#does izzy deserve an actual mirror? of course

[fist-amidst-the-hands]

hear me out, i havent stopped thinking about heartbroken ed's crew's new uniform vibes

izzy 'I'm not smearing that stuff on my face' hands vs ed 'it's not optional' teach: fight

outcome: izzy carefully applying precise eyeliner each morning using little more than the dim light of sunrise and one of the fancy trays stede left behind

#izzy hands #ofmd s2 #does izzy deserve an actual mirror? of course #he's always so tidy and well put together that he probably does have a little one tucked away somewhere #but let's pretend izzy tucked away a small shiny platter while they were chucking all stede's stuff overboard #i wonder if he'd eventually start thinking of it as his and forget where it came from #or if he'd always feel like it's a part of stede #also... holding my breath for a moment in s2 where ed is cupping izzy's face in his palm with his thumb over the x #and before he pulls his hand away he wipes over izzy's eyelid and smears the perfect outline into something messy and used #something he recognizes. something that's comfortable #how long until izzy would wash his face clean and redo the mandatory mask the way he likes - sharp edges and clean lines #or would he keep it just as ed had left it... a sign that the moment was real #yet another way to show that he's blackbeard's #after all he already wears the x so what's one more mark of his loyalty? his obedience? #this is not where i thought i was going with this but you know what. i stand by it #just a little post

[phantom-ellie]

The Art of (Smashing) Crockery Chapter 22: Blackbird

Summary: Not all gay awakenings are positive, and not all reactions to rejection are healthy.

Click here for CWs/Full Chapter List

---

I opened the door. I followed the lead. They said you just have to move towards the light. Say, ‘Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.’

My mind wrote a letter my heart couldn’t read. A heart confused, misused, shamed, and contrite. So I opened the door. I followed the lead.

Is this how it feels to be freed? To accept who I am, what my forebears would indict? Saying, ‘Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.’

Waking up gay, a gay awakening, is this what I need? Then why does my heart hurt, my chest still feel tight Since I opened the door and followed the lead?

A mirror, I practice, repeating my screed. But my expression remains the same, try as I might. ‘Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.’

‘It’s too late,’ it threatens, it chokes like a weed. Self-acceptance is a resignation, a reaction born from spite. But I opened the door. I followed the lead. Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.

---

Stede doesn’t respond to Ed’s text. Not through the night or the next day. The blog post is angry, sad. Ed assumes that something happened with Stede’s father, but Stede isn’t asking Ed for comfort. He doesn’t want Ed’s love, or his friendship.

Ed was an idiot. Again.

And being an idiot, he does what he’s always done and calls Izzy. His voice is already breaking as Izzy answers the phone.

“What is it, Edward?”

“I’m so stupid, Izzy. I did it.”

“Did what?”

“I kissed him.”

“Fucking hell, Ed! I told you. Why would you do that?”

“I… I love him.”

“For fuck’s sake, this happens every time. And he rejected you, didn’t he?”

Ed feels so small. He can barely get it out. “Mmhmm.”

“And I’m supposed to drop everything and comfort you ,again, is that it?”

“Come on Izzy, you’re my friend. That’s what friends are for.”

“You have no fuckin’ clue about friendship, Ed. You drop me as soon as someone shiny and new comes along, and then I have to fix it when they leave. Every time! Do you know how draining it is?”

“I… I can guess.”

“You can guess, but you don’t know. I’ve been divorced twice, Ed. What were you doing both times?”

Ed sighs. “I don’t know, what do you want me to say, Iz?”

“You were too busy doing drugs with Jack to be there for me, weren’t you?”

Ed is silent for a few seconds. “Yeah.”

“Go to a gay bar, find someone who actually likes you back, get a therapist, I don’t care what you do. But it’s time to grow up. It’s time to figure it out for yourself. I have shit going on.” Izzy hangs up.

Tough love. Ed’s mind immediately thinks of Stede’s father. Then Stede. Then hurt.

Logically he knows not to blame Izzy. Ed has always taken from Izzy. He’s never given back, not where it counts. Anonymous donations to Los Robles didn’t count for much if they were anonymous.

It’s at this moment that Ed realizes that despite all the encouragement he gave to Stede, Ed doesn’t really know what a friend does, either.

---

Mary: Did you meet with the estate lawyer?

Stede: Yes.

Mary: And?

Stede: It should be airtight. Preparing for lawsuit anyway.

Mary: You know I’m not going to ask for any of it in the divorce, Stede. The timing is just bad.

Stede: You are entitled to it and you will have it.

Stede: You deserve it. For everything.

Mary: See you tomorrow @ 11?

Stede: yeah

---

Thanksgiving. So much to be thankful for. Right?

Maybe.

He manages to make it through the dinner all right. He’s quiet, but that’s okay. It gives him a chance to listen to Alma and Louis bicker a little bit, to see the drawings they’ve done and tell him about school. He can hear about Mary’s art show, which of course was a success, and he can feel a tiny bit of gratitude as she takes care to talk around any mentions of Doug.

At one point Alma pointedly asks Stede what he’s been up to, and he’s a bit at a loss to answer her.

“Well… I’ve been thinking a lot, I suppose.”

“That sounds boring.”

Stede huffs. “I haven’t had a lot of time to think recently, Alma. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break.”

“You could take a break here with us.” Alma looks down at her food, pushing her green beans around with her fork.

Stede puts his hand on hers. “I’ll keep that in mind, sweetheart. I just need a little time to myself.”

“I thought that’s what you had work for.”

Stede shakes his head. “No, not even a little bit.”

When they finish, Stede isn’t too far in his own head yet, so he manages to clean up, do the dishes, to look around at the kitchen that he no longer considers to be his. He never considered any of this to be his, really. It’s as if he’s just been borrowing it.

He finishes up and slides on his coat, prepared to sneak out of one life that isn’t his into another life he hasn’t made yet. But Mary spots him.

“Stede… you don’t have to run away, you know? You can stay here. You can live here with us for now. Let me help you.”

Stede stops to think about this, if just for a moment. He imagines living as a ghost in his own home, too afraid to face his wife, his children. He imagines sitting on his bed, confessing everything to Mary, everything he feels. And in this imagination, they have a wonderful talk, one that solves and clarifies everything. Like it’s so easy. And Stede leaves the house, in his imagination, with new-found purpose as he reaches Ed’s apartment, knocks on the door, says those three words, and they embrace and live happily ever after.

In his imagination.

But Stede is a useless, pathetic coward. And his dreams will never come true.

So he gives a wan smile instead, tells Mary, “Okay, I’ll think about it,” and gets in his car.

Stede has always felt safest personifying inanimate objects. His hotel room has a minibar. He tells himself that’s the only friend he needs.

---

Ed: hey

Jack: hey you unblocked me

Jack: ya getting lonely big guy

Ed: what if i am

Jack: door’s always open

Ed: you really gotta lock that shit

Ed: on my way

---

Post from the blog Hear Something Weird:

Now you remind me of something I’ll never have So, blackbird don’t sing

Comments: MauritianSupremacy: Hey, we’re planning to take you out for drinks, you left the group chat. Check your texts PracticallyGayJesus: lucy told me to tell you we miss you LucyFlawless: That was not the way to deliver that message, babe

Chapter 23

#ofmd modern au #modern alternate universe #ellie modern au #cross posted on ao3 #ofmd fanfic #our flag means death fanfic #stede x ed #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #ellie aosc

[bytheangell]

Tolerate It

(A s02e14 inspired fic, also inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Tolerate It”) (Read on AO3)

Maryse never thought she had it all figured out, but she’s never felt quite as lost as she does right now.

It’s always been Robert’s lead she followed, his example she mirrored. The Lightwood name held power, it held significance, long since redeemed from the black spot placed upon it in the 1800s. It was a good name, and Robert… well, Maryse thought Robert was a good person. Even after everything they’d done as foolish teenagers she still thought he was good, at the heart of him. She loved him.

She still loves him, for better or worse.

Even as the clues begin to drop, the subtle hints that his late nights at the office weren’t always for work, or even always actually spent at the office, she never falters. She waits up to greet him at night and ask how his day was, even if he’s hours late. She cooks elaborate meals and sets the table with wine glasses that never fill and candles that burn out and food that ends up as cold leftovers when he forgets they had plans.

She wants to beg him to tell her she’s wrong, that it’s all in her head, that everything isn’t adding up to the obvious. And even when it does and her worst suspicions are confirmed, she watches him sleep beside her in their bed, in their home, and thinks ‘he always comes back to me, isn’t that enough?’.

Here in Idris - with Alec, Izzy, and Jace in New York and Max in school - Robert is all she has… and she doesn’t even really have him. He humors her smiles and polite conversation, indulges her instigations of physical affection, but she can tell his mind is elsewhere. Maryse gets the feeling that he’s merely tolerating her, and the realization breaks something inside of her.

Still, she laughs at dinner engagements and speaks nothing but kindness and praise for her husband, painting him in nothing but the best of lights in public while seeing nothing but shadows of him in private.

The idea of living like this for the rest of her life makes her feel ill, but in her mind it’s inevitable. She can’t imagine an alternative - leaving Robert is a fleeting daydream, not a serious option.

It’s the moment she tells Alec and Jace that everything changes.

They make it clear what they think of Robert and what they think she should do. There isn’t a moment of doubt or uncertainty in their insistence that she deserves better, no hesitation in promises to support her if she leaves him. What she deserves was always the last thing on her mind in comparison to what her family deserves. Her concerns were always of expectations and duty, and so rarely about the simple human emotions she’s experiencing, that their heartfelt concern for her feelings catches her off-guard… because of course she’s upset, and angry, and hurt, but she’s never really considered that reason enough to leave before.

And now, now that she realizes Isabelle’s known longer than all of them, carrying the weight of that secret for Maryse’s benefit? It shatters her completely. A mother is meant to protect her children, to shield them from the harsh realities of the world, not the other way around. And even Isabelle, whose face lights up at the sight of Robert returned from time away in Idris in her own joy, tells her to leave him.

Could it be that simple? Alec, Jace, and Isabelle have all told her it isn’t half as complicated as she’s making it out to be… and maybe it isn’t complicated at all. She told Alec she doesn’t want to tarnish the Lightwood name but what good is a name built on a foundation of lies?

She stops to consider that their name has weathered worse recently, then feels an immediate pang of guilt over it - her son’s love for Magnus shouldn’t be considered something to ‘weather’, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is. Except he’s deemed his own happiness worth fighting for despite the whispers and backlash. Despite what it might mean for their family name. Maybe she really could do the same and come out not just alright, but better for it, on the other side.

What good is she doing by making herself miserable in a life her family clearly wants her to leave as much as she does?

It all comes back to Robert. He’s the only person she’s doing this for now. Keeping the house clean and making polite small talk with the Clave delegates and their spouses when they come over. Showing up where she should, when she should, keeping up every expected appearance all the while she’s begging for scraps of attention at home, begging for just a hint of the man she fell in love with.

Maryse wonders suddenly what he’d do if she left. If she told the world what he did, what he’s still doing even though he must be aware that she knows by now. He assumes she’s fine staying silent to protect her own name as well as his, but what if she leaves? After talking with the children she thinks that she might be able to. They’ve shown her more compassion, more concern, and more love than she’s seen in months. They’ve given her the strength to at least consider leaving, even if it ruins both of them in the process.

When he comes home that night she’s waiting up for him, as she always does. He barely spares her a passing glance before going to the kitchen to eat whatever she made for him - for them - hours ago. He doesn’t ask how her day was or how she’s doing. He doesn’t even apologize for being late. This is how things are now. This is how he expects them to be from now on. A week ago she would’ve expected the same.

But now?

Now Maryse sits and watches Robert, all the while considering the possibility of a future without him.

#maryse lightwood #robert lightwood #shadowhunters #maryse/robert #Someone sent me an ask ages ago about this song being a Maryse song and IT SURE IS #SO HERE WE ARE #the coda fics are caught up! just in time for me to watch a new episode tomorrow jfkldsjfkls #long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

[maylovexhs]

everytime - MOTIVE(Chp. 39)

Author’s Note: All I got to say is Harry’s Jingle Ball jumpsuit got me feeling some way. And by some way, I mean he could get it. Have fun reading this one ;) -May

Catch up on everytime here

September 16th, 2015.

“Yes, Ali. I’m leaving now” I said into my phone.

I grabbed my heels from the closet. I sat down on my bed. I put my phone on speaker as I put on my heels.

“Okay because I want you to come before Naeem arrives” Ali said.

I got up from bed and grabbed my phone.

“And what if he does before I do?” I asked her.

“Well, you already promised you would” Ali said.

“And what if I don’t make it?” I asked, teasing her.

I heard Ali sigh.

“Oh, relax” I told her. “Of course, I’ll make it in time”

“Good” Ali said. “Because if you don’t-“

“You’ll block me on everything and never dare to speak to me again” I said, exiting my room.

“Yup” Ali said.

The doorbell rang as I began to walk down the stairs.

“Who’s that?” Ali asked me.

“Don’t know” I said. “Probably just a package”

“Okay . . . I’m nervous” Ali said. “I actually like Naeem and I don’t want you and Izzy to think he’s bad”

“Why would we think that?” I asked her, finally making it down the stairs. “You’re 25. It’s not like you need my permission”

I heard a knock on the door.

“Besides, it’s not like Naeem is Harry” I said, walking over to the door. “He can’t possibly be that bad-“

I stopped talking once I saw who was outside my door. It was Harry.

Speaking of the devil, what the hell was he doing here? The last I spoke to him was two months ago - when he rejected me for that supermodel girl.

“Umm, I’ll call you back” I said to Ali.

I hung up on Ali. I opened the door.

“Harry,” I said, not sounding excited at all. “What are you doing here?”

Harry had his hands behind his back. He revealed the flowers in his hands to me.

“Flowers?” I asked, confused.

“For you” Harry smiled at me.

“Why?” I said, hesitant to take his flowers.

“I hoped we could talk” Harry said.

I squinted my eyes at him.

If he really expected to be friends again after abandoning for another girl, he thought wrong. How could he have done that to me? Didn’t my friendship with him mean more than one girl? Didn’t I mean more to him?

“Thanks for the flowers but I can’t” I said. “Ali is waiting for me and I really have to go”

I turned around, going back into my home to set the flowers on a table. Harry followed me inside.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Then, maybe later tonight?”

I turned around to Harry.

“We could go out for dinner” Harry said. “At that Chinese place you like”

I bit my lip.

How could I make this more clear? How could Harry think everything was fine again?

“Harry, I can’t” I told him. “We can’t. We’re not friends anymore.”

I walked away from him, going to my coat closet my the door. My favorite handbag hanged on one of the hangers. I took it.

“Now, if you can leave” I told Harry. “Please”

Harry walked over to the door but didn’t leave. He turned around to me.

“I wish I could have told you at dinner but . . . I don’t want to be just ‘friends’ with you” Harry said.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Was he asking to-

“I want to give us a chance” Harry said. “I know it was wrong to leave you for her. I realized that. . . Whenever I was with her, all I thought about was you. I broke up with her when I realized. I tried calling you but you didn’t answer”

“Because I had to right to” I said, crossing my arms at him. “How do I know I can trust you now?”

“I guess you have to try” Harry said.

“Oh my god” I heard Ali say. “You have to try this”

December 7th, 2019. 11 AM.

I blinked a few times, snapping out of my head and back into reality. I looked to Ali.

“What?” I asked her.

“These chocolates” Ali said, chewing. “The hotel has excellent taste. You should try”

“I’m sure they’re great” I said. “But I’ll pass”

I got up from the bed. I went over to my luggage and opened it. I found my bottle of Xanax. I opened it and poured one pill into my hand.

“Really?” Ali asked me. “You’re that stressed about Harry?”

I broke the pill into two.

“A little” I said.

I put one half of the pill back into the bottle and closed it. I threw the other half in my mouth and swallowed it.

“Okay, I get it” Ali began to say. “You feel guilty. You think it’s wrong to give Harry a chance. . . but Ashton gave you his permission. He told you he would be happy if you choose Harry”

“Still doesn’t mean I should” I said.

I let out a sigh.

I shouldn’t be giving Harry a chance. After everything he had done to me, he didn’t deserve it. I questioned if he deserved my friendship even. I thought it was impossible Harry would ever think of me in that way, at least again. We both knew how the first time ended. I thought he would not dare to risk my friendship again over feelings. I thought he wouldn’t and now he did. Now, I had to think of him like that again - especially when I swore I would never again.

“I can’t believe myself” I said. “I don’t know why I’m even giving Harry a chance. I’m supposed to be with Ashton. Ashton, my boyfriend who has never made me doubt him. He’s more-“

“More better than Harry?” Ali asked me.

“Yes!” I said, frustrated. “I shouldn’t have told Ashton and just forget and cut off Harry”

“But you didn’t” Ali pointed out.

I looked to her.

“I thought you were on Ashton’s side” I said.

“Oh, I am” Ali said, sitting up in bed. “And if you are going to choose Ashton, I want you to choose him for the right reasons. . . It’s not right to be with him if you keep thinking of Harry”

“You think I don’t know that?” I asked her.

“I know you do” Ali said. “But as your friend, I have to make sure you’re really sure”

I crossed my arms.

Ali had to know what I was going through. She knew the struggle of having to choose someone when she could do better. She knew what to do because she was in the same place with her boyfriend.  

“What made you get back with Talha?” I asked Ali. “You said you would never get back with him after you guys broke up”

Ali looked down, sighing.

“Well, that was a long time ago” Ali smiled. “We changed.”

“But you broke up because you weren’t right for each other” I told her. “What changed your mind about him? What made him right for you now?”

Ali looked to the side of the bed. She looked to me.

“I can’t really explain it” Ali said. “When I met him again, something just changed. I still liked him. I always have a bit but I never realized it until I saw him again. He made me feel happy in a way no one else has. It felt right to be with him”

“That was enough?” I asked her. “Enough for you to take him back?”

“Yeah. . .” Ali said. “You don’t think Harry is enough?”

I walked over to the bed, sitting down.

“I’ve always felt something for Harry” I admitted. “But I never let that get in the way. I always thought I can do better or Harry would never see me more than a friend. But again, no one I have ever been with made me feel that way except for Harry. . . Not yet, anyways.”

Ali smirked at me.

“Something?” Ali asked me. “What do you mean by something?”

Ali looked as she already knew what that was.

“I don’t know” I said. “But I always felt like I can’t lose him. We always found a way back to each other one way or another”

“So?” Ali asked me. “Do you feel like you can’t lose Ashton? Would you lose Ashton if you could be with Harry?”

I looked down, unsure.

I didn’t know where to think. I couldn’t even think because Adrian was knocking at the door the second after Ali asked me.

“Y/N! Ali!” Adrian called us. “We got to leave!”

I got up from bed, walking over to the door. I opened it.

“Where do you want to go to lunch?” Adrian asked me. “Rosé and I want to get Greek food but Camila wants burgers-“

“Burgers?” Ali asked, excited as she got up from the bed. “I’m up for burgers”

Adrian looked to me.

“What’s your pick, tie-breaker?” He asked me.

I looked to Ali. Honestly, I was too exhausted to even choose between foods. I’ll let Ali pick for me.

I looked back to Adrian.

“Burgers” I said. “I’m low in iron anyways”

Adrian frowned at me.

“Great, great, great” Adrian said miserably as he walked away.

I looked to Ali.

“Let me guess . . . you don’t want a burger?” Ali asked me.

“Nope” I said.

“Don’t worry” Ali said, walking to the bed. “I’ll choose for you. That’s one less thing for you to think about”

I closed the door.

One less thing to worry about. The only thing I could worry about.

6 PM.

Again, I had no idea how Ali could eat so much. She had two burgers, fries and a milkshake. I couldn’t even eat my burger. I got nauseous halfway eating it. I easily get nauseous just from being nervous. I was even a little nauseous being in the same building as Harry.

“No to the biker hat” Adrian said. “It’s a little too much”

“Got to agree with Adrian” Camila said. “The collar is a bit tacky for me too”

“Aww,” I said, looking at myself in the mirror. “I like both of them”

“It’s either the collar or hat” Adrian said.

“Fine” I said.

I took my black paperboy hat off.

“Better?” I asked them.

“Yes” Camil said. “Would be better if you took the collar off”

“Camila, we already agreed on the Joan Jett look” Adrian said.

“Did Joan Jett actually wear collars?” Camila asked. “I find it a little dehumanizing”

“Okay, Camila!” Adrian said. “You hate collars. You don’t have a collar kink!”

Ali and I looked to each other. She laughed. I smiled, trying to not laugh. I failed, giving in as I saw Rosé laugh. Camila rolled her eyes.

“Fine” Camila said. “But I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t like collars”

“Oh, I know you’re not” Adrian said. “Did you tell Richard about your no-collar rule?”

“I’m not going to talk about my sex life with you” Camila said.

I got up from my chair.

“Oh like I would love to hear how Richard scream your name” Adrian said.

I shook my head.

“Adrian, come on” I said. “Let’s take a walk backstage”

I looked to Ali.

“You too, Ali” I told her.

Adrian and Ali got up from their seat.

“That’s what she gets when she insults one of my looks” Adrian said.

“I know, I know” I said, leading him out of the room.

Adrian, Ali and I walked out of the dressing room.

“It’s just a collar” Ali said.

“Exactly!” Adrian said. “She doesn’t have taste sometimes”

We began to walk down the hall. I walked behind Ali and Adrian, worried I would bump into Harry. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Harry. I did want to. I actually want to talk to him about us. Hopefully, alone and away from everyone backstage but I wasn’t quite prepared to talk to him. I talked to him plenty of times before but this time . . . this time was different.

This time he was expecting something of me. He was waiting for me to give him an answer, which I clearly didn’t have yet. How the hell was I supposed to choose between one of my best friends and my boyfriend? I just couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to either of them. Harry was practically a part of me. I’ve known him forever that I couldn’t imagine a life without him. Even if I could, he would just pop back into my life again like he always has. On the other hand, Ashton was my boyfriend and possibly could be the one for me. He’s been so kind and better than Harry has ever been to me. I couldn’t just leave him for Harry. I wasn’t that person . . . but what if I did? What if I did choose Harry? What if I did and things don’t go well? What am I supposed to do then? I couldn’t just go back to Ashton.

But what if I choose Harry and things do go well? I know Harry and I were together for a little in the past but that wasn’t really dating. A month couldn’t be. Harry only wanted to date me out of guilt. It wasn’t out of love. If Harry really means it this time, being with him should be different. I couldn’t base our future on something that happened five years ago. We were two completely people back then. I always knew I had something special with Harry but was that enough for a relationship? Was Harry enough for me? Was I enough for him?

“Oh my god” Adrian said as he stopped walking.

“What?” I asked him.

Ali and I stopped walking as well. I looked down the hall.

Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me.

Harry was standing down the hall, talking to Jeff and Helene. I wasn’t surprised at that. We were backstage. I expected that. I just didn’t expect Harry to be dressed in a blue jumpsuit that made him look much more attractive than usual. He looked hot. Hotter than he usually was. Wait, what was I saying? When did I think Harry was hot?

“I think I just felt a little rumble in my booty” Adrian said.

Adrian looked to me.

“Y/N, are you blushing?” Adrian asked me.

“What?” I asked them. “No. I just have too much blush on”

“I didn’t see Rosé put that much blush on you” Ali said.

I shot her a “not helping” look. I looked down the hall, catching Harry staring at me. He smirked at me. He began to walk over to me.

That . . . asshole. He had to wear that jumpsuit tonight of all nights. He wanted to make me jealous. He wanted me to see what I was missing. He wanted revenge on me. He had to of he was wearing that.

“Hey” Harry said to me.

“Hi” I said, faking a smile at him. “You look. . . great. Showing off the butterfly, I see”

Yes, the butterfly on his stomach. The butterfly I was pretty sure was in my stomach now.

“I am” Harry smirked. “You look good too. I like the collar”

“Thank you!” Adrian said, cutting me off before I could speak. “Someone who actually gets it. Is Lambert here?”

“Yeah” Harry said. “Somewhere backstage. He left a minute ago”

“See you after you get off” Adrian told me.

I nodded as Adrian left us. God, Ali better not leave me or else-

“He’s angry over the collar” Ali said. “Camila and him got into a fight about it”

“Really?” Harry asked her. “Over a collar?”

“Camila thinks it’s a bit tacky” I said.

“Oh, but you make anything look good” Harry said to me.

“Sure you’re not talking about yourself?” I asked him.

“Pretty sure I’m not” Harry said.

Harry smirked at me, staring into my eyes.

Have his eyes always been so green? Or was it the lights making them more hypnotizing?

I shook my head.

Okay, I needed to leave. The more I stood here, the more weird I started to act.

“Umm, when do you go on?” I asked Harry.

“In twenty minutes” Harry said.

Oh, great. I was stuck with him for the next twenty minutes. Can this get worse?

“You’re last, right?” Harry asked me.

“As usual” I said. “Ali and I were walking to pass the time-“

“Harry! Y/N!” I heard someone say behind me.

I turned around to see Rita walking towards us. Rita - as in Rita Ora who used to be our close friend a few years ago. We naturally drifted apart because of our busy careers. A part of me was happy I was not friends with her now. Time made me realize she really wasn’t the friend I was looking for. Harry was in a similar boat as I am with Rita.

“Rita” Harry said, greeting her with a hug.

“Aww, H!” Rita said as she hugged him. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright” Harry said, letting her go. “A few nip slips here and there but I’m good” Harry joked with her.

“I see” Rita said, playing along. “Your jumpsuit isn’t going to help with that tonight”

Rita laughed, lightly hitting his arm. Rita looked to me.

“Y/N,” Rita said to me. “You haven’t aged one day. Did you get skinner?”

“Actually, no” I said. “Gained ten pounds. Doctor’s orders”

“Ah, still skinner than me” Rita said, hugging me. “Finally, it’s the whole gang together in one place! Well, minus Nick”

Umm, could she let me go?

“Yeah . . .” I said. “It’s sad I have to leave now though”

Rita let go of me.

“Now?” Rita asked me. “Aren’t you always closing the show?”

“I am” I said, faking a smile at her. “But I was just leaving with my friend to see Ava Max on”

Rita looked to Ali.

“And who is your friend?” Rita asked us.

“Ali” Ali said, introducing herself.

“Ah, I remember Y/N talking about you” Rita said. “Never imagined you to be so pretty”

Ali smiled. Rita looked to Harry.

“Are you going with them?” Rita asked him.

Please say no.

“Oh, I can’t” Harry said. “Got to get mic checked now”

Thank god.

“Well, this is bullocks” Rita said. “I wanted to spend time with one of you before you go on”

Rita gasped.

“How about after the show?” Rita asked us. “We can get drinks. Ali could come too”

“Uhh, sure” Harry said. “I’m free, are you?”

Harry looked to me. I looked to Ali and then back to Rita.

“Sure!” I said, faking my excitement. “We don’t have nothing after this”

“Great!” Rita said, looking to Harry. I’ll be outside your room when I’m done”

Harry nodded.

“Well, I’ve got to get dressed” Rita said. “Good luck out there”

“See you soon” I said to Rita.

Harry waved goodbye to Rita as she left us. Harry looked to me.

“See you for drinks, then?” Harry asked me.

“That’s the plan” I said.

I began to walk away from Harry but I stopped when I heard Harry call me.

“Y/N?” Harry said.

I looked to him.

“What?” I asked him.

Harry smirked at me.

“You look really good” He said.

I slowly smiled at him. I nodded before turning and walking away. Ali followed me.

“Well, at least he’ll stop flirting with Rita around” Ali said.

“Oh, he still will” I said. “He’s trying to win me over.”

“And?” Ali asked me. “Is he?”

Maybe . . .

#hs imagine #hs imagines #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #hs fanfic #harry styles au #hs one shot #harry styles one shot

[normal-thoughts-official]

Agh I read your recent post and realized: the entire Polycule absolutely commissions Magnus for gifts for birthdays/anniversaries/holidays. And he always insists they don’t pay bc it’s who he is but they all make it their personal

Lmao last ask sent too early. But the Polycule absolutely makes it their mission to pay Magnus by force if necessary. Simon literally hides money in the loft. Maia pays him back in free meals at Taki. Mel brings him Seelie weapons/charms/etc. Clary brings paintings as gifts, and maybe she ends up investing in a gallery and gifts a portion of the profits to Magnus. Izzy always pays for things on their shopping trips.

god yes hello how does it feel to be a genius? i absolutely adore this

truly tho this is so great. i particularly love the mental image of maia’s birthday since she’s dating everyone in the Polycule (love how we capitalize it that’s so hot girl summer of us) plus there’s also her pack and just generally she has a lot of friends and everyone loves her, as she deserves. so like 4 months before maia’s birthday magnus just starts sending ppl shit like “if you wish to commission a gift to maia roberts please come forward now so i have the time to properly work on all the requests. requests are open for the following month starting this date, and no later” because MAN the workload. one would think he’s the only warlock in this stupid town or something. seriously

but anyway they all want to get maia a little magical something to make it special, so he has to actually like, figure out a lot of spells. raphael’s first request of a gift to her is to make something that tastes exactly like chocolate, but isn’t, since she can’t eat it anymore after the lycantrophy and raphael is a softie who wants her to have all the food and sweets she wants. and raphael is obviously like “i know i’m asking a lot, which is why i came to you, because if anyone can pull it off, it’s you, but you can say no if you’re too busy-” and magnus is like “hush, my boy, you know i’d never say no to you. besides, i’d be happy to give maia this” so there magnus is, studying the chemical composition of chocolate and the werewolf digestive system like crazy. in the end he lowkey cheats - he creates these magical tablets that are actually tasteless, but look and have the texture of chocolate, and when eaten have an enchantment that activates all the same parts of the brain that chocolate does, so it “tricks” maia into tasting chocolate. but hey, it works, so, that’s a win! maia is so happy she just jumps in raphael’s arms and almost topples them over but raphael has the biggest smile on his face and kind of spuns her around a bit. she also gives magnus a kiss on the cheek, and it’s the sweetest thing aaa im so soft

then of course magnus refuses to take any payment because he’s not going to charge his son for a gift even if it was a real fucking bunch of work. so basically raphael comes to him on clan business and he’s like “you have to charge me because if you don’t charge the clan on official business this can create a diplomatic problem and all the other clans are going to come for you or us” and magnus is like “okay that’s fair what do you want” and raphael asks him for like one (1) bag of blood and pays him A Thousand Dollars (it’s his own money, not the clan’s, but like, it’s officially a clan transaction). i’m exaggerating but you get the spirit. and magnus is just like “that is not the price-” but raphael bolts

and just other little things. meliorn is a practical nonbinary entity so they get her a little necklace that basically protects her clothes when she transforms, then magics them back on her body once she goes back to human form (i know that meliorn has seelie magic but it doesn’t work the same way as warlock magic so maybe they can’t do that themself for some reason idk. like their magic seems to be more a “playing with nature” stuff). easier than having a bunch of clothes hideouts. simon gets her a kind of mirror that play whatever memory she’s thinking about when she touches it, so she can watch it like a video u kno. izzy gets her, like, A Real Lightsaber. clary draws a little comic book enchanted so the figurines actually move. etc. every year they get sweeter and more convoluted and obviously they don’t all always come to magnus (simon for example makes her a bunch of songs, izzy is lowkey an engineer so she can make her a bunch of stuff herself, rapha also takes pleasure in the mundane things and knows that maia feels the same way so he likes to get her special, mundane gifts sometimes, meliorn obviously has their own magic, etc), but it’s always something special when they do

and then there’s always the fun little cat and mouse game of Forcing Magnus To Take Payment. they aren’t afraid to play dirty. izzy gives the money to alec under strict instructions to only spend it on magnus, but magnus can’t pay it back because it’s technically alec’s money. meliorn gets magnus some seelie magic gifts so precious and rare it would be essentially disrespectful to give them back (both in the form of like, powerful charms and trinkets, and also like, priceless spellbooks that very few have access to, etc). maia tells him that if he doesn’t take her payment, she won’t take his tips, which leads to a battle of him tipping her exactly the amount of money she’s paid and maia finding new, stupid stuff to “pay” him for (sidenote: my dad and one of his friends do essentially this every time they go out, as does most of my mom’s family. his friend once literally stole my dad’s wallet when he wasn’t looking so he couldn’t pay for their meal and the friend could treat him. no joke). simon and raphael hide money in the loft and when magnus goes to them they’re like “what? no, this isn’t mine. i agreed to take it for free as a gift from you” with the absolute most innocent face you’ve ever seen in your life. and so on

raphael’s birthday is also convoluted because like, 4 partners, a clan, a thousand people he helps with taki’s and the soup kitchen, and he’s magnus’ son, so of course everyone goes to him for help. simon has a major freakout every year because he doesn’t know what to get him (look. raphael is very refined and simon. is not. plus he’s been known to fuck up with raphael so he’s always Nervous even if all the clary bullshit was decades ago), so he comes to magnus, like, begging for help so he can figure it out. which is just straight up stupid because he usually actually has extremely sweet, beautiful ideas (like the time he recorded rapha a CD with a bunch of songs he made for him in spanish and raphael teared up so hard) but he gets insecure and agitated so magnus’ job there is mainly getting him to chill. then it works out. he ends up not even needing magnus to do anything because again, raphael enjoys the simple things and everyday gestures and just... regular, mundane stuff. he misses it. you know?

but that’s not stopping simon from paying for the counseling because he’s sweet like that, and magnus deserves it

and then of course there’s magnus’ birthday which always comes with a bang and he has so many gifts he’s basically drowning, what with all his friends and kids and warlocks and just. people who love him. he’s a bit surprised every time, which makes everyone exasperated because he’s such an important member of their community, like wtf. but it’s always sweet when his birthday arrives and there’s a fuckton of magical gifts manifesting at his doorstep until he’s almost drowning in them lmao. i just aaa i love this they’re all SOFT

#ask #anonymous #magnus bane #raphael santiago #maia roberts #simon lewis #The Polycule™ #brief meliorn izzy and clary but not too much so dunno if i should tag #maiaphael #saphael #saiaphael #saia #brotp: i'll do whatever it takes to protect them #q

[jaxl-road]

Hollow

“When I get stressed, I get violent and take it out on myself. I’ve pulled razor blades on myself but then realized that having a scar is more detrimental than not having a stereo. I’d rather kick in my stereo than cut my arm.” -Axl Rose

An AU where Axl changes his mind on that stance.

Pairings: none

***TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM (specifically cutting)***

~~~~~~~~~

There was a clawing in his chest. In his throat, in his stomach, behind his eyes and his teeth. Walking offstage, Axl felt like he couldn’t breathe, too busy focusing on containing the wild, storming beast that wanted to tear him apart.

He needed to get out of here.

The hallway backstage seemed to stretch on forever, staring at the backs of his bandmates as they headed towards their dressing rooms. As he walked, he found himself kicking an empty plastic chair viciously when he passed it.

Slash eyed him over his shoulder, "Jeez, what is your problem?"

Fuck. He wished the guitarist hadn’t asked. His fingers curl, nails biting into his palms as he grinds out, "Were you not listening out there? The audio was fucking shit, there was feedback every five fucking minutes!"

Rolling his eyes, Slash sighed, "Dude, it wasn't that bad-"

But before he could finish his attempt at de-escalation, Steven whipped around and interrupted, "Well maybe if you actually bothered to show up for soundcheck we wouldn't have this problem."

Axl ground to a halt in the middle of the hallway, snarling, “I shouldn’t need to be there for us to have halfway decent tech! All the fucking money we bring in and we can’t get a less mediocre PA system?”

“Guys, hey, let’s not-” Duff tried to intervene half-heartedly, Slash rubbing a hand over his face in the corner. Izzy sighed as he shared a look with the other two, because they all knew it was pointless. Axl was too volatile, Steven was too outspoken, and they were both too frustrated with each other. The match and the kerosene.

“We’d bring in more money if we weren’t constantly paying overtime fees because you can’t get your ass to your own gig on time!” Steven snapped, “I don’t get why you’re making more than me when you’re basically a part-time singer!”

That clawing beast inside Axl escaped. And it had a target.

His hand curled around the back of the plastic chair, blood roaring in his ears as he hurled it at the drummer. Everyone in the hallway ducked against the walls, Steven managing to step out of the way in time as the chair crashed to the ground harmlessly, sliding down the hallway as Axl started screaming.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! You don’t know a goddamn thing! You think you could do any of this without me?! Fat fucking chance!”

Axl could feel his mouth moving, could hear the words distantly, but there was a disconnect. It didn’t feel like him. He could see himself storming down the hallway like a glitching television screen, jumping and skipping, showing him shoving Steven aside and kicking the chair again even harder, everything fuzzy, static in his ears. A door slams furiously and he finds himself standing in his dressing room, and then there’s something in his hands, and then he’s surrounded by broken glass and overturned furniture. There are holes in the drywall and blood on his knuckles.

And he’s breathing. Gasping, actually, and he wonders if he had been holding his breath during the destruction; if the rage in his chest left no room for air.

But it was gone now. There was nothing left. Just a gaping cavern where the rage used to be. He staggered backwards and leaned against the wall, feeling lightheaded, his limbs weightless and shaky. Sliding to the floor, he put his head on his knees, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

Fuck.

The last half hour replays in his head.

Fuck.

What the fuck was wrong with him? This was hardly the first time he’d pulled this kind of bullshit, but each time felt worse. Steven didn't deserve that treatment. None of them did, and it was only a matter of time before he broke the camel's back with his fuck ups.

He wasn’t an idiot- he knew his bandmates wanted to fire him, and why wouldn’t they? Maybe Guns wouldn’t be the same without him, maybe they wouldn’t be as successful or popular, but with the amount of money they’d save from cutting out his property damage and late fees they’d probably still come out ahead, and that's not even considering how happy they'd be to be rid of him.

Axl was the one who’d suffer. He had a reputation now, and the bad was starting to outweigh the good. What would he even do, if he couldn’t sing? Couldn’t perform? Turning his head, he catches sight of his reflection in the shards of broken mirror surrounding him.

Reaching out, he picked up one of the larger shards without even thinking, turning it over in his hand. He ran a finger across the sharp edge in contemplation.

There had been a few times over the years where Axl found himself holding a blade to his skin. Everyone only saw rage, and that was part of it, sure, but it was more than that. There was a burning inside of him. Sometimes fire coursed through his veins that crackled and crawled and made Axl feel like tearing his skin off, like he was bursting at the seams, like even his own body didn't want him. Each time he'd reasoned with himself that it was better to scream and trash a room than scar himself. Things could be replaced, after all, so it was clearly the better solution.

Now he was rethinking that.

Something had to give, after all. He was halfway to ruining everything, steadily destroying this fragile life he'd built. If he didn't find a better way to purge this shit from inside him, it was going to crash down around him.

He thinks of bloodletting. He thinks of kneeling before some medieval priest to be drained of the devils and demons running through his veins. He wonders if that was why people were drawn to hurting him- his father, his stepfather, the bullies at school, the creeps who offered him a ride for a price- maybe his disease was so close to the surface that everyone could see it and knew that the only way to help him was to hurt him. Maybe this whole time he’d been flinching away from the cure. He thought of the empty feeling he got after each time he snapped and went on a rampage, and considered that maybe this way he could just bleed everything out- quietly, peacefully.

Sitting on the floor carefully, he slowly pushed his jeans down to his knees. Arms are a big no, he'd never be able to hide it, but legs would be easy to conceal. If he was careful, he could even make sure everything was hidden by shorts.

Looking down at the shard of reflection in his hand, he feels a sense of calm. It's not hopeless. There's still time. He has a plan now. He can fix this.

He pressed the glass against the top of his thigh.

He'll be better.

~~~~~~~~

It’s nearly morning when he makes it back to the hotel. Slipping into his room, he stays there until nightfall when they have to leave for the next city.

None of them talk about his outburst. They never do.

He sits alone.

~~~~~~~~

The night of their next performance, Axl doesn’t make it to soundcheck, but he does arrive before the openers go on.

“Wow, look who decided to show up,” Slash said mockingly, raising an eyebrow as he walked past.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Duff rolled his eyes in response.

Steven laughed, and oh, Axl wants to scream.

I’m doing what you want! I’m here! I’m trying! This is what you wanted, why aren’t you happy, why isn’t it enough?”

Instead, he presses the tips of his fingers into the side of his thigh and keeps walking.

~~~~~~

It infuriated him, seeing his bandmates strung out when they were supposed to be working.

“Clean up your fucking act before you OD on fucking stage!” he snapped, shoving at Slash’s chest before stomping away.

Back in his dressing room, he tugged his hair in frustration. Who was he to lecture his bandmates? He was trying not to cause trouble, not to get on anyone’s bad side, and yelling at his guitarist wasn’t exactly the way to do that.

God, he was the worst fuck up out of all of them. He shouldn’t have said anything. The anger hadn’t left, but now he felt guilty on top of it. He hated feeling this much. He hated not being able to do anything right. Opening one of the drawers beneath the vanity, he opened a small pack of spare razors.

~~~~~~

Get up.

The room is dark, the curtains drawn tight, only a sliver of light shining through the bottom of the hotel door.

Get up.

Another performance over, another city crossed off the list, and now it was time to gather his things because they had to be on the bus in an hour. But instead he was laying on his side on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

Get up, get up, get up!

It’s almost funny to him- if someone walked in right now they’d probably think he looked dead, unable to hear the screaming inside his head.

Mustering up as much energy as he can, he reaches over to the top drawer of the side table. Fumbling around for a moment, his fingers finally find the pocketknife he had started keeping there. He flips it open lazily.

An hour later, he is running up to the bus, out of breath, but right on time.

~~~~~~

When he sits on the floor of the generic hotel bathroom, holding a towel to his leg, he wonders if this is a punishment or a reward.

Maybe it’s both.

~~~~~~

“Hey Axl, you coming?”

The singer blinked in surprise at Slash’s question. There was nothing on the band’s schedule for the day, leaving them free to do what they pleased. Duff, Slash, and Steven had been talking about heading to some VIP bar a friend had recommended, Izzy shrugging and agreeing to tag along while Axl sat to the side and stared out the window mindlessly.

It had been a long time since the band had all gone out together just for fun. Lately their outings were specifically a chance to get away from Axl, after all.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” the redhead smiled, standing and following the group out, chatting amicably. He tapped his fingers against his leg.

He must be doing something right.

~~~~~~

Shorts still cover everything, but he’s had to move from the tops of his thighs to the insides.

Then the outsides.

He starts wearing longer shorts.

~~~~~~

When the show ends, Axl throws his arms around his bandmates, pulling them close, waving and bowing for the crows. They seperate, but Steven keeps his arm around him, even when they’re out of sight of the audience, and Axl knows that it’s all worth it just for this moment of not being alone.

~~~~~~

On this night, he wears his rose leggings, as well as black basketball shorts over them. When he woke up that afternoon, Axl had felt a churning in his stomach, felt on edge and jittery and angry, and he refused to fuck up, not again, not anymore. Things were good, the past few months had gone relatively smoothly, he was on good terms with the rest of the band, and he couldn’t afford to mess that all up just because he had a broken, defective brain.

That’s what he told himself, when he pressed the blade a little harder than usual.

So he wore the leggings, and an extra layer, and that was fine. He was on time, and the energy of the show was amazing, and if he didn’t hit a note good enough, or the sound system had a glitch, he could just kick his legs out, leap from an amp, feel the stretch and burn and growing dampness around his hips and legs and everything felt okay again.

By the time the show ended and they made it back to the hotel, his legs stung with every step. But he was so exhausted, he couldn’t bring himself to deal with it. So he simply pulled his shirt and shoes off before collapsing into bed, falling asleep with the familiar feeling of pain comforting him.

~~~~~~

When he woke up, he knew immediately that something was very, very wrong.

The room was dark, so he assumed it was still the middle of the night, but when he turned his head to look at the clock beside his bed the numbers were blurry. He was hot, he could feel sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, making the thin bed sheet cling to his chest, and it felt like his eyes were burning in his skull. The heat was so distracting, making his thoughts fuzzy and muddled, it took him a moment to notice the pain. But once he did, he choked on a cry.

His legs hurt. The right one hurt, but oh, God, his left leg felt like an exposed nerve, every heartbeat sent a pulse of pain that seemed to echo from his thigh through the rest of his body. He felt like he was on fire, he felt like he was being flayed, he felt like he was suffocating.

Something was wrong.

Focusing everything he had, eyes clenched shut, Axl forced himself to sit up and swing his legs slowly over the side of the bed. His stomach lurched, and he took a few minutes to just breathe. When the nausea passed, he began to carefully slip his clothes off, sliding the shorts, leggings, and underwear away at the same time, biting his lip until he tasted blood as the fabric brushed past his thighs. As the garments fell to the floor, he finally opened his eyes.

Axl had to blink a few times, the room seeming to sway around him, and even as his vision cleared, it still took several minutes for his brain to focus, to process what exactly he was looking at. At first, all he sees is red. But slowly he is able to pick up more details- the angry pink that makes up the skin of his left thigh is broken up by lines of dark red, a few of them muted by a dull yellow color.

That’s bad. He knows that- that what he’s looking at is bad- but he couldn’t comprehend why. His thoughts are disorganized and inarticulate, understanding slipping through his fingers like water-

Water, he thinks suddenly, I need to clean this.

It’s the first truly coherent thought he’s had since he woke, and he clings to it desperately. Axl stands with a lurch, gritting his teeth through the pain, one hand held out against the wall to steady himself. Looking around, he feels confused, Where am I?, but he still manages to stagger towards the bathroom on instinct alone. He passes by a minifridge and without thinking shakily reaches in to snatch a small bottle of vodka.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the journey, but the next time he is fully aware of his surroundings he is standing in the shower, clumsily opening the vodka. Bracing himself against the tiled wall, he poured the alcohol over his thigh.

Axl has to bite down around a scream, and suddenly he feels like he’s snapped back into his body, the pain cutting through the fever haze and he gasps as he feels his jumbled thoughts finally click back together.

The cuts are infected, he realizes with dread, I cut too deep, I haven’t been cleaning them. It’s infected now. He looks down at the nearly empty bottle of vodka, his thigh still stinging, Alcohol isn’t gonna do shit now, it’s too late for that, I can’t fix this on my own, he feels his eyes burn with misery, I need help.

Swallowing thickly, the bottle slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground. His hand fumbles as he steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and clumsily wrapping it around his naked waist. Every step hurts, and he feels the heat creeping back in, burning the thoughts from his head, and he leans heavily against the doorframe as he stares at the table beside his bed in anguish.

The phone feels so far away, and Axl just wants this to be over. He wishes he had never been born. He wishes his father had killed him instead of just ruining him. He wishes his stepfather had finished him off instead of always leaving him on the ground, broken and bloody and breathing. He wishes that stranger on the road had slit his throat instead of crawling on top of him. He wishes someone else would just take control and make it all stop.

Because out of all the things Axl hates about himself, the thing he hates most of all is that he does not want to die. He limps and stumbles towards the phone because he is a coward, and he's scared, and he doesn't want to die, he doesn’t want to go to Hell yet. Oh God, he doesn’t want to go to Hell.

By the time he reaches the other side of the room, he’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, sweat dripping down his face and chest, and all he can do is whimper in pain as he collapses onto his knees next to the bed, leaning his head against the side table. Curling up as much as he can in the corner between the bed and the table, he blindly reaches up, fumbling around until his hand finds the phone and pulls the receiver down.

Everything is swaying, like a boat on the ocean, and the nausea swelled, forcing him to wrap an arm around his stomach in a desperate attempt to swallow back bile. He's dizzy, and shivering, and he's staring at the phone in his hand when he realizes he doesn't know who to call. The front desk? 911? No, no, in either of those situations an ambulance would be involved which would increase the odds of paparazzi finding out. No, he just needs someone to drive him, that's all.

But of course, it's never that simple. Because he realizes he has no idea who is staying in what room- doesn’t think he could recall the information even if he had known it in the first place. They had booked most of the floor for the band and crew, but Axl couldn't remember specific room numbers. Clenching his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. There was no other option but to just guess and hope he got one of the crew members. He didn't want to see anyone- he didn't want anyone to see him- but he figured a tech could at least be paid to keep quiet.

So he punched in a number, any number for his floor, the buttons blurring as he looked at them, and shakily held the phone to his ear. The ringing feels far away, and he can’t decide if he feels cold or hot. He realizes suddenly that it’s the middle of the night, and he wonders what he will do if no one picks up.

But before he can think too long, he hears a click, and he holds his breath.

"Hmmmf, 'llo?" A tired voice filters through the line and Axl chokes out a sob.

Steven.

"Hello?"

Of course it's Steven. Axl hasn't fucked up the drummer's life enough apparently, now he has to wake him in the dead of night because he can't get his shit together. Another cry escapes him.

"...Axl? Is that you? Are you-"

The phone slips from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he leans heavily against the bed and sobs uncontrollably. A small voice chattered from the receiver, but Axl was too far gone to understand it.

He didn't want to hurt Steven anymore. He didn't want to hurt anyone, that was the whole reason he started all this. And why did he always hurt Steven, anyway? Was it because he was an easy target? Because he was so big hearted and forgiving he knew he could get away with it? This was why he was going to Hell. This was why he deserved this pain.

Gasping to catch his breath, his head aching and his whole body weak, he realized that the phone had gone silent. He feels almost afraid to pick it up again.

Maybe this is karma, he thinks. That would make sense. That would be fair. Maybe he can just lay down on the floor, and fall asleep, and not wake up. It’s not like he has the strength to do anything else at this point. Axl didn’t want to die, but he felt resigned. He was scared, but he just didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

There is a muffled thudding noise. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he listens, and it sounds far away, and he wonders if it’s his heartbeat. It gets faster, more frantic, and he thinks he hears a voice. Then he hears a crash.

Then he hears his name.

“Axl?”

Blinking sluggishly, he glances around the room in confusion, and then there is someone rushing towards him. He doesn’t recognize him until he is a foot away.

“Shit, Axl!” Steven's figure was blurry as he knelt in front of him, "Hey, hey, Axl, I'm here, you're okay," The drummer hissed when he pushed the sweaty red hair out of Axl's face, "Jesus Christ, you're burning up!"

“What’ryou…” Axl slurs, confused, Steven going in and out of focus.

Eyes widening in concern, the blonde put his hands on Axl’s shoulders to steady him, “You… you called me. Remember? You were-... you didn’t say anything but you didn’t sound okay. I was worried.”

Oh, Axl swallowed thickly, remembers now, dragging his thoughts back towards something resembling coherency.

Steven was here. Axl didn’t want him here, but he was here and there was no going back, and he still needed help, so even though he wanted nothing more than to keep crying, he had to press on. His thoughts felt shattered, all jagged edges scattering in every direction, so it took him what felt like ages to slur out, “Stevie…” his voice is raspy and raw, “Need you… t’drive me t’the hospital.”

The drummer frowned, “Hey, you’re okay, you’re sick, but we’ll get your fever down, okay? We’ll get you cooled down. If your fever doesn’t go away then we can-”

Axl shakes his head, slowly at first and then more frantic as Steven tries to reason with him, “No, it’s not… ‘m not…” he doesn’t know how to say it, he’s so dizzy, and weak, so he focuses his strength on clumsily pushing away the towel around his waist to just show him.

At some point his eyes slipped shut, trying to alleviate the nausea brought on by the spinning room, and he knows his sense of time cannot be trusted, but it feels like the silence stretches out for hours. The only sound is the rasping of his lungs, and if it weren’t for Steven’s hands still bracing his shoulders he’d assume the man had left. But maybe he was going to, just taking in the trainwreck for one more moment before walking out the door. Or maybe he already left and Axl was just hallucinating the idea of not being alone.

“Fuck, Axl…”

Steven’s voice sounds far away, but his hands are still present on his shoulders, his fingers tightening a bit and digging into his skin in a way that would probably be painful if it weren't for all the pain already drowning it out.

Axl is crying again, or maybe crying still, choking out through a sob, “‘m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, everything is gonna be okay, man,” Steven rambles, hands releasing their grip and instead smoothing up and down Axl’s arms soothingly, “You’re gonna be fine. Let’s just… I’m just gonna call the guys, and we’ll take you to the hospital and get you all fixed up, yeah? You’re gonna be just fine.”

He reaches for the phone still laying on the ground, balancing it between his ear and shoulder as he snatches the receiver off the side table. Axl doesn’t notice his own hand moving, everything too syrupy and slow, but he feels his fingers curl into Steven’s shirt and hears a broken, wounded whine that he thinks might have come from his own mouth.

Pausing in his fumbling with the phone, Steven focuses on the singer in front of him. Axl is too tired, getting weaker every moment, has no more energy to sob but the tears are still streaming down his face and he wonders if he was nauseous because he was carrying an ocean in his stomach. He opens his mouth and he wants to say no, he wants to say please, he wants to say I’m sorry, I fucked up, please, don’t make me face them too, don’t let them see me, I don’t want to be hated anymore, it’s already too much, I can’t take anymore, please don’t punish me, even if I deserve it, please.

Maybe he did manage to say all that out loud and his own ears missed it, maybe he said some of it, maybe he stuttered and stumbled over fever thick words and somehow got the gist of it. Or maybe Steven just felt the way Axl’s hand shook with the effort of holding him, or saw the words reflected in his glassy eyes, or understood the shuddering of his breath. Either way, Steven set the phone on the ground and cupped the side of Axl’s face with a gentleness that makes it hard to breathe, tilting his head until the red-head is focusing fever-bright eyes on him.

“Hey,” Steven’s voice is soft, but strong, “it’s okay. I’m not trying to hurt you, okay? But if you don’t want an ambulance then I’m gonna need some fucking help. They’ll want to help,” he leaned in, eyes wide and emploring, “They’re on your side, okay? We’re on your side.”

Blinking slowly, it takes a minute for the words to cut through the haze, and then another for Axl to nod in defeat. Steven only has a second to sigh in relief before the singer is suddenly pitching forward, collapsing against his chest.

“Shit!” the drummer hissed, one arm coming around to hold him and wincing as his hand rested against bare skin and felt the heat radiating off his body.

Forehead resting against Steven’s chest, Axl let his eyes drift shut again. The hand on his back feels far away, he feels far away, feels like he’s underwater, everything floating and rippling. Every now and then he breaks through the surface for just a moment.

He hears Steven’s voice frantically saying Slash’s name, words sharp and panicked.

He sees shadows around him, tall and looming, fuzzy around the edges.

He feels hands on him, turning him, pushing his hair back, on his arms and his face and his neck, tugging at something around his hips.

He hears curses and arguing.

He feels fabric secured around his waist and draped over his shoulders. He feels arms around his back and under his knees. He feels a jolt as he’s lifted into the air. He feels a flare of pain in his legs from the movement. He feels himself open his mouth to scream but nothing comes out.

He feels himself sink beneath the surface, and this time he stays there.

~~~~~

Axl wakes up slowly.

Everything feels soft, muted, dulled. Like he’s resting just inches outside his body. There, but not quite. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s full of cotton, and yet his limbs feel heavy. He doesn’t feel tired exactly, but he feels so comfortable and peaceful he wants to go back to sleep, wants to wrap himself in this strange sensation and stay there. When he finally manages to open his eyes, everything is blurred and bright.

For a brief moment he wonders if he’s in Heaven. If maybe he’s been forgiven.

But his vision starts to clear, and he sees fluorescent lights, hears a steady beeping, and starts to feel aching and sore. It’s still confusing, there are bits and pieces of memory in his head but he can’t quite make sense of them, can’t see the image the puzzle is supposed to create. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, it feels like, but he can’t quite grasp it.

Then, as he slowly sinks back into his body, he becomes aware of someone holding his hand. He has to blink a few times before he can turn his head, and then a few more to find details in the dark silhouette sitting at his side.

“Hey,” Izzy’s voice cracks as he whispers, smiling shakily down at him, “welcome back.”

Axl doesn’t understand, just stares blankly up at the guitarist sitting on the edge of his bed. He opens his mouth because he feels like he should say something, anything, but all that comes out is a weak rasp, wincing at the sandpaper feel of his throat.

Izzy hushes him, reaching with his free hand and lifting a cup with a straw to his lips. Axl drinks greedily, the cool water hitting his stomach and making him feel more present. His throat feels better, but when Izzy pulls the cup away, he realizes that he has no idea what to say. So he doesn’t say anything. He simply blinks up at Izzy, and every time he closes his eyes he expects him to be gone when he opens them.

Swallowing thickly, Izzy rubs his thumb over the back of Axl’s hand, “We’ve been waiting for you all day.”

For the first time Axl becomes aware of the three other silhouettes in the corner of his vision. Turning his head, he sees Duff and Steven sitting on the floor, both asleep, the drummer curled up with his head on the bassist’s shoulder. Slash is sitting just to the side, sprawled out in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, eyes hidden by his curls but the soft, steady breathing suggesting that he’s asleep too. As he looks at them his eyes also catch on machines, and wires, and the IV in his arm, and he finally sees the picture all the little pieces are making.

Hospital, he finds the word at last, I’m in the hospital.

He looks back up at Izzy. He finds the words. I fucked up.

Izzy’s hand grips his a little tighter, and his lips are trembling, and his eyes look watery and scared, and for the first time in years Axl thinks he looks like Jeff.

“You scared the shit out of us,” he whispers, “Fuck, Axl- Bill- Axl,” he takes a deep breath, grips his hand so tight it hurts, “You scared me so fucking bad.”

These words matter, Axl knows that, tucks them in his mind so he can give them their proper respect later, when he’s not dizzy on blood-loss and infection and painkillers and antibiotics. But right now, tears slip down the side of his face, soaking into stringy red locks, streaming silently for no other reason than because Izzy is here.

That’s all Axl can process right now, and even that is almost too much. Izzy is here. Steven, and Duff, and Slash, and Izzy, they’re here, they’re here, they’re here. After everything he’s done, they didn’t leave him on the floor of the hotel, didn’t drop him on the hospital doorsteps and move on, didn’t leave him here alone.

Izzy wipes at his tears, even though more replace them immediately. He stays. He holds Axl’s hand as he cries quietly and strokes his hair, and whispers softly. Axl is so tired, but he’s afraid to fall asleep in case this was all a dream, in case he wakes up alone.

“It’s okay,” Izzy leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Axl’s not sure he believes him, but his eyes are so heavy, and he feels himself sinking. He’s not sure he believes him. But as he slips back into unconsciousness, he allows himself to hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After sleeping through his first day in the hospital, Axl is released on the second.

Tapping his fingers anxiously, he sits on the edge of his bed, dressed in plain sweatpants and an old t-shirt Slash had brought for him. It’s just him and the doctor, who is monotone and indifferent as he gives the singer instructions. Three of the cuts had needed stitches, so he’d need to come back in two weeks to get them removed and have a check-up. Change the bandages two to three times a day. Take the prescribed antibiotics every twelve hours until the pills were gone, even if he felt better. He handed him a folder with the same instructions typed up, and the prescription, and a business card for a psychiatrist that Axl didn’t bother looking at.

Walking out of the room, he keeps his eyes on the ground. He’s walking stiffly, gauze and bandages thick around his thighs and hips making his steps stilted and awkward. The guys are waiting for him, all of them, still here he thinks, and his heart stutters. But he’s awake now, fever gone and head clear and he feels humiliated.

He doesn’t want them to leave, but he also wants them to have never been here at all.

“Good to go?” Duff asks. The four rockers stand and they look so out of place in the hospital waiting room. Not Axl though. Axl, with his pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, nondescript clothes hanging from his frame, hands shaky and weak. Axl looks like he belongs here. Axl looks like he shouldn’t be leaving.

But he nods, and they walk out the door together.

He doesn’t know whose car it is, but Izzy drives, Axl in the passenger seat while Slash, Duff, and Steven pile into the back.

They’re barely out of the parking lot when Steven leans forward, “How are you feeling?” He tries to keep his voice normal and conversational. He doesn't really succeed.

Axl rests his head against the window, “Tired.”

Steven nods awkwardly and the car falls into silence. Eventually Izzy stops the car by a pharmacy, quietly reaching over and slipping the folder out of Axl’s limp hands. He pulls out the prescription slip and hands it to Slash. There is no conversation while they wait for the guitarist to retrieve the medication, and Axl feels like he broke something. He wants to cry, but he feels hollow and dry and empty. He must have used up all the tears he had.

Slash comes back, grinning as he held up the paper bag, “I think this is the first time I’ve gotten drugs from somewhere other than a back alley,” he jokes. Axl lets out a huff through his nose, the closest to a laugh he can manage, and the others smile stiffly as the car starts again. Izzy turns on the radio to help fill the silence, but it only helps a little.

When they reach the hotel, Axl sits up and grimaces when he sees the grease mark left on the window. For the first time he looks at his reflection in the side mirror and is filled with shame and self-consciousness when he sees how stringy and dirty his hair looks, the dull matted locks only serving to make his pale face look even more sickly. A shiver runs through him at the sudden, overpowering dirtiness he feels, and he feels the urge to crouch under the dashboard, to curl up with his hands over his head so no one can see him. But before he has a chance his door opens, and he finds himself looking up at Slash.

The guitarist tilts his head and asks casually, “You alright, man?”

No, Axl thinks. He wants to scream. He wants to break something and throw a tantrum and snap and refuse to leave the car for anything. He wants to dig his fingers into his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I’m fine.”

It’s not entirely surprising when they go into the hotel and lead Axl to a different room than the one he was staying in before- he has no idea what sort of state he left it in- and it’s not particularly surprising when the guys trail after him, either. Axl is still looking at the floor, disgusting strands of hair falling into his face and he feels sick for a whole list of reasons. He spots his suitcase in the corner and shuffles towards it.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he mumbled.

Izzy’s voice stops him in his tracks, “You can’t get your bandages wet.”

He says it matter-of-factly, just pointing out the obvious, but it feels so cruel to Axl that it cuts him to the quick. He snaps his head over, eyes wide with something like betrayal.

“But…” He feels like a child- fragile and hurting and at someone else’s mercy. His head drops back down. He feels so weak and he hates it, but he can’t find anything in him to fight back. There is no rage. Only a bone deep exhaustion.

“I just want to wash my hair,” he says it mostly to himself, voice cracking just slightly and so soft he doesn’t really expect any of them to hear it. One hand raises hesitantly to touch his fingers to the side of his hair, and he wonders if he can die from shame.

He’s about two seconds away from just curling up on the floor in defeat when Duff steps forward, “I’ll help you.”

Axl blinks up at him in surprise, partially from the offer, and partially because out of all of them Duff actually manages to sound normal- like this is any other day, and it’s completely routine for him to help his lead singer wash his hair. He’s even nonchalant in the way he pats Axl’s shoulder, nudging him towards the bathroom.

“Duff…” Izzy starts, a note of concern in his voice, but the bassist cuts him off.

“Izzy.” His voice is clipped, firm, final, and Izzy raises his hands in surrender.

Meanwhile, Axl stares blankly from just outside the bathroom, unmoving and uncertain as he watches Duff snag the chair from in front of the desk under the window. Dragging the chair behind him, he grinned at Axl, waving his hand and guiding him into the ensuite. Once they’re both inside, he closes the door behind them, allowing for some privacy from the three sets of eyes looking after them.

“Here,” Duff placed the chair in front of the sink, facing away, “sit down.”

Staring at the seat though, Axl felt cracked down the middle. Because he doesn’t think he can handle not being clean for any longer, but it hits him like a freight train that what Duff is suggesting involves him touching Axl’s hair, touching the sweat and grime and filth and it feels wrong to subject Duff to that.

He wants to scream. He wants to dig his fingers into his thigh. He wants them to stay. He wants them to have never been here at all.

“It’s okay,” he wraps his arms around himself, shaking his head slowly, “You don’t have to…”

“I know,” Duff's smile never wavered. He leaned against the counter casually, head tilting, “I want to,” his voice softens to almost a whisper, “It’s okay.”

Axl struggles to hold his gaze. It takes a minute, but Duff is patient, and eventually Axl manages to step over to him, turning and sitting slowly on the chair, head hung meekly.

The bassist beamed, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, “Excellent! Hang on-” he bustled around the ensuite, snatching various items and placing them on the counter. Looking over his loot, he hummed and excused himself briefly. Axl blinked in confusion, but the tall blonde was back in less than a minute, closing the door again and placing a brush and a few bottles on the counter next to the hotel amenities.

“You don’t need all that,” Axl blurted out, feeling a little overwhelmed, “I just-... Just help me rinse it out, that’s all.”

“No way, dude,” Duff grinned, “If I’m doing this I’m doing it right. It’s a matter of pride. My hair routine is impeccable and I’ll prove it to you.” He gives Axl no room to argue, draping one towel around his shoulders and folding another to place on the edge of the sink. His hand smooths across Axl’s shoulders, smiling kindly, “It’s okay,” he assured him, “lean back.”

Doing as he was told, Axl let his head drop back into the sink, Duff adjusting the folded towel to make sure it cushioned the singer’s neck comfortably. Staring at the ceiling, Axl’s arms tightened around his stomach as long fingers swept his hair back into the sink.

“You’re okay,” Duff repeats, “just relax.”

He hears the water turn on, and there is a delay while Duff waits for it to heat up a bit before filling up a plastic cup and carefully pouring it over Axl’s hair.

Something releases in Axl’s chest. Warm water soothes the skin of his scalp, Duff’s hand steadily shielding his eyes and face, fingers carefully running through to try to loosen some of the larger knots. It feels like he can breathe, like something uncoiled around his lungs and they can expand properly for the first time in hours.

Duff hums a tune he doesn’t recognize, and Axl lets his hands unclench. After a few minutes, he sees the bassist reach for one of the bottles on the counter.

“You really don’t have to do all the fancy shit,” he mumbled.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Duff smirked.

Huffing out a laugh, Axl’s eyes slipped shut as Duff started working shampoo through his hair. He tried to remember the last time he was touched like this- gently and peacefully and unconditionally. On stage he was always sneaking for affection, throwing his arms around his bandmates and dragging them close, confident that they wouldn’t shove him away in front of an audience. It was rough and loud and desperate, like it always was, even off stage. But here it was quiet, Duff massaging his scalp and humming and Axl feels like he could fall asleep under his hands.

Coating his hair with a generous amount of conditioner next, the blonde nudged his shoulder lightly, “Sit up for a sec.”

Blinking, Axl straightened, starting a bit when Duff pushed his chair forward just enough so he could stand behind him. He then began diligently brushing the red strands, the conditioner allowing the brush to slide through the knots and matts with ease, though he was still cautious not to tug too hard.

Even when everything wasn’t collapsing around him, Axl doesn’t think he’s ever been this thorough with his hair. Or really with anything regarding his own body. The most he did was the necessary steps to not fall apart on stage- taping his ankles after the third time he sprained one, vocal exercises so he didn’t lose the one thing he was good at, shying away from hard drugs, things like that. Beyond that, he never really cared. He supposed his thighs were proof enough of that now.

But Duff was here, pressing him back to rinse out the conditioner, running his fingers through his hair and checking to make sure the water was still warm. Axl had given him multiple chances to do the minimum, to do nothing, but he chose to do more. He cared enough to do more. Even after everything Axl had put them all through.

The water turned off, and Duff wrung some of the water from his hair before nudging Axl forward again so he could gently rub a towel over his head. It suddenly struck the singer that Duff probably cared more about Axl than Axl did.

He doesn’t notice he’s crying until Duff is kneeling in front of him. It’s strange to have the tall bassist looking up at him. One hand comes to rest on the side of his face, holding him steady while the other softly wipes a wet washcloth over his forehead and cheeks. Axl can’t quite place the look in Duff’s eyes. It’s not worry, or pity, or disdain. He thinks the best word for it is compassion.

“You alright?”

Axl blinks slowly, thinking about the question. There are still tears escaping silently, and he knows that this moment of peace is temporary, that he has shaken the foundation of their group and it will take more than a day for them to find their balance again. But he’s clean, and he can look Duff in the eyes without feeling gutted, and his hands are relaxed in his lap.

So he nods.

“Yeah,” even his voice sounds more steady and strong, “I’m alright.”

~~~~~~~

Izzy turns music on again to try to cover up the awkward silence. They’re all sitting around the room, stiff and quiet, Axl laying on one of the beds and reading in an attempt to ignore all of them. He eyes the second bed suspiciously. When they had first arrived he hadn’t been in the right mind to really think about it, but now it bothered him. The hotel probably just didn’t have any more single rooms available- that would make sense given the last minute room change.

Snapping his book closed a little more forcefully than necessary, the redhead sat up and glanced around at his bandmates, “I’m tired, I’m gonna go to bed early. You guys can go back to your own rooms now.”

Duff, Steven, and Slash exchange nervous glances, but Izzy meets Axl’s stare head on. “We’re staying here.”

“That’s stupid,” Axl snapped back, “I’m just going to sleep. Go back to your room and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean, we’re not going fucking anywhere,” the rythym guitarist crossed his arms firmly.

Axl growled, “Why not?”

Izzy softened, just slightly, his voice lowering, “You know why.”

Standing, the singer glared, “I can take care of myself, y’know. Take my pills every twelve hours, change my bandages, blah blah, I don’t need you all hovering around me.”

“Obviously you do,” Izzy snapped, “or we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who’s fucked up!” Axl was yelling now. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t seem to stop, his voice only getting louder as the conversation went on, “I don’t remember you all scrambling to babysit Steven after he OD’d,” he snarled.

“Steven didn’t OD on purpose!”

“What, you think I got an infection on purpose?” he asked incredulously.

“Maybe not, but you hurt yourself on purpose!”

“So what, you’re just going to follow me around everywhere? You can’t watch me forever! After all,” He sneered, “You’ll have to go shoot up eventually.” The words are cold and cruel, and he sees Izzy’s jaw tense.

Eyes narrowed and nose flaring in rage, Izzy’s eyes dart down, landing on Axl’s hands, watching his fingers clench and unclench.

“Do it,” He spits out.

Axl blinked in confusion, “Do what?”

“Throw something!” he snapped, “Break something, tear the room apart! Come on, I know you want to!”

“I-” Axl ground his teeth together, fury rising in his chest, feeling cornered and trapped. Everything about this felt like a trap. “I want for you to leave me alone!”

“No you fucking don’t,” Izzy challenged, “If you actually wanted us to leave, then you wouldn’t be trying so hard not to freak out. If you wanted us gone you’d have already destroyed this room, and the last one, and the one before.”

“So, what? You’re mad at me because I’m trying to be better? Fuck you!”

“This isn’t better!” Izzy gestured at the singer as he yelled.

“Yes it fucking is!” Axl screamed, “It’s better! Everything was fucking better until I slipped up! I was being good, I was doing everything right! And I get it, I fucked up, I’ll be more careful now. But don’t you dare pretend like you didn't like me better when I was fucking bleeding!"

The words echo through the room, Axl’s chest heaving, and he can see all the fight leave Izzy on a single exhale. He looks gutted.

Swallowing, body still coiled with rage, Axl can’t bring himself to look at the others. The look on Izzy’s face is painful enough. Turning on his heel, he snatches a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off one of the nightstands before storming to the door.

“Axl-”

He ignores the call, throwing the door open.

“Axl-!”

The door slams behind him, and he runs.

~~~~~

Not that he makes it very far.

His legs and hips still ached, and he was tired, so he found himself stumbling before he even made it to the end of the hallway. Eyes clenched shut in frustration, he limps over to the door leading to the stairwell. Carefully, he makes his way down two flights before finally sliding down to sit on one of the steps.

The cigarettes are partially crushed from the tight grip he had held them in, but not ruined, lighting one up and inhaling deeply. Sighing, he feels some of the tension leave him with the nicotine hit, but even as he relaxes he feels the guilt grow.

Screaming at his bandmates wasn’t exactly better than trashing the room as Izzy had suggested. How many times was he going to mess everything up this week? How was he supposed to even fix this?

Maybe the disease wasn’t something he could bleed out. Maybe he was the disease.

He’s halfway through his second cigarette when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs above him. Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall, he prays that maybe it’s just some random guest or maintenance person or something.

Still, when the steps come to a halt beside him and he feels a body sit next to him, he’s not really surprised. They pluck the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from his hands, and when he opens his eyes, Slash is casually lighting up.

Axl looks away again, and for a few minutes they smoke in silence.

Eventually though, once Slash reaches the end of his cigarette, he grinds it out on the floor next to him and sighs, “I’m sorry.”

Turning to him, Axl blinked in surprise, “What for?”

There is a long pause, Slash staring down at his hands with a sad look on his face. When he speaks, his voice is almost a whisper, “For not noticing. For not questioning when you started acting different.”

“It’s fine-”

“No, it’s not,” Slash insisted.

“You shouldn’t have to question why I’m suddenly less of an asshole!” Axl snapped, “That’s not your fucking job! The whole point of all this was so that you guys wouldn’t have to fucking deal with me!”

Running his hands through his hair in frustration, Axl put his head against the wall again. He wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to look at Slash or if he didn’t want Slash to look at him.

“Axl,” The guitarist spoke slowly, “I know things were… rough for awhile. I know none of us were really getting along-”

“You were getting along with each other just fine,” Axl mumbled.

Slash ignored him, “-but even if things weren’t great, you’re still our friend. Fuck, man, I still think of you as my best friend.” He hesitated for a moment as he thought through his next words, “Look… I’m going to be honest with you, okay?” His voice was gentle and sincere, “It’s hard sometimes. It can be frustrating when you get into those moods because we just don’t get it, y’know? We don’t understand what’s going on in that head of yours sometimes. But if I had to choose between you screaming at me and you hurting yourself, I will pick you screaming every time.”

“But I don’t want to scream at you!” Axl exclaimed, hands clenched desperately in front of him, “I don’t want to- to break things, or mess up our shows, or hurt anyone, or feel so fucking-” his voice cracked, and he snapped his jaw shut. His head falls forward, hair hanging in his face as he swallows thickly to try to hold back… everything.

It didn’t work though, and when he speaks his voice is a shaky whisper. He sounds defeated.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore, Saul.”

He barely has time to take a shuddering breath before Slash is slowly pulling him into his chest. His arms are warm, and gentle, and safe, smoothing up and down his back. Resting his chin on top of smooth red hair, Slash says with a voice full of understanding, “I know. I know you don’t.” He tightens his hold and Axl shakes harder, “We’ll get you help, okay? We’ll figure something out. We’ll find a way for you to feel better- an actual solution. But in the meantime? We would so much rather deal with a late show or a trashed dressing room than… than find you like we did that night.”

Axl is tired of crying. But Slash doesn’t mind, says nothing of the growing dampness on the front of his shirt, or the way the singer wraps his arms around his back to cling to him desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

There’s so much he’s sorry for, and he doesn’t know if he is capable of articulating it all, but Slash nods, stroking his hair and Axl thinks he understands.

“I know,” he said, and he plants a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “We forgive you.”

~~~~~~~

Axl drags his feet walking back to the hotel room. Slash tries to comfort and encourage him, but he still feels anxiety like a vice grip on his heart. He had messed up so much, and they were all trying to help, even if he didn’t deserve it, and he went and yelled at them. And just because Slash said it was okay didn’t mean it was and he had to fix this, he had to, but he wasn’t sure how. He was scared that nothing would be enough.

When he finally steels himself and opens the door, he barely makes it into the room before a body collides with his, arm wrapping around him and pulling him as close as physically possible, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other cupping the back of his head. Axl feels his breath catch in his throat even as he sinks into Izzy’s warmth.

Izzy’s breath ghosts across the top of his head, and Axl slowly brings his arms up to hold him back. Sighing, he closes his eyes, letting his head rest against Izzy’s shoulder as he relaxes into the embrace. Neither of them say anything.

But neither of them need to.

~~~~~

Axl tosses and turns in bed. He’s tired, but it feels like his brain just won't shut off. He is alone on one of the queen beds, the others giving him a bit of space, which he figures makes sense given that he had tried to kick them all out a few hours earlier. Slash and Izzy are sharing the other bed, while Steven and Duff sleep on the pull out sofa in the corner of the room.

Everything was fine. Axl knew that everything was fine.

For now.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how delicate the situation was- he felt like he was on the thinnest sheet of ice and the slightest wrong move would send him plummeting into the cold and dark. Under the covers, he tapped his fingers against the tops of his thighs, the touch too light to be felt beneath the thick bandages. He wanted to press harder, to dig his nails in, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t betray his bandmates like that, couldn’t disappoint them again.

It wasn’t easy though, and he couldn’t stop tossing and turning and worrying. He was seconds away from raiding the mini fridge for something strong to clear his mind when the bed dipped behind him.

Jumping, he whipped his head around, coming face to face with Izzy, smirking down at him as he pulled the sheets back.

“Izzy? What the fuck are you-”

“You think too loud,” he explained, and Axl’s jaw clicked shut. The guitarist slid into bed beside him, turning onto his side to face the singer and opening his arms, “Come ‘ere.”

Huffing, Axl grumbles half-heartedly even as he curls up in the other man’s arms, Izzy chuckling at him as they made themselves comfortable. It did help, Axl admitted to himself, sighing as he tucked his head under Izzy’s chin. He was still awake, but at least he felt less jittery and tense.

Then, the mattress dipped again, and Axl felt someone crawling over them to get to the other side of the bed. Snapping his eyes open, he saw Slash finally settle on the other side of him.

“What the Hell?”

“Izzy abandoned me,” Slash pouted exaggeratedly.

“Oh my God, you fucking dork,” Axl laughed as Izzy flipped off the other guitarist. The three of them began to rearrange themselves, but as they did, a silhouette made its way over in the dark.

Slash held his arms out, wide-eyed, “No, no, no-!”

But it was too late, and Steven launched himself onto the bed, landing squarely on top of Slash, the guitarist groaning while the drummer giggled madly. Axl and Izzy burst out laughing as Slash shoved the blonde off, the two bickering and shoving at each other. They were so distracted by the chaos Steven had caused, that they didn’t notice another figure approaching until he was crawling onto the bed.

“Duff, no!” Izzy complained, “You're seven feet tall and these beds aren’t designed for five people!”

The bassist gave him the biggest, roundest puppy-eyes, his lip actually quivering dramatically, “So you’re going to all be together except me? You’re just going to leave me all alone while the rest of you cuddle? All by myself? Alone?"

“...Goddammit,” Izzy dropped his head back onto the pillow in defeat, Duff immediately dropping the ruse and bursting into a mischievous grin as he draped himself across the rest of their bodies.

“Jesus Christ,” Axl muttered, “What is this, ‘Kerrang!’?”

“Don’t act like that wasn’t the coziest photoshoot we’ve ever done,” Steven chimed in, still laying half on top of Slash.

It was a tight fit, and it took quite a bit of maneuvering to get them all comfortable, laughing as they shuffled around. Their bodies overlapped, limbs tangling and curling around each other. Somehow though, they made it work, each of them warm and comfortable as they drifted off one by one. It was ridiculous, Axl thought. Utterly absurd.

But he was still smiling, even when he finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

#weak ending but eh #my writing #Guns n Roses #gnr #guns n roses fanfiction #axl rose #slash #izzy stradlin #duff mckagan #steven adler #self harm tw #tw self harm #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #I almost wrote more and included axl going to therapy and getting on medication and stuff #but this felt like a more natural end #so just like #imagine he does all the work and ends up healthy and happy #surprise! Jax rambles in tags

[fraysbanes]

guide to healing a broken heart

Characters: Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray

Relationship: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland (briefly), Isabelle Lightwood/Simon Lewis (briefly)

Rating: T

Summary: written for the shadowhunters wlw fic bingo, for the square “post-canon”

Clary comes back into her life the same way she does most things: headfirst, with no warning, and knocking the breath out of everyone in her path.

It’s the voice Izzy recognizes first, when they bump into each other at the Institute, where Izzy’s heading to the weapons room after a meeting in Alicante and Clary’s staring around the familiar-yet-unfamiliar space, distracted in her awestruck state. Izzy nearly topples over with the force of the collision, but manages to straighten up at the last second. The red-haired girl who bumped into her is quick to smother her with apologies, at least.

And Izzy freezes, because that voice .

She quickly banishes the thought. It can’t be Clary. Clary is gone. And it’s taken Izzy the better part of a year to come to terms with that. Clary is not here.

But then she looks up into those startled green eyes and it’s like she’s falling again.

Clary blinks. Something like recognition passes through her features. It’s gone too soon, though, and Izzy wonders whether it was ever there, because that shouldn’t be possible.

Then again, when has Clary ever cared about what is and is not possible?

A word slips from Clary’s lips, shaky and hesitant and lower than even a whisper, but there nonetheless:

“Isabelle?”

Izzy’s breath hitches. Before she can think of a way to respond - before she can even really process what’s happened - Jace is running into the room, grabbing Clary by the arm and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Where did you run off to?” he asks breathlessly. “I was just about to introduce you to-”

“Jace,” Izzy interrupts. “What the hell is going on?”

“Iz!” Jace says, surprised to see her there. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and Alec.”

“I was at a meeting. Now tell me what the hell is going on .”

Clary answers instead of Jace. “I remember,” she says. There is a proud, triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Well, some things. I know I’m missing time. I know I used to live here. I know you. But I don’t remember all of it, so Jace and Luke are helping jog my memory.”

Izzy looks between the two of them. But her eyes keep drifting to Clary. Clary with her new haircut and her new clothes and her new life and this new beginning.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Izzy asks quietly, voice shaky with the array of emotions she’s trying to contain.

“What?” Jace frowns. “No!”

“Then am I dreaming?”

“No!” Clary says. “No, I promise- Oh, Izzy, it’s okay…”

She steps closer and places one hand on Izzy’s shoulder, another on her cheek to wipe away tears Izzy hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. The next thing Clary does is pull her into a hug - which Izzy of course melts into. It’s warm and sweet and comforting (it’s Clary , how could it not be?). But it feels different. Like something is missing.

History.

And something else.

“How did this happen?” Izzy asks once she’s done crying her heart out into Clary’s shoulder. Right there in the middle of the Institute she’s supposed to be running. For some reason, that doesn’t make her feel as weak and vulnerable as it should.

“I don’t know,” Clary admits. She’s still holding Izzy by the arms.

(Izzy tries not to think about the last time Clary held her by the arm.)

They decide to figure it out. In the following weeks, Clary spends most of her time at the Institute, being led around by Jace or Simon or Luke and even Max, once, when he comes to visit Izzy and Clary immediately recognizes him. Whenever she can, Izzy shows her around, too. They spend most of their time in Clary’s old bedroom watching her go through the things she left behind with a look of deep concentration on her face, or in the library trying to figure out what the hell happened to her. They don’t get very far with that, but Clary’s memories do start to return more and more each day.

By the fourth week, Izzy breaks up with Simon.

He’s quiet, trying to understand. She doesn’t know what to say to make him understand. To make it hurt less.

You were a dream , she wants to say. You were a fresh start. You were a mirror to my fucked up family and my fucked up heart and all my unresolved issues. You were what I needed. You made me feel needed.

Past tense.

You’re not her .

“You deserve the world,” she says instead. And I don’t deserve to settle.

Simon nods, inhales, looks up. “I love you,” he says.

Izzy shuts her eyes. “Simon, please-”

“But I don’t want us to be together if you have doubts. I think we both deserve better than that.”

Izzy feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest. She feels guilty for feeling that way.

“Yeah,” she says. “We do.” And then, hesitantly, she adds, “Friends?”

Simon takes in a deep breath and stands. He smiles. “Always,” he says.

She can’t tell whether he’s lying for her sake or his own.

But life goes on. And a few nights later, Izzy is awoken from her sleep by a loud knocking at her bedroom door. She drags herself out of bed, ready to kill whatever employee or demon or brother thought it was a good idea to wake her after the exhausting day she’s had, but when she opens the door, a tearful Clary is on the other side.

“Was it you?” Clary demands before Izzy can get a word out.

“What?”

“Was it you?” Clary asks again, her eyes never leaving Izzy’s. “Jace wouldn’t tell me. But it had to have been you, right? I know it was-”

“Clary!” Izzy snaps. “Please just tell me what this is about. Did something happen?”

Clary holds something up: her sketchbook. A new one. Not one of the ones she left behind, the ones Jace and Izzy took turns flipping through and trying not to stain with tears when Clary first left. It’s open to a page with a small sketch on it. Of a woman, her face mostly hidden behind long dark hair, smiling at a snake that’s curled its way up her arm.

Underneath it, in her messy handwriting, Clary has scribbled, my first love .

“I dreamt it,” Clary explains. “A few months ago I had this dream about a beautiful woman with a tattoo on her chest and a snake on her arm, and I woke up in tears because I was just so in love with her. And I don’t mean I thought she was cool or pretty, I mean I was in love. And when I woke up, she felt real, and it felt like I’d actually lost her, even though I knew she was just a dream and I’d never been in love. But…” She laughs a little through the tears, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “She was real, wasn’t she? She was you.”

Izzy waits to wake up. Actually wake up, because this can’t possibly be real. She steps back inside her room and, ignoring Clary’s confused frown, walks over to her dresser drawer to turn it inside out. When she finally finds what she was searching for, she marches back over to Clary and hands her the creased, crumpled, tear-stained letter.

Dearest Isabelle , it starts.

It was touching, at the time, that Clary spent her last remaining hours writing them each a letter. But as time went on it just started to feel cruel. To have this personal, physical thing left behind by her, offering closure none of them were ever going to get.

“‘Forever your…parabatai…’” Clary reads the end out loud, her own words unfamiliar to her. “Oh.”

“Jace was your first love,” Izzy says. Quickly, hoping that will make the reality of it hurt less. “I was your best friend.”

Clary looks about ready to cry again. “So you didn’t love me like that?”

Izzy can’t say no. But she can’t say yes, either. Not without betraying the most important people in her life.

And there she goes again! a little voice in the back of her head cries. Isabelle Lightwood, the fucking saint , pretending she has no choice because she chooses to put other people’s happiness ahead of her own. And she wonders who keeps breaking her heart.

Clary’s eyes light up at her hesitance. “You did, didn’t you?” she asks, too much hope in her voice and in her eyes and in her heart for Izzy to stand looking at. “You do . I know you do. Please say you do.”

Please say you do.

Present tense.

“Clary…” Isabelle whispers. And it’s confession enough.

Clary hugs her. It’s their first hug since their reunion almost a month ago, and it feels different again. This time, Izzy doesn’t know what’s new and what’s missing. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. She just lets Clary hold her and lets herself hope.

“I love you, too,” Clary says softly. She pulls back to look into Izzy’s eyes, smiling like they’re the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. Izzy can’t help but reach up and hold Clary’s face in both her hands. It’s her turn to wipe Clary’s tears away.

“I didn’t realize it before, but I do,” Clary goes on. “In every way a human being can love another human being. In every way that matters. I know you do, too.” Her eyes flutter closed and she leans in. Marginally. Waiting for permission. “Tell me you do, Iz.”

The last part is a whisper, and it makes Izzy want to scream her answer.

“I do,” Izzy says. “I love you.”

And when she closes the last of the space between them, it feels like she’s putting her heart back together.

#post-canon #canon compliant #wlwficbingo2019 #c: izzy #c: clary #r: clizzy #r: clace #r: sizzy #heartbreak #reunions #dreams #requited unrequited love #friends to lovers

[fraybaness]

guide to healing a broken heart

ao3

post-canon clary/isabelle for the wlw bingo event

Clary comes back into her life the same way she does most things: headfirst, with no warning, and knocking the breath out of everyone in her path.

It’s the voice Izzy recognizes first, when they bump into each other at the Institute, where Izzy’s heading to the weapons room after a meeting in Alicante and Clary’s staring around the familiar-yet-unfamiliar space, distracted in her awestruck state. Izzy nearly topples over with the force of the collision, but manages to straighten up at the last second. The red-haired girl who bumped into her is quick to smother her with apologies, at least.

And Izzy freezes, because that voice .

She quickly banishes the thought. It can’t be Clary. Clary is gone. And it’s taken Izzy the better part of a year to come to terms with that. Clary is not here.

But then she looks up into those startled green eyes and it’s like she’s falling again.

Clary blinks. Something like recognition passes through her features. It’s gone too soon, though, and Izzy wonders whether it was ever there, because that shouldn’t be possible.

Then again, when has Clary ever cared about what is and is not possible?

A word slips from Clary’s lips, shaky and hesitant and lower than even a whisper, but there nonetheless:

“Isabelle?”

Izzy’s breath hitches. Before she can think of a way to respond - before she can even really process what’s happened - Jace is running into the room, grabbing Clary by the arm and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Where did you run off to?” he asks breathlessly. “I was just about to introduce you to-”

“Jace,” Izzy interrupts. “What the hell is going on?”

“Iz!” Jace says, surprised to see her there. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and Alec.”

“I was at a meeting. Now tell me what the hell is going on .”

Clary answers instead of Jace. “I remember,” she says. There is a proud, triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Well, some things. I know I’m missing time. I know I used to live here. I know you. But I don’t remember all of it, so Jace and Luke are helping jog my memory.”

Izzy looks between the two of them. But her eyes keep drifting to Clary. Clary with her new haircut and her new clothes and her new life and this new beginning.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Izzy asks quietly, voice shaky with the array of emotions she’s trying to contain.

“What?” Jace frowns. “No!”

“Then am I dreaming?”

“No!” Clary says. “No, I promise- Oh, Izzy, it’s okay…”

She steps closer and places one hand on Izzy’s shoulder, another on her cheek to wipe away tears Izzy hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. The next thing Clary does is pull her into a hug - which Izzy of course melts into. It’s warm and sweet and comforting (it’s Clary , how could it not be?). But it feels different. Like something is missing.

History.

And something else.

“How did this happen?” Izzy asks once she’s done crying her heart out into Clary’s shoulder. Right there in the middle of the Institute she’s supposed to be running. For some reason, that doesn’t make her feel as weak and vulnerable as it should.

“I don’t know,” Clary admits. She’s still holding Izzy by the arms.

(Izzy tries not to think about the last time Clary held her by the arm.)

They decide to figure it out. In the following weeks, Clary spends most of her time at the Institute, being led around by Jace or Simon or Luke and even Max, once, when he comes to visit Izzy and Clary immediately recognizes him. Whenever she can, Izzy shows her around, too. They spend most of their time in Clary’s old bedroom watching her go through the things she left behind with a look of deep concentration on her face, or in the library trying to figure out what the hell happened to her. They don’t get very far with that, but Clary’s memories do start to return more and more each day.

By the fourth week, Izzy breaks up with Simon.

He’s quiet, trying to understand. She doesn’t know what to say to make him understand. To make it hurt less.

You were a dream , she wants to say. You were a fresh start. You were a mirror to my fucked up family and my fucked up heart and all my unresolved issues. You were what I needed. You made me feel needed.

Past tense.

You’re not her .

“You deserve the world,” she says instead. And I don’t deserve to settle.

Simon nods, inhales, looks up. “I love you,” he says.

Izzy shuts her eyes. “Simon, please-”

“But I don’t want us to be together if you have doubts. I think we both deserve better than that.”

Izzy feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest. She feels guilty for feeling that way.

“Yeah,” she says. “We do.” And then, hesitantly, she adds, “Friends?”

Simon takes in a deep breath and stands. He smiles. “Always,” he says.

She can’t tell whether he’s lying for her sake or his own.

But life goes on. And a few nights later, Izzy is awoken from her sleep by a loud knocking at her bedroom door. She drags herself out of bed, ready to kill whatever employee or demon or brother thought it was a good idea to wake her after the exhausting day she’s had, but when she opens the door, a tearful Clary is on the other side.

“Was it you?” Clary demands before Izzy can get a word out.

“What?”

“Was it you?” Clary asks again, her eyes never leaving Izzy’s. “Jace wouldn’t tell me. But it had to have been you, right? I know it was-”

“Clary!” Izzy snaps. “Please just tell me what this is about. Did something happen?”

Clary holds something up: her sketchbook. A new one. Not one of the ones she left behind, the ones Jace and Izzy took turns flipping through and trying not to stain with tears when Clary first left. It’s open to a page with a small sketch on it. Of a woman, her face mostly hidden behind long dark hair, smiling at a snake that’s curled its way up her arm.

Underneath it, in her messy handwriting, Clary has scribbled, my first love .

“I dreamt it,” Clary explains. “A few months ago I had this dream about a beautiful woman with a tattoo on her chest and a snake on her arm, and I woke up in tears because I was just so in love with her. And I don’t mean I thought she was cool or pretty, I mean I was in love. And when I woke up, she felt real, and it felt like I’d actually lost her, even though I knew she was just a dream and I’d never been in love. But…” She laughs a little through the tears, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “She was real, wasn’t she? She was you.”

Izzy waits to wake up. Actually wake up, because this can’t possibly be real. She steps back inside her room and, ignoring Clary’s confused frown, walks over to her dresser drawer to turn it inside out. When she finally finds what she was searching for, she marches back over to Clary and hands her the creased, crumpled, tear-stained letter.

Dearest Isabelle , it starts.

It was touching, at the time, that Clary spent her last remaining hours writing them each a letter. But as time went on it just started to feel cruel. To have this personal, physical thing left behind by her, offering closure none of them were ever going to get.

“‘Forever your…parabatai…’” Clary reads the end out loud, her own words unfamiliar to her. “Oh.”

“Jace was your first love,” Izzy says. Quickly, hoping that will make the reality of it hurt less. “I was your best friend.”

Clary looks about ready to cry again. “So you didn’t love me like that?”

Izzy can’t say no. But she can’t say yes, either. Not without betraying the most important people in her life.

And there she goes again! a little voice in the back of her head cries. Isabelle Lightwood, the fucking saint , pretending she has no choice because she chooses to put other people’s happiness ahead of her own. And she wonders who keeps breaking her heart.

Clary’s eyes light up at her hesitance. “You did, didn’t you?” she asks, too much hope in her voice and in her eyes and in her heart for Izzy to stand looking at. “You do . I know you do. Please say you do.”

Please say you do.

Present tense.

“Clary…” Isabelle whispers. And it’s confession enough.

Clary hugs her. It’s their first hug since their reunion almost a month ago, and it feels different again. This time, Izzy doesn’t know what’s new and what’s missing. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. She just lets Clary hold her and lets herself hope.

“I love you, too,” Clary says softly. She pulls back to look into Izzy’s eyes, smiling like they’re the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. Izzy can’t help but reach up and hold Clary’s face in both her hands. It’s her turn to wipe Clary’s tears away.

“I didn’t realize it before, but I do,” Clary goes on. “In every way a human being can love another human being. In every way that matters. I know you do, too.” Her eyes flutter closed and she leans in. Marginally. Waiting for permission. “Tell me you do, Iz.”

The last part is a whisper, and it makes Izzy want to scream her answer.

“I do,” Izzy says. “I love you.”

And when she closes the last of the space between them, it feels like she’s putting her heart back together.

#clizzy #clizzy fic #c: izzy #c: clary #r: clizzy #shwlwbingo #canon compliant #angst #friends to lovers

[timeagainreviews]

My Favourite TARDIS Teams

Yesterday on Twitter, Doctor Who Online asked the fandom which was the greatest Doctor/Companion pairing ever. This got me thinking. In the same way that I could never pin down a favourite Doctor, I doubt I could pin down a favourite TARDIS team, out of all of the TARDIS teams. But perhaps I could pin down my favourite team per Doctor! It seemed like a nice excuse to talk about some of the characters my reviews hadn’t touched upon yet. You may notice, I left out the War Doctor. While I do love the War Doctor, I’m not sure if any of the people he interacted with in the audios were what you could consider a full companion. That being said, I decided to dip into anything from the comics to the audios in some spots. Please note, this is not a list of who is best, merely, who are my favourites!

First Doctor: Susan, Ian, and Barbara

This one seemed like an obvious choice. It’s hard to argue with the original lineup. However, beyond this trio being the original crew, there’s a lot more to love than seniority. When we meet Ian and Barbara, they’re initially at odds with the Doctor. They’re more captives than companions, which makes their reluctant heroism a story of character development. We watch them become a tight-knit family through shared experience. This is something we see less and less throughout the First Doctor’s tenure, and it’s sad to see. We got characters like Dodo who was clearly added in to be a strand-in for Susan. By the time Ben and Polly show up, it’s as if companions are simply there to witness the Doctor and call him "far out." Giving the Doctor a familial link and two intelligent adults to answer to, added gravity to the situation. His actions had consequences. The Doctor wasn’t just magnificent with this team, he grew as a person.

Second Doctor: Zoe and Jamie

For this one, I could have easily just said Jamie and left it at that. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. All-day, Jamie. But then our sparkle-butted whiz kid from the year 2000 shows up, and she’s wonderful. Why so much love for Jamie? I think most of the fandom would agree he’s the essential Second Doctor companion. Not only do Frazer Hines and Patrick Troughton mesh so well together, so do their characters. I'm not a person that usually ship's characters, but I easily ship Two and Jamie. There’s a certain magic when you pair the Second Doctor’s bumbling eccentric with Jamie’s rough and tumble man out of time. You get two characters who are most dangerous when they’re underestimated. As Terry Pratchett said of his character Carrot Ironfounderson- "Where people went wrong was thinking that simple meant the same thing as stupid." However, this is not to say that the pair weren't in need of a bit of direction. Zoe brought a grounding presence to the team with her headstrong confidence. One of my favourite Zoe moments is when the Doctor defers to her math skills. Before this era, the Doctor hadn't really been one to ask his companions for advice. A lot of the framework for future companion relationships was forged in the Second Doctor era. There's also something sad about the way the relationship ends between the three of them. Zoe and Jamie's minds were wiped of all memory of the Doctor and returned to their original timelines. Barring future retcons, they would never know of the brave adventures they had with their cosmic hobo friend.

Third Doctor: Sarah Jane

This one was hard. I could have easily picked Jo Grant. But I went with Sarah Jane for the same reason I didn't go with Sarah Jane for the Fourth Doctor. When Jo Grant had entered the show, it was after the rather unceremonious departure of Liz Shaw. Part of the reason Caroline John left Doctor Who was mirrored in the reason Liz left UNIT. She took issue with a strong woman being sidelined in her job by a male. Not very "women's lib," of them. Enter Jo Grant, who was basically there to be an assistant. This is why I love Sarah Jane for the Third Doctor. She comes in with her business lady suits and her fast-talking gumption. There's a wonderful way that she balances out the Doctor's ego while losing none of her sensitivity. Sarah Jane brings a certain realness to the companions in a way we hadn't seen since Barbara Wright. I also really admire the way she reacts to danger. There's a complete lack of vanity in her performance. Sadly, I feel Sarah loses a bit of her edge when she joins the Fourth Doctor. She trades her lady suits for Andy Pandy overalls. While Elisabeth Sladen will forever be one of the greats, I simply feel she worked best with the Third Doctor.

Fourth Doctor: Leela and K9

I may have lied when I said I can't pick a favourite TARDIS team out of all of them. This may be the closest to what I would call "favourite." It's always surprised me to discover that many fans rate Leela quite low. The most common reasons people usually give me are along the lines of why Tom Baker disliked the character- she was too violent, too one-note. I couldn't disagree more. In my mind, Leela's one of the few classic companions with a clear character arc. Essentially, Leela's story is one of rediscovering her roots. But on a simple level, it's a story of atheism. Leela's people weren't meant to be the Sevateem, worshipping technology like relics. They were a survey team, a group of scientists. As the Doctor teaches Leela about science, she learns more of what she was always supposed to be. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't also love that she's a murderous badass. There's something delightful about seeing this jungle warrior stalking down a corridor with her robot dog friend. It's a wonderful juxtaposition of anachronisms that screams Doctor Who. This is easily one of the most dangerous TARDIS teams, with Leela's knives and Janis thorns, and K9's death rays. Not only is the Doctor forced to teach Leela restraint, but is also forced to use it himself. Wouldn't it be easier to just let his friends do the dirty work? But at what cost? Interesting stuff.

Fifth Doctor: Tegan, Nyssa, and Turlough

This one was a bit more difficult than others. Not because I couldn't decide, but because I've never exactly been all that enamoured with the Fifth Doctor's companions. Kamelion and Adric definitely weren't making the list (sorry not sorry). I wasn't going to include Peri either as there wasn't much to go off with her. I'm also slightly averse to any further adventures for Peri and the Fifth Doctor via audios and books, as I feel it undercuts the Fifth Doctor's sacrifice in "The Caves of Androzani." Which leaves us with these three. As companions, I would say they're all just sort of... fine. Despite the fact that the three of them are on screen for only two stories (seriously, finding a picture of all them together with the Doctor was very hard), I couldn’t discount any of them. Nyssa sadly has the least bit to do out of all of them. They usually relegate her to the TARDIS with a headache she needs to sleep off. That being said, I really like her gentle nature and the fact that she can somewhat make heads or tails of the TARDIS. She's an alien with a big heart, I can get down with that. Turlough I actually rather enjoy. I like that he's a bit of a coward and a bit of an opportunist. I even named one of my cats Turlough because of his orange fur. He's also got a great character arc with his Black Guardian storyline. Tegan is the rogue element out of the three because I can't really fault her. She's got some genuine moments of showing her brave heart, but she's never really excited me. She just wants to go to Heathrow. Would that be too hard, Doctor?

Sixth Doctor: Evelyn

Poor Peri, she's getting all kinds of sidelined today. Really, the girl deserves a medal for all of the Doctor's shit she puts up with. I'm a bit of a Peri fan in all reality, but she's not my fave. That distinction goes to Evelyn Smythe. I spoke a little in my article about older companions about my love for Evelyn. Working as a history lecturer for Sheffield Hallam University, she was an older, learned woman. Because of this, the Sixth Doctor seemed to always want to impress her, as opposed to just always assuming he was impressive. She had a way of calming his more abrasive tendencies which really allowed him to shine. This isn't to say that she was some stuffy buzzkill, however. In a story like "Doctor Who and the Pirates," we learn that Evelyn likes a good laugh, even if she's a rather rubbish storyteller. Had she ever travelled with Frobisher, I would have added him as well, as he was a close second. Sadly, Maggie Stables has passed away, so further Evelyn stories are no longer possible, but we were able to say goodbye to her character in "A Death in the Family."

Seventh Doctor: Ace

As I mentioned in my article "The Doctor with 1000 Faces," Ace was a clear case of course correction. A few years ago in Newcastle, I got to meet Bonnie Langford. While she seemed like a nice person, I had a really hard time saying something I liked about Mel. I literally defaulted by saying "I liked you in Doctor Who," which was basically a lie. I didn't. It just wasn't her fault. And while I've revisited Mel and rather liked her in stories like "Paradise Towers," the introduction of Ace was an automatic improvement. Not only does Ace elevate Sylvester McCoy's performance, but she also breathed new life into the companion archetype. Ace didn't react to danger with mindless screaming, she was brooding and mysterious. There are moments where I laugh at just how much a delinquent she is. The girl carries explosives around like it's something everyone does. I told Sophie Aldred that Ace and Leela were my two favourite companions. I don't know what it says about me that I really like the smashy-smashy, stabby-stabby companions, but I do. There's just something really fun about the dangerous action girl with the mythic space nerd dynamic that I really love.

Eighth Doctor: Izzy and Feyde

This was another one that was difficult for me. I could have easily said Lucie "Bleedin'" Miller, or maybe even Fitz. I also have a somewhat incomplete knowledge of the 8th Doctor's companions. I've not yet listened to his audios with Mary Shelley, Tamsin, or Molly. I ended on Izzy and Feyde however because of their obvious impact on the show. Taking place in the comics, during the wilderness years between the TV movie and the 2005 series, this was some of the best Doctor Who available. Not only were Izzy and Feyde one of the first LGBT depictions in Doctor Who, they were also highly enjoyable characters. With Izzy we got to see some of the groundwork for characters like Rose Tyler and Lucie Miller. She was a modern girl who was a bit of a geek. I found her very relatable, even during her time as a fish. Feyde was an easy choice to include, and I do mean Feyde and not Fey. While being a secret agent from 1933 is cool, being a secret agent from 1933 merged with a sentient Time Lord weapon is way cooler. I could have gone with Shayde for the Fifth Doctor (hell, I should have gone with Shayde), but I wanted to save him for his time as Feyde. Having one companion who body swaps with a fish, and another that shares a body with an alien weapon, who also have lesbian feelings for one another is a recipe for some very interesting storytelling. Russell T Davies is a notable fan of this era of Doctor Who, so much so that he offered to let them show the 9th Doctor regenerate within its pages. If you've not read the Doctor Who Magazine comics, you should be. If for no other reason than for the Eighth Doctor's sublime era.

Ninth Doctor: Rose, Mickey, and Jack

Rose is a very divisive companion in the fandom. I know because I've taken part in the mud flinging until I realised that such endeavours were stupid. Seriously, if you're a hater of other people's tastes, you should stop. Let people like stuff. That's not to say I am a fan of what they did with her when David Tennant came into the TARDIS. For me, Rose Tyler will always work best with the Ninth Doctor. Having both met at a time when neither of them knew particularly what they wanted from life, they both seemed to have a healing quality toward one another. I was willing and able to believe that the two of them genuinely cared about one another, and the relationship blossomed because of this. It was a great way to reintroduce fans to the show after such an extended hiatus. The Doctor was this unknown figure who we got to discover and learn to trust through Rose Tyler's eyes. When the family grew with characters like the flirty Captain Jack or the goofy but earnest Mickey Smith, it only added to the dynamic. It was an exciting group to watch, and one that hooked countless new viewers.

Tenth Doctor: Donna

I will go up to bat for Donna Noble. I once had a roommate who brought a guy home who didn't like Donna Noble. When I asked why, he said she was ugly and annoying. When he left our house, I told her to dump his ass for his bad opinions about women (she agreed). Donna is a goddess. Much like Evelyn, she has the ability to temper the Doctor's shittier qualities. I mentioned I dislike how the Tenth Doctor interacted with Rose, and he definitely didn't appreciate Martha for the MVP she was. Donna was funny, she was nurturing, and she didn't let people push her around. There is nothing I don't like about her character. She gave the Tenth Doctor an accountability like Ian and Barbara gave the First Doctor. Seeing him interact with someone as an equal developed his character in ways we hadn't seen before. It was also really nice, after so much puppy love mooning over the Doctor, to see a companion who was literally just a friend. I've always preferred the Doctor's relationships to be platonic. I know some people like the idea of love in the TARDIS, but I'm old fashioned. Donna was so perfect for the Doctor that her ending could only be tragic. They say you never forget your first Doctor, but in the case of Jamie, Zoe, and Donna, it's sadly not true!

Eleventh Doctor: Amy and Rory

This one seems like a no-brainer to me. I would say the golden age for Matt Smith are his early adventures with Amy and Rory. I've heard people complain about Amy because of her lack of development outside of an obsession with the Doctor. While Rose Tyler had a job and a family, Amy had the raggedy man and years of therapy. But I can forgive all of this because of Karen Gillan's fiery personality. She kills every line of dialogue and sells every dramatic moment. I absolutely love her. Rory is more of a slow burn, but he achieves something I think they've tried with many other male companions and failed. He's able to question the Doctor's actions in a way that doesn't make him come off like a cocky prick (Adric) or horribly misguided (Danny Pink). His lack of hero worship toward the Doctor is a sober counterpoint to Amy's undying adoration. (If you remember correctly, I also named my other cat Rory after him). By the time the three gel into a team, they're like a family, and not just because of River connecting them in a familial way. You'll notice that I didn't include River, and this is simply because I have a lot of issues with the way her story was written. The whole meeting from opposite directions thing led to a lot of implied chemistry. It broke the rule of "show, don't tell," in a way I felt was detrimental to her character development. Despite a really lousy final episode, Amy and Rory are some of my favourite modern companions. Seriously, their goodbye in "The God Complex," should have been their actual goodbye.

Twelfth Doctor: Clara

Oh, Clara... I could write an entire article on my feelings about Clara Oswald. I would title it "The Many Faces of Clara," but it wouldn't be any of the split time stream versions, it would be about the ever-fluctuating character type of the companion Clara Oswald. She's all over the place, and it's a mess. Sometimes she's goofy, other times she's a stern killjoy, then she's a careless daredevil. I don't believe the writers knew what to do with her for most of her run. The impossible girl thing was, in my mind, a total misfire. But I can't help but feel like when she's with Capaldi's Twelfth Doctor, she's given the most to work with. I went back and rewatched a lot of her episodes, and her stuff with Capaldi is some truly great Doctor Who. I didn't include Danny because he had so many issues as well, but I couldn't reconcile them. He spends the entire time barking at the Doctor in what was becoming a really sad trend of the Doctor not being able to get along with male companions and competing for the attentions of the female companion. I really tried to come away with a new appreciation for Danny, but his reluctance to stop a Cyberman invasion to prove a point that the Doctor is a general, was so stupid. "I'm going to let the world burn to win an argument." The worst part is, he wasn't even right about the Doctor, and we as the audience knew it. Clara, on the other hand, when she's outside the influence of the "impossible girl" storyline and Danny Pink, she's actually pretty damn compelling. It took her three seasons, but she gets there. This was just barely enough to edge Bill out of running. I'd also love to see Bill come back in an audio, as I feel she never got a proper shake. Make it so!

Thirteenth Doctor: Ryan, Yaz, and Graham

What other choices were there? That being said, I rather like all three of these companions. I've covered, rather extensively, the pros and cons of all three companions in my reviews for season eleven. I find it humorous that most of my friends were least excited by Graham, considering what a darling he's become in the fandom. I love the guy. It's no secret in this blog that I have been a big Graham fan from the start. Yaz is a character I think all of us can agree needs way more development. With that being said, I think we get a pretty good idea of her moral compass. I also really love Mandip Gill in the role. She's a great actress and not at all hard on the eyes. Tosin Cole as Ryan is a really interesting character because I keep fluctuating in between not being able to tell if he's a good actor or not. Either way, the scenes between him and his dad were some of the best of the season. I love the way the group defers to the Doctor. They really do seem like a team with a belief in the good they're doing. People can talk about the spotty nature of season eleven, but the fact remains, the characters are there to make me want to see what's in store for season twelve. Chibnall has given us three distinct individuals that we want to watch develop, and at the end of the day, isn't that what it's all about?

Well, friends, that's it for now! I hope you enjoyed this article! Did any of these match your picks? Was I totally wrong? Who are your favourites? I like to think there are no wrong answers because this fandom is vast and there's so much to love! I'll see you all soon!

#doctor who #Time and Time Again #first doctor #second doctor #third doctor #fourth doctor #Fifth Doctor #Sixth Doctor #Seventh Doctor #eighth doctor #ninth doctor #Tenth Doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #Thirteenth Doctor #Ian Chesterton #Barbara Wright #Susan Forman #Jamie McCrimmon #zoe heriot #sarah jane smith #leela #k9 #vislor turlough #nyssa #tegan jovanka #evelyn smythe #ace mcshane #izzy sinclaire #Fey Truscott-Sade

[enkelimagnus]

Selfish Chapter 28: Simon & Izzy

Post-3x22 Jadia/Clace/Claia/Sizzy fic

Chapter 28: Sometimes things don't work out the way you thought they would.

Read on AO3

Clary and Simon avoid the crowded streets and avenues of Manhattan. It’s a daylight patrol and it means there are a lot of mundanes walking around that they could bump into, or who could bump into them any second. It’s Christmas season too, a few days before the holiday, which means everyone’s rushing for last minute presents.

Shadowhunters don’t celebrate Christmas. Out of every member of Simon’s found family in the Shadow World, only Raphael celebrates it. It’s his second Christmas as a mundane. He’s a year into his education at the seminary, and Simon has seen him several times wearing the cassock. Simon doesn’t want to admit that he somewhat misses the stern man.

Clary’s looking around at the street and the people with unrestrained curiosity and excitement. It’s Clary’s first patrol since she came back to the Institute, a little less than a month ago. Simon’s mostly there to keep an eye on her as she gets back into it. He doesn’t doubt that she’ll be fine. She’s born for Shadowhunting.

It’s in her blood in a way that it isn’t in Simon’s. It’s unnerving sometimes, to be in the Institute training, or out on patrol as a Downworlder Deputy, and for all of the people to expect him to be as performant as they are. He’s not an angel-blooded soldier of the Clave. He works differently than them.

They all seem to somewhat forget that, especially Izzy. Simon sighs a little.

Clary winces as she stretches. Simon sends her a questioning look. She chuckles. “Izzy’s been kicking my ass in training. I’m just a giant ache right now.”

Simon chuckles as well. “Izzy’s been very focused on getting you back to your pre-hiatus abilities.”

Too focused, almost.

“Was she like that when you became a…”

“Downworlder Deputy?” Simon fills in. “No, she wasn’t. Jace actually took care of most of my training. We didn’t want to get distracted in the middle of sessions.”

Clary huffs, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “So I’m guessing the two of you are happy.”

Simon swallows. That’s a bit of a complicated topic. Izzy and him have been doing alright, considering. Their relationship is a bit emptier than it used to be. He cares for her a lot, truly. After all, they have spent more than a year together.

“We’re… okay.”

Clary turns her head to look at him more fully now. She sends him a slightly worried look. A pang of guilt hits him in the chest. After everything she’s been through, she doesn’t deserve to see her two best friends falling apart. She didn’t even get to be happy for them.  

Simon doesn’t elaborate. Clary seems to drop the subject, as they turn onto a bigger avenue, and focus on not hitting mundanes.

Silence settles between them, and Simon is left with his thoughts and his concerns. They have a date scheduled tonight, in a somewhat fancier than usual restaurant. If their relationship had been going as good as he pretends it is, that would have been the day he proposes.

He didn’t even go look for a ring.

They’ve been planning to go to that restaurant for months now. Izzy’s finally back to her original Weapons Master position, Alec has taken over the Institute, and they finally have a night off in both of their schedules at the same time.

Yet, Simon doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to sit across from her for hours as they pretend she’s not staring at her phone, hoping for someone to call. He doesn’t want to make small talk and have her systematically shut him out. He doesn’t want to give up trying after the second slightly deeper conversation he starts.

She doesn’t want to tell him things anymore, and he doesn’t want to try and reach her either. He’s tired, of the endless work of trying to get her to tell him why she’s not okay. He’s exhausted by it all.

But he’s going to be a good boyfriend, put on a nice shirt and go to dinner with her, and see if maybe, the spark between them, the feeling that made them work so well, be so good for each other in the beginning is still there.

He cares for her, so much, but it’s not enough. Not when he sees Magnus and Alec’s relationship, and compares what he sees of them to what he feels when he’s with Izzy. She’s distant, but he doesn’t really run after her that much anymore.

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

Izzy steps up the stairs to the small restaurant they booked a table at. Her feet are already killing her, because Simon insisted on taking the subway instead of an uber, and they walked from the subway station to the restaurant.

She’s pretty cold too, and Simon doesn’t give off much body heat. She reaches for her stele in her jacket pocket and discreetly activates her Heat rune. The inside of her coat gets much warmer immediately. Perfect.

Simon lets go of her arm once they are at the entrance of the restaurant, waiting to be led to their table. His arm wraps around her in a familiar motion, hand hovering over the small of her back.

She feels guilty for not putting more effort into her outfit. She pretty much gave up before opening her closet, and grabbed the closest semi-formal dress she could fine. It’s nice, of course, a square-neck, long-sleeved eggplant-colored bodycon dress that reaches right at her knee, but she’s worn it several times before and she’s sure Simon can notice.

To be honest, she just doesn’t want to be there. This restaurant sounds great and all, but Simon can barely eat a normal meal, she’s tired of working at the Armory all day to undo the mess her substitute made, and she just… doesn’t see the point.

Simon’s great but she doesn’t trust herself around him anymore. Not after what happened at Clary’s welcome back party. She looks at him and flashes of fangs and shivers of venom running through her veins are summoned from the depth of her mind.

It’s horrible, it’s ruining their relationship, and she wants it all to stop.

They are seated at a table in the middle of the room. No privacy whatsoever, and people will stare at the weird red liquid Simon pours onto every food that goes into his mouth. Izzy sighs. She wants this to be over, so she can just get in bed and sleep it all away.

Simon shrugs off his jacket and Izzy takes off her coat. They settle at the table and look onto the menu. Izzy knows he’ll order either the cheapest thing or red meat, which is easier for him to swallow down with the added blood. She sees the seafood linguine and chooses that.

They also both order a glass of wine, red for Simon and white for Izzy.

“How was your day?” Simon starts.

Izzy sighs a little. “It was fine. Stupid Castello made a mess of my Armory, so I’m just trying to make sense of what he left behind and fix it,” she complains. She hates that guy so much. “Also did some training with Clary.”

Their wine glasses arrive. Simon swiftly pours some blood into it. Izzy ignores it. She’s used to it. It doesn’t gross her out much anymore.

“She mentioned you were going hard on her.”

Izzy shrugs. “She spent a year without any sort of training. I’m only doing what I wish someone would do if it happened to me. Kick my ass into an acceptable skill level.”

Simon hums. “Right. But you know you have time right? She’s not going to disappear again. You don’t have to push her as hard as you do.”

Izzy purses her lips. He doesn’t understand, at all. He’s not a Shadowhunter. “I’m just doing what any good parabatai would do. She can take it. Besides, she’s not complaining.”

Simon nods and says nothing else. Good. They have very different experiences of training, of existing in this world. Simon never understood the culture of the Shadowhunters. Izzy doesn’t think he ever will.

They fall into another silence. There’s been a lot of silence in their relationship lately. Izzy shifts in her seat. She hates this. She hates the silence.

Eventually their food arrives. They haven’t even tried to talk more. There’s nothing to say, really. Izzy doesn’t want to tell him everything that’s going on in her head. She doesn’t want to tell him that she isn’t happy with him anymore.

They eat in silence, drink their wine glass, and a second one. Izzy wonders if she should order a tequila shot. Get some liquid courage before she does what she feels she should be doing.

She doesn’t order it. She just gets up and goes to the bathroom.

Her lipstick is fading away, and she reapplies it. Her reflection in the mirror looks bored and sad. She wants to go home, peel away the makeup and forget this. The dress has a stain now, from the pasta sauce. Everything feels frustrating and empty. Music’s playing in the bathroom and she wants to punch something.

She comes back to the table. Their plates have been taken away and Simon’s playing with a stray piece of cutlery that was left behind. She swallows. Her throat feels dry. She sits down and looks at him.

“Simon…”

“It’s not working,” Simon says. “That’s what you were going to say.”

Izzy opens her mouth and closes it again.

Simon sighs softly. There’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s a bit sad. But he’s not heartbroken.

“We both know it’s not,” Simon adds. “I think it’s time we stop pretending that we’re… functioning.”

Izzy swallows heavily. She knows this is the right thing to do but she still feels sad. She doesn’t want to say goodbye to all of the good moments they spent together.

“I care about you,” she whispers.

“So do I. But we know that’s not enough.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “It’s not enough. And we… we’re better off as friends, I think.”

“I agree,” Simon nods. He grabs the check and stands up. “I’ll get this.”

She watches as he walks over to the cash register and pays. Her heart is heavy, but the weight on her shoulder is lifted.

#clace #sizzy #malec #claia #jadia #selfishfic #shadowhunters #fic #mine

[peterjakes]

My Mad Fat Diary Fanfic - The Two Months - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Chizzy: The Final Tour

The title is so cringe I know! I don't know if anyone's actually reading this but I've been away which is why the delay for an update. A slightly shorter chapter but I enjoyed writing this. Izzy and Chop are so cute but even they have their problems.

Also posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154688/chapters/47769328#workskin

Izzy was one of the most excitable people in Stamford, she was like a little puppy, especially when it came to spending time with Chop. It was a miracle they were still together if Izzy was being completely honest. She was glad, of course, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hate her behaviour. She shouldn’t have done anything with Peter. End of. And she shouldn’t have blamed Chop, even if he had been completely horrible to Archie and acted as if Izzy’s feelings didn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gotten jealous about Izzy hanging around other boys, but Izzy supposed that she just proved him right. They were fine now, but sometimes she wished they’d gone about everything differently She loved Chop, even if she hadn’t actually said it yet. Not properly. Little ‘love ya’ goodbyes didn’t count in Izzy’s eyes. He’d said it her, quite a few times, more so recently but Izzy imagined that was just because of everything that happened, so that didn’t really count either. She wanted to say it, but just went to jelly whenever she was with Chop, even more than when he didn’t notice her.

Chop had rung her earlier, said he had a big surprise with made Izzy more nervous than she had been for a long time. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Izzy hoped for something that would break the tension between the two, because she hadn’t been enjoying that. Chop wanted to go to the pub, but Izzy didn’t want anyone to walk in on them so suggested going to his flat. She didn’t particularly like Chop’s flat if she was honest. It was quite messy and grubby. If Izzy lived there, she would make it the cutest, little flat in Stamford. Izzy liked decorating and begged Chop to let her do some work or even just show him her ideas, but he refused, saying it was perfect as it was. It wasn’t. Nothing was perfect in their relationship, not really. Everyone outside always said how cute they were and how nothing could break them. How wrong they were. Chop didn’t seem to have a clue either. Thought everything was all fine now the gang were back together, but Izzy was still reeling from what happened. It was quite surprising, because Izzy hardly got angry about anything. But the way Chop had handled the situation didn’t sit right with Izzy. To be fair to him, he had apologised to Izzy and Archie. He had tried afterwards to not make it awkward. But Chop could be pretty clueless about everything. And he never spoke to Izzy about how he was feeling. Typical boy. All of these thoughts swam around Izzy mind until she reached Chop’s flat, she still had a spare key but hardly every used it. This wasn’t one of those times. If she was going to talk to Chop properly about everything, she was going to have to grow some balls.

In comparison, Chop was beside himself with glee. Meeting with Archie had actually made him see things clearly. Everything was fine, with everyone. And one of his legendary sexy parties? Who could resist that? Things will Izzy had been pretty solid too, all things considering. They’d both messed up but Chop mainly blamed himself. He’d been a pretty crap boyfriend. A terrible friend. And an all-round dickhead. But he going to change it. Otherwise, everything would fall apart again.

“Iz!” She was greeted by one of Chop’s cheeky grins and a peck on the cheek. He tried to go for another kiss, but Izzy managed to slide out from under his arms. Chop didn’t seem to realise and rushed her to his kitchen. It was the size of a brook cupboard, Chop seemed to have forgotten to do last night’s washing up and the night before as well. There were broken plates on the surface and a random house plant sitting inside a washing bin – at least he’d finally bought one of those.

“What’s this surprise then? Better be that you’re letting me redecorate this place!”

“Redec- nah, nah. This is a bachelor’s paradise Iz!” He waved his arms out, trying to show off how great his flat was. He thought it was pretty great. Not many lads his age had managed to secure a decent flat, especially on his wage. Izzy wasn’t so sure at the beginning, when he told her he was moving out, which surprised Chop to be honest. His own flat meant more time together. Alone. And they had that for a while but recently Chop had noticed a slight change in how Izzy acted around him. She hadn't wanted to come around as much and at first Chop put that down to college work, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell something was up. But was too scared to say anything. He didn't want to fuck up again.

“You’re not a bachelor though, Chop. It’s a mess.” Izzy wrapped one of Chop’s dirty football shirts in her hand as she said this, waving it in his face. Izzy hated it when he wouldn’t get to the point. She hated it when he made stupid remarks. But one look at that face and almost all was forgiven.

“Don’t matter, ‘lright?” He pulled the shirt outside of Izzy’s hand, dragging her closer to him. “We ‘ave very important business to attend ‘ta! ‘rnold Peters has a brilliant plan and ‘e needs his lovely assistant to ‘elp!” He wrapped his slender arms around her small waist, swaying her side to side with a small twinkle in his eyes.

“I thought you were surprising me. I got all excited for nothing.” Izzy pulls a sour face, indicating to Chop that she’s not angry, only kidding, and gives him a small peck on his lips, mirroring their earlier kiss. They haven’t been that … intimate recently. They’d kissed and made up, but Izzy hadn’t wanted things to go further. She knew Chop was frustrated, even if he didn’t want to be. She was grateful for that; she was grateful for Chop. But the problem was getting back to how they were. She didn’t even dare mention this to Chop, who thought everything was completely fine in the world. And she didn’t want to disturb that but wondered if she could carry on the way they were.

“It is a surprise! Just not for just ‘ya, for everyone!”

“Chop!” Izzy was trying to remain happy and calm, but they became very hard whenever Chop was being difficult. Not that has was that difficult, but he could be a right nightmare sometimes. Everyone said she was a saint for putting up with him and at first, she didn’t think that was fair, but recently she’d come to realise how true that comment was. All Izzy really wanted was for her and Chop to go back to normal. Or at least try. She felt like he didn’t really understand her, not anymore and she didn’t want to cause anymore trouble. Whenever she’d tried to talk to Chop about everything, he’d just brush it off.

“I need ‘ya help, ‘m gonna host the most legendary sexy party that Stamford has ever seen, ‘right? ‘ows that for a surprise?” Chop was obviously pleased with himself. And why wouldn’t he be? At least he was trying. At least he was making an effort. Everyone else seemed to just disappear again, and Chop didn’t want that. At least this way everyone could come together, properly come together and Chop could make sure everyone was cool again. That’s all Chop really wanted.

“You got me to come around here, for a sexy party? Why?”

“It’s Arch, Iz. ‘e needs cheering up, I think. ‘asn’t been himself seen, ya know. My fault really.”

“Oh, Chop. I thought we’d been over this. Everything’s fine. You just…” Izzy moved to wrap herself back around Chop, but he slithers away.

“ya gonna ‘elp meh or not?” Chop gave Izzy a look that a year ago would have made her melted but now made her feel intensely guilty.

“Yes, yes I’ll help!” She gives Chop a reassuring smile, but even he can tell she isn’t completely sure about his plan. “But I mean it, it was all our fault. And… I want us to be okay, don’t you?”

A slightly confused look merged on Chop’s face. “Aren’t we?”

“Y-yes, but parties can’t solve everything, you know.” In Izzy’s experience, some of Chop’s parties actually made things worse. Like when Finn and Duke ended up having a brawl across Chloe’s garden in October. Or when Archie and Rae got completely soaked because Barney had forgotten to turn off his dad’s hose. And those were some of the tame examples Izzy could remember.

“Just wanted ‘ta cheer ‘im up, Iz. Cheer ‘ya all up. Fucked everything up, didn’t I?” It was in this moment that Izzy realised that a down beaten Chop was not the Chop she should have been wishing for. This was her Chop. The real Chop. Not the ‘jack the lad’ who’d buy everyone a pint or who’d hang around with complete arseholes. The one who stood up in front of everyone and told her how he felt, the one who clapped after Rae revealed about her being in hospital, the one who he kissed Archie in front of everyone. That’s who Izzy wanted. That’s who she knew she was in love with, even if she couldn’t say it. But she didn’t want him to keep blaming himself. He didn’t deserve that – he was a good person. Which was something he wasn’t told very often, especially from Izzy.

When Izzy goes to wrap herself around Chop, he lets her this time. Her small body seems to fit perfectly against his and Izzy feels at home. She always has. She knows they've hit a few rough patches, but Chop would never do anything to hurt her. He does enough of that to himself. And Izzy knows she should be there for him, just as he’s been for her. She nuzzles her head into Chop’s chest once again, before he plants a small but sincere kiss on the top of her head.

"Cheers, Iz. I love 'ya, 'ya know."

"I know," Izzy pauses and glances up towards Chop, making sure he's listening. "I love you too." Izzy could sense a wide smile forming on Chop's face, one of those lovely grins she couldn't resist.

"So, 'ya gonna 'elp me now?"

#mmfd #mmfd fic #mmfd fanfiction #mmfd fanfic #my mad fat diary #the two months #*my writing

[ninwrites]

find your strength

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Words: 2523

Summary:

a quick study on magnus' perspective towards his birthday, with respect to his newfound mortality

-

Read on AO3 or below the cut xx

Birthdays have never held much weight for Magnus - it’s difficult, to consider it anything special, with the life he's led.

Every year he marks the date that Ragnor had chosen for him, December eight (because Ragnor always insisted that it was important to mark it, as an event, for the barest hope that he won’t get swept away by the ceaseless passing of time, that he’ll have some sort of anchor to hold onto), but he doesn’t go out of his way to celebrate it. He’s not like Ragnor, he can’t celebrate time as though it’s a gift, and he most certainly doesn’t need the reminder, of all the tragedy his existence has brought others, of all that time has taken away from him.

It’s more than a little jarring, for his birthday to come around with so much meaning, now that his immortality is gone, and the friend who’d brought him the day along with it.

Magnus wakes up to an empty bed, which seems pretty on-par for how he already feels about the day. There’s a small, foolish part of him that hopes it won’t set the tone, but he doesn’t have a lot of faith in it - he can’t.

A lot of his decisions are made in that vein of thought, these days. He can’t afford to be careless, can’t take risks the same way that he used to, because there’s no safety net to catch him if he falls, no quick-fix for his mistakes.

It’s made him a lot more cynical - he’d thought he had already hit his peak, but it appears as though there’s another mountain after it, with nothing but clouds of pessimism before him.

There haven’t been many respective upsides to his new, mundane way of life; Alec, bless his beautiful heart is trying as best he can to help Magnus feel better, but there are some cold patches that not even his warmth can reach.

(Still. They say it is the thought that counts, and Alec’s dedication is almost as strong as his follow-through.)

There’s a slight rap on the door, a two-knuckled knock that allows Magnus a few seconds to pull himself up into a sitting position before Alec is poking his head around the corner, tousled hair in disarray, a hesitance to his gaze.

“Good morning,” Alec smiles, and it’s like the break of the sun’s rays through stormy dark clouds, splitting and warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake.”

Magnus shrugs his left shoulder, running a hand through his tangled bed-hair. He misses the ease of the most simplest tasks the most, he’s discovered. The ability to fix even the slightest inconvenience with just a quick snap of his fingers-

“Surprise.” Magnus doesn’t force a smile, just lets it sit, distant but there .

He knows that he couldn’t get through this without Alec, and it’s that knowledge that makes the sacrifice worth it; he’d do it all over again, without question.

(He’d go to unthinkable lengths for Alec.)

“I thought the surprises were supposed to be up my sleeve.” Alec comments, crossing the room. “This is your day.”

“Can’t we share it?”

Alec shakes his head, fondness lighting him up like his atoms are made of affection. “Afraid not.”

He leans in, cupping Magnus’ cheek and kissing him, patient and soft, from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Happy birthday,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to Magnus’ cheek. “Thank you for being born.”

Magnus curls his hand around Alec’s wrist. “You say that as though I had a choice in the matter.”

“It doesn’t matter to me - just that it happened.” Alec drops another kiss, this time to Magnus’ temple, an aching tenderness to the touch. “I love you.”

Magnus rests his forehead against Alec’s. “If you really loved me, you’d get back into bed - that position can’t be too comfortable for a giant such as yourself.”

“I’m supposed to be cooking you breakfast.” Alec murmurs, his gaze hooded - he skips over the giant comment, and Magnus isn’t sure if he should feel grateful; it’s meant to poke fun, for Alec is quite clearly not a giant, nor even that much taller than Magnus, but it wasn’t carried by all that much humour.

“Then again, it was also supposed to be a surprise.” Alec admits, after a moment, his voice just above a whisper.

“Burning down my kitchen is a peculiar gift, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Alec hums, a slip of laughter escaping between his parted lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Breakfast is actually something I can cook pretty well, I used to do it for Izzy and Jace all the time. Training with an empty stomach never ends well.”

Magnus tips his head back, looping his arms around Alec’s neck. “Now you’ve spiked my curiosity. What did you have in mind?”

Alec grins, opening his eyes slowly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ah, now that I can still keep a surprise.” He kisses Magnus again, relaxed and measured, before pulling back. There’s something, more than just kindness in his gaze, more than just consideration to the tugged-up corner of his smile. “I know that birthdays have never been a highlight for you - they’re not my favourite events, either. But this is the first time I get to celebrate with you, and I … I want to make this a good day, if you’ll let me. But only if you’ll let me.”

Magnus’ heart aches for how much he loves this wonderful man before him; it’s impossible and undeniable, all the same. “Breakfast sounds lovely.”

Alec nods, and Magnus thinks that he would have agreed even if he wasn’t hungry - Alec needs something to do, a task to focus on, to pour all of his energy into, and even something as everyday as making breakfast appears to put more iron in his veins, strength and determination taking over from his worry.

He does that, a lot. Worry. About Magnus, especially, now that he’s magic-less. Mundane. Empty.

It’s sweet, if a little overbearing at times, but Magnus knows that is just Alec’s nature - he needs to feel useful, to help wherever he can. If making breakfast makes him feel like he’s doing something, then it’s hardly a chore for Magnus to indulge him; after all, ensuring that Alec is okay is pretty much all that Magnus has the energy to care about, these days.

There’s a stranger in the mirror.

His skin is pale, his cheeks sunken, his mouth a tight, thin line, a shadow in the background of his gaze, flickering and dark. There’s no cat-eye slit, no gold, no spark. Just a plain, normal brown. Nothing extraordinary, nothing special, nothing magic .

Magnus doesn’t recognise the man in the mirror, though they wear the same face, and move the same way. It’s been a month - or, maybe two, time is slippery these days - but he can’t seem to reconcile his new life with who he’s always been.

Alec seems certain that he’ll get his magic back, one day. Catarina insists that he’s mourning what he’s lost; both agree that he’s going through a period of inevitable grief. Yet, neither of them, in their infinite wisdom, have ever been as critical towards Magnus as he is.

Pity is easy. It’s maintaining faith, in himself, most of all, that’s the hardest - being a warlock is all he has ever known, and even with all of the trouble it’s brought him, all of the near-death experiences, the passing of his mother, the countless losses he’s endured … his magic is everything. Or, it was .

It is, he believes, the worst loss he’s ever experienced; in a way, a part of him has died, and he has to learn how to begin again, how to exist without this vital part of himself. It’s exhausting, in more ways than one, and Magnus is losing out on hope that he’ll ever return to any semblance of who he used to be.

He wants to, because living as a ghost is no life to live - he just, doesn’t have the same fire anymore. Not even his many years of experience have taught him how to deal with this new life he’s found himself in.

Celebrating his birthday feels like going through the motions of somebody else, somebody he’s expected to be, not who he truly is - but, then, Alec is putting so much energy and love into this that Magnus can’t find the strength to admit it.

If nothing else, this will at least be a good day, because Alec is here, and he’s smiling, and those are two of Magnus’ favourite things in the world.

“See? No smoke.”

Alec looks so immensely proud of himself, with his whisk-taker apron, an old gift from Isabelle he’d recently dug up, tied around his waist. It’s hard not to smile.

“I’m very impressed.” Magnus tugs his robe closer, part of him wishing it would serve as a binding to keep himself together as well. “So, what is on the menu?”

Alec nods towards the table, which is laden with immeasurable goods. “Croissants, both almond and chocolate, from Elsie’s; raspberry and white chocolate mini-muffins that I made yesterday; and blueberry pancakes with maple syrup. And coffee, of course.”

“Best not to forget the most important part,” Magnus acknowledges, in a distant voice, too swept up in pure awe.

Alec did all of this … for Magnus.

“Alexander, this is - too much.” Magnus’ hands tremble against his abdomen. “You didn’t have to go to all of this effort just for me.”

“I was in the mood for pancakes.” Alec winks, but his carefree attitude doesn’t last long, his grin fading into something more melancholy, but no less sincere. “I wanted to do this for you, Magnus. You deserve this - you deserve everything. I’m just trying to give you what I can.”

Magnus shakes his head, an undeniable lightness soaring within him. “You, my love, are all I need.”

Alec’s cheeks burn a fervent pink, but he doesn’t back down, either. “So, I went to all of this effort for nothing?”

Magnus glances at the spread of breakfast foods, ignoring the tiny pang in his chest. Relationships take effort, a tiny voice whispers in the echoes of his dark mind.

“Not at all.” Magnus summons a smile, and by some grace of the universe, it doesn’t fail him. “Alexander, this is wonderful, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Alec shrugs, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s your birthday. This was the least that I could do.”

“You say that as though it isn’t a respectable feat,” Magnus nods towards the table. “For the organisation required, if nothing else. It means a lot to me, Alexander. Thank you.”

“Well,” Alec busies himself at the coffee machine, the low whir serving as background noise for his floundering. “I’m glad you - appreciate, it.”

Magnus walks towards Alec slowly, not wanting him to be spooked, yet also not being able to withstand the distance for much longer. He loops his arms around Alec’s waist, tucking his head against Alec’s neck, drawing what little strength he can from the surety of Alec’s shoulders and the warmth that radiates off him.

Alec gives Magnus the sense that he can take on the world, when he barely has the energy to even get out of bed. And then he makes breakfast .

“Hi,” Alec whispers, slipping Magnus’ ‘M’ mug onto the metal tray. “You’re very affectionate this morning, you haven’t even had any breakfast, yet.”

Magnus drops a kiss to the hinge of Alec’s jaw. “Did you lace it with a love potion or something?”

“As if I know anybody that would give me one of those,” Alec quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a tiny smirk. “I’m just trying to figure out what has gotten you so - cuddly.”

He doesn’t mention that Magnus used to be touchy, before, much more than this, that he’s always been the more tactile partner in this relationship - he doesn’t mention any of it, but he doesn’t have to.

Magnus is re-learning how to touch, without the buzz of energy under his skin, the zap on contact, the warmth that sparks when his magic recognises the person he’s touching - he’s learning how to push past the emptiness, how to keep it from dragging him under the weight of his own sadness.

This is a big step, and he hates that it’s such an accomplishment for him to hug his own boyfriend, but he’s also not going to ignore the fact that it is, for him, quite the milestone.

“I’ve missed you,” Magnus explains. “ This. Us, in this way. I know that I haven’t-“

Alec’s hand curls over Magnus where it rests against Alec’s hip. “You haven’t been through just an ordinary bad day, you’ve had your entire sense of being stripped away. You don’t owe me, or yourself, or anybody else anything , okay? You set the pace, and I’ll follow as closely as you want.”

“I always want you right beside me,” Magnus murmurs, burrowing his face against Alec’s cheek. “I'm just worried that I might be … holding you back. Holding us, back.”

Alec gently nudges Magnus’ shoulder, turning in his arms until they’re facing each other, his hands coming up to wrap around Magnus’ neck. Magnus, after a few hesitant and heavy seconds, rests his hands on Alec’s waist, his fingers bunched up in the fabric of his black t-shirt.

“Magnus.” Alec’s gaze skitters across Magnus’ face, his sincerity strong enough to drown in. “I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that - what you’re going through is awful, and I won’t pretend that I know what it’s like because I don’t , but I can promise that I’ll be here to help you in whatever way you need. This is an obstacle, probably the biggest one you’ve ever had to overcome, but still an obstacle - you’ll get through this, because you’re the strongest person I know, and far bigger than anything that wants to keep you down.”

Alec strokes his thumb against the curve of Magnus’ ear, his cuffs long since locked away with the rest of his jewelry. “All the same, it’s okay if it’s not easy. It’s okay if you don’t want to get out of bed, if you hate the world, if you want to invent a time machine just to go back before everything went wrong - that’s okay. It doesn’t mean that you’re going backwards, or going stale or anything like that.”

Alec’s smile turns wry, and a little deprecating. “It just makes you human. Sorry, it kinda sucks, sometimes.”

Magnus shrugs, his hands tightening their grasp. “It’s not all that bad, I suppose. I’ve got you by my side, after all. Things could be a lot worse.”

Admitting it aloud lets a slow realisation sink in; being human, as Alec put it, is his new normal, and things could really be a hell of a lot worse.

He still has Alec by his side, and with that support behind him, he can do anything.

#malec #malec fic #happy birthday magnus bane #my fic #my writing #shfanficnexus #magnus bane #alec lightwood #canon compliant #shadowhunters #post 3a #sh fic #fluff and angst and hurt/comfort

[bytheangell]

Believe in Something Beautiful

(Read on AO3) (I tried to post this on the ask itself but Tumblr had a crisis and it got all messed up so I had to delete it and make a separate post OOPS) -------------

The opportunity Isabelle gets to study with the Iron Sisters is a once and a lifetime offer, and that’s on top of the fact that it’s something she’s personally dreamt of since she was a little girl. So of course Jace doesn’t so much as blink before agreeing to take over as temporary Head of the Institute while she’s away.

“Are you sure?” she asks for the millionth time before leaving as if this will be the time he suddenly decides to change his mind. “I know you hate the deskwork side of things, and-”

“Iz, it’s fine. It’ll just be a few months, I can handle it. I promise not to let the place burn down while you’re gone.”

The reservations she has are true, of course, but he isn’t going to admit that he’s secretly loathing not only being mostly resigned to an office for the duration of her trip but feeling much more alone without Alec or her around. Instead, he gives her a bright smile and shoos her out the door before she can stall any longer.

The first few days are definitely an adjustment but Jace actually kind of likes the new role once he gets into it. The paperwork sucks, sure, but he makes good use of the still impressively stocked drink cart Alec brought in when he was Head of the Institute, as well as the upgraded plush sofa Isabelle insisted on. All in all being stuck in this particular office isn’t too bad… at least not for the first few weeks.

After that Jace starts to go a little stir-crazy. He tries to keep up with his training, whether it’s with the other Shadowhunters or Simon or just on his own in the training room, but every time he does he’s pulled away for another debriefing or meeting, which leads to more reports until the day is over and it’s already time to go home.

Going ‘home’ nowadays, more often than not, has meant going back to Simon’s apartment. Sometimes Jace stays the night at the Institute but usually only when it’s absolutely necessary. Otherwise, he makes his way to Simon’s place for some quality time with his boyfriend. No matter how tired he is at the end of the day he’s rejuvenated by the sight of Simon, always eager to see him and listen to him complain about whatever nonsense he had to deal with that day. It’s a relationship Jace never saw coming, one he never would’ve imagined for himself in a million years, but’s it’s good. If he wasn’t afraid of jinxing it he might go so far as to say it’s perfect.

Things stay that way until a couple of months into Izzy’s absence. Jace can’t place it at first, just a lingering uncertainty which isn’t something he’s used to feeling. It doesn’t click until he’s training with some of the guys at the Institute and someone pokes a sparring staff at his stomach, making a joke about how he’s getting soft - literally - since taking over for Izzy. It’s an off-handed comment, nothing worse than Jace has said about any of them at one time or another and just meant to poke fun, but it hits something much deeper and Jace finds he can’t let the words slide off him like he normally does. He laughs with the others, of course, and thoroughly kicks their asses during the part of the session he manages to participate in before he’s pulled away to go over something strange on the surveillance cameras, but the words stick with him.

Soft. Jace Wayland has been called a number of things in his life, but soft has never been one of them before now.

When he’s changing in his room to go meet up with Simon, Jace spends a long time looking at himself in the mirror. He isn’t overweight, not given his body’s starting status of ‘abs-sculpted-like-a-statue’s’, but that only makes the lack of definition that much more obvious to him now. Simon hasn’t said anything but surely he’s noticed too, how could he not? Telling himself it isn’t a big deal Jace slips on a fresh shirt and a decent pair of dark jeans to meet Simon after work.

After dinner, sitting on the sofa with Simon’s hands sliding under his t-shirt and up his sides while they make out, Jace is acutely aware of the fact that there’s more to slide over now. When Simon pulls Jace closer by the waist he tenses at the touch as if aware for the first time of the way Simon’s fingers dip into the flesh there.

“Everything alright?” Simon asks, stopping when Jace freezes up.

“I-” Jace starts, uncertain. “I don’t feel so great, actually. Might be something I ate. Mind if we... just don’t, tonight?” Jace feels immediately guilty for the half-truth. He doesn’t feel well all of a sudden but he knows exactly why, and it isn’t bad seafood.

“Of course,” Simon says easily, shifting so Jace can reposition himself next to Simon on the sofa. “Do you need anything? I could run to the store and get some medicine.”

Simon’s immediate concern only doubles Jace’s guilt. “No, I’ll be alright,” Jace insists, wondering if that’s a lie too as Simon turns on the TV until they both fall asleep on the sofa.

---

Jace leaves Simon’s place early enough the next morning to get in an hour-long run before he needs to be at the Institute. He knows it isn’t going to do much - it’s taken months of letting himself go to get this bad, he isn’t going to fix it with a day of jogging, but it feels better than doing nothing. For a few days he makes excuses to not go back to Simon’s place: waiting for a late patrol to come back, covering a security shift, even as lame of an excuse as ‘i’m too tired’ when there really is no other reason he can give.

He doesn’t lie… he just doesn’t add that he’s the one going out of his way to make sure he has things keeping him ‘stuck’ at the Institute at night, though he knows this can’t last forever.

So Jace starts to get clever. Whenever things start to get heated on the nights he does go back to Simon’s, Jace immediately takes control, insisting that he’s going to take care of Simon. It’s actually one of Jace’s favorite things, to watch the way Simon falls apart beneath Jace’s touches, the way he’s so blissed out by the end of a very thorough blowjob that he doesn’t argue too much when Jace insists he doesn’t want anything himself. The sex - the few times Jace lets things get that far - is rushed and always with the lights off, with Jace keeping as much clothing on as possible and almost always finding an excuse to not be able to stay afterward to cuddle.

He hopes, a bit naively, that as long as they’re still having sex that Simon won’t notice anything is wrong. Jace can’t remember the last time he let Simon see him naked, something that used to be very common for them, and he knows the lack of that sort of intimacy won’t go unnoticed forever. With all his other tactics Jace buys himself an extra week or two until Simon’s asking him if something’s wrong again.

“You just seem… distant lately,” Simon continues, concern written all over his face. Jace can’t stand the fact that he caused this gap between them but he can’t bring himself to admit what’s bothering him, either. He’s ruining everything and for what? Simon clearly doesn’t care.

Still, he can’t silence the voice in the back of his head reminding him that this isn’t who Simon signed up for. Jace is all quick wit and sarcasm, he’s confidence and an ego larger than all of Brooklyn. That’s who Simon fell for and expects from him, so that’s who Jace needs to be. He needs to figure out how to feel like himself again, and fast.

“Just a lot on my mind, work stuff. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Jace says, leaning in to give Simon a quick kiss.

“You know you can talk to me, right? About work, or whatever else is going on?” Simon offers.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Jace agrees quickly.

He then proceeds to bury every worry he has deep down into the back of his mind and does his best not to think about it, let alone talk about it, again.

---

Jace continues to make excuses, manipulate any intimate encounters for minimum contact, or just flat-out avoiding Simon entirely. Avoiding is easier than lying and Jace gets better at it as the days pass. Or maybe he just gets more used to it… he isn’t sure he likes the implication of either option.

At first, Simon tries to fight him on it - rearranging his schedule so he can visit Jace at the Institute, trying to insist Jace come over no matter how late it is, doing his best to puppy-dog-eye Jace into staying in bed for more than 5 seconds - but Jace manages to pull himself away every time.

After a while, Simon stops trying so hard. Then Simon stops trying entirely. After not hearing from Simon for two days in a row Jace ends up calling him instead of the other way around.

“Hey, I hadn’t heard from you in a while, I was starting to worry,” Jace says, relieved when Simon picks up.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Simon says, his tone casual. Jace can practically hear the shrug behind the words.

“What do you mean?” Jace asks, though he thinks he has a good idea.

“I mean, every time I’ve tried to make plans you blow them off anyway, so I figured I’d stop trying and you could just call me if you ever felt like leaving the Institute again,” Simon replies, and this time there’s a bit of an edge to his tone.

Jace deserves that, but he doesn’t expect it. Not from Simon.

Fuck, what is he doing? He could feel the gap between them forming, he knew he was the cause, and he still let things get so far that Simon has all but given up on him from the sound of it.

“I’m Sorry, Si.” That much isn’t a lie. Jace is sorry.

“Don’t be sorry,” Simon tells him, sounding sad and defeated, and about as tired as Jace keeps claiming to be. “If you’re bored with me just tell me, and we can stop pretending.”

There’s silence over the phone line while Jace processes those words. Is that really what Simon thinks? Is that what Jace let Simon think all this time?

“I’m not,” Jace insists. “It isn’t you, Simon, I swear.”

There’s a long pause, and with obvious reluctance Simon slowly asks, “Is there someone else?”

Jace can hear the fear in his voice, the dread of what answer may come from asking, and his heart breaks knowing it’s all his fault that Simon has these doubts about them.

“No,” Jace says, just as quickly as before. He’s messed things up worse than he realized and wonders if there’s going to be anything to salvage once he’s finally honest with Simon. He has to be honest now - there’s no other option. “We should talk, but not on the phone. Are you-” Jace starts to ask if Simon is free but remembers that he volunteered to take Underhill’s security shift that night so he could go on a date with Lorenzo. Of course, he took it to avoid Simon not knowing everything was going to go so wrong, so quickly. Overly aware of how bad this is going to look now of all times, Jace sighs. “I have to stay late tonight,” Jace winces as he admits. “But tomorrow? First thing in the morning. I’ll come straight over after the shift and we’ll talk.”

“Sure,” Simon agrees easily enough, except Jace knows him well enough to the doubt there, the way he doesn’t get his hopes up that Jace will follow through this time.

“I promise. As soon as the replacement shows up I’m gone. You’re my priority.” He’s already making a note to cancel a mid-day meeting he planned on attending after a few hours of rest, and one later in the afternoon just in case.

Just in case what? In case it takes all day to convince Simon to forgive him? In case Simon doesn’t forgive him and Jace is left to pick up the pieces of his failed relationship? Jace shakes the thought from his head, hoping he hasn’t messed things up that irreparably.

“I love you, Simon,” Jace tells him, holding his breath for the seconds that stretch on after his words before Simon sighs.

“I love you too, Jace.”

The line goes dead and Jace stares at the phone in his hand for several long minutes before pocketing it. The rest of the night is spent counting the seconds until the morning shift will take over while also dreading that moment in equal measure. What is he going to say? He has plenty of time to think about it left alone for most of the night, but he hates everything he comes up with. It doesn’t feel like enough, or it feels like too much, or it feels like he’s making excuses.

A few hours later, tired and weary, he’s out of time to think. The fresh air during his walk to Simon’s works well to clear his head and he reminds himself of one thing: he loves Simon, and he needs to figure out what he can do to fix what he broke. If he starts there then the rest will hopefully fall into place. It isn’t like he has many other options.

Jace knocks on the door and waits with bated breath.

“You’re here,” Simon says when he opens it, and Jace tries not to feel as hurt as he does by the surprised words. He deserves that. He deserves so much worse than that.

“I am,” Jace says. I always will be, if you let me. Please, let me stay, he wants to beg, but doesn’t. Simon steps aside and Jace goes in, making an immediate beeline for the sofa. He’s too anxious to sit, however, and stands back up almost immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Jace starts. It’s the simplest place.

“For…?” Simon prompts.

“For making you think you did something wrong. For avoiding you, instead of telling you what was bothering me.” Jace is certain there’s more than that he should apologize for but it seems like a good starting point. “It just felt so ridiculous, and I figured I’d just get over it… but I didn’t, and it was easier to avoid than admit until we talked last night and I realized how bad I let everything get and I- I don’t want to lose you, Simon.”

Simon, who was doing a very good job standing with his arms crossed looking unimpressed, softens considerably at that. “If it’s bothering you that much it isn’t ridiculous. And I kept telling you that you can talk to me, I wish that you had.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jace admits. “But I am now,” he adds hopefully. It might be too little too late but he has to try.

“So?” Simon prompts again, not letting up. “Do I get to know why my boyfriend’s been avoiding me, or are you just going to say sorry and try to pretend it never happened?”

“I was embarrassed because of the weight I put on.” Jace has to force the words out, already hating himself the moment he hears them leave his lips.

Jace expects Simon to laugh but instead Simon looks him up-and-down in consideration. “I wondered… but you have to know I don’t care about that, right?”

“You might not, but I do.” Jace frowns. “I didn’t realize just how much until I started going out of my way to avoid you even seeing me, let alone touching me.”

“That’s when you started insisting on all those ridiculous quickies,” Simon pieces together, shaking his head. “I should’ve realized.”

“No, I should’ve said something. I thought if I kept it up once and a while it’d be enough to hold things over until I got… comfortable again.”

Simon snorts at that, then looks immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I know this is serious, and the sex is great and all, but you do know I’m dating you for more than just that, right?”

Jace manages a small laugh at that. “I figured it was probably a 75/25 split,” he jokes back. This is a good sign, right? If Simons’ laughing, even for a second, maybe he doesn’t totally hate him.

“My point,” Simon reels the conversation back in. “Is that you should’ve said you were uncomfortable. We could’ve stopped things for a while, or forever if that’s what you want. I’m dating you because I like you, not because of your body. Though, I mean, it is an amazing body.”

“It was stupid,” Jace argues. “I overreacted.”

“Did you?” Simon says, raising an eyebrow. “You still feel that way, don’t you? Even now?”

Jace almost opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t, that everything is fine and he just wants to go back to the way things were before, but he knows it’d be a lie. And he just got done apologizing for not being honest in the first place. It’s a hit to his pride but he knows he needs to tell Simon the truth even if he isn’t happy about it.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jace admits, not meeting Simon’s gaze.

“If it bothers you then it isn’t stupid. I’m mad you didn’t tell me, but I’m not mad you’re uncomfortable. Honestly? I love your body like this. Every last inch of it, whether those inches were there before or not. Hell, it’s nice to have the playing field evened out a bit since I’ll never have your Adonis-abs,” Simon says, and though he eyes Jace’s body he doesn’t make a move to reach out for him.

“Yeah, well, that makes one of us,” Jace mutters, crossing his arms in front of him self-consciously. He hates the space between them, he wants to reach out and pull Simon close and never let him go again, certainly not for as long as he has recently, but he still can’t bring himself to do it.

Simon seems to sense that, too. “But it doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it if you aren’t. I’ll tell you what - let’s just put a hard stop on anything physical until you’re comfortable with it again. But when you are - and I mean the second you give me the okay - I get to show you exactly how beautiful I think you are. Whether you look like you did six months ago, or like you do now, or if you put on 100 more pounds, I’m always going to think you’re gorgeous, and I’m going to remind you every day so you never forget it again, starting now. Jace Wayland, you are the single most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Jace mentally curses the traitorous flush that he feels in his cheeks at the declaration, but smiles. “Thanks, Simon,” he says.

It’s tempting to say that he’s fine, to pull Simon into a kiss he knows after this long won’t stay chaste for long, but he doesn’t want to end up right back where he started and he definitely doesn’t want to risk pushing Simon away again.

“Do you think we could just take a nap? I’m exhausted, and I miss falling asleep with you.” Jace knows after everything he has no right to ask, but any concerns are gone the moment Simon nods eagerly and smiles.

Simon holds true to what he said earlier, stripping down to his boxers before getting into bed, waiting to see where Jace decides to position himself and what he wants to do. Simon doesn’t push things, and when Jace settles in behind him to wrap his arm around Simon - a deliberate choice, they both know now - Simon only shifts slightly to fit in his hold easier, not saying a word.

Feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks, Jace falls asleep almost immediately.

---

When Jace wakes up it’s to Simon running his fingers gently through a loose strand of hair that fell over his face while he slept. At some point Simon must’ve woken up and turned to face Jace, content to simply wait for him to wake up rather than leave.

“Good afternoon, beautiful,” Simon says, and Jace shakes his head.

“You’re really sticking to that, aren’t you?” Jace says, a little surprised.

“Of course I am. I meant it. Until you believe it yourself I’ll just have to believe it enough for the both of us.” Simon gives a little shrug with the one shoulder he can move, and Jace is filled with such a sudden and overwhelming sense of certainty that Simon really does mean it, that he isn’t just saying it to make Jace feel better, that he doesn’t know what to do with the emotion that comes with the realization.

“I wish I could see what you see,” Jace mumbles out the passing thought, still so half-asleep that he doesn’t even realize he said it out loud until Simon replies.

“Maybe I can convince you,” Simon offers.

Jace considers the offer for the second time that day. “And how, exactly, would you do that?”

Simon shifts backward so he can sit back on his heels, leaning over Jace as he lays on the bed. “If you’re uncomfortable you’ll tell me to stop, right?”

Jace nods, and Simon pauses an extra second but seems satisfied with his answer. Jace wants to see what he can manage because he misses this. He misses them, and even just spending this morning back with Simon with everything out in the open is doing wonders to ease some of the discomfort he felt before.

“Well,” Simon starts, pushing the comforter off of them entirely to move so that he’s straddling Jace, kneeling on either side of his thighs. “I’d start by saying I’ve noticed you growing your hair out, and I love the way it lifts when the wind catches it just right,” Simon brings a hand up to comb through the light, loose pieces of Jace’s hair that flop into his face when they aren’t styled back, like right now.

“Then I’d tell you how beautiful your cheeks are when they get that little tinge of blush you can’t hide when you’re embarrassed,” Simon continues, leaning over to place a kiss on each of Jace’s cheekbones. Jace can feel that very same blush form there, warm under the cool touch of Simon’s lips, and Simon smiles down at him as he pulls back again. “There it is. Beautiful.”

Simon moves his gaze to Jace’s lips, placing a kiss there, this one lingering long enough that Jace tries to lean up into it just as Simon pulls away again, but not before he catches Jace’s bottom lip in his teeth for just a second before moving down his jawline and onto his neck. Jace tilts his head back to give Simon more access, shuddering at the barely-there scrape of fangs against his throat as Simon speaks in between each kiss. “And how beautiful you are when you open up for me like this,” Simon says, peppering kisses in between. Jace barely manages to hold back a moan as Simon sucks a mark onto the skin just above his collarbone.

Simon sits back again, resting on Jace’s thighs while his hands trail down Jace’s arms.

“I’d tell you how I can’t see your arms without remembering every time you used them to pin me against a wall or lift me up onto a table with such irresistible strength,” Simon continues, his hands moving from Jace’s arms to grab the bottom of Jace’s t-shirt and pull it off over his head, giving him access to Jace’s chest. Simon rocks his hips ever so slightly with the action and Jace’s breath catches, instinctively arching his body up off the bed to chase the brief friction.

“I’d tell you that ever since you started putting on weight-” Simon’s words slow deliberately, his eyes full of lust and wanting as they trail down Jace’s body, followed by that gentle caress of his fingertips again. “-I’ve dreamt about the way it’d feel when I held on to it while I fucked you, imagined the beautiful marks I’d leave there, the soft skin bruised over and scratched-”

“Fuck, Si,” Jace barely manages to breathe out, eyes closed as he pictures it and… yeah, okay, maybe he can see what Simon sees. Simon’s words make him want it too, his thoughts lost in the knowledge that it’ll be so much better than he can even imagine, if only because it’s them, and suddenly Jace is entirely incapable of finding anything unappealing in the idea of giving himself over entirely to Simon. Everything he built up in his head, all the reservations and self-consciousness, fade to nothing but distant background noise while he’s here in Simon’s arms.

Simon, goddamn him, hovers over him, smirking.

For the first time in weeks Jace feels desire without reservation wash over him, but it isn’t desire in spite of the idea of Simon touching him - it’s because of the idea of Simon’s hands on him, revering his body just as it is now, that has every nerve in his body tingling in anticipation. Jace had been so trapped in his own head and his inability to feel nothing but disgust over the changes in his body that he didn’t even consider the possibility that Simon might actually like them, or at least not hate them the way Jace did.

“Show me,” Jace says suddenly, and Simon wastes no time bringing his hands from Jace’s shoulders down his chest, teasing gentle touches along his sides.

“So beautiful,” Simon repeats, peppering kisses down his stomach, his hip bones, stopping right at the line of Jace’s boxers to look back up at him in question one last time. Jace nods, not trusting his words just then, and a minute later both his and Simon’s underwear are discarded on the floor next to the bed.

“You’re perfect, Jace,” Simon tells him, and Jace can feel the heat rise not just in his cheeks but everywhere, his entire body alight with the effect Simon’s words have on him. “And all mine. I’m so lucky to have you like this all. to. my. self.” Simon emphasizes each word with a small bite, two on the inside of each thigh.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Jace says, letting out a small gasp as Simon begins to stretch him. All thoughts, positive or negative, leave him entirely as Jace loses himself to the passion of the moment, to the feeling of being wanted, of being longed for.

True to his word, Simon never lets Jace forget exactly why he’s here and why they’re doing this. Jace is surprised when, after all their time apart recently and all the buildup, Simon takes things slowly. He never stops telling Jace how beautiful he is as he’s keeping his promise of marking every inch of skin he can, always returning to slide his hands over Jace’s stomach and sides and thighs, gripping them tight, giving them the most attention.

Jace embraces every new sensation - the way it feels to have Simon’s fingers press into areas of him that were nothing but unforgiving bone and muscle before, appreciating the way their bodies seem to blend and connect in ways they didn’t before.

Jace is aware of every time Simon glances up at his face just to double-check he’s still alright, still with him. Jace is aware that every touch, even the rough ones, are a reassurance and a comfort.

Jace is aware that this is Simon taking care of him, mind, body, and soul, from start to finish. And he knows that care doesn’t end now that they’re lying next to each other again to catch their breaths.

“That… was…” Simon starts, but Jace cuts him off.

“Beautiful?” Jace suggests, with the slightest teasing tone to his words. “I know.”

“Do you?” Simon asks, not teasing at all, and Jace’s taunting smirk fades to something softer.

Jace spent his entire life being who he thought others expected him to be, living up to the expectations set by those around him. There was always a push to do better, to be better, that he’s never felt satisfied with where he is at any given time. There’s always something to change, something to improve. But here, now, with Simon, he feels like for the first time he’s able to be okay with who he is and the way things are right now. That he’s fine, just like this.

“Yeah,” he says, probably about as surprised as Simon to find that he isn’t just saying it to deflect now - he actually means it this time. “Yeah, I do.”

#jimon #jace herondale #simon lewis #shadowhunters #simonisraphaelsbaby #thank you so much for sending me a prompt it's been aaaaages since I got one #and this was really fun to write! #also sorry i'm terrible and smut and only managed like a step above fading to black fjdslkfjlskfjlksad; #but i hope you like it!! #long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

[stupidnephilimlove]

Office Hours P10

So this chapter got long, I’m sorry. Tagging @irisphryneadler @ifthingsgetcrazy @kindaresilient & @shiningalec .Though feel free to read or not read.  Read on ao3. Or start at the beginning.

“Alexander,” Jace butchers his impersonation of Magnus, then snorts with laughter. In Alec’s opinion, it’s not all that funny. Jace just points at Alec and directs his next words at Izzy. Thankfully, he’s using his normal voice this time. “You should’ve seen his face. He’s got such a hard-on for Professor Bane.”

Okay, Alec and the Universe really need to have words because what does it have against him? Seriously. What did he do to deserve this? Why does it keep teasing him? It gives him the illusion of something wonderful, like seeing Magnus in that coffee shop. Then it shatters it by having the worst possible person be there at the same time - Jace. The universe is on a crazy winning streak and Alec’s lost count of the score at this point. It’s probably the Universe one million and Alec’s still on nil.

“I do not,” Alec denies, and he’s annoyed by the petulant tone of his voice.

It’s not a lie. He hasn’t got a hard-on for Magnus. Well, not right now anyway. Though, there’s an 83% chance that if Jace says that again he might. When it comes to Magnus Bane, he’s in a perpetual state of turned on.

“You do too!” Isabelle chirps in and there’s a delighted smirk on her lips. “You religiously have to go to those office hours. It’s all adding up now... I should’ve put this together sooner.”

Now Izzy is turning on Alec too? Surely someone should have his back? He can’t believe he actually thought living with his siblings was a good idea. He really needs to reevaluate his life choices.

“I don’t… I don’t have to go.”

He does though. Alec can’t even think about not going. Except, now he is thinking about it. His stomach churns with dread, and for a moment he feels physically sick. He’s felt despondent all week because Magnus had to cancel for that funeral. To go another week without laying his eyes on Magnus Bane, without hearing his melodic voice, that doesn’t feel possible. Maybe it’s dramatic, but Alec’s pretty sure he won’t survive it.

From across the room, Izzy throws a pillow at Alec. It hits him square in the face and jolts him out of his daydream.

“Real convincing,” she says, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Alec launches the pillow back at her. She ducks, he misses, and she sticks her tongue out at him. Can he exchange siblings? Is there a category on craigslist for that?

“It’s true.” Alec tries to keep his voice level and at the same time fill it with conviction, but not too much, else it won’t be believable. He knows any hint of doubt and the two of them will latch on to it. Has he ever carefully constructed the speech of two words like this before? “I don’t have a thing for Magnus, and I don’t have to go to his stupid office hours.”

Please let the Universe not be listening, they’re already on tentative terms as it is. He curses his word choice. Stupid. That hour is anything but stupid. It’s his favourite part of the week and he has to go. He really has to go.

“Magnus?” Jace says.

Shit.

Alec just used his first name, didn’t he? Just when he thinks this can’t get any worse, it does. He should have left the room as soon as this subject came up, but it’s too late now.

There’s a wicked gleam in Jace’s eye as he turns to Isabelle. “They’re on a first name basis now.”

“I smell a rumour brewing.” The gleam is mirrored on Izzy’s face and, dear God, this is terrifying. The two of them cannot conspire against him like this. Is this really the thanks he gets for mediating a truce between them after the never-to-be-mentioned-again washing machine incident? Next time he’ll just let them fight to the death about it. He can’t believe he helped them make up, just to have them both turn on him like this.

“No. Jesus, don’t. There’s… nothing. He tells all his students to call him Magnus.”

Does he though? Has Alec ever heard anyone else in class call Magnus that? No, he’s pretty sure everyone calls him Professor Bane. Still, that doesn’t mean Magnus didn’t tell them to call him by his first name. That must be what happened, and no one took him up on it. Alec only did because he was so infatuated with Magnus that he enjoyed that connection, enjoyed forgetting for a while that Magnus was his Professor.

Alec eyes his siblings. They won’t actually start a rumour that he has the hots for his professor. They wouldn’t. But this is blackmail material that they will hold over his head forever.

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Alec needs to get through to them. He cannot have them teasing him about this for the next... well, they don’t actually set time limits on teasing in this family. So, for eternity then.

“Fine… then don’t go.”

Alec’s eyes snap to Izzy’s. She didn’t? She’s not suggesting what he thinks she is.

“What?” Is that panic in his voice? It is, he knows it is, but he tries to downplay it.

“Don’t go to his office hours,” Izzy clarifies.

“I-” Alec flounders for an answer, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Knew it! He’s got it bad.” Jace sounds far too triumphant about the whole thing. Why are they both taking such pleasure in this?

Alec takes a deep breath and tries to decide what’s worse: missing an hour with Magnus, or his siblings teasing him for life. It’s a tough call to be honest, but eventually he settles on a decision.

“Fine. I won’t go.”

It physically hurts him to say that, though.

-

Alec sits in his secluded seat, concealed between shelves of books. This is his go-to studying spot. It’s a hidden gem he found in first year and, thankfully, it’s remained hidden, known only to him and a select few. It houses a section of dictionaries and encyclopedias and Alec had gotten turned about and ended up in the section by chance.

It’s the perfect spot. It’s quiet, as libraries should be but this one rarely is. It has one of the mythical plug sockets and he often hides books he needs in the stacks here because they’re so rarely checked on.

Maia sits across from him, ready to discuss their current text if he needs to.

It’s the perfect atmosphere to study, but Alec can’t focus. He reads the same line three times before giving into his thoughts.

Is this what standing up a date feels like?

He feels queasy at that thought, his stomach is tied in knots, and his fingers tap the tabletop nervously. Alec tries to concentrate on the page but the words just seem to swim in front of him and lose all meaning. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath and tries to find some calm. The quiet should be helping, but it only seems to fuel his mind into wandering where he desperately doesn’t want it to go.

Magnus won’t notice, right? He won’t miss Alec’s presence. It’s not like he’s sitting there just waiting for Alec to show up, but Alec thinks back to their meeting yesterday morning, to the words Magnus left him with.

“I’ll see you tomorrow? You can ask me then?”

Alec agreed, which means Magnus is expecting him. Fuck. Maybe Magnus didn’t really mean it, he was probably just being polite and thinking of an excuse to leave. Perhaps Magnus is happy to get rid of Alec for a while. Maybe he’s glad he doesn’t have Alec taking up all his time, he can grade papers or write his lectures in peace.

“Well you’re just a ray of sunshine today,” Maia tells him. She motions down to his hand and the pencil he’s holding. It’s now in two pieces. “What did that ever do to you?”

“It’s nothing,” Alec says, and that’s not the answer to the question she asked.

Maia sits up straighter, narrowing her eyes in assessment, before asking, “What’s the matter?”

And, well, isn’t that a question. Alec shifts in his seat a little. He’s never discussed Magnus with Maia, hell, he’s never really discussed Magnus with anyone. Considering for a moment though, he thinks that out of everyone he knows, Maia’s the least likely to tease him about it.

Taking a chance, he says, “I’ve got a crush on my history professor.”

“That’s not exactly news, Alec.”

What? Maia just smiles sympathetically at him, but there’s no surprise in her expression. She knew? Fuck, who else knows? Oh, God. Does Magnus know? He does, doesn’t he? Alec must have been really obvious about the whole thing. Magnus probably has a good laugh about the student who’s infatuated with him. Or maybe he hates it. Maybe he’s only dealing with Alec because it’s his job. Wait, of course he’s only dealing with Alec because it’s his job.

“What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you usually at the office hours for that course now?” Maia asks, unaware of Alec’s inner turmoil.

For fuck’s sake, does everyone know Alec’s schedule? And yes, yes he usually is. Not that he’s painfully aware of the fact the Magnus is there, has been for eleven minutes now, and Alec’s not. He’s not agonising over that or anything.

“I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I have to convince Izzy and Jace that I haven’t got a thing for Magnus.”

Maia’s eyebrow raises and Alec’s unsure as to whether it’s because he just used Magnus’ first name (he really needs to stop doing that around people other than Magnus), or because she apparently has been aware of how much of a thing he’s got for Magnus. Or perhaps it’s both.

“I’m not sure why you think you have to do that, Alec. But look around.”

Alec does, not sure what she’s getting at.

With a conspirative twinkle in her eye she leans forward and in a low voice says, “Neither of them are here. How will they know if you did or didn’t go?”

Oh. Oh. That’s a fantastic idea. Though, Alec doesn’t know if he can keep this from them. He can lie, he’s a perfectly capable liar, but Izzy has a sixth sense for these things.

Maia lifts her phone and he hears the telltale snap of the camera. She taps a few times, puts down her phone, and his lights up on the table in front of him.

“There. Now you even have proof.”

Alec considers it. He can sit here and be miserable or he can just go and finally ask those questions about that thesis.

“Plus, I promise to be your alibi.”

Okay, Alec doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like Maia, but at this moment he’s never been more thankful for her.

Alec pushes back from the table and hurriedly stuffs his things into his bag.

“I’m gonna…” he trails off, moving away from the table.

Maia just chuckles. He’s sure he hears a “boy, he’s got it bad” as he walks away, but he chooses to ignore it.

-

“Alexander,” Magnus says in surprise as Alec rushes into his office.

Alec’s breath heaves, he maybe sprinted from the library to get here. He’d deny it, but he’s pretty sure a multitude of people saw. Then his breath just kind of catches because fuck, that smile, the one that almost splits Magnus’ face in two is fully directed at him. Was he really going to miss this? How could he even consider that?

“I thought I wouldn’t see you today,” Magnus continues and Alec’s sure he hears insecurity in Magnus’ voice, sure it trembles just slightly on the words and that the inflection is all wrong. That can’t be right though, Alec’s just feeling lightheaded from that run and reading into things that aren’t there. He’s projecting his own feelings onto Magnus.

As he catches his breath he says, “Sorry, I got caught up at the library.”

That’s not entirely a lie.

“Take a seat,” Manus gestures. “These office hours aren’t mandatory, Alec. I’ve said that before, right?”

“Yeah,” Alec mumbles as he pulls the door closed behind him before walking over to the empty chair.

It feels like an eternity since he was last here in this room. Has it really only been two weeks? It must be longer.

Magnus stands and Alec’s eyes trail up over the black fabric of his silk shirt, to the long line of his throat, and finally to that gorgeous face. Alec’s reminded of how tall Magnus is. At his full height, they only differ by a few inches and Alec loves that. It means when they stand next to each other, as they had in that coffee shop, their eyes, their mouths line up. It makes Alec realise how easy it would be to just lean forward and press their lips together. Unfortunately, that’s an experience that Alec is cursed to only ever dream about.

The scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor brings Alec back to himself and he watches as Magnus moves to sit next to him. Alec shouldn’t enjoy this so much, but he just can’t help himself. Magnus sitting next to him is purely to help point things out and ease their discussion, but Alec enjoys being so close that the heat of Magnus’ body radiates across the short distance between them.

Magnus’ knee bumps against Alec’s as he sits, it’s an accidental touch, but Alec savours it and knows he’ll think about that long after he’s left.

Leaning forward, Magnus reaches for a document on his desk and his shirt strains around muscles that tighten from exertion and Alec’s throat goes dry. Alec could help, he should help, he’s closer to the desk after all, but he’s frozen in place and honestly, he hopes that movement never ends.

Alec’s noticed a lot about Magnus, but he’s not sure he’s ever fully appreciated those very defined biceps. He’s appreciating them now. Oh, boy, is he appreciating them. Fuck, but all he can think about is the strength that comes with muscles like those and just like that Alec’s brain produces a new fantasy for this office - he didn’t even realise new ones could exist.

His mind produces an image of himself pinned against the bookcase, of Magnus lifting him, pressing their bodies close, so fucking close together. Alec audibly gulps and strategically places an arm across his groin.

It would probably be uncomfortable, right? Those shelves would no doubt dig into his back, but Alec is more than willing to find out just how uncomfortable it would be. For science, of course.

“Good week?” Magnus asks, and Alec has to really think about those words before he can even process them. “Well since I saw you yesterday,” Magnus adds with a chuckle which really isn’t helping Alec right now.

Does Magnus have any idea how that sound just melts him? How his whole body just sort of sighs when he hears it? How can Alec be expected to even think about forming a response?

“It’s been great,” is what Alec finally says. Well, if he forgets that fact that he’s been endlessly teased by his siblings, that they then convinced him he needed to prove how not into Magnus he was, and that for twelve whole minutes he’d tried. But none of that seems to matter now that he’s sitting here. There’s something about Magnus that just draws Alec in. How can he ever stay away?

Then a terrible thought strikes him.

What happens when this course is over?

Fuck. What week are they even on? Through his panic, Alec mentally calculates how many weeks have gone by. There was the week Magnus got those red highlights (he’s still not over that colour; he gets half-hard every time he sees something in that exact shade). Then there were those trousers, the glasses, the coffee, the first time he came here, that goddamn apple… Alec gets so caught up in the memories that he forgets to count.

Twelve. He eventually settles on. It’s been twelve weeks and, fuck, that means there are only two more weeks and then finals. He doesn’t really give a shit that he only just realised finals are right around the corner. He’s more concerned with the fact that in two weeks time this course will be finished.

And then what?

Nothing?

Oh, God. Alec will never see Magnus again.

It’s a good job Alec’s sitting because that thought alone is enough to bring him to his knees.

Alec’s intelligent and not in the way that mother’s often overexaggerate. He’s bright and he picks things up quickly. So how, he wonders, did he manage to miss this? It’s as if, around Magnus, all of his brain cells just stop working. Wait… is Magnus Alec’s kryptonite?

That thought leads Alec down the trail of which type of kryptonite. He’s just settling on red because of that personality alteration (Although, it can’t really be red because then he’d be immune to Magnus after that first meeting), when Magnus speaks.

“I marked your quiz from last week.”

Oh, so that’s what the paper that Magnus was reaching for was. Alec might have been just slightly distracted at the time. He looks down, and okay, there’s hardly any red pen which is fantastic.

“It was fantastic,” Magnus tells him.

Magnus agrees? Alec tries to tell himself it’s just a coincidence they made the same word choice, it is not a clear signal of their compatibility.

It takes five whole minutes to talk through the paper, just five. It had taken about fifty with that first one. It just shows what Alec can do without a tall, dark (with pink streaks), and handsome distraction. Pride spreads through him with each section Magnus points to and praises Alec for.

“I guess my work here is done.” Magnus smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Done? They can’t be done. There are two weeks left, two weeks for Alec to prepare himself for life without Magnus. Why in the hell did he think acing that test was a good idea?

“Your thesis,” Alec blurts, then wants to slam his head on the desk. Repeatedly. Could he for once, please, just have some modicum of smoothness around Magnus Bane. Would that really be too much to ask?

“I mean-” Alec continues and reaches for his bag, then stalls. Maybe showing Magnus the post-it note strewn thesis isn’t his best idea. Smooth, he reminds himself. “I wanted to talk to you about it. I had… um, some questions.”

“Yeah?”

Magnus sounds surprised, but didn’t Alec explain that he wanted to talk about this yesterday? Oh fuck, did he not make that clear? He’s certain he did.

“Yeah. I mean, the way you made comparisons between persecution through different eras even including present day, and how really there isn’t that much difference. Like, sure the subject, the people are different and based on the beliefs of the time, but, you mentioned - which I loved - that we’re essentially just presented with information, albeit in a different format these days. No heralds making announcements, right? Although, is there a paper called The Herald. But like, what I mean is that society has always been, like, fed what to believe and I just… I don’t think I’d put that together before in my mind, but you brought it all together so well and-”

“Alec, breathe,” Magnus interrupts, shaking his head at Alec, a fond smile on his lips.

And Alec does. Then he clamps his mouth shut. Fuckfuckfuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He’d colour coded the text for God’s sake, for this exact reason. It’s just, the thoughts and the questions and the sheer excitement to discuss this with Magnus have been bottled up inside of him for over a week. Still, he’s not entirely sure where that word vomit just came from. It’s not like him. Though, everything he does around Magnus doesn’t feel like him.

“Give me one thing,” Magnus says. “You can choose just one thing from the whole text to talk about. What is it?”

Well, wow, that’s an amazing question. That’s a downright mean question and Alec thinks it might be damn near impossible. He looks away from Magnus, he needs to focus after all, and he tries to sort through his thoughts and ideas.

That one.

“I think… I found it interesting, the way you suggest that things we now take to be fact were probably once seen to have occult properties. Like... gravity for example.”

Magnus’ hand is resting on his chin, and he’s looking at Alec, and he just doesn’t say anything. Alec wants to squirm in his seat. He fucked this up again, didn’t he? Why does he always manage to say the wrong thing? He should have never brought the goddamn thesis up.

“That’s one of my favourite things,” Magnus eventually says, and his voice is soft and quiet and Alec thinks he hasn’t heard him right. “Persecution is often seen most in the areas where a society lacks understanding. It’s often a fundamental part of humanity, to fear what we don’t understand. It’s how that fear is dealt with though, some lash out, some attack… as a form of self-defence. The occult is sometimes described as the study of a deeper spiritual reality… one that extends beyond pure reason. You can see how those two things might begin to overlap.

“Throughout history we see persecution, it’s only who is persecuted or the reason beyond it that changes. In the case we’re discussing here we’ll stay within this realm of the occult. Something we take for fact today, be it because science has proved it so or some other reason… you and I could have been ostracised or prosecuted for centuries ago. Merely for seeing something the rest of the world is yet to understand.”

Alec gets lost in Magnus’ voice as he speaks, in the rhythm of it. Alec absorbs each word, formulates questions to ask and somehow they devolve into a discussion.

Magnus talks with his hands, the metal of his rings glinting with each movement, and the more passionate about something he becomes, the faster the movements, the more intricately they dance through the air.

Alec loses all sense of time. That is, until a beeping comes from Magnus’ pocket.

“Sorry,” Magnus says and he pulls his phone from his trousers. “Ah, I guess our time’s up.”

Alec looks at Magnus quizzically, then he realises Magnus is telling him he should leave.

“You have another lecture, right?” Magnus asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I didn’t want our conversation to have you missing another one. Like last time.” He gestures at his phone. “So, I set an alarm.”

Alec’s lost for words. Genuinely lost for words. He tells himself not to read into it, he really does, but when Magnus keeps doing thoughtful things like this it becomes increasingly difficult to do so. Magnus is just a decent human being, Alec reminds himself, that’s all.

“Thanks,” Alec says. Though he’s pretty far from thankful. He can blow off a lecture, he can blow off all of his lectures just to talk to Magnus.

They both stand and now Magnus is blocking Alec’s path to the door. Alec shifts his bag on his shoulder and moves to the left just as Magnus moves in the same direction. Magnus moves back to the other side and Alec does too. They dance back and forth until Alec clasps a hand to Magnus’ arm to steady them both. Alec would laugh, but, when Magnus’ eyes drift to where the hand is resting, it gets caught in his throat. Hastily he draws his hand back, though his palm feels like it’s on fire. Just like his cheeks.

“I can… I can send you some books to read,” Magnus says and he stumbles over the words. “If you’re still interested.”

Something just changed. Alec doesn’t know what or why, but there’s something different between them. The air feels charged with potential, Alec’s skin prickles with it, and that doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I’ll email you.”

“Sure, that would be great.”

They still don’t move. They’re both just standing there looking at each other.

Then Magnus blinks, clears his throat and steps to the side.

It isn’t until Alec’s sitting in his next lecture that he realises that the tension, the thing that had changed, well it felt exactly like in that coffee shop yesterday morning. He has no idea what that means.

So a few people have mentioned getting some Magnus POV. It was my idea to write all of this from Magnus' side and that's in the works. I guess the thing is where you would all like that to fit. Perhaps the end of this semester?

Okay part 11 is here

#malec #malec fic #shadowhunters #professor!magnus #student!alec #oh look I wrote a thing #prompts #Sorry for the delay I just got too lazy to edit this ha

[theseaeaglelives]

ROUND 1

THE SEA EAGLE

MAKING RUGBY LEAGUE LESS SHI(*T

Round 1

Manly Sea Eagles      4

Defeated by

Roosters                   46

It has been suggested by many experts that the past 12 months have been amongst the most challenging in living memory. That said, many experts also suggested that COVID would claim over 100K Aussie lives and that the property market would fall by more than 30%. The Sea Eagle ponders as to what those experts are doing now?

It is however fair to say that unless you are a supporter of the Filthy Wrestlers, love a lock down, enjoy being housebound and take pleasure at being jabbed with sharp needles, 2020 has been a pretty shi(*t time for most. Add to this the demise of President Trump and there is very little prospect in making anything great again any time soon. With that in mind, the Sea Eagle’s mantra in 2021, to steal a line from Auto Expert’s John Cadogan will be to “make things less shi(8t”.

  As is the case each year, for every team in the NRL, Round 1 is welcomed with unbridled yet in most cases false optimism. For Manly fans never a truer word has been uttered.

A sunny afternoon at the SCG with Manly taking on the Roosters could well be a throwback to the halcyon days of the 1970’s and 80’s, with Manly expected to give the latte sipping transit lounge Roosters a real hammering. Unfortunately, the main difference in circa 2021, is that Manly are no longer the powerhouse force that they once were and the Roosters certainly are a force to be reckoned with.

It has been well documented that Manly have an abysmal record in Round 1 in the modern era, having not won an opener in over 8 years. The way Manly started suggested that nothing was to change this year, as the Roosters opened the scoring after only 3 minutes when James Tedesco leapt over a grounded Ruben Garrick. Young Garrick is already starting to exhibit traits of Manly wingers of late (think Horhay Torfua) in that they have inherent weakness under the high ball and struggle to get off the ground when contesting bombs.

Thankfully for Garrick (and Manly), he made amends minutes later when he was the recipient of a deft Kieran Foran offload to even up the scores. Manly welcome back Foran after his well-documented injury and personal struggles at the Eels, Warriors and Dogs. There can be no doubting that they don’t go better when they leave the nest (Jarrod Warea-Hargraves excepted) thus The Sea Eagle will be keenly monitoring Foran’s form to see if they do indeed go better when they return to the nest – only time will tell!

From then on it was all downhill for Manly, with the remainder of the half showing what happens when a top ranked team (i.e. The Roosters) takes on one of the also-rans (i.e. Manly). The Roosters ran roughshod down Manly’s left edge running in 5 tries to take a 26-4 lead at the break.

The second half was no better for Manly. Inept in defence and showing nothing in attack they were at the mercy of the Roosters, who rarely got out of second gear. Hat tricks to Tedesco and Brett Morris saw the Roosters run out 46-4 victors. Only poor goal kicking prevented a further blowout.

Blowout score lines are becoming common place in recent times with Manly regularly conceding 30 and 40 points in a game, a far cry from the golden eras when it was Manly dishing out the pastings. It would appear already that Manly have failed to adapt to the way rugba league is played in 2021 and are rooted (think also he word starting with F) in a style of play that worked at best - 5 years ago. Quite frankly, this Manly performance was an embarrassment, mirrored only by the ill-feted Peter Beattie era at the helm of the NRL (personal opinion).

As for Kieran Foran, he went OK and at least he saw out the game, but he is a shadow of the player he was when steering Manly to premiership glory in 2011. Not surprising, but no-one can out run father time, even when returning to the nest.

Where to now for Manly? Next week it’s the Bunnies at Lottoland, and we can only but hope that Manly are a lot less shi(*7t than they were in Round 1.

With all that said, blame has to be placed at the Manly football management in not recruiting at all well for season 2021 . For some odd reason after hooker Manase Fainu found himself the subject of some fairly serious charges involving assault and having a knife (and thus unable to play), no attempts were made to actually obtain a top shelf number 9 that could actually play in season 2021.

The Manly forward pack also has a sameness about it and the back line does not look much better, and if you take out Tommy Turbo, it looks fair dinkum pedestrian .

If this embarrassing display of form continues, the Sea Eagle will not hesitate to name names of players who deserve to leave the nest and predictably go a lot worse, far worse than the appalling form they are currently displaying.

IZZY FOLAU- IS HE A FIT AND PROPER PERSON TO PLAY RUGBY LEAGUE ?

NRL will struggle to argue Folau isn’t fit and proper for rugby league

 By Darren Kane March 12, 2021 – Brisbane Times

 Readers can feel free to peruse this article for more detail about the analysis of whether Israel Folau can actually be prevented from playing Rugby League by the NRL :

https://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/sport/nrl/nrl-will-struggle-to-argue-folau-isn-t-fit-and-proper-for-rugby-league-20210311-p579yq.html.

For the Sea Eagle’s part, he must confess to having an internal chuckle when one thinks about the ludicrous concept of an NRL player actually having to be a fit and proper person, in order to play rugby league.

Consider these players who apparently have passed the NRL test of fit and proper person, (and the list is far from exhaustive):

Russell Packer (served gaol time for a particularly ugly assault incident)

Matthew Lodge ( representing the NSW under-20s side when he was given a 3-week suspension after he was televised with the word "CU*&NT" written on his wrist strapping. On 19 October 2015, Lodge was sacked by the Tigers after being arrested in New York City and thereafter entering a guilty plea, to some sort of break enter (and possibly worse) in a young woman’s apartment

Todd Carney (too many misdemeanours to mention until he overstepped the mark with the infamous bubbler incident)

Mitchell Pearce (simulated sex act with canine broadcast on national TV)

Josh Addo Carr (illegal firearms incident and breach of Covid 19 protocols 2020)

Latrell Mitchell (apparent breach of Covid 19 protocols 2020)

Kurt Capewell (https://www.smh.com.au/sport/nrl/we-ve-got-your-back-panthers-teammates-support-capewell-after-porn-shock-20201210-p56md4.html)

Corey Norman & James Segeyaro Street Fight (off season 2020/21)

Sony Bill Williams (walked out on Bulldogs contract to play somewhere else - then welcomed back to the NRL with open arms in 2013 and later years with all forgotten).

Now the Sea Eagle does not cast judgement on any of these players. To take a biblical bent a-la- Izzy Folau, let he without fault cast the first stone. After all, this is Rugby League we are talking about, and on any objective analysis it can only be viewed as a game which takes a particular type of person to play it, and the Sea Eagle would suggest that the NRL is not in the fortunate position of being particularly fussy about who plays. If they were, there may well be no one left to actually play the game.

Which is why it is difficult to understand how the NRL would think, given what Israel Folau has allegedly said and done (something to do with homosexual slurs and other slurs about people involved in adultery, fornication, and drinking etc all of whom are apparently going to go to hell ) - is any basis to come to the conclusion that he is not a fit and proper person to play Rugby League.

If anything, he is absolutely a fit and proper person to be playing rugby League. Particularly given those mentioned above (and others), have already been considered fit and proper persons to play the game.

The Sea Eagle implores the NRL to reconsider its stance in this regard and to see if a place can be found in one of the 16 NRL teams for Izzy to play. Expressing a particularly misguided religious view and opinion (personal opinion), it should be said, in and of itself is hardly a basis for preventing someone from playing Rugby League on the fit and proper person analysis. See above player list for that.

Intelligent foresight and a detailed consideration of the consequences of one’s actions, can hardly be said to be a mandatory requirement for any Rugby League player. Nor should it be.

THE TIGERS – DO THEY GO BETTER WHEN THEY LEAVE THE DEN ?

In Rd 1 the Tigers were towelled by the Raiders 30 to 12. Sure it was a better performance than Manly put in, but it was embarrassment, nonetheless.

Over the coming weeks the Sea Eagle will conduct his own internal analysis as to whether the reverse of the Manly concept (ie they never go any better when they leave the nest ) applies to the Tigers (ie they always go better when they leave the Den).

One troubling feature of this analysis is that Manly regrettably have 3 ex Tiger players in their forward pack (who were clearly out muscled by the Roosters in Rd 1 2021) and so it may well be the case, that the misery of useless form once they leave the Den, can continue regardless. In other words, care should be exercised when taking on an ex Tigers player, because there is no guarantee they will go better, even if they leave the circus that is Tigers Central.

That said, James Tedesco is a clear example of a player who went way better when he left the Den. The analysis will continue and the Sea Eagle will report in due course as to a likely 2021 Tigers team comprised of players who once played for the Tigers but are still playing in 2021 NRL, and whether that team would be better than the current crop.

 Sea Eagle comment for Rd 1- “A map guiding you to your destination is useless if you don’t know where you are.”

 THE SEA EAGLE

[queenof-fiction]

The story of Kai Waters (Part 8)

Hey look I'm actually being productive and actually writing. Even though I’ve been in a bad mental state. I’ve still had the urge to write. Also my birthday is in 2 weeks. (August 2nd if you wanna know.) Annnny ways here’s part 8 of Kai Waters. Also if you want the first chapter its right here.  Here’s part 7 incase you missed it.

Word count: 2741

Warnings: nothing I don't think. anger, fears.

I started walking back to the dormitory when Eric caught up to me. He wrapped his arms around me. “Where are you going?” He asked sweetly.    “The dormitory. I wanted to take a shower.” I explained.    “I know this is a little out there right now, but if you want you could move in with me. No one would say anything. It’s just what happened with Peter and them, and you being in the 1st rank. I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you could be in danger.” He explained.    “Wow. Am I making the big bad Eric go soft?” I asked teasingly.    “Only you could.” He smiled.    “Also the answer to your question is yes. I’d like to be able to sleep.” I said. It was true when I slept in the dormitory I was exhausted. This wasn’t for Eric it was for me. If we are going through all these mental preparation tests, I need to keep my strength up mentally.    He sighed with relief.    “Let me go get my stuff.” I explained and he nodded.    “I have a meeting right now, so just let yourself in. I put a key above the door.” He explained and jogged away.    I smiled to myself and walked to the dormitory. When I walked in Drew was standing there with a huge black eye. Most likely from Four. I smiled to myself knowing that the asshole deserved it. Peter was sitting on the bed next to Drew and Molly. Peter had his arm in a sling along with a black eye to match Drew’s. I walked past them and straight to my bunk to grab my stuff.    “Where are you going?” Molly asked angrily.    “She probably got kicked out, because she’s psycho.” Peter mumbled.    “Actually. I’m moving in with my boyfriend.” I explained picking up my stuff.    “What does he even see in you anyways?” Peter asked walking up to me.    “Probably the fact that I don’t put up with assholes like you.” I said stepping closer.    “Watch yourself, Kai. You’re outnumbered here.” Molly said from behind Peter.    “I’m not scared of you. I was also outnumbered last night when you guys were being cowards and trying to throw Tris off of the chasm. See, I don’t like Tris either, but at least i’m not trying to kill her, so I don’t have to worry about her beating me. Back the hell off.” I snapped.    “Or what? You’ll get your big scary boyfriend to beat me up?” Peter asked.    “No. I’ll do it myself.” I said and walked out. None of them said anything to me as I was walking out of the dormitory. I walked down the long dark hallway.    “Kai!” I heard someone yell from behind me. I spun around to see Izzy, Dean and Richard walking up.    “Where are you going?” Izzy asked eyeing my clothes.    “I’m moving out of the dorms.” I explained.    “You can’t do that until the initiation is over.” Richard said.    “Do you really think anybody is going to say anything? When her boyfriend is Eric?” Dean asked.    “True, but still. How?” Richard asked.    “Eric was able to pull some strings. He said it isn’t safe for me in the dorms since I’m in the first ranking.” I explained.    They all nodded. Eric didn’t get back to the apartment for most of the night. He got back at like 3 a.m.    I was already lying in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I heard him walk in. He was trying to be quiet. I heard his heavy steps walking closer. I didn’t say anything. The bathroom light flipped on. Followed by the shower turning on. I started to fall asleep, then the bathroom lights shut off. Soon after, I felt him slide in next to me. I smiled when his arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer. I felt warm and safe in his arms. We both fell asleep right after.    The next morning I woke up still wrapped in his arms. I smiled to myself. I slid out of them, and Eric didn’t even notice. I grabbed my clothes and headed for the bathroom. I turned the shower on hot and got in. I was only in there for like 10 minutes, then got out. I was getting dressed when I heard a knock on the door.    “Are you out of the shower?” Eric asked.    “Yes.” I said opening the door. I was just drying off my hair at that point.    “Darn. I was hoping I could join you.” He smiled and wrapped his hands around me. I looked up at him.    “Maybe later.” I smiled at him.    “What if I don’t want to wait?” He asked.    “Well. Then, you don’t get anything.” I said smiling.    He slightly pouted his lips.    “Don’t try this with me, Eric” I smiled and walked out of the bathroom. I walked over to the bed and started lacing up my shoes. There was a knock on the door. Eric was already in the shower, so I stood up and walked to the door.    “Yes?” I said opening the door.    “Kai?” Four asked confused.    “Yes?” I asked.    “You know what? I don’t wanna know.” He muttered shaking his head.    “I came to talk to Eric. Where is he?” Four asked.    “He’s busy. Can I take a message?” I asked.    “No.” Four said and turned and started walking back down the hallway.    “Four!” I yelled after him.    He turned around, “What?” he muttered.    “What’s going on?” I asked.    “What do you mean? I don’t have time for this Kai.” He muttered.    “Four, you know damn well what I mean.” I said staring at him.    “Kai, all I’m saying is to watch out. He’s going to hurt you.” Four said.    “How do you know that?” I asked.    “Because, Kai, that’s the type of person that he is. I’ve seen it happen before. I’m not gonna stop you if you back, but just know that I warned you.” He said and walked away. Leaving me alone and confused in the hallway.    I sighed and walked back into the apartment. I walked in as Eric was getting out of the shower.    “Four came by.” I said sitting on the bed looking at Eric.    “What did he have to say?” He asked. He was in the mirror doing his hair.    “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.” I said.    “Did you ask?” Eric asked.    “No, Eric. That thought didn’t occur to me.” I said sarcastically.    Eric laughed lightly and shook his head, “Alright. I’ll talk to him later.”    I nodded, “He can we talk about something?” I asked.    “I thought we were?” He asked pretending to be confused.    “Funny, but no this is serious. What were you going to tell me, or at least wanted to tell me?” I asked.    Eric looked away for a second, then looked back at me. “You know the divergents right?” He asked.    “Yeah of course, why?” I asked concerned.    “Well, Jeanine has developed a chip that won’t work on divergents. So, we’ll be able to control everyone except divergents. Which will make them stand out, and we will be able to execute them easily. Meanwhile, we will control everyone else and take over Abnegation.” He explained. It made sense, and it was a smart theory. I can’t help but think that this is kind of wrong. No, I don’t like abnegation, but do they deserve to be taken over? No. I don’t see a problem with divergents, but do they deserve to die? Still no. I will still stand by Eric all the way. Eric understands this situation better than I do. I must have been quiet for a while. “Kai?” Eric asked shutting off the bathroom light and walking out. “Are you ok?” He asked. “Yeah, I was just processing everything.” I said standing up. “Are you still going to stand with me?” He asked. “100%” I smiled, “Not only would I go against you on this, but it would also be going against my mom. I couldn’t make myself do either. I know Jeanine didn’t raise me, but I still feel the connection with her. I will stand with you guys no matter what.” I explained. He looked so happy and relieved, “Thank you.” He said pulling me into a hug. “But Eric, I don’t want to be controlled.” I said. “I want to stand with you and Jeanine.” “Of course, Kai, I wouldn’t let them control you. Ever.” He said smiling. “When will all of this happen anyways?” I asked as Eric sat down to put his shoes on. “Well, you have this week's training. At the end of the week you will have one last simulation infront of all of us. Including Jeanine, Max, Four, and I. Then you will have the last set on ranks, and during dinner that night we will put in a ‘tracking chip’. The next morning they will be practically robots.” Eric explained. I nodded smiling. “What are we doing today?” I asked. “Well you will go through your fear landscapes today, and work on getting out quickly. Then, later tonight I have something I want to show you.” He explained and I nodded. We finished getting ready and walked out of his. Our. Apartment. We walked into the cafeteria like we do every morning. Today, we decided to split ways. I walked over Izzy and them, while Eric walked over to the other leaders. “So, how is it?” Izzy asked. “How’s what? Living with Eric?” I asked. “All of it! His appartment? Sex? Him in general?” She asked. “Well, first of all, I feel as if you care more than I do. Second of all, I don’t see why you care. And third, I guess if you must know, his place is clean and nice. Haven’t gotten to the sex part. And he’s great.” I explained. Izzy nodded, it looked as if she was about to asked more questions, but Dean interrupted her first. “Izzy. Calm down. Let her be.” Dean said. Izzy nodded sadly. Today the food happened to be set out on the tables instead of having to pick it up ourselves. We ate and talked about our fears and stuff. Then after breakfast, we were told to head over to the fear landscape room. I was walking over there along with Izzy and them, when Eric called me over. He was with Max and Jeanine. “Kai, Eric here say’s that you would like to join us in taking over abnegation?” Jeanine asked. “Yes. That is true.”  I said staring at her. I could see a slight resemblance now. Jeanine nodded and looked over at Max, “Alright. Then it’s set.” she smiled. I looked over at Eric who was staring at me. Eric smiled and I ran back to Izzy, Dean and Richard. “What was that all about?” Richard asked. “Oh, Jeanine just wanted to confirm something. Also, did I ever tell you guys that Jeanine's my mom.” I asked trying to change the topic. “What!” Richard and Izzy practically yelled at the same time. “Yeah, I just found out the other day.” I explain. Their mouths were literally wide open. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Izzy asked slapping my shoulder. “I guess I was just busy, and it just happened.” I explained and she just stared at me. “Well, we need to catch up. Girl time. Tomorrow night. We are going to get a tattoo.” She said and I just stared at her. “Assuming I don’t have an option?” I asked. “You assumed right, Erudite girl.” She smiled. I smiled back, and we all continued to walk to the fear landscape room. “Today you will go through your fears once again. You will go through them everyday this week. On Friday you will go through them once again, but you will perform in front of all the leaders. You will perform not only in front of Max, Eric, and I, but you will also perform in front of Jeanine Matthews.” Four explained once we all arrived. We all nodded and sat down. Time went on and eventually Four called me back again. I didn’t speak to him, nor did he try and speak to me. I just walked in a sat down. He began typing away at his computer. He turned with the needle, and pushed it into my neck. I sat there quietly, until the serum took over. Again, I was standing I was stranded in the ocean.  I began to let myself sink. There is no land around, and there is no way I could fight against that huge whale. This was the easiest and fastest way to get out. To just accept my death. Which I did happily. Then, I found myself buried alive. I sighed my heart going crazy. I laid there and closed my eyes. They said that I will move on if I slow my heart down to a normal pace. With my eyes closed I imagined myself lying with Eric. We are laying in his bed. Everything soon changed. I was on the tall building. I quickly ran over to the fire escape and gently began to climb down. I made it a little further down, than last time. The fire escape started to creak even louder, so I jumped through the nearest window. Tearing two strips of fabric from my shirt, I began to tie them around my hands as I ran down towards the elevator shaft. I grabbed on to the cable. It was easier this time, because I had better traction, due to the cloth. I quickly made my way down. Once I stepped out the elevator fell.  I sprinted for the front door. Once I got outside the building burst into flames. I woke up in the chair again. Four was typing at his computer. “Kai, You need to know something.” Four stated. “What?” I muttered just wanting to get out of there. “You can’t tell anyone, but you’re divergent.” He said and continued to type away at his computer. “No, I’m not.” I said. “Yes. You are. Now get out.” He muttered. I didn’t say anything. I just slowly walked out. I walked down the dark hallway. I heard a familiar voice. Eric’s. I quickly walked towards the voice. It was Eric and Jeanine’s. I stopped. “You’re lying.” I heard Eric say in a voice deeper, than usual. “Why? Why would I lie to you Eric? Especially about my daughter?” Jeanine asked. “What do you want to me do then? Kill her?” He asked sarcastically. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do.” Jeanine said matter-of-factly. “Fine.” Eric muttered. I started backing away. I had to get out of here. I heard heavy footsteps walking my way. I tried to turn and run, but I ended up stumbling over my feet. I fell. Flat on the ground.    “Kai?”  I heard Eric and Jeanine ask. I turned over so I was on my back. “Yes?” I asked. “What are you doing?” Eric asked in a deep demanding voice. “I...I fell.” I mumbled. “Do you have something you need to tell me?” He asked. “No…” I said quietly. “Coward.” Eric muttered and pulled me up. “I know what you are. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked angrily. “I didn’t know.” I explained. “I don’t believe that.” He said. His voice getting louder. “It’s the truth.” I mumbled quietly. Tears starting to slip.    “Maybe.” He muttered and pulled a gun out of his belt.    “Eric. Baby, please.” I started.    “Kai. Don’t. Don’t make this any harder.” He said pointing the gun at my head.    “Eric. Baby…” I said as my ears started ringing and I was lying on the floor. Soon, everything was black. I then woke up, in the fear landscape room. My face soaked with tears. Four turned and looked at me. He leaned against the wall.    “You alright?” He asked. I simply nodded my head. My whole body was trembling. I slowly stood up. My legs almost giving out. I grabbed the chair to steady me.    “Sit. I’ll be right back.” Four muttered and left. A few moments later Four returned, with Eric. I sighed with relief, or at least I think it was relief.    “Kai?” Eric asked helping me up. “You alright.” I nodded my head yes. He put his arm around me and walked me out.

Tag list: @pathybo @jojuarez26

#Eric coulter #eric coulter fanfiction #eric coulter oc #kai waters #divergent #divergent oc #divergent fanfiction #writings