#the unearthly & ruthless Pale Lady

[tenebriiis-archived]

{ 🙗 } // 𝐇𝐂: 𝒜𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐼𝓈𝓈𝓊𝑒𝓈

( tw : possessive relationships / tw : death mention)

—Having experienced the trauma of Loss so young & frequently over the repeated event of watching loved ones die/being murdered, below the perfect façade of confidence & mischievous visage: the Enchantress holds terribly huge Abandonment issues that only come forth when it comes to her Significant Other, & they are handled in a highly misplaced & murderous manner,

She can be an intensely dedicated & endearing lover; looking to please every wish of those she loved & finding the right path for their goals to come true as fast as possible -especially if they are mortals-; yet she can also become terribly toxic { Jealous, Possessive, Manipulative & Selfish on keeping them near out of the fragmented fear of being replaced or pushed away }

For her time is but a blink; & the wounds left by the terrible & nightmarish situations she lived, continue being too fresh to not hurt immensely & making her behave in horrendous manners that for her would look completely accurate & right, as hurting & killing anybody who would be deemed as a threat for the attentions she craves to have exclusively for herself.

She won't go to the point of harming the one she loves { unless they result a threat to the Black Rose, in which way betrayal & assassination plans would already be on the making } but those around them are but pawns in a chess game & she won't care at all for their well-being if their utility is no more than causing her a headache, especially if fooling around with who she considers belongs to her after giving them her heart in a silver platter.

It's not a healthy kind of love; having many flaws beneath the surface like monsters hiding in the darkest corners of a chamber, but Emilia may consider it sane as she doesn't fancy 'competition over attentions' - she's one to poison the competition & gets rid of it without overthinking { of course, this doesn't apply for polyamorous relationships, where everything has been shared & expressed, deciding consciously to go into the endeavors of more than one partner, in that situation the Pale Lady would be more than happy to fall in the games of seductiveness & mischievous diablerie }

Those who share affections with her, need to remember that beneath the porcelain perfection of the Nymph; there's still a murderous creature willing to do everything regarding the success of her ambitions —even if those are assuring (in her own sick merry way) her heart isn't broken again.

#if you thought her relationships were '100% sugar-coated healthy' think again who she actually is #She won't kill or hurt her partner #but she will indeed kill the threat (?) #you are asking a woman who basically does everything to retain her power through centuries & also has heavy abandonment issues #to not behave at least possessive & a bit jealous ? #You are dreaming too hide friend (?) #I had never said otherwise tho; she can be super lovely & endearing & childish ; curling against her S/O for warmth & wanting hugs 24/7 #but she's still the Matron of the Black Rose #the unearthly & ruthless Pale Lady #A merciless Sorceress who will adore you & keep you safe; that counting every unwelcomed third party #there again; unless OT3s & OT+ <v< ; but those type of relationships are usually bound to have her as the center of attention #as she can be clingy; craving full attention over her; despising to be left apart & turning bittersweet for a while #tw: toxic relationship #tw: possessive behavior #tw: abandonment #{ ｐｅｒｓｅｐｈｏｎｅ. ｗａｓ .ｍｏｕｒｎｉｎｇ. ａ .ｓｅａ. ｏｆ .ｍｅｍｏｒｉｅｓ } — Headcanons

[dat-town]

cut me open (take my heart)

Characters: Eunwoo and You

Setting: dark fantasy au, sirens

Summary: It was tradition. Out of the sons of the Sea King, only that one will be the rightful heir if the crown that can take an innocent heart because if one can't bear the weight of a human heart, that can't be the ruthless ruler of the sea in times of need. And you, about to start your new life in colonized Joseon, meet an ethereal creature that wants your heart, quite literally.

Words: 1.7k

Author’s note: title taken from 5SOS’ When you walk away. I honestly wanted to write siren!Eunwoo since Blue Flame era (because of his sparkly skin in the MV) but with Knock I was kicked in the butt for not doing it earlier. And yes, I used this chance to write about his beauty because damn, this boy is ethereal.

He has always taken your breath away.

Even when you first met, on the day when you arrived to Joseon on the ship of Lady Gallagher. As an aristocrat and as a foreigner to a country that welcomed neither. Yet, the place had already amazed you and you curled your fingers around the metal handrail, leaning forward, not caring about dirtying your skirt as the vessel approached the bay. Everything was so new, so foreign: the buildings, the way people dressed, the exotic language they spoke but you just clenched onto your suitcase a bit firmer, determined when you were instructed to leave the board once the ship docked.

While doing so, it might have been your enthusiasm that made you so clumsy, because you slipped on the ramp, losing your balance just over the sea. Having no empty hand to grab on anything, hearing your aunt’s scream, you could only prepare for the worst as you closed your eyes, waiting for the cold water to envelope your body, heavy clothes pulling you down. But instead, a strong arm embraced you by the waist, keeping you safe, on the wooden ramp between the ship and the land. The touch felt burning even through the layers of clothing.

A shallow breath or two later, you pried your eyes open slowly and it was his eyes that you first saw. Those dark, endless orbs with a hint of midnight blue in them. Almost like the depth of the ocean, just as enticing so. You stared, same as he did, eyes locked for long minutes while the hand and delicate fingers resting on your corset dress loosened their hold and even though you stood steadily by then, you felt like falling anyway.

You had to narrow your eyes at the bright light of the Sun shining upon your savior, his pale skin glimmering like jewels desired by treasure hunters under the weight of the sea. The curls of his dark, almost pitch black locks, that looked soft like bird feathers, hovered over his forehead, tempting you to reach out and brush them away. But you didn’t do that, of course! What were you even thinking, daydreaming like this?

Coming to your senses quickly, you found your voice again and breathless, you thanked him that he saved you. At that the corners of his thin mouth curled upwards. It was beautiful, truly, the perfect line of his blossom pink lip pulling up in a curve, the littlest and yet, it made your heart skip a silly innocent beat. As an artist yourself your skin itched for the feeling of a brush between your fingertips. You wanted to… had this strange yearning to paint him, to have him as dark oil on white canvas, glittering dots glistening across his flawless skin and as watercolour on paper dripping through the material, the blues and silvers leaving their mark on your trembling fingers. You wished to make such beauty everlasting.

“Careful, my lady,” he spoke up finally, voice just as alluring as his whole aura, sweet and smoothing. Then he let go of you, taking a slight, polite bow before leaving and you could do nothing but stare after him, his royal blue uniform with silver chains over it making him noticeable even among the crowd.

Or it might have been just you, already enchanted.

His name was Cha Eunwoo.

People of the town whispered about him but nobody knew where he came from or what he was doing. He was a mystery to all but most of all, to you. You dreamt of him, about reaching out only for him to slip through your fingers like water. You often woke up with a heavy chest, something excited, yearning yet uneasy weighing you down. Sometimes you hallucinated his voice, the melody of it carried by the wind, inviting and alluring, dripping so sweetly it could have been a lullaby. Your aunt often had to call you out on daydreaming and sometimes you got the feeling that you were being watched but maybe that was mere wishful thinking on your part. 

But as the weather had gotten colder and windier, the sea seemingly furious, you kept bumping into him everywhere: at the market, at the tailor, even on your way home and from the way he looked at you, you knew he recognized you, yet did not speak to you. Not until one day he found you alone, without your servants, staring out to the open sea spreading wide and golden in front of you.

He approached you quietly, like a predator, but voice sweet as honey.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a tone one part curious and two parts cold, yet it sent pleasant shivers down your spine. It was just his way of talking. 

“What?” you turned to him, taken aback by his closeness. Your arms almost grazed each other and the scent of rain that always followed him hit you. Oh skies, he made you flustered so easily.

“The sea. Do you like it?” he elaborated his question, dark eyes flashing at you as he rested his elbowed on the railing. There was something unexplainable longing in his voice as if he was talking about something dear to him.

“It’s beautiful,” you sighed as you nodded, honest, having been in awe by the magnificence of the sea and oceans ever since you were a little girl.

“Beautiful,” the boy - almost man - echoed as if he was tasting the word, slowly and unfamiliar. His dark eyes boring into yours made you speechless for a moment. “You, humans, have an interesting idea of beauty. Aren’t you afraid?”

You blinked in surprise and confused, not understanding neither the statement nor the question. Why would you have been afraid? You had no reason to. Yet, you didn’t get an answer from this unearthly young man either as he left your side, walking down the shore. His absence suddenly scared you more than anything and your heart cried out in desperation to go after him. You didn’t understand any of these feelings, this strong affection didn’t make sense at all and yet, something tugged on your stomach and you took a few tentative steps ahead.

“Where are you going?” you found yourself asking, voice shaking a bit. Was it because of the fear of rejection? 

“I can show you,” he offered as he looked back at you over his shoulder with a hint of smirk tinting the paleness of his perfectly curved lips. His smile was somewhat wicked but you couldn’t stop, your legs moved on their own accord and when you were by his side, walking further down on the shore, he turned to you with another question: “Would you like to hear a story?”

Soundlessly you nodded because suddenly you couldn’t find your voice, even the air seemed to change around you but you just followed him blindly. Wind blew harder, messing up your hair and riding up your skirt but you blamed it on the approaching tide while listening to the story you had been promised to.

“There is a kingdom far far in the sea that nobody on this land knows of. In that kingdom, there are six princes fighting over the throne but according to the tradition the true heir can only be the one that takes an innocent heart, consuming it fully as an offering to the goddess of the sea.”

"But why?" you gaped at him, finding the tale a bit too dark for your taste and he smiled down at you sickeningly sweet, long and pale fingers gently touching your cheek for the first time as your steps halted. You were surprised just how cold his touch felt.

“Power always comes with sacrifice,” he said observing your reactions closely, dark eyes drinking up as you lost yourself to the music of waves and wind bit by bit.

You found your feet frozen in place, your body shivering and when a sudden breeze swirled your scarf away, you reached for your bare neck as if that could have protected you from the cold. You just watched as the wind took it farther and farther away and by the time you looked back, Eunwoo was nowhere to be found.

Confused, you looked around, calling his name, shivering when the first thunder of the approaching storm shook the rocky land you stood on.

"Down here," you heard his mellifluous voice and turning your head you froze in place when you saw him from the edge of the shore, half his body in the water, pale and shimmering bare chest on display. 

"What–" your eyes widened, lips trembling as you watched something turquoise move under him in the water. You should have run, far and farther and yet, you fell onto your knees, blood staining your skirt, fingers digging into the edgy rock under you. 

"Haven't you heard the stories? That you should be beware of unearthly beauties?" he tilted his head, water droplets making his dark hair look like ink and the air stuck in your lungs when he pushed himself up coming face to face with you.

"Why… Why me?" 

"Because you are too pure for this world, darling," he smiled beautifully and for the first time in your life, you believed him, you thought of beauty as something scary, something horrid. It was indeed a weapon, aimed at you, a gun at your heart but you couldn’t move. You were frozen in place staring into his pitch black eyes with the deepest of oceans in them, seeing as the moonlight painted white streaks over his milk white shoulders.

"It won't hurt, I promise," he murmured quietly into the seam of your mouth before enchanting music filled your ears as his mouth pressed against yours. His lips were cold and tasted like salt. Yet, it was almost sweet, almost like a dream as much that you barely even felt him  pull you into the water with him.

But oh, he has always taken your breath away anyway.

#astro scenarios #eunwoo scenarios #astro imagines #eunwoo imagines #fantasy au #siren!eunwoo #stories #astro drabble #eunwoo drabble

[suspendedsatellite]

edge (1/1)

title: i stood at the edge

pairing: Gen, Past Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

rating: G

setting: Canonverse

word count: ~3000

summary: Snapshots of Magnus’s relationship with Camille throughout the years, and an introspection on all that happened between them.

“If I could hate you, I would find myself drowned in this shallow sea.”

It’s not that simple.

His fingers curled around the cold metal railing of the balcony, the wind almost strong enough to send shivers up his spine. Magnus’s thoughts were at once too loud and too hollow, echoing back and forth in the recesses his mind.

It wasn’t something Raphael or Simon could possibly understand, the weight of memory on nights like this. Not quite guilt, nor regret…just a sense of longing and sorrow for a fleeting time that had long passed. For a woman that neither of them had ever met.

(For the man that he used to be, and the man he would never be.)

No matter how many years passed, he would never forget the emptiness of that night. Not when it still clung in the corners of his being, blurring out the edges of his thoughts.

---

On one of the highest rooftops, Magnus looked over the city of London. The only sound around him was the chilly, early spring wind whispering through spaces between the buildings.

Most of the taverns had cleared out already, and the cabbies had all returned home in the early hours of the morning. It would still be quite a while before the sun rose– perhaps if he looked a little more carefully, he could find the nooks in the alleys where the night children were reveling in their scarce hours of freedom. A few wolves would be stalking through the streets, the young ones not yet able to control their transformations.

But what did it matter, if there was anyone down there at all? Not one of them would ever see him.

(And why should they? There was nothing worth finding here.)

If he took just a few more steps, off this ledge…that was all it would take to break this silence. Living for just a single moment, one breathless fall, before fading. None of it would matter. Forgotten, from a world he never belonged in anyway.

(Who would ever know?)

“You know it probably won’t work, right?”

A honeyed voice broke into his thoughts, and he spun around to see a woman leaning against the brick pillar of a chimney, the details of her features hidden by the shadows. In her hand was a wine glass, and as she tilted to take a drink, he caught the faint, unmistakable scent of blood.

“I’ve seen a couple of them try it, but your magic tends to kick in right before you hit the street. Fear’s a rather potent trigger.”

“What do you want?” Magnus glared at the intruding vampire as he felt an annoyance creep into the empty calm from moments earlier.

“Hmm. Nothing much, just a show. And in case it worked out for you, I was thinking I’d get a nice meal. Warlock blood’s pretty hard to come by.” Her nonchalant tone didn’t have even a hint of unease, which meant she was probably fairly powerful. Magnus found himself impressed despite himself.

“Well, you’ve rather ruined your chances then, haven’t you? Should’ve stayed quiet.” The moment was officially over now, and Magnus walked back away from the edge. He shook his head– it had been a stupid thought, a momentary lapse of logic.

(One that happened far too often these days.)

She looked up at him for the first time, allowing her beautiful face to catch the moonlight. Her eyes seemed to glow, framed by thick lashes that contrasted sharply with her unearthly pale skin. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders, a few strands picking up and flowing in the breeze as she walked slowly over to him.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. Magnus had seen many stunning beings of every species over the years and he was immune to the effects of a vampire’s encanto, but the way this woman commanded the air around her left him enchanted nonetheless. When she stopped in front of him, he could do nothing but stare.

“It’s alright. I think your pretty face might be worth a bit more than a drink.” Her crimson red lips formed words that he barely caught in his stupor, but as she moved her hand up to cup his face, he jerked back in surprise.

Her laughter was like the sound of bells.

“You poor thing. I wasn’t going to scratch you for a taste, don’t worry.”

It was his turn to grin now. This was a game he knew how to play.

“I’m sure you weren’t, but one can never be too careful. I wouldn’t want a lovely lady like you to get hurt.”

Her elegant eyebrows rose in confusion, and, for the first time in weeks, he laughed. Lowering the glamour on his eyes, he let his magic flare around him. Magnus was pleased when her eyes sparked with a wild hunger instead of the fear he was so used to seeing whenever he used his magic.

The magic inherited from the blood of a Greater Demon.

“You’re full of surprises aren’t you? You should show that off more often. I wouldn’t mind getting…burned a bit, for a taste.” She let her lips open, giving him full view of her tongue as it traced the edges of her perfectly white fangs.

“You play a dangerous game, my lady.”

This time, he didn’t draw back when she approached him. He let her trail her nails lightly across his arm, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Darling, I’ve got nothing but an eternity of boredom waiting for me. I like living as close to the edge as I can. Especially since this one’s a whole lot more fun than the one you were dangling from.”

She leaned in close to his ear and lowered her voice to a sultry whisper.

“What do you say to some company tomorrow night? Somewhere out of this dreadful cold?”

Magnus wasn’t sure what he wanted, but in that moment, nothing was more alluring than the warmth in her voice. He felt her lips curl into a wide smile against his neck as he nodded.

---

“Magnus. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to come to this.”

He glanced up and felt his heart break a bit at the look Raphael was giving him. How could he regret anything when the living proof of what he had saved was standing right there? No matter how much he owed Camille, he would never be willing to trade away the family he finally found here.

“Raphael, dear, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Raphael might not ever understand his feelings, but he respected Magnus deeply. He knew a little too much about the complicated past Magnus shared with Camille, and would have kept his silence this time as well if it weren’t for Aldertree’s threats to his clan. Over the years, Raphael sought his help less and less frequently, and Magnus wasn’t sure if that was something that should make him happy.

The scared, uncontrolled young vampire had become the leader of an entire clan, overturning the most dangerous woman either of them had ever known to earn that title. Magnus was so proud of Raphael, but a part of him realized that now he was no longer needed.

This was probably what parents felt like when their children left home, he thought.

No matter how much time passed, though, he wanted Raphael to know he had a place to return to. That was one thing that wouldn’t change.

“Really.” He added when Raphael turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Camille went too far, and she should have known that.”

“She was important to you.”

“Yes.” He wouldn’t lie. “She was, a long time ago. And maybe even now.” Magnus gripped Raphael’s shoulders gently, turning the vampire towards him.

“But I would never choose her over my family.”

---

“Magnus Bane! What are you doing with that vermin off the streets?”

Camille’s lovely face was twisted in a vicious sneer as she looked down at the young vampire lying on their couch. Magnus suspected this might happen, but he had hoped she would at least offer some pity for her own kind.

Thank god Raphael was out cold.

“His name’s Raphael. He dug his way out just last night and would have razed the town. He’s already killed two mundanes. I had to get him somewhere before the shadowhunters found his trail.”

“You could’ve just taken out the problem down there instead of bringing this filth into our home.” He was left incredulous at what she was suggesting.

“Camille, would it kill you to show some sensitivity? You know what he’s gone through.”

Her coldness was one thing he had never expected after the first time they met years ago. He knew she was a ruthless woman, but she had also pulled him out of a darkness that nearly swallowed him. Looking at the unconscious vampire, Magnus was reminded of himself years ago when he still feared his own powers.

Camille, however, saw none of this. Instead, she scoffed.

“Life’s tough, sweetheart. Especially for nightchildren. If he can’t dig himself out of his own problems, that’s not my business. Or yours.”

“He’s a child.” It was true. The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen or so.

Camille sighed and put her arms around Magnus. Her skin felt icy, even through his clothes, and the scent of blood clung to her.

She had been hunting.

Magnus wondered if anyone had died tonight.

Probably not.

Unlike Raphael, her control was perfect, and the only deaths at her hand were dealt intentionally. It was a level of mastery that Magnus had always admired, but sometimes he wondered if that was why she held so little sympathy for other downworlders.

“You’re still so soft-hearted.” Her tone was sweetly exasperated now. “You have to learn to nip the weak ones at the bud before they become the burden of an entire clan down the line. It’s our way.”

Magnus turned to her, eyes hard.

“It’s not my way, Camille.”

---

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Ragnor appeared at his side late that night. Despite drinking an entire bottle of his strongest wine, the memories refused to fade from his mind. It figured that tonight, all the spirits of the past would come to haunt him.

“I thought you left for good that time, after the wedding. At least you’re a ghost that’s welcome here.” Magnus played along, just as he always had. Surely he was allowed his own private delusions after the day he’d endured.

“Am I, truly? You never seem to listen or take my advice.”

“I humor you often enough. And you forget that last time, at least, I followed through.” Magnus grinned, remembering the triumphant kiss with Alec in front of a crowd of wide-eyed shadowhunters.

“A good thing you did.” Ragnor chuckled. “That boy’s been good for you.”

Magnus poured another glass of wine and set it in front of Ragnor’s chair, even though he knew his friend would never be able to touch it. Ragnor’s eyebrow rose, and the two of them stared at each other.

“I wish you were here.”

“No you don’t. You’re just upset about Camille and wish you could replace her ghost with another.”

His heart clenched. He wondered if Ragnor would truly believe that if he were here now.

“That’s not true, Ragnor.”

The ghost’s expression softened.

“No? I suppose not…a pity then, that I can’t join you now.”

Magnus squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that soon the illusion would be gone, leaving him alone again.

“I…I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know if he was apologizing to Ragnor, Raphael, or perhaps even Camille.

Was there anyone he hadn’t failed?

“What should I have done?” He whispered.

But he was right– when he opened his eyes again, there was nothing but silence from the empty seat across from him, the glass of wine on the table sitting untouched.

---

“Ragnor, listen–”

“No, Magnus, you listen to me. You promised me, when you came here ten years ago, that you put her behind you. Now she shows up and crooks her finger at you and that’s it?”

“It’s different now.”

“Bullshit. You’re going to help her hide the bodies, and then what? Sleep with her, throw some parties together, wait a few decades for her clan to do this all over again?”

“I can’t leave them to the Clave, Ragnor!”

“And why not!?”

“She has Raphael this time. He’s the one who called me.”

Ragnor fell silent at that admission.

“…How did Raphael end up there?”

Magnus sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. That was the same question he had been asking himself for the last few months ever since he found out.

“Camille brought him over three years ago. He didn’t talk to me about it, probably because he knew about what went down between us.”

Ragnor sighed.

“Magnus, that’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it? If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been caught in this mess.”

“He wanted a clan, and god only knows what Camille promised him.”

“I should have warned him.”

“And you think he’d listen?”

“I should have tried.”

(I should have given him a home.)

---

“What was she like?”

Magnus glanced over at Alec, about to deflect the question and the argument that was sure to follow. But he realized that there was no judgment or doubt in Alec’s eyes this time, just simple curiosity.

“Sorry, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” Alec scratched his head and looked away. “It’s just…I guess I’ve always wondered.”

“Why I was with her, you mean?” He laughed a bit half-heartedly. “Sherman asked the same thing when he and Raphael asked me to find her.”

“Simon.” Alec corrected half-heartedly. “And yeah, I guess so. What did you see in her?”

Magnus chuckled, then bit his lip, thinking carefully before he spoke again.

“Alexander…it was a different time. I wasn’t kidding when I said it was ancient history, almost literally. I was a different person back then. And so was she.“

(But that wasn’t really it, was it?)

"Though…maybe not quite as different as you might expect.” Magnus added.

Alec remained quiet and his gaze patient as Magnus struggled to find the right words.

“She was powerful in a world that was determined to hunt her down.” He recognized the nostalgic reverence in his voice, so different from the scorn he usually carried when he spoke about her. Perhaps it was easier to admit to this now that he knew those words would never be twisted against him.

(Perhaps time could make these memories kind again.)

“I was ashamed of who I was. I had the blood of both my parents on my hands before I was ten years old. An abomination and a murderer, and I was reminded of that every day by the silent brothers that named me and raised me.”

“Magnus–”

“No, it’s fine.” He hated talking about this part of his past. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t make it fine.”

“Maybe not.” Magnus shrugged off his boyfriend’s concern, unable to look Alec in the eye. “But time dulls things, and I’ve…made my peace with it now. Camille was one of the people that showed me how.

“She was selfish with all her toxic indulgences, but so beautiful in all of it. She didn’t even need an encanto to have downworlders and mundanes alike bowing at her feet. Might as well have been Queen of the Downworld.” Alec rolled his eyes at that and Magnus laughed.

“Glad to know some things don’t change.”

“Ah, yes, the eternal beauty of the undead.”

“I meant the indulgences.” Alec frowned. “Overindulged in the end with that den of hers.”

“She certainly became more…reckless.”

“That’s one way to put it. I’d call it cruel.” Alec’s eyes were just a little colder when they looked at Magnus this time, the protective shadowhunter in him showing through.

Magnus sighed.

“Alexander…shadowhunters aren’t exactly kind to people like us. The seelies create their own realm, but vampires, werewolves, and warlocks like me…we’re forced to find our place in the war between the shadowhunters and demons.”

“That doesn’t justify murdering mundanes for sport or keeping them as slaves for their blood.”

“No, it doesn’t. And I’m not trying to justify or forgive her, Alexander. But in a world that didn’t allow her a single freedom, that was disgusted with her simply for who she was, she was fearless and strong enough to throw it back in their faces.

“And she taught me to do the same. To wear my cat eyes with pride and take my place as a high warlock of the downworld.”

Alec was silent, and Magnus was afraid he said too much.

“Alec, I don’t approve of anything, anything that she’s done here it’s just-”

“No, Magnus, it’s okay, I know.”

---

“Camille, it’s not that simple. You know that I love you but I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’ll regret this Magnus. Raphael’s already left, and Ragnor and Catarina will leave you too.” She glared at him for a moment before her bitter words turned sweet.

“You’ll come back to me, Magnus. You always will. You fancy yourself a High Warlock now, but we both know you’re still just the lonely boy standing at the edge of the London skyline, waiting for me to call you down.” Her words struck a chord in him, and for a moment, he shivered, as if feeling the same chilling wind of that night again.

“No, Camille. I’m not.”

---

The sunlight was already creeping in from between the curtains by the time Magnus opened his eyes. A soft breeze drifted in from the balcony, like an old friend calling to him.

“Magnus?” A soft voice, hoarse from sleep, broke the silence.

“Go back to sleep darling. Sorry I woke you.” Magnus pressed a kiss against Alec’s forehead. As he attempted to rise, however, an arm wrapped around him tightly.

"Stay. Please?”

“…Of course.”

(It still called him sometimes, in a gust of wind so cold that it froze him down to the very bone. But he had a place to return to now, far from that distant edge.)

---

author’s notes: This was largely written back in April, 2017 based on a lot of headcanons for me on Magnus and Camille’s relationship. I wanted to take a more nuanced look at the way he might have felt for her, and…this is what happened. I found it again recently so I decided to publish it here, but I’ve been out of the loop with the SH canon for quite a long time now, so apologies if any of these details have now been jossed by canon.

#shadowhunters #t: oneshot #gen #malec #magnus bane #camille belcourt

[tenkeitekinamonogatari]

i～butterfly🌸蝶々

         Lucidity and repetition had always been infallible litmus between vision and dream. This particular one, years in the making, had grown steadily in clarity in recent months. Even now, the images flared sharper than she last recalled them. Thundering hooves and foam-flecked flanks. Savage roars and ringing steel. Upon a bloody field, the tattered tail of a banner fluttered erratically against a sky blotted black with smoke. Unearthly flames danced spectral light along razor edge to the music of rattling bones.

         She looked up to meet the wraith’s baleful burning gaze and wept.

       =Airi.=

        The voice, simultaneously a soft growl and sonorous baritone, jerked the woman from the depths of unconsciousness. With a jolt she bolted awake, still reeling from the vision, only to squint when mismatched hues were lanced with bright sunlight. Blinking, the not-dream evaporating like morning mist from behind her eyelids, the first thing her adjusted eyes met was the pale gaze of a massive shiisaa. It was not, however, the great beast looming over her prone form, but rather a second, unfamiliar presence close by that caused her to spring into a defensive crouch. Reflexively her hand scrambled for her kodachi, jumping slightly when she felt not one, but two handles.

        “Stay your blade, Master Chousaki! I, Konnosuke, am an ally!”

         Coupled with her disorientation, Airi’s hand froze at the new voice, finger having just curled around a familiar grip. As vertigo finally cleared, her vision focused upon a small fox -- a kit at best -- whose face was painted white and crimson and azure. Like a kabuki. A fragment clicked back into place in her muddled mind as she scrutinized the creature.

        "...You’re one of Lady Inari’s myoubu.”

         "Yes! My brothers and I are tasked with aiding you in both this citadel and on field. My apologies, Master Chousaki, but you don’t appear to be changed."

         "...Wasn't time for it."

         Now that she knew she had never been in any immediate danger, her spatial awareness steadily expanded even as she shrugged off her coat. Context placed the current room as her own; the sunlit furnishings were sparse, but she recognized some as the belongings she’d sent ahead. As she changed, the saniwa questioned her new aide on the citadel’s logistics. She had been briefed on the functions to expect, but it was broad strokes at best. Konnosuke readily provided answers, but before she’d exhausted her queries, the door slid open to allow another kitsune in, this time soot grey in colour.

         "Konnosuke, is-- ah, Master! You’re awake! The shrine is ready for use, but... where is your touken danshi?"

         Another unwittingly uncomfortable reminder of the circumstances surrounding her arrival. Sky darkening by a too-swift eclipse. Glass shattering, steel screeching, heart racing as she fled desperately for the torii-shaped portal even as the ground buckled beneath her feet-- Seeing his master’s grimace, the darker vulpine bowed his head and simply suggested to call forth the tsukumogami before proceeding to the shrine. A grim nod from the woman, her heterochromatic eyes sliding down to the two katana that lay beside her futon. Her personal kodachi was silent, its steel far too young to be self-aware. The uchigatana beside it, however... when she had first come into contact, its voice had been muffled from centuries of sleep. The time spent in her presence while she’d been unconscious had stirred it, and now it rested in almost sullen anticipation, as if saying, “Get on with it.” She smirked dryly at it.

         "Alright, let's get this done, then." Stepping into a more open area of the room, Airi drew the blade from its scabbard, momentarily admiring the exquisite craftsmanship and balance. "Thy spirit is known to me. Awake and breathe my onmyoudo. Arise, take form, and speak thy name."

         Kotodama was tricky business, given that all words held power. Learning to temper emotion and draw with intent had been one of her greatest challenges. But that was neither here nor there, the thought brushed aside as the sword shivered lightly in her hands and began to glow, motes of light falling like pale petals. As she took a step back, she relinquished her hold on its hilt, no longer required to keep it aloft.

         Of flowers, the sakura; of men, the bushi.

         Airi allowed herself a sardonic smile. In the time of the samurai, one's sword was considered their soul. How fitting was it, then, that the tsukumogami of a katana would manifest in the image of the ephemeral perfection? The light had pooled onto the tatami, solidifying into a distinctly humanoid shape, the pink glow fading to reveal a kneeling man before her, one hand clasped around the hilt of his steel form. He cut an odd figure, a well-worn cloak draped over his body, deep-set hood obscuring part of his face in undyed cloth and shadow. Sunlight glinted off the medallion resting against his chest, throwing stark contrast into the mountain relief carved upon it.

         "I am Yamanbagiri Kunihiro." Ivory lids slid open to reveal piercing blue eyes, which darkened into a scowl as the tsukumogami regarded her. "...What's with the look? Does the fact that I'm a duplicate bother you?”

         "On the contrary," came her cool retort, returning his glare with a level gaze. "I hadn’t quite expected to be entrusted with such a storied blade so early on. Though... thinking on it now, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Master Kousuke was never one to skive on quality, especially given our circumstances..." She shook her head, as if to dislodge the memory of her teacher’s quiet smile from the forefront of her mind. "But I digress. My name is Chousaki Airi, a saniwa."

         At this, Yamanbagiri's eyes narrowed into frosty slits. "A saniwa, huh...?”

         "I apologize if my status upsets you, but unfortunately I cannot change who I am.” This time she had to consciously swallow any rising animosity in her own heart, her ability to keep her tone even made difficult by the unjustifiable amount of venom in the sword’s voice. “I am a child of the twenty-third century, one of but a handful of people dedicated to preserving the true history of the world from those who would change it for personal gain. To that end, I seek the cooperation of swords to help battle against whatever forces they may dispatch. I hold the power to give an inanimate object's spirit corporeal form, as I have done you. A... creator of wielders, to an extent."

         If the blond had anything to say to that, she gave him no time to, silencing him with hardened hues as she continued, "I have no illusions as to what my mission entails. My foe will not hesitate to cut me and my allies down, and I must be equally ruthless. History left to run its course unadulterated will be dooming countless of lives to grisly and untimely deaths. It will be a lonely, harsh, bloody existence, but I will walk this path all the same. Now, knowing the strength of my resolve, Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, wilt thou giveth thine blade to mine cause?"

         For a moment, the kotodama melted any ice in his features, but he quickly composed himself. Airi watched the sword ruminate on the information she'd disclosed, patiently waiting for his answer. It was obvious this spirit held some degree of disdain for saniwa, which would very likely colour his decision significantly. But she was not here to convince him; she was here to command him. The ideal being the former, of course, but as things stood... At length, Yamanbagiri lifted his gaze back to her.

         "Just tell me one thing. Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

         Her hesitation lasted only as long as it took to gather her thoughts. "Because even if the history I know is imperfect, the choices that led to it still have as much meaning as any other choice. Good or bad, pleasant or painful, favourable or unfavourable, if history and our pasts could be changed so arbitrarily, then there would be no meaning to the life we are given. We would be no better than scripted pawns, with no sense of dignity or responsibility."

         The woman heard the spirit blow a soft snort through his nose, but the man lifted his blade flat up toward her, head bowed in deference. "Very well. For better or for worse, I, Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, pledge myself to your service... Master." Quieter, to himself, she caught, "Let's see if you'll be any different..."

         Accord forged, Airi returned him his scabbard before beckoning him to follow her and the two myoubu out to the shine. The late morning sun filtered in to cast bands of light upon the dark varnished wood, dust motes from the recently opened screens dancing in the golden beams. Yamanbagiri seemed to sense the divine energy that permeated the space, for he ground to a halt at the threshold, lips set in a thin, uneasy line. His saniwa, having no such reservations, glanced back at him with a small nod of approval.

         “Very good. Relax, just wait there and watch if you’d like. I’ll be done shortly; Lord Omoikane is an... efficient god.”

         So saying, she stepped into the center of the room, seating herself into a meditative stance. It did not take long; within moments, the world around her, then a few moments more her own breath and heartbeat, had dimmed into a low blur. Another presence pressed into her mind, an aurora of gold and lime and azure.

         =Ah, Futsunushi’s vessel. I was wondering when you would show.=

         My apologies, Lord Omoikane. There were--

         =Complications, I know. You were always Kousuke’s odd duck. Better late than never, I suppose. Let us begin.=

         Receiving the gift of another god was an unusual sensation, the swirl of colour seeming to seep into her from every pore of her body, leaving her skin tingling like it would in the latent static of an oncoming thunderstorm. She felt the energy congregate on her forehead, prompting a momentary bemused thought of how fitting that the blessing of the god of knowledge would settle within the third eye chakra. The thought was cut short almost instantly by a faint vibration, like harmonizing tuning forks, and the technicolour faded. She felt rather than heard the disruption immediately after, a rending of time that rippled violently through her like a shockwave. Numbers and characters raced past her mind’s eye, dizzying in conjunction with a flood of images too quick for her to study. She came back to herself abruptly, senses aflame as if she’d surfaced from being submerged. Dimly beyond great gulps of air and ears ringing with the sound of a man’s defiant roar Airi heard a sharp intake of breath and the loosening of a katana from its sheath. Yamanbagiri’s agitated honey gold barely managed to puncture through the miasma of crimson-laced deep purple that swam before her eyes, lingering even after the gift had stilled.

          “Hakodate.”

          The word left her breathless lips even as it rang down the hall, Konnosuke pattering into view moments later. His darker look-alike stopped arguing with the blond touken danshi at his presence, eager to hear details of this announcement.

          “Konnosuke! I take it this means the synchronization with the council room was a success.”

          “Konnosuke.” Rising shakily to her feet, Airi briskly brushed her streaked bangs out of her face to wipe the last beads of sweat on her brow. “The time dial. Take us there, we’re going to Hakodate, May 1869. Yamanbagiri, your first directive: find and subdue the History Rerograde Army, and protect the flow of history.”

         “That was fast,” the tsukumogami quipped as he waited for her to snatch up her kodachi and fasten it to her hip. “Don’t you spiritual types usually need hours of meditation?”

          “Like I said,” she replied, shooting him a dry smirk. “Lord Omoikane is an efficient god.”

          And with that, she brushed past him and down the corridor after her vulpine aide. She did not notice Yamanbagiri sheath his blade with deliberate measure, scrutinizing gaze lingering on the terse grimace set on her face.

#;a typical tale unfolds #;reboot #katsugeki & hanamaru gave a lot of info