made to scare young children into bedtime and to keep them in line. But yet, Alec can’t help but wonder if even the great King Jonathan had to spend his time choosing fabrics for a ball.

Maybe he should pray for a miracle and see where that goes.

“Your Highness, you have to choose one by the end of the hour.” Underhill’s reminder breaks Alec out of his reverie.

“I’m aware, Andrew.” Alec looks back at the fabrics swatches strewn in front of him, a deep sigh making its way out of his chest. “Where is my sister? Can you tell her I require her assistance?”

“I’m sorry, Princess Isabelle is currently at the market, Your Highness.” The bodyguard answers apologetically. “Her Majesty has tasked the Princess with overseeing the caterary and housing arrangements for our guests.”

Alec tries to imagine what would be worse, choosing fabrics to hang at the ballroom or choosing the correct rooms for the guests from four of the Five Kingdoms so there isn’t a war declared over who got the better view and is clearly being favouritized. For the moment, Alec does not envy his sister.

He finally decides. “Go with the metallic gold and navy blue ones. The Queen ordered the ballroom to be painted white for Hunter’s Moon, and this would add some contrast points in the view. This way our coat of arms can be represented as well.”

Underhill motions the servants to pack the rest and order the fabrics Alec has chosen. “Immaculate as always, Your Highness.”

“You flatter me.” Alec brushes off the compliment, taking a deep breath now that he’s free from the hell of fabric swatches. “This ball has to go off without a hitch. It’s what my father would have wanted. He only got to host twice in his lifetime. Both times there was at least one war waging at our borders, at least one Kingdom that rejected the invite to the Hunt. It was his dream to see the Five Kingdoms united under one roof again.”

“His Majesty would be proud of the man you are today, Prince Alec.” Underhill says reverently. “I’m sure this time, all the Kingdoms will come together, no matter what.”

Alec looks around at the flurry of preparation, every person putting their all to make the event picture perfect.

“We can only hope so.”

-------------------

“There are only four days left till the guests start arriving. How are we doing on the matter or arrangements?”

Alec feels like a little boy again, standing in front of his mother, his sword-fighting instructor telling her about his only above average performance in the test, where expectations started at perfection. He swallows, reminding himself of his adulthood, and plants his feet firmly on the ground.

“Three of the four kingdoms have already sent their regards. King Lucien and Queen Camille have sent forth the eating requirements of their parties as well.”

Maryse looks over the checklist, frowning at some of the more unusual palates of the guest parties, making a mental note to check on the meat supply for the event. Lupine and Wampyria are the two kingdoms most vulnerable to the protein deficiency disease in the Five Kingdoms. “And the rest?”

“Our representative at the Faeliwne Kingdom has informed us that Queen Auraline has already started the trek down the Shadow Mountains. They will be here first, I presume.”

“And what about Magii?”

Alec shares a glance with Isabelle, the latter busying herself with the servants asking for her attention about the details of the preparation.

“Well, Alec?” Maryse asks again, growing impatient.

Alec heaves a sigh inwardly. “King Asmodeus has sent no such letter. And we haven't had a representative in his kingdom since the last war.”

“What about our spies then?”

“They’re not sure.” Isabelle answers this time, before remembering something else. “One of them informed me about the King having a fallout with Prince Magnus, and in the heat of the moment, apparently he fell sick over his old heart disease. But everything is kept under a strict need-to-know basis, and even our best spies can only salvage so much.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Sadness and regret crowd Maryse’s expression, then clears after a moment. “What do you propose we should do now, Alec?”

“Me?” Alec asks, slightly off-balance.

“Yes, you.” Maryse claps once, and the servants and guards clear out the throne room, Isabelle leaving as well, excited after receiving something important from one of the guards. She pats Alec on the back once before gesturing at the guards outside to close the door.

“I’ve been thinking,” Maryse straightens in her seat at the throne, “after your father’s death, I’ve ruled over close to a decade now. I would like you to succeed me for the throne once Hunter’s Moon passes.”

Alec feels like someone just yanked the ground from under his feet. “Mother, I-”

“You have to succeed me one day, my boy.” Maryse descends from the throne, touching Alec’s face in an uncharacteristically motherly manner. “It might as well be now. You know I come from the House of Trueblood. Last week, I received news of my brother, the head of the Trueblood House, falling severely ill.”

“I- er- I wasn’t aware.” Alec looks down, torn. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Not really. The doctors have given him a year to live, maybe less. For the moment, he’s the best possible way he can be.” Maryse smiles, melancholic. “To be frank, Max’s news only pushed me further towards the decision I was already considering. I’ve been a Queen for a long time. I wasn’t meant to rule in the first place, but rather be an advisor to your father while he ruled as the rightful king. But after his death, I had to ascend to ruling. Now, since you’re already old enough to ascend, I would like to spend my last years with my family, starting with the little time I have left with my brother.”

“Okay, then.” Alec swallows deep, before straightening his shoulders, standing up to the full length of the Princely manner he’s been born with. “I will not fail you, Your Majesty.”

“I know you won’t.” Maryse goes back to the throne, her motherly nature falling away as the persona of the Queen of Idris comes out once more. “Now, I believe I asked your decision in regards to our, albeit potential, guests from Magixia.”

“They are most likely to not make an appearance. But we will make arrangements nonetheless.” Alec says. “Better to be prepared for everything. And if there is any food leftover, we can always throw a feast for the villagers in the kingdom.”

“That’s a smart proposition.” Maryse nods. “And what about the Hunt?”

“I’ve instructed John to handle the games for the Hunt.”

“Which one?” A hint of a smile appears on Maryse’s face.

“The one from the House of the Wayland, Mother.” Alec answers with a knowing grin, the two of them well aware of the Jonathan debacle of Idris’s high nobility. “Brocelind is a majestic forest, and no-one knows it better than him due to his research on the forest itself.”

“While I appreciate the delegation, do you think Jonathan can handle this responsibility?” Maryse raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure of it.” Alec answers confidently. “In any case. I have also instructed Lord Jace to help him in the preparations. Jace will keep him on his feet, and John can make sure he doesn’t burn the forest down before the Hunt can even start.”

“A sensible pair.” Maryse concludes. “With the work you’ve done, this might as well be your first year of hosting, Alec.”

“I only did my part, Mother.” Alec bows. “Isabelle helped with the rest. Everyone is anxious to have the best Ball, since the comet wouldn’t be here for another twelve years.”

“With leaders like you two, I have no doubt this will be our most perfect Hunter’s Moon yet.”

---------------

The five days go by in a flurry of activities, Royalties from neighbouring kingdoms arriving with their own troops, the servants running around the palace like little clockwork creatures trying to keep the place pristine and the event on schedule. Alec’s headache increases every time the Queen asks him to play the diplomat and Prince to the countless dignitaries hailing from the three kingdoms united under their roof.

Finally, on the morning of the Hunt, Alec wakes up when it’s still dark near the horizon. He opens the window facing the forest, the chilly air of dawn bringing a shiver down his spine. Alec throws on his dressing gown, the navy crest of gold flames sewn into the chest of the gown shines in the fading moonlight.

Alec closes the door quietly behind him, the guards at his door at high alarm as their Prince tiptoes out at the oddest hour before the most important event of the decade. He assures them, giving them reprieve for the hour, and heads to the throne room.

The throne room is plunged in darkness while not in use, the only two shining witchlights adorned near the twin thrones, the dark metal glinting off against the dancing flames. Alec looks, unsure of what he’s supposed to do once he’s king, how he’s supposed to lead.

“You’ll be a great ruler, you know.”

Alec whirls around, wincing as his eyes try to adjust to the sudden influx of light into the darkness of the room. Isabelle mumbles an apology, and puts the witchstone on a lightholder at the strategy table so it illuminates the room equally.

“Sorry for sneaking up on you like that.”

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Alec takes a seat on the stairs leading up to the dais of the thrones. Isabelle sits next to him.

“Nope. Too many things happening all at once.” The light from the witchstone paints the siblings into a silvery glow. “I heard from Mother about her decision. She’s making the right choice.”

“You think so?” Alec turns to face her, “I don’t know the first thing about ruling a kingdom.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabelle asks. “It’s all we learn since the moment we’re born.”

“That’s just it, Isabelle.” Alec rubs his palms together for warmth. “I know how to rule a kingdom, yes, but only in theory. A kingdom is much more than books. One wrong move, and we could have a war at our hand. One wrong decision, and we could lose all our treasure, and our subjects will be penniless, begging and starving. I’m not taking responsibility for a castle, I’m going to have the mantle to care about hundreds of Idrisans. Their well-being, their happiness. Their lives itself.”

“And you will do a fantastic job of it.” Isabelle assures him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, the Idrisans you’re so worried about, already think you will make a great king.”

Isabelle is their Spymaster, keeping track of all the gossip, rumors and potential information in and out of Idris. And Alec is once again glad to have her by his side. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Any time.”

----------------

“Lady Roberts, you have excellent tracking skills.” Alec observes.

The trek to the Brocelind forest started as soon as the clock struck six, and the parties had gathered before Alec, looking at him to announce the start of the day-long hunt. Alec had been practiced and poised, everything expected of a prince, and more. And now, after almost six hours, the tally for the kills for each kingdom is starting to spur competition for the title of Hunter’s Moon champion.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I will always be a tracker before I am a noble.” The dark-skinned girl bows. Maia Roberts have recently risen to the rank of nobility in the Lupine kingdom, where honour and loyalty to the king are ranked higher than blood or ascendancy. Alec has long wondered if Idris should implement such laws too.

A cry goes out from the northern corners of Brocelind, and Alec nudges his horse around with a simple tap. By the time he’s reached the spot, there’s a crowd of Idrisan nobles and guests alike, all standing around something he can’t quite see from horseback.

Alec descends, handing over the reins to Jace, who wears a dark expression. “What is it?”

“Lord Morgenstern has managed to capture one of the Kostaris , Prince Alec.”

“That’s skillful of him.” Alec remarks, his eyes trained on the crowd cheering and chattering at the prized and normally elusive animal. “What about it?”

“He’s going to put on a show before he actually makes the kill.”

That captures Alec's attention. “What?”

“Oh come on Alec, you and I both remember Morgenstern’s streak of cruelty from fencing classes and summer camps. That poor thing would have been better off dead.”

If it was anyone else, Alec would have had them demoted for the day. But it’s Jace- Alec’s closest and oldest of friends. His words, however impertinent, carry an amount of gravitas that no-one else’s will.

“What exactly do you expect me to do here?” Alec looks at his friend, but Jace is looking away from him. He follows his eyesight, finally reaching his point of interest.

“If you want to go out with Lady Roberts, might I suggest actually telling her rather than just gazing forlornly like a hero in a romance novel?” Alec comments.

“I’m not trying to get into her pants. I’m noticing her expression.” Jace’s voice is serious for once, and that sets Alec’s skin on edge. Jace is never serious.

“Is this really the picture we want to paint of ourselves to the four kingdoms on the first day they reunite as one? This sort of brute force and sadistic torture on an innocent in the name of celebration?” Jace finally turns to Alec, his eyes sharp and bright.

Alec understands the point in an instant, his back going stiff as he sheds the masks of a gracious host and dons his usual persona of a crowned king in line to the throne. “Lord Morgenstern.” He calls out over the chatter of the crowd, “Please stop dawdling. If you don’t want to make the kill, I suggest you set the poor creature free.”

“But whyever so, Your Highness ?” Morgenstern's voice makes Alec’s inside lurch with unease. “I captured it, it belongs to me. I can do whatever I want with it. Besides, one Kostari is worth a hundred points in today’s games. I’m doing Idris a favour anyway.”

“As the Crown Prince of Idris, I command you to stop whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

“I won this, fair and square. The Laws of Hunter’s Moon wavers neither for a fool nor for a prince.” Jonathan sneers, before bowing in a clear semblance of mockery. “ Your Grace .”

“The Law also insists that no innocent should be harmed unless the absolute need arises.” Alec doesn’t let the anger inside deviate his tone from the usual calmness. “A ceremonial hunting party can hardly be called an absolute necessity. The poor creature is suffering in that trap.” Alec changes his stance to an open warning. “Save it, or kill it.”

Morgenstern opens his mouth, no doubt to say something undermining Alec’s direct order. But he doesn’t get a chance before a dagger launches itself at the rope holding the cage together, snapping it. The cage falls apart, the Kostari running away as soon as it can.

The entire group erupts into chatter, some remarking in relief for the poor creature, some Wampyres clearly disappointed the show Alec and Jonathan were putting on ended before any bloodshed. Alec makes a mental note to remind Isabelle to keep an eye out for them.

But before anything else, he turns around slowly, wanting to see the person saving the Kostari . There is a crowd of five standing near a line of Sunbursts blooming along the edge of the trees. Alec finds the man standing ahead of the rest of the crew, the one holding the empty scabbard, no wonder the same one who threw the dagger a minute before. Alec’s blood runs cold as the man looks back at him.

Eyes as bright as molten gold.

It’s the same boy from the night of the Hunter’s Moon twelve years ago.

#shadowhunterbingo #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #jace herondale #maia roberts #isabelle lightwood #maryse lightwood #royal au #jay.fic #malec fics

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

Note

HI, IT'S ME! YOUR LOCAL CHAOTIC WEIRDO!!!!! I'M BACK AGAIN LIKE I AM TWICE EVERY WEEK

IT'S MY BOY DAVID THIS TIME! WHY AM I SO HYPER! MAYBE BECAUSE THEY KISSED! AND I HAD TO SUPPRESS MY SCREAMS BCAUSE IM IN CLASS AND THE REST OF MY FAMILY IS OUTSIDE MY DOOR (NOT LITERALLY OFC)

OK OK OK OK OK OK

MAX AND DAVID ARE AT THE LONDON INSTITUTE YESYESYESYES

He rather liked that part in a story – when the hero fell, and everything seemed bleak. It always meant that hope was just around the corner. Because darkness never lasted. It was always followed by light. There was nothing more beautiful than that kind of sunrise.

THIS

I literally live my life by this analogy

AHHH DAVID IS ON HIS TRAVEL YEAR AND MAX IS WITH HIM

SCREAM

well i can't scream because my mom is sitting right there and I have class in 4 minutes so imma smile really wide

“Are you planning to read the entire library during your travel year?” Max chuckled.

“Of course not,” David replied. “I will need longer than a year to accomplish that goal.”

Me.

Wait

does max not being able to make portals have something to do with his lineage?

demon parent

ok so my programming class started 2 minutes early but screw programming I'm gonna be studying minds not this shit

ok that's a very bad attitude for someone who needs good grades in this year

Max was always hungry.

this is so me

KIT

THEY MENTIONED TY

also if David doesn't become an institute head in the future THEN WHAT'S THE POINT

“Where is the kitchen?” Max interrupted.

max is such a mood

He had told Max that he had centuries to perfect his magic, that there was no need to rush it. Max had given him a noncommittal nod and nothing more.

HE'S GONNA MAKE THE BEST PORTALS YOU'LL SEE

“I won’t tell the Consul,” Kit winked.

At the mention of the Consul, David straightened up. He had been trying to get into Alec Lightwood’s good graces for years now. He didn’t think sharing a room with his son would do him any favors.

DAVID UDUCDFUHKDUHVUHSDH

PLEASE IF WE DON'T GET A CUTE ALEC AND DAVID SCENE SOON

KIT CALLED TESSA MOM

oh my god

Word was that Mr. Herondale had gone back to his obsession with brewing tea.

JACE

I have so many emotions right now but all I'm gonna say is that I'm so so proud of Rafael

“Do you not want to sleep with me?” Max asked.

UH-

WELL-

DAVID STOP THINKING ABOUT THE FUTURE AND ALL THE SHIT

STOP IT

OH MY GOD THE ONE BED TROPE

MAX IS IN HIS ARMS I'M ABOUT TO-

takes a deep breath don't scream. everyone outside this door thinks you're taking programming class

OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY

AWW JULIAN PAINTED PORTRAITS FOR THE INSTITUTE

The one of Will Herondale and Tessa Gray – A love that had transcended reality and lasted a lifetime.

The one of James Herondale and Cordelia Carstairs – A love that had started with a lie and then blossomed into nothing but happiness and devotion.

The one of Lucie Herondale and Jesse Blackthorn – A love that had been so powerful that it rewrote the past.

The one of Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild – A love that had walked through hell and shaken up the heavens.

And then there the final one. The one of Kit Herondale and Tiberius Blackthorn – A love that had survived distance and darkness and doom.

This omg...

He wanted a love story. The kind he read in the books. The kind he saw in these portraits.

But he wasn’t a Herondale. He wasn’t sure if he was destined for that kind of love.

HEY

DON'T THINK LIKE THAT

The first part though

same

He might have been a little too excited. It was biologically impossible to control yourself when you find a stranger reading your favorite book in the whole world.

SO TRUE

“I see you already made a new friend,” Max said.

He sounded a little…odd. As if he was not pleased that David had made a new friend.

honey...

take a guess

can I jump in and bash their heads together?

“You are thinking of conjuring chocolate syrup, aren’t you?” David chuckled.

“How do you always know what’s on my mind?” Max chuckled back.

Because I know you, David wanted to say. I just wish I knew what’s in your heart too.

OH MY GOD I CANT WITH THIS

“You get chocolate syrup! You get chocolate syrup! You get chocolate syrup!” Max was yelling, standing on the chair.

They residents laughed harder, and David shook his head fondly. He hoped one day Max would pursue a career in theatre. He was a born showman.

can I have chocolate syrup?

also, the way David is just so fond of him like DYUSDGYJCDYUJM

“By the angel, do you have to be a drama queen about everything?” the boy next to them muttered – not so quietly.

David blinked. That was uncalled for.

But Max being Max was completely unfazed. “Of course I do. My Bapa would be personally offended otherwise.”

exactly you rude little shit

Max often pretended like people’s words didn’t hurt him - just as he pretend that fire doesn’t burn or wounds don’t bleed.

wow ok stop calling me out

Is max jealous??????

is he??????

how are people so good at languages like damn

“Oh my god,” Max groaned. “Is he already telling people to check on me?”

LMAO

using mundane medicine...

that's risky

but it's also something that WILL help

can't warlocks tamper with the blood samples?

A part of him wondered if that’s why he had agreed to send Max away to London – at least for a week. Because sometimes you didn’t want other people to see you were hurting.

alec I really goddamn hope you're dealing with this well

some of whom had even decided to die than get help from a warlock.

alright then gets my knives but you chose this :D

Nobody brought a book down for breakfast if they didn't like to read.

yes but sometimes also to seem busy so people won't bother you or you won't look alone.

“I know,” the boy said as he walked past them to the gate. “I sat on the stairs and thought about life for a few good minutes.”

his family is the one who took over David's previous institute (i can't spell that. marse- marselli- wat??) methinks.

The gang always visited whenever all of them were in the city together. They would have so much fun! Of course, the 'fun' mostly entailed Rafael stopping Georgia from drinking random potions she found in the stalls, Selena stopping Lexi from opening a psychic booth to help people talk to Raziel and of course David stopping Max from running to the gambling booths.

LMAO, I CANT WITH THIS-

Rafe: I am anxiety.

me at any given moment

EW TESTICLES HE'S EATING THOSE-

ok maybe I'm the only person who's really picky when it comes to food and doesn't eat the majority of things

“Anything on Magnus Bane?” Max asked.

“No,” the woman snapped and shoved some of the letters into a bag and hide it under the table. “Leave Magnus Bane alone!”

“Appreciate your loyalty,” Max winked at her and started examining a diary.

I like her.

"Everyone should be participating in this" -my programming teacher

me, an intellectual: participating in what?? goes to the class web THE FUCK IS THAT

“Something for the shadowhunter?” the woman smiled. “Perhaps an unpublished snippet from the Beautiful Cordelia?”

“Do you have any love letters?” David asked.

“Hmmm,” the woman went through the pages. “I do have a correspondence between an Iblis demon and Christopher Lightwood? Would you be interested in that?”

if u don't mind I would love to see both of those-

you know I just remembered I have a computer assignment I need to submit by the end of this week fml

“Never fall in love with an immortal,” she giggled again. “We don’t like staying in one place.”

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

MAX WHERE ARE YOU

why are we using x and 3 in programming class what the heck is going on

“I’m not just some warlock,” Max said, his voice low. “I’m Magnus Bane’s son.”

GIVE HIM THAT NECKLACE BACK

we usually have programming once a week on our physical school days and those are fun because my and my friend are continuously passing notes and talking to each other through writing

The scene where Max fought off all the evil people who tried to steal his valuable belonging. He would fight without breaking a sweat and throw magic fireballs at everyone and then get his necklace back. And then he would kiss David in front of everyone and it would somehow rain all of a sudden.

But life wasn’t a movie or a book. Life was just life.

life's boring

fuck life

I just heard a student ask "why are we not taking out the values of b and c" BESTIE I THOUGHT WE WERE DOING PROGRAMMING AND NOT ALGEBRA?????

“I know there wasn’t anyone to protect you before,” Magnus Bane had said. “But we are here now. We will protect you. This will protect you.”

He hadn’t wanted it back then. He didn't even want it even now.

He didn’t want something to protect him. Most importantly, he didn’t want to cover his scar. He didn’t want to hide it. He wasn’t ashamed of it. It wasn’t a mark of a victim. It was the mark of a survivor.

So, David had smiled and given the bracelet back.

“I never wanted to be protected,” David had replied. “I only ever wanted to be loved.”

The warlock had smiled at that and given David a hug. It had felt different than other hugs he had experienced since he had come to New York.

It wasn’t just the magic. Magnus Bane carried so much love inside himself you could literally feel it through him.

I'm gonna cry during my programming class (where we're doing variables apparently all of a sudden??)

this is so beautiful

“I wasn’t talking about Bapa,” Max said now. “I was talking about the other one.”

David chuckled at that. “Oh, yeah. He is definitely going to kill you.”

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

so Jackson has family troubles

I've definitely got that

yeah I know what it's like to be jealous of someone else's perfect family

JACKSON WTF

Is he trying to ruin max's relationship with his family???

oh hell no

JACKSON THE AUDACITY

“One stolen necklace, One broken nose and One bruised cheek,” he said. “And you’ve been in London for less than a day.”

kit seriously? but is he wrong though?

“This is what I get for falling for a Lightwood-Bane,” David sighed and walked through the portal.

WELL AT LEAST HE'S SELF AWARE

Jackson...

in some ways, I can empathize with him. my younger self anyway. but Jackson this is not how you do things

There was a moment of silence and then Magnus Bane giggled.

“I do love it when the quiet ones go feral,” the warlock grinned.

MAGNUS

NOT.THE.TIME

(me too)

“David!” Mr Herondale gasped. “Is your hand okay?”

yup that's Jace y'all

David hated violence. He hated fighting – which he was often not allowed to say out loud considering he was a shadowhunter.

But it was the truth. He hated hurting people – or even things. It made him feel sick.

“It’s alright, Chouchou,” Mr Herondale ran a hand through David’s hair. “Next time, just-”

“Use my words?” David asked.

“Just don’t get caught,” the man winked.

and that is why I would never want to be a shadowhunter.

I know saying that doesn't do anything but when I first read tsc I wanted to be a shadowhunter really badly and damn that was some time ago but now...violence of any kind is my biggest trigger idek why. and I hate that so much because what kind of a person gets triggered by loud voices and fighting EVEN ON SCREEN??? I usually just push myself to watch stuff because it's dumb. I refuse to see trigger warnings before reading a book or watching a show because damn it, I should be able to stand those things I'm, not a child. and it may be doing me more harm than good but I shouldn't feel like this in the first place

okay...that was long

ANYWAY

“David, I appreciate you standing up for Max,” the Consul said. “But next time, please try not to punch anyone in the face.”

“Yes, sir,” David nodded. “Because it’s wrong.”

“Because it means more paperwork for me,” the Consul groaned and then straightened up. “But yes. Absolutely. Very wrong. No punching people!”

LMAO ALEC

Jackson...

I was wrong then

He was grinning. Magnus Bane must have raised hell in the shadow market.

that must have been fun

Max was doing that thing where he was not trying to pout but he was mostly definitely pouting. It made David want to kiss him. But then the Consul spoke, and David reminded himself he didn’t want to be the third person to get punched in the face this evening.

well-

“I understand that Jackson has been through a lot. But that’s not an excuse for him to hurt those around him. I learned that lesson the hard way. So, you shouldn’t excuse his behaviour.”

someone's trauma and pain is never an excuse to hurt others

but that doesn't mean we should invalidate their trauma either

“You can stay back and try to help him. I won’t stop you,” the man got up now. “But if he tries to hurt you-”

“You will unleash hell?” David chuckled.

“Worse,” the other man grinned. “I will unleash Lexi.”

that is much much worse

Books brought him comfort in so many ways. Just holding one in his hands automatically made him feel better.

oh my god

he gets it

I always have a book with me when I'm out even if I'm not gonna get the time to read it because just the weight and comfort of it in my hands or in my backpack brings me so much comfort and helps with my social anxiety so much

no one understands when I try to tell them that

you get it...

someone gets it finally

AYYY IRENE

“David, it’s very sweet that you want to protect Jackson,” Kit pointed out. “But literally no one is buying that. Not even Irene.”

The lynx purred on his lap as if she agreed with Kit.

“I could break into a liquor cabinet,” David said a little indignantly.

David is the nicest you can get

David wouldn’t. Apparently, everyone already seemed to know that - even the lynx he had met five minutes ago.

we are solving something in class and it's really quiet because we're all doing our work (I'm reading the fic so-) and this one person had their mic open and they kept on whispering their steps and it was so weird I cant-

BUT YES DAVID IS A CINNAMON ROLL. EVEN THE LYNX KNOWS

“We were talking about shitty fathers,” Jackson pointed out. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“I’m gonna need something stronger than red wine for this conversation,” Kit chuckled.

I remember that bitch

David used to do it when he was a child. He used to pretend his life was a story. He used to pretend everything that happened to him was happening to some other boy – a boy who wasn’t real. A boy who lived inside a book. Because it hurt a little less when you pretend like it wasn’t happening to you.

But the pain was still very real.

OK YOU CAN STOP CALLING ME OUT NOW

“I fucking hate ogres,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Was your father an ogre too?” Jackson asked.

“He was more like a harpy,” Kit snorted. “He was always flying and fleeing. I didn’t know how deep his talons were in my head until it was too late.”

you really like traumatizing all your characters, don't you?

I really fucking hope the ogre got what he deserved

and if the angel is dead then fuck everyone

“I mean, there was that time when Sebastian Morgenstern turned my father into the endarkened, and then he went around killing people. So, I would say he was more like a zombie,” the man was explaining now. “The zombie father tried to kill me but my brother killed him first.”

“Good lord!” Jackson said in shock.

Kit chuckled softly. “Boy do shadowhunters need therapy.”

they really do

He knew about those from New York. He knew Mr Herondale and Miss Fairchild went for one together.

YES GET THEM THERAPY

“Yikes,” Kit chuckled. “I’d prefer something classier. How about London Boys?”

“None of us are from London though,” Tiberius pointed out.

“The Beatles are not actually beetles, Ty,” Kit chuckled. “It’s just for pizazz.”

damn guys

Then the idea of a band turned into a possible YouTube channel where they would react to cute animal videos.

YS DO IT

“When people do awful things, really awful things, at one point we stop being surprised. Like what Valentine did to his children or what our fathers did to us or what those women did to Rafael. We might have been shocked or disgusted. But it wasn’t unrealistic, was it?”

“I guess not,” the boy said.

“Even when they did the most unimaginable acts of cruelty, it somehow managed to fit into our imagination. We accepted that the world can be unrealistically cruel. The kind of cruelty we will never understand. But why isn’t it the same for kindness? Why is that when someone is too kind, we automatically feel uncomfortable? We judge their intensions or think they are just pretending to be nice. We think they are being unrealistic. Why is that?”

we get so used to cruelty that kindness feels weird

“But that’s how our life works, doesn’t it? It’s a giant ball of what ifs and could have beens and if nots. What if my father had loved me instead of hurt me? Could I have been kinder if I was hugged instead of being abused? Would have I been a different person if not for my trauma? Our lives are an endless collection of theories about our real selves. The one didn’t we never had the chance to become.”

THIS

I used to spend a bunch of time on the what-ifs but those are useless. so screw the what-ifs and live in the present

“I guess we’ll never know, Jackson. None of us will never know how we would have turned out if things had been different for us. We never got the chance to be who were meant to be. Instead, we became who we had to become to survive what we went through. We will never know our true selves. We only know the version of us that made it through all the trauma.”

“Christ, that’s depressing,” Jackson said.

“It is,” David nodded. “But we made it through. We survived. I think we should focus on that.”

you survived. that's what matters

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be rescued,” David smiled.

I wish I had heard this before...

maybe I don't always have to be strong. maybe it's ok sometimes just want to be saved.

I'm so happy that both Jackson and David found each other

David had learned Gaelic. Jackson had learned how to play the piano.

They had laughed and lived and loved and learned.

And they had survived – one day at a time. The London Boys.

they survived.

I know I'm always key smashing and screaming but these words, these lines, all these chapters mean so so much to me.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” David asked, hugging Jackson closely.

“No,” Jackson replied. “I will FaceTime you like a normal person, you weirdo!”

David laughed at that. “I prefer letters. They are more emotional.”

“I’ll text you,” Jackson countered. “With emojis.”

oh to have someone write me letters.

I love writing letters

once at the end of a school year, I wrote little letters to everyone in my class anonymously. even the people who had been mean to me. that was like 1-2 years after my transfer to that school and everyone practically hated me but I wanted to do something nice because who knows what someone is going through. I ended up not putting them in people's desks...

I threw them all away :)

but writing letters is superior

I often write my feelings down and give the letter to someone rather than talk to someone

if you receive a letter from me or a custom-made gift...you have reached my ultimate friendship

oh my god. THIS IS HOW I SHOULD TALK TO ONE OF MY FRIENDS ABOUT MY FEELINGS

It's kind of been a mess between us and I want to talk to her but I didn't know how to.

this is why i shouldn't send asks-

JACKSON CATCHING UP ON MAX AND DAVID

“You know what it means,” Jackson grinned harder. “Also, if that wanker tries to break your heart, I will break his face.”

“You know he is the Consul’s son?” David giggled.

“I’ve done it once and I will do it again,” Jackson shrugged. “He better treat you right.”

"wanker"

I HAVE A BRITISH ONLINE FRIEND AND THEY CALLED OUR AMERICAN ONLINE FRIEND A WANKER

AND OUR OTHER BRITISH FRIEND JOINED IN

WHILE ALL THE NON-BRITISH PEOPLE WERE LIKE "huh"

Lexi had cut her hair even shorter. Her girlfriend apparently got something called an undercut.

“Just in case someone dared to assume we were straight,” she had winked at him.

how many years has this fake dating been going on...

CENTURION SELENA

fterA the twins went to bed, David stepped out of the institute and went looking for his heart.

"went looking for his heart"

OH FUCK I FORGOT TO JOIN MY CLASS

MAX STOP DEPLETING YOUR SELF GODDAMN

And then somewhere along the way, Max’s heartbeat had become the steadiest thing in David’s life.

Max, with all his chaos and drama and danger, had become the steadiest thing in David’s life.

oh my god that's a parallel from canon

“Tell me why.”

“Ain't nothing but a heart break!!"

Max-

Max could make fireballs that killed demons on the spot. He could summon things from anywhere. He could heal people with his eyes closed. He was one of the youngest warlocks allowed to visit the spiral labyrinth.

Max was a warlock in every sense. A good one. A great one even.

he is so talented...

Only idiots would underestimate Magnus Bane’s power.

EXACTLY

He is probably going to be Consul like next week.”

David chuckled. “Next week?”

next week????

“Yeah, his smoking habits,” Max rolled his eyes.

Rafael wasn’t the smoker in the family. He knew who it was, but David would never open his mouth. It wasn’t his secret to tell.

this keeps on getting better

“It’s my hair!” David laughed.

“And you’re my David!” Max argued. “I say you are not allowed to grow your hair.”

MY DAVID

“I don’t want to downworld-splain it to you.”

Max blinked and then laughed. “You don’t want to what?”

“Downworld-splain,” David mumbled. “It’s when shadowhunters explain downworlders how to be downworlders.”

they were SO close to kissing

I'm gonna get in there and lock them in a closet together and tell them to FUCKING GET WITH IT

Remember who you are. Remember where you stand.

remember who you are. remember where you stand...

I know this is supposed to be about portals.

OH MY GOD THEY KISSED

THEY KISSED

IM SO CLOSE TO SCREAMING CLASS AND EVERYONE OUTSIDE THIS ROOM BE DAMNED

OH MY GOD DAVID FELL

reminds me of when alec fell down the stairs-

OH MY GOD I'M GONNA SCREAM

WE'RE GONNA GET MORE MAVID CONTENT SOON I'M SCREAMING INTERNALLY UYDRVFY7VSDU7UYVFSDUYGCADUYIGJCDSHJKGDVCSUGISDVHVF

ok, I have a computer assignment to get to and tests to study for. BUT I LOVED THIS CHAPTER SO SO MUCH!! THEY FINALLY KISSED I'M SO HAPPY!!!!!

Also I know I tend to go off track and you can totally ignore that. i just go crazy. BYEE

This live blog gives me so much life you don't even know. I am go glad you enjoyed the chapter. I love hearing you rant about it. It's refreshing lol.

And I looooooove the lil anecdotes you share in between. Also wtf is a programming class like nobody wants to learn programme what kind of hetero nonsense I-

FINISH YOUR ASSIGNMENTS AND STUDY FOR YOUR TESTS I'LL SEE YOU SOON :)

#lbaf

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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

Text

The new Shadowhunter Academy - Fan Fic (Chapter 6 - Staying Alive)

Chapter 6 of the new Shadowhunter Academy (fan fic) is out! ;)

Kit & Ty are both at the Academy for a few days to act as guest lecturers :)

Dru is attending of course, and an unexpected guest might show up :)

AO3 link to Chapter 6 - Staying Alive

Link to entire fic up until Chapter 6 is here (fair warning - there is explicit content in Chapter 4 so skip it if you want to avoid it ;)).

****

Kit was ten minutes late. It wasn’t a big deal but given the students’ eagerness to learn from the famous Christopher Herondale, it seemed like hours of anxious babbling that he might not show up.

Dru was starting to wonder about that herself.

When the door of the training room finally opened, Kit’s cheeks were flushed, his blond curls soaking wet - as if he had just come out of the shower - and he looked… pissed. Like he wanted to be anywhere but in that room.

“What am I to teach you for the next hour?” He snapped.

“Spear?” Daniel, one of Simon’s mundane recruits, replied. He was an enthusiastic student who had been nicknamed “Harry Potter” on his first day at the Academy because of the resemblance he bore to the hero from the eponymous books (if said hero had acne problems).

“Oh, right. Spear.” Kit grumbled as he grabbed one from the table filled with multi-sized weapons and twirled it gracefully – the circle moves almost a blur – before instantly stilling it into a horizontal position in front of him. “See that pointed head? Well, you put that right through your opponent’s body. Preferably hit a vital organ.” He threw it toward the dummy placed at the far end of the room. The spear pierced straight through its chest where the heart should be. “Like that.” The students started applauding.

“That’s it. That’s the lecture.” Kit whirled and started toward the door. He stopped short before the figure of Catarina Loss barring the door. She looked furious, her blue complexion a shade deeper than usual.

“KIT HERONDALE, you go back in there and I don’t care if you look at your fingernails for the next hour, you are NOT LEAVING THIS ROOM.”

For the rest of the class, Catarina remained seated on a big granny armchair she had conjured up, in front of the door, knitting a tiny pink pullover (probably for Mina), while Kit told the students everything they needed to know about spears. As it turned out, he was an excellent teacher, and aside from technique, had several stories and anecdotes to share about these weapons, and their history through the ages. He certainly knew how to catch his audience with witty jokes and, yes, Dru had to admit, his Herondale charm and good looks.

****

He wasn’t what Henry had expected. Not by a long shot.

First, he looked nothing like his sister Drusilla, whom Henry shared most classes with. He had gray eyes - the color of iron - where hers were blue-green, and his hair was crow dark where his sister’s were a deep, warm brown. He knew that the Blackthorn siblings were born from two different mothers, but didn’t he have a twin who died during the Cold Peace, and who shared Drusilla’s traits? He had been too young to fight at the time but Henry had seen Julian Blackthorn on a big screen in Idris right before the battle of the Imperishable Fields and he definitely looked like his sister.

To be honest, when the rumour had spread that the best Centurion of his generation - and the creator of several groundbreaking inventions - had finally decided to make an appearance at the Academy, Henry had imagined a crazy inventor wearing oversized safety goggles and a dusty lab coat. Obviously not some Adonis, who looked like he belonged more on a runway than in a library or a lab.

Second, he was more than a little surprised to discover that he was shy and reserved, for a Blackthorn that was. His rigid stance and the way he kept stroking the pendant tied around his neck, to quote only a few tells, betrayed how nervous he was. The whole character was a mystery to him. If he had his reputation - hell, if he had his looks - Henry would probably be parading around like a peacock.

“I am curious. So we are going to start with a question,” the teacher said, his expression bemused and his gaze fixed above the students’ heads toward the far end corner of the room. Most of the time, Henry had noticed, it looked like he wasn’t really addressing them. “Why do you want to become Centurions?”

Several voices erupted at the same time, and he flinched, before lifting a halting hand. “Please. Speak when you are granted permission to.”

The voices subsided and several students raised their hands instead, including Henry.

“Gillian?” He asked as his gaze flickered to her. Henry realized that he never looked anyone directly in the eye.

“Because I want to study faerie lore, the real deal, not the load of crap they teach you at the Academy,” she said smugly, and most students sniggered approvingly.

The Centurion’s lips twitched but he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Henry?”

“Because we get to wear that hot uniform,” he replied, giving the Blackthorn teacher a slow once over.

There was a collective roar of laughter in the classroom. The Centurion just nodded, straight-faced, as if it was as good an answer as any. Henry realized that he was starting to like him.

“Shut up, Henry.” Her Highness Amber Cartwright said as she entered the class. She shooed a student from his seat in the front row and sat there. “I am sorry for being late, Professor Blackthorn,” she said in a sultry voice, as she crossed her long legs in an exaggerated gesture.

The teacher spared her a brief glance. Henry braced himself for the double take - everyone, boys and girls alike, did a double take upon beholding Amber for the first time - but... nothing. The Centurion’s face remained impassive. Moving on. There is definitely something off with him, Henry thought. He is either half-blind and not wearing his binoculars or one fucking hundred percent gay.

“Call me Tiberius. I believe we are all around the same age.”

Amber beamed, her usual scowling face alight. “Okay. Tiberius,” she said, her voice caressing his name.

“And you are…?”

“Amber Grace Cartwright,” she said proudly, as she brushed her fingers through her blond hair.

Tiberius moved to his desk and furrowed his brows as his gray eyes scanned the paper lying there.

“You are not on my list.”

Amber’s face fell a little. “I know, I did not initially register for these training sessions, but Talib agreed to give me his spot. You see, I changed my mind and I really really want to become a Centurion someday.” Henry wondered how she had managed to convince Talib. Only the twenty most promising students - among those interested in becoming Centurions, and Amber had never expressed such an interest - were allowed to follow the course and there was a waiting list.

The teacher just lifted a dark eyebrow. “Oh. Okay.” They all waited as he sat at his desk and started scribbling on the paper, dark curls falling over his face as he bent his head. He was nothing if not meticulous. At the start of the class, he had asked, one by one, each student’s name. Henry had the feeling he had memorized all twenty of them. “Xian?” He asked without looking up.

The girl’s eyes widened and she whipped her head right and left, wondering whether he really was addressing her. As if there was another Xian in the classroom.

“Yes, Pro- Tiberius?”

“You don’t need to pass that folded paper on to your friend Barbara, I can provide the answer to your question.”

“Oh.” She flushed a deep red, and hastily crumpled the paper that she had been clutching under the table. Henry wondered what the message had been about.

“The answer is no. I don’t provide my personal number to students, but if you want to communicate with me, you may either send a fire message or a letter to my attention at the Scholomance, depending on the urgency of the matter.”

His tone was even, his face serious, as if he hadn’t meant to humiliate the girl, but simply state a fact. A low chatter erupted in the class, students casting worried glances at each other. Henry wondered himself how the Centurion had managed to read Xian’s paper when he was seated at the desk in front of the class, a few feet from her. The only one who didn’t seem troubled by that was Amber, who turned to glare at her friend. Xian stuck her tongue out in turn. Oh, Henry thought. Let the Hunger Games begin.

****

After a short recess, the students had another hour of training with Kit.

“As you well know, Shadowhunters use Runes to heal faster when they are injured in battle. Sometimes, it’s all that you need. But other times, a wound needs to be tended before an Iratze is applied. For instance, if you have foreign bodies in your wounds, you have to take them out before using your stele. Except, of course, when it would do much more harm to retrieve them, for instance if it's an arrow. Also, and although you should carry a stele with you at all times, situations may occur when you are without them. Finally, although we have a stronger constitution and heal faster, us Shadowhunters are humans, and we suffer the same diseases as mundanes. We can faint. We can die of a heart attack. We can die of blood loss following a car crash. Therefore, it’s important - and Catarina shares my view on this - to train you in first aid.” A crooked smile lit up his gorgeous face, his blue eyes glinting mischievously. “So who wants to be my dummy?”

All students - save for Dru - raised their hands eagerly. Brianna actually elbowed the girl next to her so she would put her own hand down.

“Drusilla Blackthorn,” Kit announced, with a smirk on his face.

Dru rolled her eyes and came to stand next to him.

“I think it’s more efficient to work on the basis of real-life situations’ simulations. So, what happened to my dummy in this scenario?”

“She fainted!” A student said.

Several students giggled.

“Okay,” Kit said, then looked over expectantly at Dru.

She rolled her eyes again and mimed fainting. As she lay still on the floor, she wondered if he would consider them even after the demonstration or continue to make her pay for the trick she had pulled earlier that day.

Kit knelt next to her.

“Is she conscious or unconscious?” He asked.

“Unconscious!” Another student said.

“Dru, close your eyes,” he said. She did as requested, letting out a deep sigh. “Okay, so how do you check whether or not someone is unconscious?” He asked, and she felt his fingers brush her hand, then he pinched her. She swallowed a swear word.

“Dummy? Dummy? Can you hear me? If you can hear me, blink or move your fingers. No answer. So you can assume she’s unconscious. Next step: you have to check if she breathes.”

She felt Kit’s fingers gently cupping her chin and forehead and tilting her head backwards. He pulled her lips open. “Check the airway first. If the throat is clear…” His hair tickled her face, and the Blackthorn locket grazed her jawline, as Kit leaned over to put his ear directly above her mouth. “See what I am doing? I am checking for a breathing sound while observing the rise and fall of her chest. So, tell me, is she breathing?”

“No,” a student said. Dru recognized Brianna’s voice. You will pay for this, roomie, Dru thought.

“Okay.” Dru realized Kit’s voice trembled a bit. She opened her eyes and saw the conflict in his gaze. What was the matter? “If you are with someone else, that person must go fetch a defibrillator that’s now in every patrol car. If you are alone, you can’t leave the patient so you must call for help. Do not - and I repeat - do not leave your patient’s side to do that. You must practice CPR at once.”

Realization dawned on Dru. Oh, bugger.

“In a real-life situation,” Kit said, drawing the words out. “You should… take your patient’s shirt off or - more accurately - rip it open.” He flinched as he said the last words, but swiftly regained his composure. She had to give him credit for his professionalism. “You must give chest compressions on bare skin. In our case though…”

Dru smirked. “Didn’t think it through, did you?” She whispered to Kit. Seeing his look of dismay, witnessing him trip over himself, was surprisingly satisfying, and if there was something Dru never missed, it was an opportunity to play a prank. Especially when she had been the intended victim of the stunt. She just couldn’t resist. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she became reckless. Act first think later became her course of action.

“That’s fine”, she said out loud as she sat up. She pulled the top of her gear off before lying back, wearing only her bra above her gear pants.

There were a few gasps in the crowd. Kit gulped.

“First of all, make sure your patient is lying on her back on a firm, dry surface. If there is blood, move the body away from it. I understand Catarina already taught you how to deal with hemorrhage.”

A few students mumbled a confirmation.

“You should push on the chest at a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute, which corresponds to the beat of several songs you can use to help you maintain the proper tempo.” He fiddled with his phone and the sound of “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees started playing.

Dru snorted. Kit was barely looking at her as he plowed on.

“Position your hands above your patient’s chest, like this. Interlock fingers. Then, give chest compressions. Like this.”

Dru tried to hide a smile. Kit’s palm was sweaty against her bare skin. He was flushing a deep red, his face a mask of embarrassment. Punk’d, she thought. Had he known he would be giving chest compressions to Dru - that he considered like a little sister - he would have thought twice about using her as a dummy.

He stopped abruptly, after thirty compressions. “Okay, we are… going to stop here for today.”

“What about the rescue breath?”

“I’ll show you next time,” he choked, as he stood and almost tripped on his feet scouting back. It seemed like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

“Does… anyone have any questions on CPR before we move to another exercize?”

“Yeah,” Talib raised his hand. Shit. Not him, Dru thought. What the hell was he doing here anyway, wasn’t he supposed to follow the Scholomance training course?

Kit nodded to him.

“Is that the Blackthorn locket you are wearing?”

Kit’s mouth dropped open. Dru tensed. She knew that Ty had asked that they keep their relationship a secret. Only family and very close friends were in the know. Not because Ty was ashamed, far from it. But because, as a Centurion, he was entrusted with all missions related to the First Heir, and that would change as soon as the Scholomance found out how involved Ty was with the subject of his investigations. Ty didn’t trust anyone else with these missions, so he had begged Helen and Aline not to tell the Penhallows about Kit and him, even though the identity of the First Heir remained a secret to most. One could never be too cautious.

Watching his face fall, the glint of panic in his azur eyes, Dru started to feel really bad for the Herondale boy. She knew that if he had been allowed, he would have screamed his love for Ty at the top of his lungs, from the Academy’s roof. Instead, he lowered his gaze to his feet, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, it’s mine,” Dru blurted. “Seriously, Kit? I told you not to wear it at the Academy!”

Kit whipped his head up in surprise, his blue eyes wide and questioning. He looked like he was about to say something, but Dru wouldn’t give him a chance to deny. What was done was done. She whirled around and retreated to a corner of the training room, bowing her head in order to conceal the blush that had started creeping up her face.

****

“Do you know who founded the Scholomance?” The Centurion teacher asked.

Amber was the only one who raised her hand.

“Amber?”

“It was originally founded by an alliance between the Fair Folk and prominent Shadowhunter families.”

Most of the students gasped. Everyone turned a questioning look at Tiberius, whose lips quirked. “Correct. This is not common knowledge, to say the least. How have you learnt about it?”

“I read a lot and… I may have borrowed some of my brother’s notes. Cartwrights have been filling the ranks of Centurions for generations.”

“But…” Barbara said, looking confused. “I thought the whole purpose of the Scholomance was to investigate all Downworlders, especially faeries, since they are the Nephilim who possess the most extensive knowledge about them.”

“And where do you think the Centurions got their knowledge from?” Amber snapped.

“Why would the Nephilim create a school with Downworlders?” Xian interjected.

“About that,” Tiberius intervened. “The classification of faeries as Downworlders is not entirely accurate and has been challenged over the past few years. Contrary to general belief, some of the Fair Folk species do not have any demon blood. Maybe you’d like to carry on, Miss Cartwright.”

Amber pursued, with a smug look on her face.

“As the story goes, not long after the creation of the Nephilim, the Angel warriors and the Fair Folk made an alliance to protect the Earth from demon invasion. They shared their knowledge - the fey teaching the Nephilim how to use magic in the school they created together, a sort of real life Hogwarts - and even… consorted. After all, the biggest problem that the fey have been facing in the past centuries is the thinning of their blood. Why not mix it with that of Raziel’s chosen warriors? Ultimately, a union was arranged between the Faerie King and a member of a highly respected and powerful Nephilim family. Not all fairies were happy with the union and there was a secession. The Faerie lands were split between two courts from then on. The Unseelie court, choosing to acknowledge a Nephilim queen, considering her as part of the fey royal family, ara nothlir, and the Seelie court, refusing the Angel warriors’ influence.”

She paused to watch the effect of her words on the wide-eyed students.

“The Nephilim queen was not immortal but the King used his magic to stretch out her years. Although they were happy, they had to rule in troubled times. The strong divergence in traits, opinions and customs between the Fair Folk and Shadowhunters soon drew them apart. Raziel’s warriors criticized the fey for being cunning and strongly disapproved of the tricks they played on mundanes and the creation of changelings. Faeries thought Shadowhunters to be ruthless, overbearing and contemptuous.

The Unseelie king’s death - it came as a shock, everyone thought the mortal Nephilim queen was bound to die before him - without any heir being born from their union, was a fatal blow to the alliance. Unseelie laws were clear, the queen dowager no longer held any claim to the throne - the full fey blooded prince Arawn succeeded to his father - and she hid in Faerie under the protection of a few Nephilim who swore to protect her. They could easily be distinguished from the red caps as they wore black cloaks identifying them as Angel warriors. They were not sanctioned by the Clave though, which preferred to sever all ties to the Fair Folk. With the magic they had learnt from the fey, these protectors created an enchanted wall of thorns surrounding the tower where the Shadowhunter queen and her family lay low for hundreds of years.

When an heir was born from the union of the Seelie Queen and Unseelie King, most Nephilim took it as the last stroke of the Fair Folk’s betrayal. It didn’t help that there were whispers about a prophecy stating that the world would fall to shadow under the First Heir’s ruling. So began the witch hunt, the primary target being the cursed descendant. That’s how Centurions began to use the knowledge they had collected from their former allies at the Scholomance against them.

The chase officially ceased when the disappearance of the First Heir was officially announced by the Unseelie Court and the tensions between the Nephilim and the fey eased until they finally made peace with the signing of the First Accords in 1872. The Scholomance was closed then, as a show of good faith that Downworlders and Shadowhunters were no longer at war.”

“What has become of the Nephilim queen’s family?” Henry blurted.

Amber turned to look at him. She was positively gloating.

“They had nothing to be blamed for, so the Clave as well as the Fair Folk let them be after the signing of the First Accords. After all, they were a very influential family to begin with. So, they are still among us.”

“Who are they?”

“Before King Arawn changed the Unseelie Court’s sigil, the symbol was that of a full crown…adorned with a rose, symbol of his father’s attachment to the Lady of Roses,” she said mysteriously.

“The Nephilim queen’s descendants are known as the Rosales,” Tiberius specified evenly.

A low chatter erupted and the words “Inquisitor”, “Diego” and “Cristina” were thrown around repeatedly. They all knew the Council kept a lot of secrets, but the fact that the current Inquisitor belonged to a family that had forged an alliance with the fey in the past, confirmed how little they really knew about Shadowhunter politics.

“And what about their protectors?” A voice suddenly raised from a corner of the classroom.

Amber turned to look at the Centurion who nodded imperceptibly.

“Easy,” she said. “They were released from their oath a long time ago but they have kept their Shadowhunter names. Some say the earlier generations had sharp, elven features due to their closeness to - and interbreeding with - the Fair Folk. They were black cloaked warriors guarding the queen’s family like thorns protecting the delicate rose from its predators. They called themselves the Black Thorns.”

As the students suddenly burst into commotion, Henry’s gaze focused on Tiberius, who stood straight like an arrow, his expression unfathomable. He had a feeling there was more to the story but, whatever it was, Henry knew he would have to swear the Centurion vows before being allowed to hear it.

****

Being a Shadowhunter had major downsides. No matter how hard you tried to shut yourself from your environment, your highly trained senses betrayed you by fulfilling their role like obedient little soldiers.

Dru had never better understood Ty’s need for headphones as she weaved a path in the main hall towards the exit - she wanted to crawl in her bed and hide there until at least the next morning - and tried to ignore the glares and angry whispers that followed her.

“Seriously? Christopher Herondale and Drusilla Blackthorn? It’s like some stupid chick flick where the hot jock hooks up with the weird geek.”

“He’s probably with her because she’s easy. Did you see her take her shirt off in the training room like it was no big deal?”

“Oh, come on, every girl does that here. We’re warriors, we undress to draw Runes on each other all the time. And how is it different from when we train in sports bras when it’s summer?” Well, Dru was relieved to hear at least some girls had her back...

“It’s different when you have a pair of breasts like hers.”

“Right. Tell me about it. Best boobs at the Academy.”

“Yeah, I would definitely hit that.”

“You’re kidding? That girl’s creepy, I would be afraid to be strangled in my sleep.”

“What does he see in her anyway? She has a pretty face, but she dresses like a Goth freak. And don’t get me started on the size of her thighs...”

Dru never allowed anyone to say a single bad thing about her family and friends. But where her own securities were concerned, she was like an open wound anyone could poke. Dru bit back tears as she hurried her footsteps. She needed air. Fresh air.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and whipped her head around. It was Brianna.

“Seriously, Dru? Why didn’t you just tell me before I made a fool of myself?”

“Brianna. I just gave him a necklace. I am not dating him or anything. He’s just a member of Livia’s Watch, that's all. Hence the locket.” Why had she not thought of that excuse earlier?

Brianna lifted her eyebrow dubiously. Dru felt her temper rising.

“Fine.” She snapped. “Believe me or not, I don't CARE.”

NNNNEEEEW YOOOORK. They both startled as the voice of Alicia Keys suddenly blazed through the main hall’s stone walls.

As one, all the students rushed outside to see where the noise came from. Brianna and Dru exchanged puzzled glances before following them wearily out of the wide double front doors.

Dru blinked and, when her eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight, tried to hide her shock as she took in the incongruous sight.

In the Academy’s front yard, a crowd had already started to gather in a circle around the main attraction, giving it a wide berth.

A splendid charcoal grey convertible car was parked at the center of it, as if it had appeared there by magic. "Empire State of Mind" by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys was playing full on from the vehicle’s sound system.

Leaning casually against the hood of the car with his arms crossed was the tall figure of Ash Morgenstern. His platinum blond hair was peeking out of a green beanie and he wore an elegant gray cashmere coat that made him look like a British gentleman.

In the back of her mind, several questions buzzed like little alarms. Was he not supposed to be under house arrest? What the hell was he thinking showing up in front of the Academy ? Where did he get the car anyway?

But foremost in her mind was Ash. It’s Ash. It’s really Ash. How gorgeous he was - even more so than she remembered - and how she had never felt more relieved to see anyone in her whole life. She had missed him, she realized with surprise.

Ash straightened up and gave Dru a crooked smile as soon as he caught sight of her.

She couldn’t help it, she ran to him and threw her arms around his slender neck, burying her face in his chest. He smelled of aftershave, a sophisticated fragrance of amber, sandalwood, mandarin and jasmine. Ash stiffened at first, obviously startled by her sudden display of affection, then relaxed and squeezed her tighter.

“If I had known I would receive such a warm welcome, I would have broken out of jail sooner,” he whispered in her ear.

She drew back and shook her head disapprovingly, though a grin was still plastered on her face.

“What on earth are you doing here, Ash?”

“I have come to rescue my Queen.”

“Rescue me? From what?”

“Food poisoning, of course. You told me it was awful here. I was in the neighborhood and it just so happens that I know a perfect French restaurant in Manhattan.”

“And so you decided to break out of your confinement and show up at the Academy in a flashy sports car?”

He shrugged. “I thought it would be a more inconspicuous way of traveling.”

“Inconspicuous? Really? As compared to what?”

He raised a silvery eyebrow. “Flapping my dark wings?”

“Where are you going with my sister?” Ty demanded with a frown as he marched towards them, his voice louder than usual, probably due to the headphones covering his ears.

“Manhattan. For dinner.”

“It’s not safe,” he said, then glanced at the vehicle. “Is that an Aston Martin DB9 GT Volante?”

“What’s not safe?” Ash asked. “My company? The car? The whole idea of a crazy night out?”

“All of the above,” Ty answered, his gray eyes like saucers, still fixed on the car.

“Oh, so now you care about where I go and who I am with?” Dru intervened.

Ty’s gaze snapped back to her, and his eyes crinkled in confusion.

“Of course I do. Why do you ask? Wait- Are you… angry with me?”

“Of course I am! I had to find out you were at the Academy by eavesdropping on fellow students!” She was grateful the music was loud and the observers far enough that they could not overhear their conversation.

Ty’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. “But... But I wasn’t sure I was coming until this morning. I didn’t want to tell you before I was certain. I thought you would be happy to see me.”

“Yes, Ty, I am happy to see you. But I started at the Academy months ago, and you have only decided to show up today! We both know who convinced you, and it certainly wasn’t me.”

The look of hurt on Ty’s face almost made her regret her words. As if on cue, Kit suddenly appeared, coming from the opposite direction to where Ty was standing. Dru realized with a pang that they were purposefully avoiding being seen together and maintaining a safe distance between them.

“Hey guys, I think I missed the invitation to the party,” Kit said playfully, but Dru knew him and could sense that his heart wasn’t in it. He was just trying to ease the tension.

“You didn’t miss anything,” Dru replied sharply. “Ash and I were leaving.” Ty opened his mouth to object but she cut him. “And you, Ty, do not get to tell me what to do.”

“Where your safety is concerned, I do,” Ty snapped back, red starting to creep up his white neck. His hands were now fluttering at his sides.

“If you’re worried about her safety, Ty, why don’t you come with us?” Ash offered in peace. “You too, Kit. Raziel knows we all need to… let off steam.” He looked like he was holding in a laugh and Dru wondered whether she was missing a private joke.

Ty’s gaze flickered to Kit then, and their eyes met for a brief second before they both hastily looked away. They were clearly blushing now, Ty nervously stroking his heron pendant and Kit thrusting his hands in his pockets and staring at his feet.

“I can’t,” Kit said, kicking a pebble. “I have to stay here where I am protected. Catarina and my parents will kill me if they know I left the Academy’s grounds.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, Kit. Who would you rather have as bodyguards? Me and the badass Blackthorn siblings?” He said, gesturing at their little group. “Oooor… these frightened little squirrels posing as Academy students?” He pointed toward the crowd of students who were still gaping at him. And the car. But mostly at Ash.

“I guess you have a point,” Kit conceded.

“Okay,” Ty answered hesitantly, looking away.

“Then jump in, Angel warriors,” Ash said as he opened the door for Dru. She ignored it, and instead, grabbed the edge of the back door to jump inside and landed on the front passenger seat. “What? I have always wanted to do that!” She told him when he lifted his eyebrow at her. Ash laughed and shook his head as he rounded the car to take the driver’s seat. Kit and Ty crammed in the back - the space had definitely not been designed to hold two full-grown Shadowhunters - and immediately stared out the car, pointedly avoiding looking at each other.

Ash put the Aston Martin in gear, as the students parted to let them through. The engine's roar was deafening, almost drowning the sound of the music still blasting from the sound system. Dru felt exhilarated, gusts of wind carrying away all her resentment and worries as they blew her hair. Everything was perfect… save perhaps for one thing.

“Ash,” she called over the noise. “Can you turn the music down?”

He threw her a puzzled look, his hands tightening on the wheel.

“Why? I thought you’d like it. We are in New York after all.”

“It’s not my hometown,” she observed, winking at him.

He grinned as he fiddled with the dashboard and suddenly 2 PAC's "California Love" was booming full volume.

“Better?” He asked.

Her answering smile was so wide it almost hurt her cheeks.

“Not just better. Perfect.”

#kit herondale #kit herongraystairs #kit herondale and ty blackthorn #kit x ty #tiberius blackthorn #ty blackthorn #drusilla blackthorn #dru blackthorn #ash morgenstern #dru and ash #du x ash #the wicked powers #the dark artifices #tda fanfiction #tsc fan fiction #cassandraclare #cassandra clare fan fiction #the shadowhunters chronicles #the shadowhunters chronicles icons

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theheartsmistakes · 3 years

Text

The Last Night Part XXIII

Parts I-XXII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

XXIII.

Alastair watched his sister play with her dolls on the rug in the sitting room from the second to last step on the landing. A safe distance away from the fire, her small voice filled the room with color that it sorely lacked. Since their father’s return from wherever it was he had been for the past year, their furniture (what furniture they had) started to disappear.

Cordelia, being only eight hardly noticed. Not when her father’s attention became more of a pressing matter, but Alastair being ten years old and having been the one to mind the estate after their staff stopped showing up and Sona fell into another one her deep depressions, he began to notice.

And he could only suspect one person responsible.

After being satisfied that Cordelia was out of ear range, Alastair turned and jogged up the stairs two at a time. He noted the sconces on the walls were missing along with the bulbs except for one left unprotected and obnoxiously bright without a cover. The rug that ran along the hallway was gone as well leaving the floor bare so that every footstep and noise could be heard. Alastair took a deep breath through his nose and steadied himself.

He’d secretly hoped that his mother would be the one to address the issue, but she hardly seemed to notice the missing things, or if she did, she didn’t feel the need to mention it. The house grew colder and colder by the minute despite his father's enormous presence to fill it.

A part of him chastised himself for not being more elated about his father’s return. The rest of his family members seemed to be, but because of his illusive absence for the past year with no explanation about where he’d gone and the stink of alcohol lingering on his vest, something deep in Alastair’s chest froze towards his father.

Others may be warmed by his false promises and elaborate stories, but he knew the truth. Call it a gift of his, he could see past the pretense his father shoveled in front of everyone to hide his sins.

When he reached the oak door at the end of the hall, with a shaking fist, he knocked.

At first no sound came, so he knocked again; louder this time.

A shuffle could be heard inside. Glass shattering against the floor followed by a string of cursing.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, father,” said Alastair. “I need to speak with you.”

“What’s this about?”

Alastair placed a hand on the handle. “May I come in?”

“Is this important?”

“It is,” said Alastair lifting his jaw.

“Very well,” said his father.

Alastair turned the knob and pushed his way inside. The bitter, sweet smell of freshly spilt whiskey hit him and burned his eyes. He resisted the urge to cover his nose with a handkerchief.

His father wobbled on his hands and knees attempting to clean up a spill with his pocket cloth, but moving as if he were on a very unsteady ship. Red rimmed eyes looked up at Alastair and a grin curved around his father’s face.

“What is it?” He slurred as he fell backwards against the wingback chair that happened to be the only piece of furniture in the room beside the beverage cart sitting beside the window. “Am I late for supper?”

“It’s nearly noon, father,” said Alastair. “I’m here because it appears that our household items have gone missing.”

“Missing?” Elias squinted up at his son.

“Yes.” Alastair rolled his eyes. “As in gone.”

“Like what?”

“My writing desk, Cordelia’s doll house,” said Alastair. “Mum’s good China, the Tehran crafted weapons, the silver, and where’s the furniture that used to be in this room?”

“Alastair—“

“If you’re pawning our household items to support your drinking then—“ It wasn’t a question of if, nor was it an accusation. Alastair knew the truth, he knew even if he didn’t want to believe it.

“Then what?” asked Elias. “Go on, boy, finish your sentence.”

“You’ll not take one more thing from this house,” said Alastair.

Elias scoffed and attempted to push himself up from the floor when his hand landed on a piece of glass. Elias hissed and fell backwards again onto the floor. “Bloody hell!” He held his hand up, dripping now with fresh blood. “Don’t just stand there. Get me something to stench this with.”

Alastair sighed and walked across the room to the beverage cart. A towel hung from the silver handle, stained with spilt alcohol, Alastair grabbed it and brought it over to his father.

“Where is your steele?” asked Elias as he ripped the towel from Alastair’s hand.

“I don’t have one with me,” said the boy.

“What kind of Shadowhunter doesn’t carry around his steele?”

“I’m nearly ten, father,” reminded Alastair. “I’m hardly a Shadowhunter yet. I can go find yours if you’d like.”

Elias took the towel away from his hand and examined the wound in his palm. “No, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve clearly more pressing matters to attend to. Have you spoken to your mother about these missing items?”

“I haven’t wanted to trouble her—“

“Only me?” asked Elias. “I suppose I deserve that.” He got slowly and unsteadily to his feet. When he stepped backwards a few steps, Alastair had to stop himself from reaching out towards him. He looked like a toddler learning to walk for the first time.

The question dangled on Alastair’s tongue as he watched his father pitch forward and back like an aged ship on angry seas: why did he insist on drinking? When did he become a drunk? Alastair, honestly, couldn’t remember. There’d been a time when sobriety found him for a few months and then he’d be back on the streets again. Alastair was seven years old the first time he picked him up from the porch steps when he passed out before he’d made it inside. The first time, he’d thought it kind of comical, by the third time that week, he found it frightening. And now, he wanted to ask his father why. Why weren’t they enough for him? What was his father chasing that could be found or forgotten at the bottom of a bottle?

Alastair feared he might never know.

_ _ _

The pocket watch ticked inside Alastair’s palm where he sat on the sofa in the drawing room waiting for Cordelia and Lucie to enter through the door. It was five past three; the time they were supposed to return. Questionably, James hadn’t returned either. Alastair knew he should have trusted his instincts over his sister’s word, but he’d allowed himself to feel marginally guilty about upsetting Cordelia.

How could she not understand he was simply trying to do what was best for her? She clearly wasn’t thinking straight— and to be honest she never had when it came to the Herondale boy. It would be over his dead body that he’d ever see James hand-in-hand with his sister.

No, not even then.

Alastair shoved his watch back into his pocket, stood from the chair retrieving his jacket from the arm, and marched towards the door.

“Oh,” said a voice behind him. “Are you leaving too?”

Alastair turned to find Thomas descending the stairs in his full fighting gear. His soft brown hair was combed back away from his face and curling slightly behind his ears. His scarred hands were adjusting the straps across his broad chest that just barely fit across him. Alastair swallowed and quickly averted his eyes to his shoes and then the front door.

With a strange pitch in his voice, Alastair said, “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“I came with my parents to meet the Herondales,” said Thomas tucking in the extra bit of leather left at the end of his strap. “I thought Christopher, Matthew, and James would be here, but it appears I am at a loss. Miss communication.”

“James is with Matthew on patrol,” said Alastair. “At least that’s what I was told.”

Thomas looked off to the side. “Then I’m sure that’s the truth of it. Where are you headed?”

“I’m supposed to meet my sister at the other Lightwood’s estate,” said Alastair. “She’s running a bit behind so I figured I’d spare her the trouble and catch her there.”

“I’m on my way there as well,” said Thomas. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Surprised, all words evaporated from Alastair’s mind. When he managed to find them again, a bright color had emerged in his cheeks. “Are you quite sure. I don’t mind finding my own way there.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Thomas reaching for the door knob. “We’re going in the same direction, not on an outing together, there’s no reason for us to take two separate carriages to the same destination.” Thomas opened the door and without waiting for Alastair to respond, he walked out onto the front steps.

Still slightly shocked, Alastair combed a hand through his hair, picked up his cane, and followed.

“What plans do you and Cordelia have today?” Thomas asked from atop the bench seat of his parent’s carriage.

Alastair, who’d chosen to remain quiet despite the kindness being extended to him, focused on the main road as he answered. “I’m not sure. She mentioned something about going to a park.” He was quite certain that was all that was going on between them. Perhaps his parents conjured him into being kind to the injured, isolated, and troubled Carstairs boy. Perhaps this was some sort of revenge and Thomas had alternative plans of dropping him into the Thames.

“It’s a lovely day for the park—“

“What are you doing?”

Thomas’s eyebrow jumped. “Excuse me?”

“This?” Alastair motioned between them. “This show of uncharacteristic kindness. I can tell it’s not genuine. Who put you up to this?”

Thomas sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I felt badly for the way I spoke to you the other day.”

Alastair had to fight to keep the shock from his face. “You felt bad? Thomas, you have nothing to feel badly about.”

“Perhaps,” said Thomas, “but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how unfair I was being towards you. Do not misunderstand me, this is not me granting you pardon for what you did, but rather an understanding.”

“Why?”

“Because when you created those lies about my father,” said Thomas, “I created lies for him, or what I thought were lies to help repair some of his reputation. My father, who is an upstanding citizen by most regards, and truly a wonderful father, and I was making up all kinds of lies to protect him even though I knew the rumors about him were lies— even though I believed him. I can’t imagine if the rumors were actually true.”

He didn’t have to say it. Alastair had long since learned to read between the lines of what someone was saying to him.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” said Alastair shortly.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” said Thomas, never removing his eyes from the road, “and I don’t pity you. I’m merely saying that I understand. In a way, I understand.”

With the wind brushing against his face, Alastair felt a weight of sorts brush off of him.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done to your family and Matthew’s,” said Alastair. “I’ve been minding my father’s reputation since I was a boy.”

“Why did you do it?” asked Thomas. “I know why I fought for my father’s reputation, but yours was an actual alcoholic.”

Alastair bristled. “Alcoholic or not, he is still my father.”

“I’m sorry if I offended—“

“You didn’t offend,” said Alastair. “I suppose I fought so hard to protect him for so long that I simply forgot how to not to. I’d been able to keep up a pretense about my father that at the first sign of trouble, my instinct was to defend him, and the only way I knew how to do that was to put the spotlight onto someone else. If I’m being honest, it wasn’t him I was trying to protect.”

“Yourself?” asked Thomas, as he steered the horse down an empty brick paved street.

“Cordelia,” said Alastair. “I was trying to protect Cordelia. She grew up believing that our father was someone to be admired. She held him on the same pedestal that the Herondale children held their father. I made sure that she never knew about his… illness.”

“Does she know now?”

“She does,” said Alastair. “I couldn’t protect her forever.”

“No,” said Thomas, drawing the horse to a stop at the brick pathway leading to a white gated entrance to a garden. “I suppose you can’t.”

Alastair looked up at the beautiful ivy crested veranda and tried to remember what had caused him to go fetch Cordelia in such a hast. Surely, she was all right with Lucie and if she was in fact with James, perhaps it was high time that she started worrying about her own mistakes. And if she needed him, he would surely be there for her.

“Perhaps I’ll wait here,” said Alastair. “While you go fetch Christopher.”

From the ground now, Thomas looked up at Alastair as he tied the horse to a post. “Would you like me to get Cordelia for you?”

“No,” said Alastair, adjusting his coat. “I shouldn’t trouble her. She’ll return when—“

Before he could finish his sentence, a high pitched scream came from inside the house. Thomas and Alastair both looked in the direction of which it had come and then back at each other.

“Cordelia,” said Alastair as he swung himself down from the driver’s bench as Thomas drew a steele from the strap on his shoulder and whispered its name to it. It burst to light in his hand, accenting his face in a halo of light.

The two men stalked up to the open front door: Alastair at the front, with Thomas trailing closely behind him, both of them scanning their surroundings.

Upon entering the house, it didn’t appear that anything was out of place through the kitchen. There was no sign of a scuffle or demon activity. Even though he didn’t know him all that well, Alastair wouldn’t put it past the odd glasses wearing one to release a demon during one of his poorly executed experiments.

They inched through the kitchen into the short hallway that went through to the sitting room. Attached to the room was a staircase and from the second floor, they could hear an exchanging of voices.

Alastair broke for the stairs at a run with Thomas close behind him. He followed the direction the voices were coming from and turned to the left, stopping at a door that was partially opened. He was seconds from storming it, when Thomas grabbed him by the coat tail and wretched him back.

“Wait,” said Thomas and stepped in front of him, “listen.”

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said a second voice laced with ill intention and centuries of old lies. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.”

Thomas grabbed Alastair’s arm and mouthed a name. “Belial.”

Suddenly, the door slammed in front of Alastair and he heard the faint sound of the lock.

“We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie,” said a male voice that Alastair could not recognize. “Don’t go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you.” The voice was clearly Lucie’s and if Lucie was in there then so would Cordelia. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” said a second voice laced with ill intention and century old lies.

Thomas glanced at Alastair and pointed at the medieval spear hanging on the wall in the hallway. Alastair reached up and pulled it carefully from it’s hooks as Thomas took several steps back, picked his foot up, and kicked their way through the lock with his heel in a single, impressive stomp. As Thomas reached for Lucie, pulling her away from the mysterious figure in the center of the room, Alastair threw the spear with every ounce of his might.

He watched it spiral through the air, quick as an arrow, and then stop mere inches from Belial’s chest. A wicked grin curled around the handsome face, as the spear evaporated and then reappeared faster then Alastair could blink.

It was warm, that was the first thing he thought about. Warmth spreading across his back and his chest. His eyes searched the room for Cordelia, but he couldn’t find her face amongst the ones he could not recognize. Everyone stared at him, the pale haired girl Grace and a dark haired boy sitting beside her looked on at him terrified. His eyes drifted to his left where Thomas held Lucie tightly in his arms both gaped at him horrified. He tried to say something, but his lungs had stopped expanding. When he looked down at his chest, he could see where the warmth had come from. The end of the spear protruded from his chest.

“Alastair!” Thomas yelled.

“Go,” he said, as rust flavored saliva dripped from between his lips. “Go now.”

“Release the girl,” said Belial, with his arms crossed and a rather bored expression on his face, “and the boy lives.”

Thomas’s grip on Lucie faltered just slightly.

“Don’t,” said Alastair. “He’s lying.”

“Let me go, Thomas,” said Lucie. “Let me go. He won’t let him die, he won’t if it means he can have me.”

“Listen to the girl, Thomas,” said Belial. “Save your friend and sacrifice the other or lose both.”

Alastair could see the turmoil in Thomas’s gritted teeth and reddened face, still his hands were white knuckled around Lucie. He wouldn’t let her go. Not unless—

Lucie brought her head forward and swung it back against Thomas’s sternum. With a quick maneuver of her feet, she twisted under his grip and shoved him off balance into the wall.

“Let them go,” said Lucie, her hair loose from it’s braid now and falling around her face giving her the appearance of a mad woman. “Let him live and I’ll go with you.”

Belial grinned and with a slight nod of his head, he and Lucie blinked from the room like a flash of lightning. Alastair was released from the spear in the wall and fell crumpled to the ground on his knees. His hands went to his chest to feel for the wound, but while the blood and hole in his shirt were still there, the wound and weapon were not.

A/N: Hope I redeemed myself just a little bit. Next update comes out 12/20

#jordelia fanfiction #The Last Night #the last hours #chain of gold #james x cordelia #thomas x alastair #thomastair #j

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beclynn-herondale · 3 years

Text

In Another Universe: Chapter 7 - Magna Bane's party

(tsc, TMI and the characters belong to Cassandra Clare.)

They got a cab, Jayce was busy calling Alec and yelling at her to wake up and meet them at a restaurant called Taki's, Clar was too busy thinking about the name that he saw, Magna Bane. Who was this Magna Bane and why did they sign his brain?

"This Taki's place has great food!" said Jayce.

"I don't care about good food, I want to know what or who Magna Bane is."

"She's a warlock," said Jayce.

"How do you know that?"

"Cause only a warlock could put a block spell on your mind."

He looked out the window with a sigh. All this was exhausting.

They got to Taki's they waited for Alec who was only a few minutes away, and they went in and got a seat

"Who was that?" asked Clar. "At the door I mean."

"Who?" said Jayce. "You mean Clancy?"

"Yeah, he's a demon?"

"No, he's an Ifrit. they are warlocks but can't use magic," she said

Alec mumbled something.

He was looking at the menu, and a lot of it looked like Downworlder stuff.

"What is with this menu?" he asked

"Don't order any faerie food, it makes mundanes go a bit crazy," said Jayce. "And the next thing you know, you are running down the street naked with antlers on your head."

Clar looked at her

"Not," she said. "That I have ever done that."

"Uh huh."

Jayce went on talking, like she usually did, and Alec was staring at her with a look that Clar couldn't quite describe

Isidore and Simone came in at that moment

"There's this smoothie that is amazing," Isidore said.

Simone gave Clar a smile but he looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes.bhe didn't know exactly why he was upset with her.

"So what did you find out at the Bone City?" asked Isidore.

"We have a name," said Jayce. "Magna Bane."

"It's a start," said Alec.

"Magna Bane?" said Isidore. "I have an invitation to her party tonight."

"You do?" asked Alec

"Yup!"

"Well I guess we go to the party?" asked Jayce.

"Yeah!" said Isidore.

"Ugh, I hate parties," said Alec.

Clar could relate to her there. They continued to talk, Isidore took Simone to the park to show her something, Clar didn't go along, he was pretty sure of he did Isidore would find a way to get rid of him. Jayce, Alec, and Clar went back to the Institute.

——————

Isidore took Simone to the park to show her the faeries there, she was weird but Isidore could have some fun.

"You see them there," he said.

She squinted, trying to see what he was talking about.

"Whoa!" she said. "They are so pretty."

He gave her a charming smile, she smiled shyly back

"Here," he said, and grabbed her hand. "Get a closer look."

They looked at the pixie who was flying around the flower, they had blue hair and purple wings and wearing a pink dress.

Simone stars in amazement, the pixie reflecting in her glasses

"Do you want to kiss?" he asked

She swung her head towards him, and looked lost for words

"I..." she said. "I guess."

She was obviously nervous, girls and boys and others, were always nervous around him, though he was intimating.

He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her, a soft kiss that didn't mean anything.

——————

Jayce was in Clar's room, she was looking through his sketch book, he was a brilliant artist, all his pieces were so beautiful. Yes she was aware she shouldn't be Snooping in it but she could never help herself, it got her in trouble a lot.

"Is that my sketch book!" yelled Clar. "I don't let people look through that."

"Why not?" she said. "You're amazing, sometimes excellent."

He blushed a little

"Cause it's personal," he said. "Some people keep diaries, some journals. Me it's my sketch book."

She closed it.

"I'm tired," he said.

"If you want something to help you go to sleep," she said. "I could tell you a bedtime story."

He looked at her oddly

"Fine."

"Ok, lie down and close your eyes."

He layed down, she sat on the end if his bed

"Once upon a time," she started. "There was a little girl—"

"Was she a Shadowhunter girl?"

"Of course, yes."

"She lived in a manor house with her father. One day her father gave her a hunting falcon, he wanted her to tame it, she didn't like the falcon, it made her nervous. but she didn't want to disappoint her father, and wanted to make him happy. So she did her best, she spent everyday with it, and every day she had scratches on her hands that bled. she fed it and stroked it's wings, she finally got it to eat from her hand, she didn't care that it tore at her skin when it ate from her hand. She eventually taught it to fly circles around her and to stick it's beak in her hair and play with it, she knew her falcon loved her and she loved her falcon. So when she thought she was done and that she had tamed it, she went to show her father, thinking he would be proud and happy, but instead he was disappointed and angry. 'I told you to teach it to be obedient,' he said. 'Instead you taught it to love you.' he took the bird and broke it's neck. She cried for hours after her father left and after that day she never cried again. And she never forgot what she learn that day, that to love is to destroy and to be loved is the one to be destroyed."

"Jayce..." said Clar ever so softly. "That's not a bedtime story, that's a story about abuse."

"No. It's a story about a father trying to teach his daughter a lesson."

"No, it's a story to give children nightmares, to scare them into obedience," said Clar.

"Sometimes if you get runes too early they give you nightmares," she told him, and looked at him very thoughtfully.

"But if you don't learn to bend a little, you'll break into pieces," he said

"Not if you are strong enough."

"Jayce..." he never finished, he had been taken away by sleep.

She waited a few moments to make sure he was asleep, and brushed some hair out of his face. "Sleep well," she whispered softly.

And she left the room, to get ready for the party tonight.

——————

Joan was reading her book, like she always did these days. Demons were a great deal of trouble, and to think half a year ago she didn't even know about any of this stuff.

It was weird that half a year had passed but she didn't look different, well unless you counted the fact that she was more muscular now, and knew how to kill people now.

There were times when she was fighting demons for training that she enjoyed killing them so much it scared her, she was never the type who loved violence but she is starting to love it, almost crave it.

She heard a knock at her door, she walked to it and swung it open. There stood Lilith the woman who claimed to be her mother but wasn't, the woman who Joan called her mother so she wouldn't be punished for being disobedient.

"Hello, my dear," said Lilith.

"Mother."

"Your father said he is proud of how far you have come in such a short time."

"Did he."

Her father, you mean the insane guy who wants to kill people and has already killed people.

"You know," said Lilith. "There is only one problem."

"What's that?"

"You are still too caught up in your old life, still too kind and sweet." she said.

"I.."

"There is a way to perhaps make you less weak," she said.

"What's that?" she asked

"It would be to have you reach your full potential," said Lilith. "To reach deep into yourself and let the demon in you take hold."

"What? How would I even do that?"

"My daughter, you must let go of what makes you human."

Let go of what makes her human?

"I know you feel it, that need for destruction, the need for violence, the want for blood on your hands," she said. "I see it in your eyes, because that is the demon in you. All you have to do and embrace it."

Then a man walked into the room and whispered something in Lilith's ear.

"I see," she said.

What was it that he told her?

"We need to speed things up," she said. "Darling, come here."

Joan walked over to her, she took her by the arm and whispered some unknown words into Joans ear, she didn't recognize the language but it must have been demonic, she felt as if Lilith had poured some dark magic through her. she felt her lungs burn and herself lose control of her body, she fell to the ground and it was all black again, and when she would wake up, things would be different.

Everything was so different.

——————

Alec was dreading going to this party, she was lying around her room flipping through a demonology book

She heard a knock at her door, and walked over to open the door.

"Heya," said a familiar voice, her parabatai. "I brought this for you, I know you probably don't have anything too fancy to wear cause you don't like to dress up."

"You're right, I don't," she said. "So why would I want to now? I'll just wear what I usually wear everyday"

"Alec, we are going to Magna Bane's party, I have heard people call her the Queen of Fashion. Do you really want to go wearing a worn out sweater with holes in it?"

She gave her parabatai a long look

"How do you know people call Magna Bane that?"

"I hear things from the faeries."

"You really need to stop hanging out with the faeries," she said

"Why?"

"They get you into trouble."

"So," said Jayce. "I like trouble."

"Yeah, that's the problem," she told her parabatai.

Jayce grinned at her, that mischief grin that said I do what I want, so try and stop me

She let out a long sigh. "What do you got exactly?"

She held up a Blue silk tank top, that was v cut in the front, it had spaghetti straps and didn't leave much to the Imagination.

"I'm not wearing that!" she shouted not meaning to.

"Why not? It will totally bring out your eyes," said Jayce

"Because it's so low cut, you know I don't exactly have a small chest."

"So, what does showing off what you got have to do with anything?"

"Jayce, maybe you like to show people what you got. But I am not like that."

"I can get you dress shirt instead," she said. "But I don't have anything blue in a blouse or dress shirt."

Did she really put that much thought into this?

"Fine. I'll wear it, but I'll be wearing a jacket as well," she said.

"Ok! I'll let you get away with that," she said, and smiled up at her.

Honestly Jayce was impossible, but she was Alec's impossible.

——————

Clar had to borrow something nice from Isidore, the only problem was that Isidore had such nice shirts, he loved fashion apparently. He also thought it was probably strange for two boys to be getting ready together like this.

Clar hated parties, not just because of the people but because you had to dress up and figuring out what goes with what was frustrating, even as a boy you sometimes had to worry about clothes.

"I think this will work nice," said Isidore.

He held up a black dress shirt, that looked somewhat less flaunty. Thankfully Clar had his own black jeans, though he would look very much like a Shadowhunter. He wondered what Jayce was gonna wear, and then asked himself why he was wondering that?

"Come here," said Isidore. "I am gonna help you part your hair fancy."

Clar sighed, he hated dressing up.

"Hey, Isidore," he asked

"Yeah?"

"Is Alec a lesbian?"

Isidore jumped and flung the hairbrush across the room

"You can't tell anyone!" he shouted.

"Is there a rule against being gay?"

"Not exactly, but it's looked down upon and people will think you are the shame of the your family," said Isidore, he sounded sad and angry at the same time. "So you can't tell anyone, seriously."

"I won't."

Isidore relaxed a little, the Lightwoods may be a little stuck up but the way they cared about each other was something that has made Clar care about them a little, it reminded him of Joan, himself, and Simone.

He missed Joan, he missed his big sister being there to take on the people he didn't want to talk to, to be there when he felt like the odd one out, Joan who always reminded Simone to continue to be nerdy because that's who she is and she shouldn't let anyone take that away. He smiled at the memory. He just hoped that by whatever ever higher power there was that she was ok, and that he would get to see her again.

"Clar, are you going to stay zoned out," said Isidore, snapping him back into reality. "Or are you gonna come along so we can go to the party."

They headed down the hall to get the girls. Clar saw Jayce look up at the sound of their footsteps, she was wearing a black lace top that was cut into a v shape in the front, and black leather pants, she also wore her usual heeled black combat boots that gave her a couple more inches in height, and a jacket, her golden curls were pushed back behind her ear on one side, she was wearing sword earrings, black the Shadowhunter outfit.

Simone looked up as well and said "Why are you so dressed up?"

"It's a party, so I guess I should a little."

She gave him the look that said you hate dressing up

Jayce came up to him. "You look nice," she said, he felt himself blush. "And here's this."

She handed him a dagger

"I don't know how to use that," he said

"Don't worry about that, you'll be a natural."

When they got to Magna Bane's loft, Alec and Isidore rang the doorbell, a woman answered it, she wore a purple sequin suit over a slik dress top, the lower part of her black hair was dyed blue, she had on black eyeliner with a blend of purple and blue eyeshadows, she had blue glittery lipstick on. She was southeast asian, slim and taller than all of them. she had glitter sparkling along her skin that was bare. She must like glitter Clar thought.

"I don't remember inviting children of the Angel to my party," she said.

Isidore held up the invitation. "I have an invitation right here."

She looked at it, for a moment Clar thought maybe she would send them away anyway, but she moved out of the doorway with a sigh and said. "Come on up, just don't kill anyone while your here."

They all followed her up the stairs, when they got into her loft, Clar saw that there was glitter and streamers everywhere, there was a disco ball hanging from the ceiling over a dance floor. He looked around and saw the guests were Faeries, Vampires, and a few werewolves. Clar didn't know what to think, he hadn't thought they got along.

He looked to his side about to ask Jayce something and saw everyone was gone. Did they all just leave him?

"Do you like the party?" asked a voice from behind him.

He turned and saw it was Magna Bane. "It's nice," he said who is it for?"

"My cat," she said

"Where is your cat?"

"I don't know, he ran away."

"Oh," he said. "Do you think he'll come back?"

"Who can say."

A moment later Jayce was back by his side

"Where did you come from!" he asked

"Over there," she said, and pointed to the bar.

"Where are Simone and Isidore?"

"They are dancing."

He looked over to the dance floor, and saw that they were in fact dancing.

Alec was here now too, what was with Shadowhunters and popping up out of nowhere?

"How may I help you Nephilim?" asked Magna. "I'm not in trouble with the Clave am I?"

"No," said Jayce and Alec simultaneously.

"We are here to ask about if you ever put a memory block on Clar," said Jayce

"You signed my mind," said Clar.

"Yes and yes," said Magna. "Come to my bedroom and we can talk privately."

"Why?" he asked "Why did you sign my mind?"

"I was proud of the work I had done on you," she said. "So perfect. You would forget what you saw as you saw it. It was how she wanted it to be."

"Who?," he asked. "How who wanted it?"

"Your mother."

He flinched, Jayce and Alec looked at him with sympathetic looks.

"But why? Why would she want that?"

"I don't know, I just do what I get paid to do," she said.

"Was it only one time?" he asked

"Darling, I don't think you understand. When I first saw you for the first time, you were probably two years old. Your mother came to me and told me who she was and asked if I could block that part of your mind. I told her it may leave you damaged, but that there was another way. I could make you forget what you and you would never know, but that she would have to come back every two years to have it recast, because the spell would start fade," she told Clar.

"And she did?"

"I have seen you every two years since that day. You were the first Shadowhunter I watched grow up."

"Can you take the spell off?" he asked

"I can't."

"What?" Jayce sounded angered. "Why? The Clave requires you to do—"

"I do not like being told what to do, little Shadowhunter," said coldly.

Clar knew how much Jayce seemed to hate being called "little"

"You can't reverse it?" spoke Alec before Jayce could give a reply.

"Taking a spell off is much more complicated than putting one on," said Magna. "Besides, it's alright fading."

"I just want to be who I really am," said Clar. "I mean who I really am supposed to be."

Magna sighed and walked over to one of the book cases in her bedroom and pulled a book off the shelf. "This is called the Gray Book," she said, she opened it to a page and layed it on Clar's lap. "This rune will help you remember a little and see through glamour better. It contains every Rune the Angel gifted the Nephilim."

"But the book isn't gray. Why is it called the grey book?" he asked

"Really?" said Jayce sarcastically. He shot her a glare.

"It's just what it's called," said Alec, more symptomatically than anyone else.

Clar looked at the page, he saw, Remember. Sorrow. Thought. Strength. Protection. Grace.

Magna grabbed the book and said "That's enough for now. If you read too many at the same time you make your head ache."

"Usually, Nephilim children grow up learning one at a time," said Jayce. "I don't even know them all yet."

"Can you imagine that," said Magna.

"I still don't remember where the Mortal Cup is or anything about it," said Clar.

"Seriously!," shouted Magna. "This is what it's all about, the Cup? Look I've been inside your head, there's nothing about the Mortal Instruments in it."

"The Mortal Instruments? But—" he started

"The Angel gifted the first Nephilim. A Cup, a Sword and a Mirror. The Sword is with the Silent Brothers. The Cup and the Mirror were in Idris," said Magna.

"No one knows where or what the mirror is, nobody has known for a long time," said Alec.

"It's the Cup we want," said Jayce."Valentine is looking for it."

Magna looked tired. "And you want to find it first," she said. "Only fools would get between that man and what he wants."

"You don't seem surprised or shocked that Valentine is back," said Alec.

"Are you?" she said.

"So, you aren't going to help us find it?" asked Alec.

"Darling, I wouldn't even if I could," said Magna.

"But if we don't have the Cup—" started Alec

"You can't make more Shadowhunters? Not everyone finds that so tragic," she cut in. "Now that we're done here, I am getting back to my party before people eat or kill each other."

She led them out of the her room, and then came Isidore running up shouting hysterically. "Simone's a rat!" he yelled

"What?!" said Alec. "What did she do?"

"No, nothing. she's a rat."

"Your not making sense, Isidore," said Clar.

He took a deep breath. "We were hanging by the bar and there were drinks, she drank one and it turned her into a rat!" said Isidore.

"What!?"

Clar ran off to the bar, he got on his knees and looked under it.

"Simone?" he said. "It's Clar, it's ok."

Simone ran out from under the bar and into Clar's arms.

Jayce was chuckling beside Clar.

"Are you ok?" he asked as he held her.

Simone just looked with her rat eyes at Clar, how were you supposed to tell what rat eyes meant? It was Simone though so she would be ok.

Magna walked up and whistled. "Well I see perhaps someone was tricked into drinking something that was not meant for them," she said.

"Can you turn her back?" asked Clar

"There's no point, she'll turn back to normal in a few hours. And besides you couldn't afford me and I won't do it for free," said Magna.

Jayce chuckled again, he shot her a glare. Isidore didn't seem to care, Alec walked up to him and said put him in your backpack.

"Alright!," called Magna. "This has been enough partying for me, and to be quite frank you all are terrible and have ruined it. So off you go and byebye now."

Everyone started making there way out, a vampire bumped into Clar and he said "Excuse me, handsome."

"Alright Nephilim, time to go," said Magna. "Oh! But you blue eyes, you call me." she winked at Alec. Her ivory cheeks turned red, she seemed to have lost the ability to speak and move.

"Come on!" said Jayce, as she pushed Alec out the door, Isidore right behind her. she was laughing again always laughing.

Clar was almost out the door when Magna said to him. "Clar, one more thing. Remember that when your mother fled it wasn't the Downworlders or demons she was fleeing from. it was the Shadowhunters."

Clar nodded and ran out the door.

Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @magnus-the-maqnificent @megs-readstoomuch @replayfootsteps @simply-ellas-stuff @bookfast-at-tiffanys @jazzkaurtheglorious

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cassandraclare · 5 years

Photo

A spooky Lucie flash fiction story for October! Early Halloween. ;)

LONDON, 1897

“There are many kinds of ghosts,” Jessamine said, “but they tend to fall into three categories. You have mostly known ghosts like me, who are kind and beautiful and have wonderful personalities.”

Lucie almost snorted, but luckily Jessamine didn’t seem to notice. They were in the courtyard of the Institute, where Lucie was playing, and avoiding her family. Woolsey Scott was coming over for tea, and they were busy straightening up and putting away the silver — like all werewolves, he was allergic. Lucie didn’t mind Woolsey Scott, except that like most of the adults who visited the Institute he was tremendously boring, and also when he looked at her she felt that he was judging her for her untidiness and her ink-stained fingers. She had snuck off to play in the garden, and when nobody had come to fetch her, she decided she was safe.

Perhaps they assumed the coming rain would drive her back inside. The sky was thick with leaden clouds, and while the rain held off for now, the air contained that particular scent that meant it was inevitable.

She had made up a game to go with a story she had been composing recently. It was about a well-brought up young girl who was forced to become a pirate queen to save her kidnapped parents, and discovered she had quite a knack for it. She ran around the garden, weaving between bushes, imagining the she was a pirate queen whose sailors had whipped up a mutiny. The key was to look deeply distressed, extremely tragic, then spin around fast, stabbing out with the stick she was using as a sword.

She had stopped to decide whether the pirate queen should sport a silver mask or a black one when Jessamine, the Institute’s resident ghost, came floating down from an upper window like a torn page falling in a breeze....

Lucie had known Jessamine her whole life, and understood that Jessamine had been friends with her parents when she was alive, though none of them had ever told her the full story. Lucie thought of Jessamine mostly as part of the furniture, a drifting presence that seemed content to wander through the halls of the Institute and occasionally criticize the place’s new modern décor and Lucie’s father’s choice of clothes.

“Hullo, Jessamine,” Lucie said now. She was disappointed; she had been enjoying her game. She hoped she would remember all the details of the pirate queen and the mutiny so she could write them down when she was back inside.

“Lucie,” Jessamine said, “I think it is time to speak with you about ghosts.”

“Now?” said Lucie in dismay.

Jessamine looked up at the sky. “It is the right weather for ghosts,” she said. “Now, listen.

“Some ghosts stay among the living because unfinished business holds them here. Some stay to protect those they love. And some stay because of hatred, malice, bitterness.” She ruffled Lucie’s hair; it felt like being brushed by a breeze. “You must learn to ignore that kind of ghost. Turn away from them. They feed off your fear. Without your fear they can do nothing to you.”

“I’ll remember,” Lucie murmured.

Jessamine cocked her head at Lucie. “Mind that you do,” she said, and vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Lucie assumed that Jessamine had become a ghost in order to protect those she loved, but she was very strange regardless. A little more doubtful, she returned to her game. In the distance was a noise that might have been thunder or might have just been the bustle of London.

Her game took her out of the Institute’s courtyard and down the road a bit. The street was almost empty, but at one point Lucie whirled around to confront the boatswain who had pretended loyalty to her, while actually working for the mutinous first mate, and almost stabbed an actual person. She gasped, and took a step back. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were there.”

The woman who stood before her wore a dark gray Victorian dress that gave her the look of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. In her gloved hand was a battered black valise. Her face was thin and pale and peaked, her hair straggling.

Lucie waited awkwardly, uncertain what to say. She should have remained on the Institute’s grounds, where glamour would have ensured no unexpected encounters with mundane humans. The woman considered her, and Lucie wondered if perhaps she wasn’t a mundane after all. But she had no runes, so she wasn’t a Shadowhunter. Could she be a Downworlder? She showed no outward signs of being a faerie or warlock or werewolf, and though she was pale, she was out in daylight, so she couldn’t be a vampire.

“I must ask something of you, little girl.” The woman’s voice was rough, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Are your parents looking for a governess? I am an excellent governess.”

She held out a paper—her credentials, perhaps, but Lucie’s attention was arrested by the woman’s hand.

It was no longer gloved. Now it was skeletal, the bone white as snow. Dark red blood was dripping from the ends of her fingers, soaking into the paper.

Lucie took a step back, breath catching in her throat. “You’re a ghost,” she said, almost without meaning to. But a ghost had never walked up to her on the street like this, certainly not one with skeletal hands. She looked back up at the ghost’s face. It was gaunt, slightly distorted, and it frightened her. “You can’t trick me,” Lucie said, trying to sound brave. “I can see you for what you are.”

“What a clever little girl,” The ghost’s raspy voice took on an unpleasant tone. “I don’t like clever little girls. I used to look after six of them. They played tricks on me and taunted me. One night I went up to their room and stabbed them, one at a time, all through their clever little hearts.”

Lucie’s blood ran cold. The ghost reached out, as if it were going to touch Lucie’s own heart, and she turned and ran full tilt in the direction of her home. She remembered what Jessamine had said, but how could she not be afraid? She could feel the presence of the ghost behind her, a prickling at the back of her neck. Lucie had just reached the gate when she stumbled over a loose stone and fell, scraping her knee on the path.

The ghost glided forward, reaching as though to help her up. “You could be my new pupil….”

Lucie scrambled away. “Stop! Get back!”

To her surprise, the ghost sprang away, looking startled. Perhaps little girls didn’t ordinarily yell at it. Lucie was about to scream for help, but help had already arrived.

Jessamine descended from the sky and stood between Lucie and the woman. But this was Jessamine as Lucie had never seen her: an avenging angel, looming above both Lucie and the ghost-woman, icy fury on her face. Lucie gasped in shock as Jessamine raised her hands, as if she were about to perform some terrifying incantation.

“No,” the ghost-woman moaned, her mouth yawning open horribly, showing a cavern of blackness. “I did not know this one was guarded. I did not know….”

“You will flee from here,” Jessamine commanded, and even her voice was different, deep and wild, like the crashing of waves. “You will leave this place, foul spirit!”

The ghost cowered for a moment, then vanished into nothingness.

Lucie lay on the garden path, staring up at Jessamine, who had shrunk down to her usual size. “Stop gaping, Lucie, it’ll give you wrinkles. Come on, up with you.” She had returned to her normal mien, pretty and dignified and distant.

“Thank you,” said Lucie faintly.

“Mind how you go,” Jessamine said sternly. “And heed what I’ve told you. There is more than one kind of ghost.” And she drifted up again and vanished.

The lesson stayed with Lucie for a long time. She never blamed Jessamine for not knowing there was a fourth kind of spirit. Even if Jessamine had known, she could not have prepared Lucie for the fact that meeting him would change her life forever.

#cog2 #chain of gold #cassandra jean #cassandra clare #the last hours #tlh #lucie herondale #Jessamine Lovelace

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mortalfaerie · 3 years

Text

To Fake an Engagement (M.F.)

4/?

mathew fairchild x (fem) reader

word count: 2k

synopsis: things have gone smoothly for reader and mathew in the months since the christmas party, but as feelings grow more serious, mathew decides he needs to tell you something, a deep, horrible secret. coi canon divergent, no spoilers. discussion of mathew's "greatest sin" from GotSM

Two months passed as through in a dream. Mathew and you were inseparable, and you had explained to your friends after some pestering that you were secretly courting but not yet engaged, and had not taken the matter to your parents yet. Though a little exasperated and wondering why you were waiting, when surely your parents would support the decision, they kept your secret.

You went on respectable outings and took walks in the park, Matthew being “all gentlemanly propriety” as he had once said, though more than once you had stolen away to kiss feverishly in private, in alcoves and behind bushes. And who could blame you? You were teenagers in love. Only, despite making his intentions to marry you one day clear, he hadn’t said those words yet: I love you.

You didn’t want to force him to it. You knew he would tell you in his own time, but you wished he would, to affirm your hopes.

You had been surprised when a week after the Christmas party, it came to light that Matthew had bought a flat of his own. It had been shocking at first, since though you knew his family was very wealthy, he never gave off an air of superiority you had expected from someone of his status. He had given you and all your friends a tour, when he had moved in after a spat with his family. You were happy to see him happy, but you would like to see him reconciled with his parents. You were fond of Charlotte and Henry Fairchild, and them you, for forcing Matthew out of his foul moods.

It was a Wednesday in February, and the sun seemed to have come out for the first time in weeks. You were responding to a letter from your cousin when you looked out your window and saw Mathew approaching your house. Startled, you jumped up and smoothed your dress, arranging your hair in the mirror, just as your mother called that “your friend, Matthew” had come to ask you to walk in the park. You gathered your coat and boots, and came down the stairs to join him, smiling as you took his arm.

“What brings you around unannounced?” you asked, as you proceeded down the street toward the park at the center of your neighborhood.

He looked at you sideways and smiled crookedly. “Can a man not engage the attention of the woman he’s courting?”

You laughed and nudged him, answering, “Of course I am glad to see you, but what is the occasion?”

“There are matters I would like to discuss with you.” he replied.

“Oh, dear.” you remarked, and shook your head.

He smiled. “Don’t look so grave. I haven’t come to break this off.”

“Well I should certainly hope not, because I’m sure Lucie and Cordelia would be after your head on a platter if you did.” You replied. It was true that the two of them had leveled not-so-joking threats at Matthew should he break your heart after telling their group you had an understanding. Matthew, recalling this, winced beside you.

You were approaching the park now. The snow had mostly melted by now, and the unusually sunny weather had allowed for the ground to dry. As such, Matthew gestured for you to sit on the grass, and then joined you, taking in the sun on the pond water.

“So, my brooding love, what is it you must discuss with me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave you a nod, looking pale. Your heart picked up, wondering what was so severe that he was visibly distressed by it. As support, you offered your hand, and he took it, lacing your fingers together.

“I must tell you something, Y/N. It will not reflect well on my character, and it may impact your desire to continue in this arrangement we have, which is why I must tell you now.” he began, and looked to you to gage your reaction. You were looking at him in alarmed confusion but nodded for him to continue.

“You recall that Alistair Carstairs was a menace to us at the Academy?” he said, his voice snagging with venom on his enemy’s name.

“Yes, I remember you telling me. He was a bully and he spread rumors-” you began, and he finished, “About my parentage. Yes.”

He took a deep breath and said more levelly, “Even after I left the Academy, his word stuck with me. I couldn’t put the notion that Gideon Lightwood was my father out of my head, since neither of my parents have my hair, but Charles has our father’s red hair. Well, I had been at the Shadow Market, and despite the advice of a good man, I bought a tincture from a faerie meant to compel the truth from a person.” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes, collecting himself. You squeezed his hand to let him know he could take as much time as he needed to, and that you were here for him.

Finally, he cleared his throat and continued, “I slipped the tincture into a batch of scones for my mother. I meant to ask her, after she ate one, if Gideon was my father, but- faeries lie. I should have known that. It wasn’t a truth tonic, Y/N. And I didn’t know my mother was with child.”

“Oh, Matthew.” you whispered, so full of sorrow for him and this cross he had been carrying.

“My mother became ill. She recovered, but… the child was lost. I killed it, her. It was a girl. And the most wretched part is they would have named her Matthilda, for my great aunt. My great aunt, who had my hair. There was never any truth to the rumor at all.” He choked on a sob, and it was clear that even now, he was tormented by the mistake.

Your heart broke, and you pulled him to you, letting him drop his head into your lap as his tears wet your skirt. You consoled him, feeling some tears well up in your own eyes to see him in pain, and told him again and again, “It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known.”

“I am a murderer, Y/N. I killed my unborn sister.” he said with such awful resignation.

“You are not a murderer, Matthew, you had no reason to know it would harm her, or that she was with child, you couldn’t have intended harm.” you argued.

“But it happened because I believed a stupid rumor over my own parents. And because of it, someone died while I got to live.” you leaned down and wrapped your arms around him as his body shook, and assured him,

“You are a good man, Matthew Fairchild. I know this, and this knowledge doesn’t change that. It was a terrible, awful mistake, but it was a mistake.”

“How,” he hiccuped, “can you love me, knowing now what I’ve done?”

You pulled him up so he faced you. “I can love you because I have loved you with every foolish thing you have done until now. I came to love you because of who you are, and I will love you still, knowing this. You are still the boy I fell in love with when I moved to London, and you are the man I love now.”

Tears streaked his face as he responded, “You are the most kind person I have ever known. Your capacity to love and forgive astounds me every day, and I am so, so lucky to know you, Y/N.”

With a deep breath, he added, “And I love you, with every fiber of my being.”

In spite of yourself, you felt a grin spread across your face. “You love me?” you asked, almost disbelieving.

“Yes.” he said, as serious as you had ever seen him. “I love you. I love, I love, I love you.”

You wiped the wetness from his cheeks with your fingers and cupped his face. “I love you, too, Matthew. I love you so much.” and you leaned in to kiss him, slowly, and meaningfully.

When you parted, he said, “Then there’s something I need to ask you.”

Your heart thudded with abandon in your chest. Was this what you thought it was? It wasn’t even close to the end of your bargain! You schooled your voice to be calm and responded, “Yes?”

“Will you marry me, Y/N Y/L/N?” he said, quiet enough that only you two could hear.

Tears spilled over now, as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Yes, of course I will marry you. By the Angel, yes!”

He pulled you into a strong, crushing hug. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Y/N." he repeated, holding you close. He pulled away, looking you in the eyes to say, “I have worked on my drinking, I don’t know if you’ve noticed. I don’t carry a flask anymore, and I have a flat. I can support you.”

You laughed. “Matthew, I would marry you if you had nothing.”

He playfully raised an eyebrow and asked, “But you are glad that I don’t?”

You both laughed as you responded, “Of course.” You gasped, and then fumbled for your pocket, producing the Fairchild ring from it. You put it in his hand and removed your own glove, offering him your hand. “Put the ring on, in earnest this time.”

He grinned like an idiot as he slid his family ring, which had been in your keeping for months, onto your own hand again. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “My bride to be.” he murmured, just as he had that night in the Devil’s Tavern all those months ago.

Your heart swelled for love of him. You loved him, for better or for worse, his foulness and his sweetness, all of him.

“Y/N Fairchild.” you said, trying out the name.

He smiled. “I shall have it engraved on every surface in our home. So, a spring wedding, or autumn?”

“Hmm.” you considered. “Autumn, I think. We have no need to rush.”

He gave you a mischievous look. “Only that I wish to have you in my own home, through the night, as soon as I can.”

You blushed despite yourself. “Oh, very well. Perhaps a May wedding…” you trailed off, and leaned in to kiss him, this time full of promise of things to come.

Your parents had been surprised, but supportive. After all, what shadowhunter parents wouldn’t support their daughter marrying into the Consul’s family? An engagement party had been held the following week at Matthew’s new flat, and at your request, his parents were invited. He wasn’t overly excited to speak to them, but he understood how much having his family involved in the wedding meant to you, and he obliged.

You were standing in the foyer beside him, dressed in your best party gown, when Henry and Charlotte arrived. When they entered, at first no one spoke, and then Charlotte smiled warmly and took your hand. “Y/N, dear. I could not have wished for a better woman to love my son.”

You felt Matthew relax some beside you, and he smiled cordially to his parents. “Thank you, mum. I am very lucky to have her.”

Henry had grinned and shook your hand, welcoming you to the family. After they proceeded into the large parlor, Matthew wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you.” he murmured.

“For what?” you asked, confused.

“For this. I think you’ve made me a better person in their eyes. You changed me.” he said, resting his chin on your head.

“No, you changed yourself, Matthew. That was you.” you countered.

He gave a chuckle and held you tighter. “Well, you gave me a good reason to change.”

You happily snuggled into his chest, lingering in the foyer a little longer before going into the party.

#matthew fairchild #matthew fairchild x reader #the mortal instruments #the infernal devices #the last hours #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles

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thechangeling · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found:

Happy birthday Alex! @catadorass I hope this is everything you wanted, or at least sort of what you wanted lol. I wrote this from Ty's pov because it's really importance to showcase his side of the story.

Nothing about us without us Cassie.

"Hey can we talk" Ty heard Kit ask from behind him.

It was late. Very late, most likely past 12 by this point and they had all just finished doing another late night round of frustrating and pointless research. They being, Ty, Kit, Dru, Jaime, Janessa a wayward Vampire who traveled all over with her band, but was originally from LA, Thais a Brazilian Shadowhunter who was dating Janessa, and Ash, the son of Sebastian Morgenstern and The Seelie Queen who had betrayed Janus, who had tasked Ash with infiltrating the Los Angeles institute and killing Kit. However, Ash and Kit had ended up bonding immensely. This had caused Ash to essentially switch sides and work towards protecting Kit from Janus trying to kill him. There was also The Seelie Queen trying to abduct him in order to obtain control of his powers, and generally anyone else who wanted to get their hands on the first heir.

At first Ty was a little worried that Ash was in love with Kit, but the pair seemed to be very platonic, just heavily invested in one another like Kit and Janessa. And of course Ty had no business being jealous either way. He and Kit had both been engaged in various- well relationships wasn't the right word, but various flings of sorts over the past few months, but he still couldn't help but think of Kit as his.

Which didn't make any sense because Kit had left.

What made even less sense was that Ty still loved him.

Ty braced himself and then turned to face Kit. It was clear how exhausted he was from the events of the past few weeks. They were up against The Seelie Queen, Janus, The Cohort, also several supernatural disturbances that didn't make a lot of sense. Anush, his friend at the scholomance was researching the problem there. It was quite possible that it had to do with Livvy's presence.

Ty really didn't want to think about that.

He also really missed Alyssa, a new friend of his that he had met while she was studying at the scholomance. But she had left to rejoin her werewolf pack in New York. They had bonded over both being autistic, and in moments where Ty was anxious or overwhelmed he wished he could summon her to his side.

Moments like this one.

Livvy was hovering nearby, giving him a look over Kit's shoulder. Ty ignored it.

Ty nodded at Kit without fully meeting his eyes. "Fine. We can talk. Liv can you leave us alone for a moment?" He asked. Livvy scowled slightly, but did as she was told. Looking back at Kit he couldn't help but still be slightly comforted by his presence. And even though Kit was visibly worn out and stressed, he was still the most beautiful thing Ty had ever seen.

Ty did his best to remain as cold as possible. "What do you want Kit?" He asked harshly. Kit flinched slightly in response, and Ty was caught in between feeling victorious and feeling like he had just been stabbed. Kit shook his head slightly.

"Come on Ty aren't you sick of this? Don't you miss me? The way things used to be?" Kit inquired angrily. "I'm sorry I left. But I forgave you. Isn't it time you forgave me?"

Ty honestly had no words. He just continued to glare at Kit. Did Kit honestly not have a single idea what Ty was feeling?

But wasn't it obvious? How hurt he was? How utterly broken he was?

Ty took a long deep breath to keep himself calm. His fingers were aggressively flicking at his sides. Kit took his silence as a sign to keep talking.

"Look. I talked to Dru."

Seriously. Now we're involving my sister in this? As if Livvy wasn't already bad enough?

"She sort of helped me realize some things, you know" Kit continued. "She pointed out to me that I should ask you how you feel, instead of just assuming that I already know." Kit was nervously shifting back and forth on the spot.

"Wow" Ty muttered sarcastically under his breath. He looked Kit dead in the eye and spoke. "What a revolutionary concept. That I should be allowed to speak for myself for once, and not have you, Drusilla or anyone else do it for me."

Kit sighed, his eyes softening. It was in that moment that Ty was close to forgiving him.

He desperately wanted to be able to run to Kit and throw his arms around him. To hold him, and kiss him and tell him how much Ty had missed him and that he was so brave and beautiful and sweet, and that Ty belonged to him.

But Ty couldn't cave now. Not until he made Kit understand.

"I'm sorry ok?" Kit pleaded. "I get why you're pissed but-"

Ty couldn't help it. He laughed. Even though nothing about this situation was in any way humorous. "No Kit." He shook his head. "You really don't."

Kit looked a little angry at that. Fine. Ty thought. If you hurt me then I'll just hurt you back.

"Fine." Kit breathed, his voice sounding surprisingly gentle. "Then tell me."

Ty was instantly brought back to the roof of the London institute. Tell me. Tell me what you need. He willed himself not to cry.

Ty took a deep breath, glaring at Kit. "Alright. Here's the thing. I am angry. I'm so angry that I can hardly breathe and no one notices." Ty snapped.

Kit opened his mouth to interject but Ty shook his head, eyes blazing with fury and tears. "No!" He shouted. "You said your piece already. Now let me say mine."

Kit stayed silent.

"I am quite literally always dealing with everything coming at me all at once, and Kit I know this is a very horrible situation for you, but I am just as stressed as you are, because despite what you might believe, I don't want you to fucking die!" Ty screamed.

Kit looked absolutely horrified. Ty was pretty sure he had never heard him swear before.

"I'm dealing with new people, new dangers, and I might lose Livvy again. I have all of this stress, all of this sensory information bombarding me 24/7. We barely sleep! We're all constantly together when we're awake! There's no time for me to stim, no time to breathe because we are all working to rescue you from your own fate!" He shouted. "And I'll do it too! Because of course I will! "It doesn't matter if I'm angry, or stressed, or tired, or scared! It doesn't matter that you broke my heart when you left me because for some unknown reason, you thought I could handle it!" Ty cried.

Kit was shaking his head. But he didn't look angry, just devastated. "Ty" he whispered, but Ty cut him off.

"Everybody always seems to think I'm either unbreakable or far too fragile and I need to be coddled and I'm sick of it. "I'm furious with you for promising that you wouldn't leave, and then telling me that you wished you had never met me when I thought I was never going to get Livvy back" Ty sobbed.

Kit gasped. Ty noticed that his eyes were filled with tears. Kit shook his head aggressively. "Sweetheart no" he breathed. "I didn't mean that. I swear."

Ty heard himself make an unrecognizable sound. His fingers were now aggressively fluttering at his sides. He clenched them into fists to stop them from moving. Kit began to step forward then stopped himself.

"Sweetheart" Ty whispered under his breath in awe. Alyssa had once told him that what he was doing now was called sub-vocalizing. He could hear her voice in his head. When our brains get stuck on a word or a phrase because it was so shocking or we can't stop thinking about it, or it brought out a huge emotional reaction in us, then we mouth it or we say it out loud over and over again.

"Sweetheart" he mouthed, warmth overflowing his body.

"I'm- I'm sorry" Kit stammered. "I didn't mean to upset you." Ty recovered himself quickly, shaking his head.

"No it's fine" he said firmly. "You just surprised me." Kit looked down at the ground. He looked embarrassed, defeated. He looked exactly the way he looked on the beach three years ago.

No. No don't go there. He doesn't really love you.

Ty continued on. "And at least I got Livvy back in a sense, but you still left me and I didn't survive that." There were fresh tears running down his face. Exhaustion was definitely catching up with him. Ty partly just wanted to let it go and go to sleep, but he needed Kit to understand.

"You cannot under any circumstances ever tell an autistic person that you're never leaving and then go back on your word Kit!" Ty exclaimed. "This is why we all have trust issues! Because we're naive, so we let our guards down because we just want someone to choose us. Not out of pity but out of genuine love. And it wasn't like this had never happened to me before but you were supposed to be different." Ty said defeated. He looked over at Kit and waited for Kit's eyes to meet his.

Ty had always hated eye contact. Mostly because it physically hurt and made him feel really awkward, but also because it felt too open. Too vunrable. As though someone could see into his soul and know all of his secrets just by looking.

Well he had never felt that way with Kit. Or maybe he just had never cared about letting Kit really see him. All of him. And they didn't have any secrets from each other. At least not anymore. Kit looked back at him and Ty could see it all. Hurt, exhaustion, longing, and love.

Love? Ty shook his head, physically willing himself not to be sucked in.

But there was no point.

"And that's why I fell in love with you" Ty admitted.

Kit's eyes widened almost comically. He inhaled sharply staring at Ty with an expression Ty was having trouble placing. Up until tonight, Ty hadn't actually looked at Kit. He had been avoiding it for some time now. Most likely because he was afraid of what he might see. Would he recognize the person that Kit had become?

But all Ty could see now was what he had actually been avoiding from Kit all those years ago. It was that look of complete awe and adoration. Like Ty had all of the answers to the secrets of the universe.

And Ty really really really didn't.

It was painful, because as much as he was angry with Kit, he also didn't want to hurt him or let him down again.

Ty fought to keep his voice steady as he spoke. "The worst part is, in the end I know i'll probably forgive you eventually. I will do what I always do. Take the high road. Be the bigger person and let it go because I have to. Because I'm never allowed to be angry Kit, and I'm not allowed to hold grudges because everyone is always convinced that I'm overreacting." Ty said bitterly.

"So it doesn't matter that you hurt me. It doesn't matter how many nights I spent crying myself to sleep at the scholomance or how many bad decisions I made during some futile attempt to feel something other then pain, and it doesn't matter that you might hurt me again" Ty lamented. He was fully aware that he was crying, but that didn't matter anymore.

Kit was staring at him dumbfounded like Ty was speaking another language, but the pain in his eyes was clear.

Ty shrugged slightly. "I'll still love you Kit, no matter what, because that's just how I am."

Kit took a deep breath, wiping away at his tears. "Ty- I'm so sorry. I- I didn't know" he stammered. Kit slowly began to approach Ty, carefully as if he were a wounded animal. "I'm sorry I didn't think about it like that. When I told you I loved you and you didn't say anything back, I just assumed you didn't want me, that you didn't care." He was standing directly in front of Ty now, and Ty couldn't help but stare into his eyes.

Suddenly, Ty was overwhelmed with the powerful urge to touch him. To reach out and comfort him. For Ty it was almost as instinctive as breathing. Instead he just shook his head.

"That's not true, it never was" Ty said adamently. "I was torn apart. Everything with Livvy was just too overwhelming and I just couldn't lose her Kit!" He protested forcefully. "But I always cared about you. I honestly just thought you knew."

Kit paused for a moment, then slowly reached for Ty's hand. Ty didn't fight him, only watched as Kit traced the lines on his hand. After a pause, Kit looked back up at him. " You're right. I shouldn't have assumed. I should have just asked you how you felt" Kit admitted. "I'm so sorry Ty." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry for leaving, for making you feel like I didn't care." Kit lifted his other hand, the one that wasn't holding onto Ty, and placed his palm softly on the side of Ty's cheek. He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

Ty fought the urge to close his eyes and lean into it.

Kit continued. "Honestly the truth is Ty, I fucking adore you. I love you so much." Ty heard himself inhale sharply. Kit was so close now, only centameters apart. It wouldn't take much just to lean over and kiss him.

Wait.

No. Not yet.

We're not done.

Ty scoffed slightly. "Yeah you say that Kit, but at the end of the day those are just words. Pretty, empty words." Ty almost regreted it as soon as he saw the look on Kit's face. Up close he could see the heartbreak in his eyes. Ty could also see the dark circles under his eyes which were a little red. He could see the dried tears smeared across Kit's cheeks.

Ty couldn't help but look at the broken boy in front of him and hate himself a little for the damage he had clearly caused.

Look at what you did to him, a cruel voice inside him whispered.

This is what you do. You hurt people, break their hearts and make them regret ever knowing you. This is all that you are. Selfish, cold and cruel.

Ty shook it off. It wasn't true. He loved Kit, just as he loved his family and his friends. It didn't matter that there were some people who refused to see that, refused to see that just because he felt differently, didn't mean that he was unable to feel. Some days, the sheer strength of what he felt for Kit threatened to break him in half it was so powerful. It was almost too much to bare. So Ty squashed it down and pushed it to the side, molded it so that it was more manageable and less scary.

Kit let out a soft breath of air and closed his eyes, he let go off Ty and dropped his head forward so that it was resting against Ty's shoulder. Kit was slightly shorter then Ty which Ty had always found amusing. Kit, less so, but secretly one of the things Ty had always loved about their height difference was that he could tuck Kit into the nape of his neck. Ty loved the feeling of Kit's curls against his skin.

"This isn't empty Ty" he murmured, nuzzling the side of Ty's neck. "This is everything."

Kit's voice was so quiet that Ty almost didn't hear him.

Kit pulled back slightly and tilted his head up to look at Ty. They were so close that their noses were slightly touching. Kit was staring up at him through half-lidded eyes. His hands were trailing up Ty's arms, pulling slightly at the fabric of his sleeves. His lips were parted slightly, staring up at Ty with so much love in his eyes.

"Beautiful" Ty whispered under his breath.

Kit looked utterly beautiful, and before Kit had the chance to answer him Ty was pressing his mouth to Kit's in a deep passionate kiss. The moment their lips touched, Ty almost let out a sigh of relief, sliding his hands up to Kit's face to cup his cheeks. Kit made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Ty could feel Kit's hands all over him, rubbing across his back and then finally settling on Ty's waist. Ty pulled back slightly, noticing that Kit was straining himself to reach Ty's height, pulling himself up on his tip toes.

Ty couldn't help but laugh. "You really are quite short aren't you?" He teased. Kit looked like he was about to cry so Ty kissed him again, attempting to pour all of the love he had for Kit into the kiss. He slowly moved his hands down Kit's body, then bent down slightly to lift him up. Kit wrapped his legs around Ty's waist and threw his arms around Ty's shoulders kissing him sensually. Ty clung to Kit even tighter, afraid of what would happen if they let each other go.

He remembered way back when he and Kit had first been getting to know each other and Kit had told him that he was pretty sure Ty was autistic. He had given him a bunch of articles and official clinical descriptions and terms that made Ty feel distant and afraid. But then he had recommended Ty check out posts on social media sites made by autistic people and Ty had been completely swept into it. There was an entire tag on tumblr dedicated to autism, and Ty had spent hours scrolling through the posts feeling overwhelmed in the best way possible by a sense of community and belonging.

He had come across this one blog dedicated purely to autistic love and lust and how it manifests differently. Ty remembered reading one quote in particular that had made him feel hot and shivery all over, and painfully aware of Kit's presence next to him. It had stayed with him all this time.

I want to ink myself underneath your skin.

Ty gently put him down for a moment and leaned his forehead against Kit's. They were both breathing heavily.

"I missed you" Ty whispered. Kit smiled at him beautifully.

"I missed you too sweetheart."

Edit: This is old but I'm tagging @ti-bae-rius in this because I honestly just want your opinion lol.

#kit x ty #tda #twp #tsc #kaitlin'swriting

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lovemalecforever · 3 years

Text

Chapter 8

A Dose of Malec

Alec was standing outside the door, shuffling and taking deep breaths now and then. 'I hope he's not mad.' He thought, then, after a final deep breath, he slid in the key and walked inside.

He was about to call for his husband when he noticed his silhouette curled up on the couch and sleeping peacefully. A warm smile appeared on his lips as he started walking towards it but almost stumbled when he stepped over something. He picked it up only to find it was a large empty bottle of red wine.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he kept it on the nearby table then walked towards the couch only to be hit by a strong scent of alcohol. Glancing at the coffee table he saw two more empty bottles and an almost empty wine glass. Tears formed in the back of his eyes and his heart tightened. Leaning down, he shook his husband gently. "Magnus, love..."

Magnus stirred, slowly fluttered his eyes open, his vision blurry as he placed his hand on the head. His head was throbbing and something was poking around his waist. Still half asleep, he reached for it and pulled out an empty wine bottle, and sighed.

Anger was building inside Alec, but when he noticed another bottle, he lost it completely. "You drank four large bottles of wine!? Seriously Magnus!?"

Magnus jumped when he heard the yell, not aware that his husband was right beside him. "Al... Alexander!?" his voice was hoarse as he rubbed his temple. "When... when did... you came? Ugh... My head!"

When the shadowhunter didn't answer, he blinked rapidly to clear his vision then looked up, only to meet the tear-filled angry eyes. His face was stern and the stance was a clear indication that he was trying his best not to yell. Gulping, he lowered his eyes and only then did he notice the empty bottles and the strong alcohol scent in the surrounding area. he made the motion to wave his finger so that he could clean the mess, but Alec held his hand, making him slowly look up.

"Don't you dare clean the mess with your magic!" Alec spoke, trying his best not to shout, but his angry tone was enough to convey how hurt and mad he was.

Magnus gulped and lowered his hand, shifting uncomfortably in his place. He did not like the look on his husband's face, its rare to see that man in anger and god bless the ones who become the victim of it, and right now, it looked like he was going to be that victim. Clearing his throat, he slowly lifted his eyes but noticed angry tears sitting on his reddening cheek. 'shit, no! It's not good!' he thought.

"Alexander, I... I was --" he stopped when Alec raised his hand in the air, eyes trailing over the empty bottles and guilt built inside his heart. "A... Ale-"

"DON'T!"

"Alexander, look I-"

"Don't Magnus! I'm in no condition to hear anything right now, just take your pillow and blanket from the bedroom, you're sleeping on the couch. Goodnight." with that he left for the bedroom and slammed the door shut making him jump.

He waved his wrist and his pillow and blanket appeared beside him then stood up, cleaned the table and threw all the bottles in the bin then walked back and made himself comfortable on the couch. A few teardrops fell on his nose tip as he missed the warmth of his husband. He wanted to go in the bedroom and cuddle with him, but he knew better, Alec was in no condition to talk or even listen. He knew he made a mistake, made him angry, and now he needs to find ways to make it up to him.

_______________________________

The golden rays of sun scattered into the living room through the vast windows, waking up the warlock who was curled on the couch. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to turn around thinking he was in his bed, which resulted in him falling off the couch.

"Agh.... Damn it!"

He stood up and sat on the couch, holding his head in his hand. Yes, his head was still hurting. Sighing, he picked everything then went into the bedroom and looked around for his husband. The low sound of a running shower gave him his answer. Keeping everything back in its place, he sat on the bed and started waiting.

After a few minutes, Alec walked out and went into the walk-in closet, clearly ignoring him because he saw a flash of anger when he walked out. When he came out, he was completely dressed and ready to leave, but Magnus held his hand. "A... Alexander?" Magnus spoke carefully but was met with silence. "Alexander, please... are... are you still mad at me?"

Alec's mind was playing the images of last night, the last time he had seen Magnus like that was when he had lost his magic, draining himself in alcohol and not talking about it. He doesn't want to remember the consequences led by that ever again, but there it was in front of his eyes all over again.

"Alexander..... please say something."

"What do you want me to say, Magnus!?" Alec jerked his hand then turned towards him. "Just... Why!?"

Magnus withdrew his hand and lowered his gaze. "A... I..."

Alec waited, scanning his features, his expressions then sighed heavily. "Leave it!"

Magnus's head snapped up, and he held his hand again. "No! Wait, please!"

"What!?"

"Alexander, I'm really sorry, look I took them out because... after our call I thought I'd set something up for our night. I was in the middle of it when I got a call from some clients, they said it was an emergency, so I left in hurry, but it turned out to be complete bullshit. I was pissed and exhausted, so I thought a few drinks wouldn't do any harm, I don't know how I ended up finishing... *gulp* 4 bottles. I'm sorry..."

Alec's eyes were wide as he kept staring at Magnus. "I can't believe this!" He shoved his hand harshly and clenched his fist.

"Alexa-"

"Stop it, Magnus! Just Stop it!" Magnus looked at him astounded, unable to say anything else.

"Magnus, If you don't want to say it or don't want to talk about it, just tell me, I'll understand, or at least I'll try to but don't lie to me on my face like this."

Tears fell on Magnus's cheek as he lowered his head and played with the wedding band. "I'm sorry, I really am. I just didn't want you to-"

"Didn't want me to what, Magnus!?" Alec yelled, "Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you with all those bottles lying around you, whatever the reason!? Do you, Magnus!?"

Magnus kept gazing at the floor, unable to say anything.

"It pains Magnus! It hurts me seeing you hurting yourself over something..." He trailed off and tears escaped from his eyes.

Magnus looked up at him, surprised by the confrontation. "You-"

"I'm not a blind Magnus. I know the nightmares are giving you a hard time, the memories of that day; it hurts me too. But I can see clearly what those nightmares are doing to you, just tell me how can I help, I can't see you like this. I love you so much to lose to like this!" He finally said it out loud but not completely, knowing that confronting everything will only backfire. He doesn't want to face the consequences of it.

Magnus looked at him for some time, taking in every word he said. 'Nightmares, right! That's what you know. If you'll know the truth, No, No! I won't let that happen.' He thought.

"Alexander, I'm really sorry. Please forgive me? To be honest, I didn't lie completely, I did take it out for dinner, but then I don't remember when I fell asleep and... " He trailed off. "I promise it won't happen again. Please forgive me?"

Alec looked at him sternly, scanning him from eye to eye, taking in his every word. He walked towards him and stopped when they were only inches apart. Magnus looked at him with worried eyes.

"Do you promise you won't hurt yourself again like that?"

"I promise, Alexander. Am I forgiven?"

Alec didn't answer, instead, he put his fingers under his chin and tilted his head upwards kissing him passionately, tasting his morning breath. Magnus relaxed into the kiss and grabbed Alec by his waist, making the kiss deeper. They broke after some time.

Magnus buried his face on his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Thank you." He murmured. Alec kissed him on top of his head. "Never do it again!" Magnus nodded, without breaking their hug. Alec was about to break their moment when Magnus pulled him in his arms tightly. "Stay!" Alec smiled and kissed him around his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

Magnus felt relaxed and loved around his Shadowhunters embrace. 'what was I thinking last night, why!? When I kept it aside; why was I thinking of breaking our marriage again, how can I doubt Alec like that? He won't do anything to hurt me, I know the answer to it, Camille, that stupid phone call, she deceived me and I let her, I doubted him because of her, but still how does she know about him coming home late! Dammit! What am I thinking, it's Camille!' He didn't realize that he was silently crying on his shoulders, drenching the shirt with his tears, which Alec noticed.

Alec started rubbing his back slowly, all the anger built in him vanishing completely. All he wanted was Magnus to be normal and happy again, whatever it takes. He felt him relaxing around his arms making him chuckle.

"Are you planning on falling asleep on my shoulders?" He waited for the reply with his world-famous sass, but he didn't.

"Magnus?"

He looked down and noticed that his eyes were closed, the silent sobbing was stopped and his breath was coming evenly, chest rising and falling like harmonious beats. He looked so peaceful.

"Magnus!? Love? Are you actually asleep? Or you're playing with me?"

He waited again hoping his warlock didn't fall asleep on his shoulders, but he didn't reply, confirming that he did, making him sigh.

"Really Mags?" He smiled to himself. He tried to gently move him but instead, the cute warlock stirred and grabbed him tightly, still asleep. Alec smiled and shook his head, still stroking his back gently.

"Magnus!? Love? Sorry to break your sleep but as much as I'm loving it myself, I have to leave for work!"

Magnus stirred a little but didn't wake up. Alec sighed yet again then carefully and gently broke their hug without breaking his sleep, then picked him bridal style and put him on the bed. He removed his slippers and put blankets on him then kissed him on his forehead, running his fingers through his soft hair gently.

'You're so cute like this, sleeping peacefully. Just a few more days Magnus, then everything will be alright. Today I'll finally know how I can become immortal, then we can be together, forever, Magnus!' He thought then kissed his forehead again. He picked a pen and paper from the drawer and wrote something on it, then kept it under the alarm clock. He looked at his sleeping beauty and kissed him again.

"I love you, Magnus! Always and forever!" He whispered then left for the Institute.

#happily married #malec forever #malec fic #magnus bane #malec #asaab #angst with a happy ending #angst #fanfic authors #alec lightwood #wattpad writer #wattpad #fanfiction #fanfic #lightwood bane family #fantasy

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flowersonmymind1016 · 4 years

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Top 5 Malec moments (in either the books, movie or tv show)

Thank you so much for the ask! Okay, so I read the first three TMI books back in 2013 after seeing the movie and never read the rest. So, I’m just now rereading them and planning to read all of Cassandra’s book. I’m a horrible fan, I know. Once I’m done reading them, I’ll probably come back and do an updated version of this, but for now, here is my list!

Their first time (Shadowhunters): Exchanging kisses in between laughs and smiles and not to mention when Magnus falls on top of Alec, his necklaces are dangling between them. Magnus' surprised, "That was graceful," and Alec's, deep, breathy reply, "Shadowhunter," as he pulls Magnus back down for more kisses. And Alec, a 6'3 warrior falling onto Magnus' silk sheets, wanting kisses between breathless laughter is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. It’s art. But with this scene, we also got Magnus being ashamed of his Warlock mark and Alec cupping his cheek and telling him, “Magnus, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.” And Magnus’ worries evaporated away and his hand came up to rest on Alec’s, his thumb stroking the skin of the back of Alec's hand. I also love how when Magnus jerked up and away from Alec, the first thing Alec asks is, "Did I do something wrong?" Because it's his first time ever and he's worried about messing up. But Magnus assures him, "No such thing." It's all so sweet and makes me smile like an idiot every time.

Alec kissing Magnus in front of everyone in Alicante (TMI): Alec gave everyone quite the shock kissing a warlock, especially Magnus bane. Not to mention in front of his parents and every important Shadowhunter there is. And Magnus just kind of stands there in shock. And Maia's comical, "Wait a second. Do we all have to do that, too?" If Magnus had any doubts about Alec’s feelings before, he didn’t after that!

Their second breakup (Shadowhunters): This scene is heartbreaking and devastating, so you're probably thinking, "Why is it in your top 5 favorite Malec moments?" Well, I'm gonna tell ya! You know the entire way to his mother's shop Alec thought how is he possibly going to do this? What is he going to say? How could he break Magnus' heart? They've fought so hard to get where they are. Magnus is as happy as ever to see him, starts in rubbing Alec's shoulders. Alec closes his eyes, reveling in Magnus' touch, knowing this is possibly one of the last times he will feel it, he's trying to pump himself up. And when he finally tells Magnus he "needs a break", it goes completely over Magnus' head. He didn't even consider for a second that Alec had meant breaking up. Instead, he thinks Alec is suggesting they go off on a vacation! And then Alec has to try again. "No, Magnus, I need a break from us." The confusion on Magnus' face. Like, stop it, Alexander. This joke isn't funny. But then Magnus, who always seems so cool and sure of himself, thinks it's because of his drinking. Alec, bless this man, has to go about it differently, "It's about what you said. Without your magic, how you could never be happy." Magnus tells him, yes he is suffering without his magic, he's hurting. One of my favorite things about this scene is when Magnus tells him, "This isn't you. You're not this selfish." Because this is one of the most selfless things Alec has ever done. It isn't working, so Alec has to go in for the kill. "Days ago I didn't know the spark inside of you - the one I fell in love with -was out for good." His voice wavers there. And it's like he can't take this anymore and has to leave, but of course, Magnus can't let him go without begging him not to do this. Magnus' soft, but panicked, "No, no, no, please." Followed by his, "I've-I've lost everything. I've lost my home, my job, my powers. I can't lose you too, Alec. Okay?" And the whole time he's holding Alec's face, forcing Alec to look up at him, for Alec to see his pleading eyes. And he kisses Alec, long and slow, and you can tell that Alec wants nothing more than to return the kiss. Magnus' whispered, "Stay with me. Okay? Come one, stay with me." Alec has his eyes closed by this point, he can't bear to look at Magnus anymore. He can't bear to see the pain his Magnus' eyes, the pain he caused him. "Magnus...I can't. I'm sorry." And then he leaves. Magnus is so shocked he just stares at where Alec had been just seconds before. This whole scene was, yes, sad, but so beautiful in my opinion. I like angst, okay?!

The wedding Kiss (the first one): I love this scene for the same reasons I love the kiss in Alicante in City of Glass. Alec is coming out, he's being himself, he's kissing the man he loves (has the potential of loving). He's doing it in front of the important Shadowhunters and his parents. He's finally standing up for himself and I just love it so much because he deserves to be happy. I love how supportive Lydia was in this scene (I wish we could have gotten more friendship moments between her and Alec). I love Alec's deep, stern, authoritative, "Enough!" When Maryse tries to stop him. The way he grabs the lapels of Magnus' jacket and pulls him in and Magnus' hands on his waist (you see it in behind the scene pics). It's a lovely picture. I love it when they part and just look into each other's eyes and at their lips, breathing in each other's air before going back in for another kiss. Oh, and let's not forget everyone's reactions. His friends' and siblings' reactions were amazing and make my heart so happy. Simon's little Graduate speech makes me laugh every time! He's so cute!

The morning after their first time: The scene opens up with the camera showing the trail of their clothes and shoes on the floor. They wake up, all cuddled up next to each other, the morning sun streaming in from the window. Their sleep-rough, whispered, "Morning" and "Good morning". Alec's "Oh no. What time is it? I have to get to the institute." Magnus' face is a mixture of bewilderment and disappointment. "Oh, I was just kidding" and he looks so amused, so proud of himself for making this joke. It's adorable. And as he rolls over onto his side to look at Magnus with the morning sun shining on him, he is a sight. He's so pretty it hurts. Magnus tries so play it off, "No." "Then what are you afraid of?" Magnus does his best to sound serious as he answers, "Acid wash jeans." And I just adore Alec's soft, "Oh come on, Magnus." And then he adds, "I'm serious. You're an all-powerful warlock. You can summon demons. You've lived through centuries of war and you're immortal. What scares you?" "The key to having no fear is having nothing to lose. I guess that's why I haven't opened my heart in almost a hundred and then I met you." Alec's little smile is everything. He's lived a hard life. All he's wanted is to be able to be himself, to be loved, and here is Magnus, who loves him, who is opening his heart up to Alec. It's so sweet I can't put it into words! And their hand-holding at the end. I love Alec's bare fingers against Magnus' ring littered ones.

I'm sorry I didn't mean for it to be this long! I just love the books and show (and the movie too) so much.

#shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #malec #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane #asks #me

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