#She must have thrown him off London Bridge. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miraculouscontent · 3 years ago

Note

After reading that, I think it's safe to say that Miraculous Ladybug is more of a horror/psychological thriller than romance/comedy. And now I want an AU where Marinette takes the earrings off and realizes that they're messing with head

Marinette felt strange, and after getting used to the feeling of being on the Startrain, she knew it wasn't the cause. She felt lighter - less restricted - somehow, and while a part of her had expected that due to handing off the ladybug miraculous, it wasn't in the way she'd expected.

Once she was done sending Alya all the Ladybug tips, Marinette had figured they'd start talking about Adrien or what their next scheme would be once she got back, but she ended up finding the idea tiring. It was odd in the way that finding something in her room just slightly out of place would be (at least before the kwami began living there).

Everything she'd thought she might feel - anxiety over what could go wrong while she was gone, concern over how the kwami were doing in her absence, and longing for who she'd pictured as the love of her life - wasn't there. It felt completely unlike her, just as it felt unlike Alya to not reply to her messages considering how much she liked to be on her phone.

Abandoning the idea of texting Alya for now, she closed their conversation and idly started browsing her phone. Even still, the weird feeling didn't cease and her hero senses were going off.

Something was wrong, or... maybe right? It wasn't as if she was feeling anything bad, but she felt entirely different than when she was in Paris. It was hard to get a gauge on exactly how she should take it.

Marinette glanced at her parents, catching herself frowning before they could glance back. She looked at her phone, acting like nothing was wrong and idly scrolling through her various apps so as to look busy. In the process, she stumbled upon her gallery, finding her mass of Adrien images inside. It took up a majority of her pictures, and she found herself blushing in embarrassment rather than fondness.

Did she really have this many normally? How much time had she taken getting them?

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, thrown off by just how different she felt. The reaction to seeing Adrien that she'd normally have where she'd lose all focus had virtually disappeared, and the only reason she'd missed it at all was because it gave her an absurd amount of mental clarity concerning how she'd be acting otherwise.

Clarity...

The word brought a particular face to her mind: pink lips, blue eyes, and black hair highlighted blue at the tips. Marinette ran her fingers through her own hair, ruffling it as she tried to piece out how she was feeling. All she knew was that - whatever it was - it was significant and she didn't have Tikki to vent to.

Though perhaps she wouldn’t had much to provide anyway.

A mix of trepidation and curiosity filling her. Switching away from her gallery, she went back to her conversations and pulled up her texts with Luka. Despite her confusion over whatever was happening to her at the moment, she managed a smile at Luka's contact image staring fondly at her.

After a moment of consideration, she typed out:

Hey. Sorry if you're busy. Thought we could talk?

That done, she navigated back to her gallery to look at all her Adrien pictures. She shifted in her seat again, as if it would change things or help her mind adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn't like looking at Adrien didn't make her feel anything at all, but that feeling could only be described as "normal," like the way she saw him before he'd given her that umbrella.

Before she officially became a ladybug holder who agreed to protect the people of Paris...

Her lips twitched in hesitant thought, her thumb brushing against her screen as she skimmed through the assortment of Adrien pictures. Her brain registered a feeling - or rather, lack thereof - and the foreign emotions encouraged her to act.

She tapped the garbage can icon experimentally, a notification popping up accordingly and asking her if she'd like to delete the picture. She brought the phone closer to her chest, like she felt she was doing something wrong, yet there was only a second of pause before she confirmed the decision.

She watched as Adrien disappeared, a message indicating that the picture had been trashed.

Marinette blinked at the message until it had timed out, bringing her back to the gallery. She was frozen in place, her fingers twitching against the side of the phone as she processed what she'd just done.

Then, she did it again. She tapped on another picture of Adrien, a weird mix of eagerness and interest urging her thumb along as she pressed the garbage can icon again, confirming the decision just as quickly.

Just before the image disappeared, a stray thought said aloud in her mind: black hair and blue eyes would've worked better for an outfit like that.

This time, her body finally moved, a shudder going up her spine as she took in a breath. Her eyes darted over to her parents, knowing how strange this must look to them, but they weren't watching her anyway, meaning the moment was kept firmly in her own personal bubble. It was so odd; normally, someone would've seen her acting off, or laughed and made muttering comments about it.

But nothing was happening, and she didn't know whether to question it or not.

Marinette glanced back at her phone, almost challenging herself as she started to run through the assorted Adrien pictures. She could've thrown them in the metaphorical bin all at once, but instead, she went one-by-one. She waited for something to break, either a sense of regret to settle in over the deletion or for her heart to start fawning over the face on screen, but neither happened.

She was in control, and it felt good. Really, really good.

Part of her felt like she was being ridiculous. The idea of getting some kind of emotional high out of deleting a few pictures sounded stupid, and yet she felt powerful. It was like a veil had been lifted and suddenly she had choices.

If her parents saw her visibly vibrating in her seat, she didn't hear them make mention of it.

The only thing that made her snap out of her rapid thumb movements was a text notification at the top of her screen, and only due to the flash of black, blue, and white. Her lips curved into a smile, originally being pressed together in focus, and she clicked to open her text messages with Luka.

Hey, Marinette. I'm not busy at all. What's up?

She felt warm, knowing that the guy who always made her feel comfortable and happy was on the other line. it was such a shame that they hadn't been able to work it out because of Adrien.

Marinette paused just as she went to reply, those thoughts catching up to her as she remembered that day with Luka underneath the bridge. She'd been so sure that she'd had to break up with him because of Adrien, but as she purposefully tried to recall the memory, something registered like a mental fog clearing in her mind.

Hadn't it actually been her responsibilities as Ladybug that had done it? In fact, that added up alongside all of the other memories of his akumatization; she hadn't been ditching him during their dates out of discomfort or her crush on Adrien, but because of akuma and sentimonsters.

How could she have forgotten? Or rather, how could she have remembered otherwise?

Marinette just barely managed to snap herself out of her trance, her phone having dimmed from inactivity and the sight of her furrowed brows and worried frown staring back at her from the blackened screen. She blinked rapidly, then shook her head to clear herself of the unnerving thoughts.

Lighting her phone back up, she hurriedly typed back as she realized she'd left Luka on read, trying to ignore the way her thumbs shook.

Nothing much.

She hesitated, already seeing him typing back. Guilt burrowed around in her stomach, knowing very well that it was not "nothing" but being unable to properly convey what was going on to him when she didn't even understand it herself.

She typed again, his own typing ceasing to let her add to her comment.

Actually, I've been thinking a bit lately. I'm going to be in London for a while and I'm on the train ride there right now. It's given me some time to myself and it's... weird.

I'm sorry, I know that doesn't make sense.

Even though he hadn't replied, she knew he was taking her seriously as he was typing back.

It makes sense. Background music doesn't work for everyone.

Marinette realized that her shoulders had been tense when they relaxed at his message. She pressed her lips together, feeling vaguely like she didn't deserve him and pushing down the thoughts just as quickly. He'd never approve of that kind of talk.

My head's just been a bit of a mess. Or... not a mess? Things were really foggy but I didn't realize that they were? It's like I'm thinking clearer but I don't know if I like everything that came with that.

What was the phrase? Ignorance is bliss? She had no idea where these changes were coming from, but something had indeed changed and she didn't know the significance of it. She was indeed happy that she felt so in control now over her thoughts on Adrien, but why now? What caused it, and what about her memories?

Would it go away?

Marinette shuddered at the idea, but tried to focus on her conversation with Luka. Having a crisis wasn't going to do her any good, and he was there with her, even if only through text.

I can't know what you're going through, but I think I get it.

You do?

Yeah. Do you remember my birthday, when everyone heard about my dad being Jagged Stone?

He already continued typing, so she just nodded even if he couldn't see it. She'd only been with Juleka when the reveal had happened, but she imagined it'd been just as much of a shock for her as it'd been for them. She couldn't even imagine when Luka could've learned about it.

Wait--no, she'd already known, actually, hadn't she? He'd been akumatized and had gone after Jagged, and she'd been there when he forced Jagged to tell him the truth about being his father.

Marinette winced at the filling of a gap in her memory that she hadn't realized had been there. Once again, she'd remembered something that she couldn't fathom having forgotten or misremembered, even with how spotty her memory could be under normal circumstances.

She turned towards the back of her seat and the window, trying to isolate herself so it felt like just her, her phone, and Luka. She desperately needed his texts as a distraction.

I'd wanted to know who my dad was for so long, but learning that it was my favorite musician all this time was a lot. I had to redo all the notes I’ve ever written about him, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it for a while.

He kept typing after that, and she merely stroked the side of the phone with her thumb as some form of support, even knowing that he couldn't know about it.

But I'm glad I knew in the end. He's doing his best to make up for all the lost time, and I don't have to go on never knowing what that song would've sounded like.

Their situations weren't exactly the same, but it was enough to reach her deep down. Whatever her situation was, if it really did mean something, she'd rather know it was there than go on never knowing. She hated the idea of being left in the dark, just as she hated being lied to.

As she took a calming breath, she found it in herself to type back.

I'm glad you know too. You deserve people who make you happy, Luka.

Thank you, Marinette. You do too, and I hope that whatever you're going through goes at least as well as it did for me.

Thanks.

She bit her lower lip at her reply, which felt clipped in tone even though she hadn't meant it that way. She just had too much on her mind and it was hard to think about what emotion was coming across when she was typing to him.

She tapped away at the on-screen keyboard, hopefully before he could think anything in particular about it.

Sorry.

Though she wanted to explain further, she wavered, her legs bending as she curled further in on herself. The conversation had already been so deep and she didn't want to make it worse.

But just as she debated on dismissing her feelings and insisting that he not worry about her, the memories that had been cleared up from before came back to her, reminding her of a warm hug on top of a bridge.

"When you're ready, I'll be here, Marinette."

She inhaled shakily, but steadied herself immediately afterwards, letting the warmth of the words calm her. Luka was there for her and she trusted him.

She was ready.

...I'm scared, Luka. I thought I had my clarity, but I don't. Something's wrong.

Then, almost on cue, the train screeched to a halt, jostling her out of her seat as the lights went off. The simultaneous sound of phones ringing followed soon after.

—————

Marinette held her breath, crouched down in the restroom while she listened closely for the sound of her parents' footsteps. Her throat let out a whine, but she managed to keep it silent enough to where she was sure that no one on the other side of the door would hear it. She'd have to leave eventually or risk being cornered, courtesy of the power being off and the restroom's lock being electronic, but she felt safe enough to pull out her phone.

She also set it on vibrate just in case.

There was a reasonable concern at first that Luka's texts would indicate that he'd fallen victim to the akuma, but what she found when she checked their conversation reassured her.

Marinette!

Is everything okay?

Did the akuma's power reach you? Did they call you too?

Marinette?

The panic in simple letters on a screen made her feel noticed and loved. Keeping enough of her focus on potential footsteps approaching outside the door, she typed out a reply:

Sorry. I had to run from my parents.

I'm okay. What about you?

You're alright. I'm so glad.

I'm okay too. I hid somewhere and I doubt anyone can find me.

That's good. Be careful.

You too.

She took another breath, certain she'd be captured soon if the akuma wasn't taken care of. The train was limited and there weren't many places to go, so unless she could find a blunt object to smash her parents' phones, she was at a loss.

Regardless, Luka was there, her phone vibrating as he added onto his previous text:

I know this isn't the time, and I hate that the akuma cut into the song we were writing, but I'm here for you, Marinette. Whatever's going on, I'll help you figure it out as long as you want me with you.

Her heart fluttered pleasantly, a pink blush even tinting her cheeks. She welcomed it, unlike the fear that'd come with the changed memories. Feeling the way she did for Luka was too natural to be afraid in any way.

Thank you, so much. You're the only one I could trust with something like this.

She meant it. She'd trusted Alya with her identity in a moment of weakness, and even passed the ladybug earrings to her, yet that somehow paled in comparison to the emotions she was choosing to share. Luka would take her seriously, she was sure, even if she came up with the craziest theory in the world for why her feelings and memories were the way they were. He wouldn't doubt her, or laugh, or dismiss her as "Marinette being Marinette."

And as she sat there, completely without a miraculous or any way to get back to Paris without help, she reached up with her free hand and tugged at her earlobe, processing what she could with the information she had as one such theory started to form in her head. The fear from before never quite went away, but the idea of figuring things out with Luka brought her a sense of comfort.

Though perhaps, when she got back to Paris, she would take back her miraculous with a sense of hesitance that she hadn't had before, and there would be some testing that followed after the fact, because there were two things she refused to give up from her experience on the train.

Her sense of freedom and choice, and the feelings for Luka that she can't believe she ever questioned.

Or, if her working theory was correct, that her miraculous had her question.

#MC's Writing #writing: story #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #category: salt #episode: Hack San #other: ask and answer #((tbh depending on how much Marinette explains it to him))#((poor boi's gonna have one hell of a revelation in ''Wishmaker''))#((suddenly the Adrien crush influence she explained is gonna make sense))#((and he feels bad for ever supporting it even if he had no way of knowing.))

374 notes · View notes

lonelyyinchicago · 3 years ago

Text

my nemo

regulus awoke with a soft groan. bright sunlight was streaming through the half-opened curtains.

“did i wake you?”

james potter’s voice floated towards regulus’ ears, warm breath on his neck. it had gone half seven and james had been fidgeting for the last ten minutes, but regulus shook his head.

“you’re a terrible liar, you know that?” james said, moving across the mattress closer to regulus.

“really?” regulus asked, lying on his side to face james, a small smirk at his lips.

“really” james repeated, leaning across the pillow to plant a quick kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. “come on, let’s do something fun today.”

“was yesterday not enough for you?” regulus asked, thinking back to the quidditch match they’d attended yesterday afternoon.

“i mean, let’s do something just me and you.”

“are you asking me out on a date?”

“oh because i haven’t done that before” james said, rolling his eyes. “come on.”

“where are you taking me?” regulus asked, tugging at the sleeve of james’ hoodie.

“just get on the bus.”

“bu-”

as regulus began to protest, he felt a reassuring hand on his waist, gently guiding him to the backseat. the bus pulled away from the stop outside their apartment block and moved slowly towards the city centre.

“will you tell me now?”

“nope.”

“please?”

“not even that is going to work - it’s a surprise reg.”

as james’ arm fell around his shoulder, regulus rested his head contentedly against his boyfriend’s chest. the strong sound of a heartbeat grounded him and his eyes fluttered closed.

“this is us” james said.

regulus looked out of the window, his eyes wide.

“i’m not going up there.”

“we’re not going there anyway” james said, looking up at the london eye before leading the way off the bus. “we’re going in here!”

james stopped in front of the entrance to the london aquarium. regulus caught up with his boyfriend’s long strides before they both headed inside.

“have you been here before?” the lady behind the desk asked.

james nodded as regulus remained silent. she handed over two tickets, and indicated to the entrance to her left.

“you okay?” james asked, as regulus bounced up and down nervously on the balls of his feet.

“err yeah sure.”

“hey.” james stepped closer, wrapping his arms tightly around the smaller man. “are you sure you want to do this?”

regulus nodded against james’ chest, his dark curls tickling james’ neck. they stood quietly for five minutes before regulus leant back to look up at james.

“is there actual water? like, do i have to touch it?”

“no. you’ll be safe - i promise” james added as regulus rolled his eyes, remembering the time james had promised to help him across a small bridge before promptly dropping him in the pond below.

regulus nodded, but remained close to james’ side. james ran his thumb repeatedly over the back of regulus’ pale hand. regulus squeezed his boyfriend’s hand, gratefully for the comfort and stability james always brought him.

“REG LOOK ITS NEMO!”

regulus almost tripped over his untied converse as he rushed to join james, whose nose was pressed against the glass, pointing excitedly.

“let’s find a dory” regulus suggested.

james was only too happy to oblige, and slotted his hand into his boyfriend’s with ease.

“you’re definitely a dory” james told him. “like 100%.”

“that’s okay - you’re a nemo.” regulus stopped to think for a minute. “my nemo.”

james leant down slowly, watching as regulus’ expression changed from one of confusion to intoxication as their lips met. regulus smiled sheepishly as he pulled away, shaking his head slightly.

“what?”

“nothing” regulus said. “just- you.”

it could’ve been the twentieth time regulus complimented him that day but james’ cheeks would still have burned the way they were in that moment.

“it’s so cool in here.”

james stopped directly behind regulus, his arms thrown casually over his boyfriend’s shoulders. regulus’ neck rolled back into james’ chest and the two of them stood in silence as a shark swam overhead.

“it is pretty magical in here” regulus admitted.

“i knew you’d like it - it must be water” james said with a wink.

regulus released himself from james’ grip and strode out of the tunnel. james followed him quickly out into the next room.

“i found dory” regulus said as he heard james’ footsteps.

“so i see. i’m sorry about my comment earlier.”

regulus turned around to face him. his eyebrows drew closer together as he exhaled.

“i really hate you sometimes” he said, resting his forehead against james’ chest.

“only sometimes? i’m doing better than i thought” james said with a grin.

regulus looked up, wrapping a possessive hand around james’ neck. he pulled him down gently, refusing to blink.

“definitely only sometimes.”

#harry potter #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #muggle au #aquarium date

25 notes · View notes

a-edgar-allan-hoe · 4 years ago

Text

The Red Witch

Jasper Hale x Reader Part 5

A/N: Part 5 is here my lovelies! Bon apetit! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 💕

Summary: Imagine being an immortal witch from the Middle Ages and being the previous love of Jasper before he was turned. You two were separated under certain circumstances and cross each other’s path once again, years later in the present era.

Warnings: Language

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

It was the year 1862. You were sitting in the private carriage of the train that early morning, on the route to Houston. This was your first time in America and you couldn’t help the excitement in you as stared out the window at the vast lands before you. Unbeknownst to Charlotte and some others, you were a countess at the time, in courtesy of your father, Count Balthazar, who was long dead. But you tried to keep your family history as confidential as possible, considering your father was a sorcerer and your mother a witch. When you grew into a young woman, you left your family castle and went your own way, leaving behind everything that reminded you of your cruel father and donated all his wealth to charity. As for your mother, she was a beautiful sea witch. After the death of your father, she was able to gain her freedom and now lives happily in a humble cottage on the coast of Scotland, close to her beloved sea, and married to the local clocksmith who loves her more than your father ever could.

The reason you were traveling to Houston was because you were recently invited out here to preform at the local theatre for charity, to which which all the funds would go towards the families affected by the war. You were a known opera singer at the time and people fell in love with your clear and soft voice that held all the emotion and sadness behind it which was beautiful to their ears. You were also quite an exceptional pianist. It originally started out as a hobby, something you decided to test the waters with, but you didn’t know it would grow into something serious, eventually venturing you out into having a strong passion for the arts like singing, acting, and even painting. When your father was around, you were never able to pursue such things. He believed they were nonsense, a complete and utter waste of time. While these activities were useless to him, they were your whole heart and soul for you. You breathed for the arts. You guess you had your mother to thank for that, she used to sing you a lullaby every night when you were a child to calm your nerves because of the visions you would have. Thankfully, those visions ceased to happen as you got older.

The gentle rocking and sound of the train had lulled you to sleep as you currently had your head leaned against the window and your feet thrown up on the seat of the train. Your hair was tied up in a bun with a peridot green ribbon while a few loose pesky strands fell about your face. A leather bound Wuthering Heights book was tucked neatly in your hands on your lap. You were wearing a simple grey long sleeved gingham linen dress with delicate black lace trim at the sleeves and your collar. A peridot green velvet ribbon was tied around your waist, your neckline sat at the bottom of your neck and covered your collarbone, and a few black buttons ran down the front of your bodice.

Your dear friend at the time was sitting across from you with her fiancé. Her name was Charlotte Griffiths, the daughter of a governor. And though she was mortal, you absolutely adored her, for she took you in when you nearly did not have a home and cared for you as if you were her own sister. Then again, you always adored mortals. This was before you had known Melanie whom you had only met in the 60s. Charlotte’s fiancé was Lord Ernest Thompson, the owner of a estate and a businessman. He was a kind, charitable, and respectable young man, and you thought he was the perfect match for Charlotte. They both were kind and gentle souls.

“Isn’t this exciting (Y/N)?” Charlotte squealed, waking you from your nap.

“Hm?” You opened your sleepy eyes to look at a blur of what most likely was your friend. “Oh of course.” You yawned, giving yourself a minute to adjust your eyes and mind to reality. “Technically you’re the one who begged me to accept the invitation for performing here and practically dragged me along.” You smirked.

“Oh admit it. I saw your face light up when you received that invitation. Anyways, isn’t this a wonderful little adventure for us? You’ve told me how much you liked to travel.”

“Well I wouldn’t quite call a civil war a wonderful little adventure.” You snarked lightheartedly, letting out a scoff before starting to dwell upon what sort of mess you’ve just gotten into.

“My god woman.” Ernest chuckled playfully, lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading, his glasses sitting at the bridge of his nose as he glanced at Charlotte. “Can’t you see (Y/N) was asleep?”

“Well I....I’m merely excited my love.”

“Merely?” He raised a brow.

“Oh you’re being harsh on her Ernest.” You joked along, smiling to yourself as the lovers started to lightly quarrel.

You stared out the window again, watching the scenery blur past. You have seen many lands in your time, how they have changed over the course of years, how some have come and vanished to dust. You have seen kings rise and fall. But you haven’t been here, to America. This was all foreign to you.

The train finally came to a stop at the train station and you quickly grabbed your things, desperate to get out and stretch your legs. You hastily threw on your matching bonnet, not caring that it sat crooked on your head. You rushed towards the door and hitched up your skirt, struggling with the petticoat and making sure not to go past the ankles of your boots and expose your stockings or else Charlotte would have a heart attack. You grabbed the handle and stepped down from the train and onto the wooden platform as Charlotte and Ernest followed suit.

Right when you stepped out you could feel the hot and thick damp air surround you, and you couldn’t help but bring out your fan and fan yourself vicariously.

“My goodness it’s muggy. It’s like the devil’s bollocks out here.” You breathed out.

“(Y/N)!” Charlotte exclaimed, smacking you gently with her fan. “Mind your manners!”

“Sorry.”

“You forgot your parasol by the way.”

“Oh. Right.” You took your parasol from her hands and opened it up, putting your fan away. “Wouldn’t want to forget my complexion guardian.”

You were so used to London weather, now you had to get used to this, and your corset was not helping either.

“Would you look at that Charlotte. The sun.” You made a point to her, only making her shake her head.

Once you were all settled and had your things you all headed to the nearest bed and breakfast and checked into your rooms. You and Charlotte shared one while Ernest had his own. You had just set your belongings inside before Charlotte decided now would be a good time to go to the local tea house, despite your slight dismay as you would much rather be taking a nap. You were sitting out on the tables in front of the local tea house, your head propped up by your hand and a cup of tea in your other, while chatting with Charlotte as you watched the local people pass by.

“My goodness. This heat, it’s nearly disgusting.” Charlotte fanned herself as she wiped her forehead.

“I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had. I might as well be stripping myself bare to the bone.” You added, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I told you to wear a crinoline.”

“What? Those ghastly looking cages for your legs? Never.”

You stared off into the distance in a sort of dazed state, thinking about your comfortable bed back home, and your collection of books you left behind. You were also starting to miss your mother, wishing you were in Scotland watching the waves with her, before noticing that Charlotte had gone awfully quiet.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked her, seeing her stare at something behind you. “Charlotte?”

“My my, I think you have an admirer.” She giggled, her youthful face lit up with giddiness as she tried to contain her laughter.

“What on earth are you babbling about?” You turned to follow her gaze and saw a tall stranger wearing a military uniform staring in your direction. You straightened up in your chair, your face firm as you started to feel yourself get anxious. You were silently hoping he wouldn’t come over to your table to strike up a conversation.

“Oh! He’s a rather fine looking gentleman I must say. Annnd he’s an officer.” Charlotte was now leaning in to whisper noticeably in your ear. You can practically hear her next you, trying so hard to contain her giggles.

“You’ve gone daft Charlotte. He’s obviously fancying you. You’re the pretty one.” You turned back around, completely disinterested.

“I think not! You know I’m engaged!”

“And how would he know that detail? Hm? A man who sees a pretty woman without any knowledge as to who she is, is most likely to approach her, without any assumption as to whether she is engaged or not. To which he’ll find out sooner or later I must add.” You ran on before taking a sip of your tea.

“Oh come now (Y/N). You know I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be a little too excited upon seeing other men. I don’t hear you speak of Ernest as such, as I might recall, a rather fine looking gentleman.”

“You know I love my dear Ernest more than anything. I’m just trying to find you a suitor.”

“I honestly wish you wouldn’t.” You sighed inaudibly. “What I’m trying to say is, that gentleman over there does not know that. So just.....oh bloody hell. I don’t know. Just be prepared to decline his advances towards you.”

“You lack faith my dear.” She gave you a pitiful look before looking behind you once more. “Oh look! He’s coming this way!”

“He’s what?! Charlotte!” You hiss as you lightly slap your hands down on the table as to not draw attention. “Don’t just invite him over.”

“Ladies.” You heard the man now standing beside you as he took off his hat and lowered his head in a polite greeting.

You had gotten so nervous in the mere matter of a minute that you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out the next word that slipped your tongue. “Fuck.”

There was a brief silence as Charlotte and the stranger stared at you in utter disbelief at what a proper lady like you had just uttered. A few others who sat at the other tables near you in earshot stared at you in displeasure before looking away.

Oh just wonderful. You wanted the world to eat you alive right there so you could escape their peers.

You locked eyes with the officer for a brief moment before turning away and fixing your gaze on something else, doing your best to seem preoccupied. You wished you brought your book with you so you could bury your face in it.

Charlotte let out an uneasy laugh befor turning to the man. “Well hello officer! I’m Charlotte Griffiths.” You caught your friend extending her gloved hand out to him, to which he kissed lightly.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You heard him say in this thick southern accent you were definitely not accustomed to.

“This young lady here is my dear friend (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Charlotte. Stop this instance.” You leaned closer to her only for her to hear.

You were starting to feel embarrassed more than anything.

“Ma’am.” He now turned to you, to which you gave a short reply without making any eye contact.

“Good day.”

“You know (Y/N) here has come to preform for the opera tomorrow night. You should come!”

Charlotte you did not just.

You sat there with your arms folded and glared at her. She loved getting you into these predicaments, innocently enough. If only she knew how much it bothered you.

“Really?” He turned to you now, smiling. “I thought I heard that name somewhere.”

“Oh, well she’s only one of the best sopranos in England.”

“Ehem. Charlotte that’s quite enough. Thank you.”

You almost felt ridiculed at the moment as you felt the stares of everyone around you weighing in on you. And then that sensation started to creep on you. The same one you felt when you were a child. You glanced around, seeing and hearing the blood flowing through everyone’s veins and their hearts beating in their chests, glowing like a red ruby. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the bridge of your nose, silently muttering to yourself and remembering the meditation your mother taught you. Earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. You glanced up from underneath your bonnet as the sensation died down and you could finally hear Charlotte calling out your name.

“(Y/N). Are you alright?” Charlotte was reaching out a hand to clasp your gloved one, gently shaking them.

“I’m fine.” You breathed out while rubbing your temple. “It’s just a migraine.”

“Do you need anything for it?” Charlotte questioned you.

“No. God no. I don’t need any of that poison.” You got up from your seat and dusted yourself off before grabbing your parasol. “I’m going to head back to the inn if you don’t mind Charlotte.”

“Do you want me to walk you back?” The officer asked you, his voice laced with concern as he took a step towards you.

You took a step back away from him in response, still avoiding his eyes. “No. I’m quite alright. I’m pretty sure I can walk back to the inn without any assistance thank you.”

“Good day.” You nodded your head at him before turning away and heading back to the inn.

The officer was the most surprised at this situation if anything. He never received this sort of reaction before. Growing up, he always appeared to have a way with words and an influence over people, they always seemed to like him. His father called it charisma. And yet here you were, this woman he had barely just met, and you didn’t have the slightest sway from him. He was a bit perplexed at this, since he was now the one that was drawn to you.

You on the other hand, you found him to be rather bold. This had happened plenty of times before. Charlotte would bring over someone to introduce to you and it always ended up with you turning them down since everyone of them had been a cocky arrogant arshehole. But the one thing you didn’t want to admit to yourself was you were scared of falling in love. The last time you did, it didn’t end well. Ever since then, you tried to keep your distance and your emotions locked up. After all those years of isolation, you eventually led yourself to believe your curse made you incapable of love.

Tag List: @smileygirl08 @peachyevergreen @Lustdere @moonlights27 @krazykatkay456 @buckysjuicyplums @oi-itsemily @ahahanofanks @iberandom @bittergomez @holyhumorliteraturelight @bells3333 @ashdab2611 @toomanybandstocare @twilight-kpop @cricketlicket @5sosfanforever2001 @justine-en @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @shakespeareanbooty @pancake-pages @elisemurphy06 @ineffabledears @bella-stenbakken @seraphpheonix @trickylittlewitch @twilightrox @hobodolly @big-galaxy-chaos @mega-ultra-so-awesome-it-hurts @mikariell95 @decaffeinated--fangirl @lovestomanyfandoms @fairyunhappy @chaoticsimptown @leelee-ishman @hanster1998 @coricosplays @secretpickleprofessordean @itsbqueenthings @theweasleythatgotintoslytherin @corpseism

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x y/n #jasper hale x you #jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock imagine #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #jasper whitlock x reader

280 notes · View notes

theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

Text

Any Other Name- Chapter 4

Smoke unfurled from the end of the cigarette hanging from James’s mouth as he rested his forearms on the bordering wall that lined the rooftop across the street from the London Institute where he used to call home. Ashes flickered in the placid breeze that drifted in from the North and mixed with the dusting of snow the gray sky had finally decided to release upon the wasteland that was SoHo.

The cold bit at his fingertips, exposed by his fingerless gloves as he took the last drag and then stamped the stub out on the bricks.

It was nearly five in the afternoon when they arrived; he’d been waiting on the roof across the street for nearly an hour when he finally saw the flash of red hair standing out like a beacon in the otherwise gray and dismal world. She stepped out from the cab with a black duffle bag in her hand, in an oversized jumper and bicycle shorts.

She had to be freezing, he thought, as he released the smoke from his lungs. The last time she came to London it was summertime. He remembered the time well. He’d just been expelled from the Academy and kept home from the summer trip to Egypt his friends and sister went on to see the infamous pyramid Institute there. It wasn’t his parent’s intention to keep him behind, but since a number of his academy peers would be attending the trip as well, it wasn’t advised that he be amongst them after the recent series of unfortunate events that led to his unjust expulsion. He wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t purposefully release a demon in the same room as Augustus Pounceby and Alastair Carstairs and their cadre of idiotic sycophants if given even the slightest chance.

Besides, he didn’t mind being left behind. He got to spend the summer catching up on his reading and training in the Institute’s gym. He’d nearly perfected throwing his blade directly into the target without looking when the Carstairs arrived for official Clave business. Their daughter, who was around the same age as Lucie, arrived with them. Cordelia wasn’t able to go on the Egypt trip either because of a training injury that left Cordelia on crutches and in a cast that wouldn’t be healed for several weeks. He couldn’t recall what happened, but he did remember that her ankle snapped in three different places and the Silent Brothers couldn’t mend it fully without her taking some time off of it. So, like him, she had been left behind. While his mother entertained Cordelia’s mother, she volunteered James to entertain Cordelia.

They spent the entire week she was there reading together while Cordelia rested her foot, sharing their favorite stories until hours into the night. She read to him passages of Layla and Majnun and he showed her all of his favorite parts of London from the top of a Mundane tourist bus. When the days would come to their end and they’d go off to their separate rooms, he found himself staying up at night craving the sound of her voice, the pitch of her laugh, the way her smile transformed her whole face and made his insides unfurl. He couldn’t stop his thoughts from finding their way back to her. One moment he would be reading Hemingway and the next he would be highlighting a passage to share with Cordelia. He’d be eating breakfast with his parents and find himself comparing the color to her hair. Each moment he was with her, it became more and more of a challenge not to give in to the overwhelming desire to kiss her.

He cursed himself for the better part of five years for not saying something to her before she left to go back to Tehran.

It may have been nothing more than a childhood crush at the time, but it flickered somewhere deep in his chest at the sight of her loose hair tumbling in the breeze as she looked up at the Institute.

“Daisy,” he whispered, the word curled in white smoke from his lips.

She turned to look over her shoulder towards him as if she’d heard his voice. He resisted the instinct to duck and instead held her gaze. From where he stood on the roof, he couldn’t make out her profile or even see if her lips were moving. There was no possible way that even if she did see a figure on the adjacent roof a few yards away, that she would recognize him. Still, he found himself holding his breath until she looked away again.

He watched as the Carstairs moved their things into his home with help by the very same Shadowhunters that voted him and his family out. Boxes filled with items his parents didn’t have time to collect before they were evicted from the estate were thrown out like trash to the curb.

“I don’t know why you choose to torture yourself in this way, Jamie boy,” said Matthew as he came up behind James and leaned his back against the railing. “It’s fucking freezing up here.”

James hadn’t heard Matthew come in through the roof door. He was still growing accustomed to the absence of intrinsically knowing when Matthew was near since their Parabatai runes had been destroyed.

“What can I say?” said James, leaning onto his forearms. “I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“And what have you done this time to deserve this self-assigned penance?” asked Matthew, kicking an empty beer can across the gravel. “And why was I not involved in the crime?”

“Thoughts of murder,” said James, “and revenge.”

“Nothing a few hail Angels and hours of demon hunting can’t forgive.” Matthew spun around and leaned on the railing beside James. “Ah, it’s move-in day. I should’ve known you be stalking the Institute like a starving crow.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Who?”

James nodded towards the Institute.

“The Carstairs girl?” Matthew pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket and stuck it between his lips. After a moment of fighting with his lighter, smoke drifted from the corner of his mouth. “Considering she’s only been here for all of seven minutes, no, I haven’t talked to her. Is she cute?”

James turned to glare at his friend. “How would I know?”

Matthew shrugged. “I just figure if you’re willing to freeze your balls off on the roof of this mundane hotel to watch her move into your old place then she must be cute. Didn’t the two of you have a short fling a few years back?”

“It wasn’t a fling.”

“Sorry,” said Matthew around a puff of smoke. “A relationship.”

“It wasn’t a fling nor was it a relationship,” said James laced with annoyance. “We spent a short summer together when you abandoned me to go to Egypt. We read books and I showed her around London.”

Matthew clutched his chest, right over his heart. “Please, James, spare me the intimate details.”

James gave his shoulder a hard shove. “Come off it. I haven’t seen her since we were children, I was just curious if you spoke to her and could tell me how she... seemed.”

Matthew’s pale eyebrows raised. “How she seemed?”

“Forget I asked.”

“No,” laughed Matthew. “Genuinely, I’m happy to see you pining after someone other than Grace Blackthorn.”

A flash of betrayal coursed through James at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name. He’d been in a fairly serious relationship with Grace (serious on his part, but rather noncommittal on her end) that ended abruptly when the Clave sided with Inquisitor Bridgestock in exiling the Herondale family. That very night Grace approached him outside the Institute in Idris and while hugging him, told him that her mother no longer thought it would be appropriate if they saw each other and then left.

He indeed pined for her for some time afterward. He got roaring drunk and sent her a series of fire messages that went unreciprocated and progressively turned to beg until Matthew took away his stele and paper until he was sober and could control himself. Not even a month later, Matthew told him that she started seeing Charles, Matthew’s brother from time to time. James went out and got himself so drunk that he passed out underneath a bridge like a deranged troll.

Grace had been his first real relationship. He’d taken other girls out before, and it was on a date that Grace approached him—or rather stole him—from his date and started snogging him in the back alley of the Devil’s Tavern. That was Grace’s way with him: stolen, secret moments that left him reeling and in desperate need of a cold shower.

But when he tried to hold her hand in public, she’d find a reason to move away from him. If she spoke to her within a group, she barely made eye contact with him. When they attended parties or went out, she insisted they arrive and leave separately. He never asked her why she wanted it that way; perhaps he knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

He stayed with her because of tender moments when he felt the real Grace, his Grace, show herself. Like when they snuck out to Richmond Park and spent the night together lying on the grass, looking up at the stars, and talking about plans for their future. It hadn’t occurred to him then that none of her plans included him.

No, he’d long since stopped pining after Grace Blackthorn and wished for her demise with as much sincerity as he wished for the rest of those who exiled his family.

Matthew could be relentless in his teasing, so James made a quick attempt at changing the subject. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

Matthew shoved his hand into his light blue corduroy jacket pocket and brought out a three-toothed brass key about the length of his pinkie finger and handed it over to James. “I need that back before my mother realizes it’s missing which shouldn’t be until Monday morning when she returns to her office, so make sure that you get whatever it is that you need done with it finished by tomorrow night.”

James clutched the key in his fist. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Shouldn’t?” Matthew blanched. “No, no, it won’t be a problem, because if it is a problem then my mother will take the blame for it. James, I need that key back by tomorrow night.”

James placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “I understand, Math. I will leave the key at your flat tomorrow morning underneath the ceramic dog on your porch.”

Matthew’s mouth flattened into a straight line. “I have your word?”

“Of course,” said James and pocketed the key. “Do you not trust me?”

“Yes, of course, I trust you,” insisted Matthew. “My family has just been under a fucking microscope since everything happened. I had to tell the Penhallow boy that I was going to the shops to pick out new underwear and the bastard trailed me all the way to the strip mall and only left when I started picking out briefs. I would be insulted by his assuming that I am lying if I weren’t so goddamn irritated.”

James tensed. “Are you sure no one tracked you here?”

“Yes,” said Matthew as he took another long drag of his cigarette, “I’m sure. In fact, I tracked Penhallow to the Institute where he is one of the volunteers helping to move the Carstairs family in.”

“You didn’t volunteer?” asked James.

A stream of smoke flowed from Matthew's nostrils. “God no, I may have mentioned assisting my mother on official Clave business regarding a demon possessed artifact in an abandoned warehouse on Bleeker Street, so that is where they all expect me to be. Thomas, I believe, volunteered or perhaps he was wrangled into the job by his parents. The boy hasn’t stopped growing since he turned thirteen and his voice dropped. He looks like a linebacker on one of those American football teams. He will come more in handy than I ever could.”

Nearly a month has gone by with no word from Thomas or Christopher since the exile. As hard as James tried to understand the position his closest friends were put in, he couldn’t stop the sharp pang of abandonment, no matter how desperately he tried to convince himself that it was not like that for them. If the tables were reversed and he had to decide whether to risk seeing his friends or protecting his own life and the life of his family, then he could understand the hesitation.

Still, the anger ripped at his logic. He missed his friends— more than anything else he’d been forced to leave behind, he missed his friends.

“Is there really a demon possessed artifact in a warehouse on Bleeker Street?”

Matthew flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “Yes, but it’s being dealt with by Anna and a few others. I told my mother I volunteered to help the Carstairs move. Everyone believes me to be in one place, when in fact, I’m actually here with you. As long as no one speaks to each other about my elegid whereabouts then they’ll all be none the wiser.”

“Clever,” said James, fiddling with the key in his pocket. “Thank you, for risking what you have to bring me what I needed. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Matthew shook his head and stepped away from the bordering wall. His trainers crunched against the gravel as he spun on his heels to face James. “I may have to appear to be obeying their rules, but that doesn’t mean that I agree with them and it doesn’t mean that I will allow them to win. My life is still very much my own and I still choose to have you in it. You’re more than my friend, you’re my brother, more than my own even. I’ve told you before Jamie, they can erase my rune, but they cannot erase my promise, I will honor our vows as parabatai until I meet my end and not before.”

James embraced his oldest friend, clutching him tight around the shoulders. “I feel the same.”

Matthew returned the embrace. “You’ll take care of yourself, yeah? You haven’t told me yet what you intend to do with that key and I’ve been trying to give you your space and not ask, but if I’m invited to your trial after they catch you, I will deny ever being involved.”

James released him. “But you just said…”

“No where in the vows does it say that I have to stand by you when you do something stupid that I clearly warned you against!”

“It’s implied,” said James.

“I only follow explicit instructions, not implied instructions,” said Matthew throwing his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it under his trainer before glancing at the watch around his wrist. “Shite, I’m going to be late. The Inquisitor saw fit to put a curfew on those of us who were affiliated with you. If I’m home even a minute after seven then I am forced into a meeting with both Bridgestock, Pounceby, and a witness to verify that I am being truthful about my whereabouts. Also, I’m supposed to pick up Christopher to help my father with one of his experiments on weapons infused with holy water.” Matthew’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t effect your demony issue, does it?”

James rolled his eyes. “No more than it effects yours.”

Matthew grinned as he slowly walked back towards the roof door. “My demons have far more expensive taste in poison, I’m afraid.” With that, he opened the roof door and disappeared leaving James staring over the edge as his life once again shifted into something he couldn’t recognize.

___________________________________________________

Whispers of the exiled Shadowhunters crawled through the streets of Hackney, one of London’s most dangerous boroughs and home to most Downworlders that had effectively been pushed out of the bigger, better boroughs by the Clave. Lined with crowded pubs and coffeehouses, and veined with dark and minacious alleys fraught with all manner of salacious activities, the whispers followed James around like his own shadow.

It’d taken him not even a week to develop a reputation in Hackney that allowed him to wander the streets unbothered, though it did involve a significant amount of blood on his hands and a few scars that couldn’t be healed fully with an iratze. Afterward, the whispers turned to warnings and rumors of his ruthlessness; those standing on the streets as he walked back averted their attention or moved out of his path. There were the occasional few that stepped out to challenge him from time to time, but he’d simply have to fling a blade within an inch of their skin and they’d let him pass.

James flipped one of his throwing knives between his fingers as he walked: a silent reminder to those around him of who he was and what he was capable of doing. It was an unnecessary safety measure, but a comfort all the same. The knives were the last remnants of being a Shadowhunter that he has left; now he lived amongst of the shadows he once hunted.

As he approached the great stone arch that marked the entrance to The Hell Ruelle, Hepatia Vex’s nightclub, without uttering a word, the burly guard stepped out his way and allowed James entry.

The place was packed with a mixture of mundanes gifted with the sight, Fae, Warlocks, Witches, Vampires, and Werewolves dancing in the strobing lights that swayed in the exposed rafters to the electronic music that pulsed throughout the building. James dodged dancing bodies until he reached one of the many ladders that went to the second level. The steel bars were warm underneath his palms and littered with glitter amongst other unmentionable things. Once on the second level, he went straight, passed the NO ACCESS signs that flickered above the doorway, and pushed aside the heavy curtain that kept patrons out. Once the curtain closed again, the music went nearly silent except he could still feel the beat of the dancers and music underneath his trainers.

He slipped silently down the hallway, scanning the shadows in the rafters above for any of Hepatia’s spies until he reached the rouge door at the end and knocked three times.

“Who is it?” asked a deep feminine voice.

“James Herondale,” he said and crossed his arms. “I’ve brought what you asked for and I’m ready to trade, that is if you still want to do business with—“

The door swung open and standing on the other side was not Hepatia Vex, as he has expected, but a half-naked girl with star-shaped nipple covers and a skirt that was nothing more than a belt with two long strips of fabric covering her front and back. Long, tanned hips and legs that James had a difficult time ignoring were laid bare and glistening in the dull lamplight. Her opulent eyes reflected like those of a cat as she smiled lasciviously at James.

“Come in, Herondale,” said a voice from within the darkroom.

James shouldered past the courtesan that may or may not have smelled him as he passed and walked towards the plush green sofa where Hepatia stretched out in a black leather skirt and white bralette that nearly glowed against her deep, rich skin tone. The room smelt heavy with magic laced with weed and sex.

Hypatia's eyes wandered lazily over James as she uncurled her hand towards him. “Where is it? Give it to me.”

“No until you give me what I asked for,” answered James and glanced over his shoulder at the courtesan. “And she needs to leave.”

Vex started at James for a moment, the corners of her full, sensuous mouth turned up at the corners until she swung her body into a seated position and crossed one leg over the other knee. “Why the secrecy? Afraid to tarnish your reputation… but wait, hasn’t that been done already?”

“I don’t need all of the boroughs to know my business,” said James, staring at Vex around the ends of the curls that had fallen into his face. He’d been told on countless occasions that a look from him set people on edge. Perhaps it was the color of his eyes or the intensity within them.

Whatever it was, it worked. “Leave us, Femi. Bring us back some refreshments.”

Without a word or much of a sound, Femi left out the door.

Vex bounced the foot resting in the air and drummed her long red-painted fingernails on the couch cushion as she continued to look James up and down. “You look thin. Life in the dirty Hub not treating you so nicely, little angel.”

“Don’t call me that,” snapped James.

“Why not?” grinned Vex, satisfied to have found a wound for which she could press. “Oh, is that not accurate anymore? Should I refer to you as, little demon, instead?”

“Do you want to make the trade or not?” James’s voice dropped into a low, miserable timber. “I have other business to attend to.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Vex as she stood up and walked around the couch towards the minibar at the back of the room. She waved her hand over the ceramic ice holder three times as flecks of red and magenta smoke uncurled from her fingers. The lid to the ice bucket shook until she took it off and removed what was inside.

She sauntered her way back to where James stood. Her cat-shaped eyes slid over him from brow to chest to hips and back up again. Her pupils dilated slightly. “My you’ve grown into a handsome young man, haven’t you?”

James resisted the urge to cross his arms or crumble under her stare.

“But then you’ve always been handsome.” Elongated incisors flashed as she grinned. “Something you inherited from your father.” She reached and grabbed James by the wrist-twisting his arm until his palm was flat and facing up. She dropped three bags of iridescent powder into his hand. “Now for the key.”

James pocketed the powder and retrieved the key. Hypatia snatched it from his hand and held it close to her chest. “Pleasure doing business with you, Herondale. You should go have a dance. You look like you need to unwind and there are other ways to do that without the use of those drugs. I can fall up Fima and show you one of my favorite ways.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I need to be going,” said James, but before he turned to leave he remembered his conversation with Matthew. “I’ll need that key back by tomorrow afternoon and no later. It’s important that I return it.”

Vex dropped the key into the ice bucket and replaced the lid. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I will have someone meet you at Blackfriar bridge.”

James nodded and turned to leave. As he reached for the door handle, Vex’s voice came from behind him.

“And James, if you ever find that you want a real job and not to sell magical drugs on the street, come and see me.”

James didn’t bother to turn around, he turned the handle and stepped out, with absolute surety that a business with Hypatia Vex was not one that he wanted any part in.

Walking out of The Hell Ruelle, James felt as if he could breathe freely again. The warm July night had the streets crowded with miscreants and the company of such, especially in Hackney. He skirted past couples doing more than just making out against the alley walls and avoided the gang of werewolves lighting dumpsters on fire outside of a liquor store and proceeded to howl mockingly at the moon.

He made his way down Briar Street towards the canal where his regular customers would be waiting for him to provide his recently acquired goods under the troll bridge where all manner of questionable deeds went on. He needed to be one of the first ones to get there or all of the most desperate would have bought from someone else.

As he passed an alley towards the end of the busy street, he heard the sound of a female voice coming from the alleyway. He wouldn’t have stopped if it hadn’t sounded so familiar.

He backed up several steps and looked down the alley. Three tall male Fae warriors stood in a row and over the middle one’s shoulder, James could see a flash of red hair, the curve of her face, and the golden hilt of a sword resting over her shoulder.

Something twisted in his gut as recognition overtook him. She looked different, older, beautiful.

“I don’t want to harm any of you.” There was a slight waver in her voice: fear and determination. “I’m here by accident and I’d like to leave without any unnecessary bloodshed. If you would kindly move, I will happily be on my way.”

The Fae warrior in the center removed two blades from the scabbards at his sides and glided them across each other so they made a spark. “I say we remove her clothes piece by piece and allow everyone in the Mill to look their fill of her nakedness.”

“She is a lovely thing,” said the Fae to his right. “Perhaps we could take turns with her and return her back to her people used.”

James’s blood boiled in his veins at the threat and he reached for the throwing knife tucked in his jacket pocket. He hadn’t answered the call in his blood in some time, fighting as a Shadowhunter was too painful. He preferred to get his knuckles bloody and his skin to split, but there wasn’t time for that now and it was far too kind of a punishment for the threat they made towards her.

Cordelia drew Cortana and positioned herself to fight. “You can try.”

“What will you do?” grinned the head Fae. “You’ll cut all three of us down by yourself with that little blade?”

He moved towards her again, but Cordelia stood firm. James couldn’t help but smile at her stony resolve. She would do it, he could see it in her eyes that she would not hesitate, but the bloodshed from either side would surely make waves in the water that his parents and several other Downworlders were trying to still.

James leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt her, Bevan. I’ve seen her take down men twice as skilled as you.”

As the three Fae men turned to look behind them, Cordelia lunged.

A/N:

Thanks for reading! Comments, like, and reblog are my primary motivation.

Next update: Fri, 6/25

#the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #chain of gold fanfic #chain of gold #chain of thorns #chain of iron #james and cordelia #james x cordelia #jordelia #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #matthew fairchild #cassandra clare #fanfiction

25 notes · View notes

frunbuns · 4 years ago

Text

Of Hot Tempers and Cold Rivers

Read on Ao3

“What do you mean someone has been following you?”

Newt looks up from his food at an expasarated Theseus. Theseus sits down opposite him and pours him some water. Outside, the snow falls softly to the ground, melting into the puddles in the already icy street.

“Who would it even be? Grindelwald’s not in the UK according to our sources at the Ministry, and last time I checked you didn’t have any other enemies.”

Newt raises a brow. “Enemies?”

Theseus stares at him unamused. “Last time I checked ‘Do you think Dumbledore will mourn you’ is pretty damning evidence of an enemy, Newt.”

"Surely Grindelwald can't care about me enough to want to–"

Theseus sighs. "You've gotten in his way twice now,” he points out.

“It’s probably nothing,” Newt says.

Theseus points his fork at the younger Scamander. “It’s not nothing,” he says. “If you’re being followed then we need to look into it. You could be in danger! We’ll get the Ministry—”

“I can protect myself,” Newt says, brows furrowing into an expression of annoyance. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

Theseus can’t help but scowl lightly at his younger brother, dinner forgotten by both of them. “I don’t doubt that Newt, but this could be Grindelwald! You of all people should know how dangerous he is!

“I don’t need you coddling me, I’m not— I’m not some precious thing you need to protect. I’m not going to break if you’re not there.”

“I’m not coddling you. I’m just looking out for my little brother, like any good older brother would do!”

“If you are such a good older brother then you’d trust me to take care of myself like any grown man.”

Theseus’ fork collides with the table with a loud clunk. “But you’re not any grown man, Newt! You’re different. You’re—”

“What? Weird? Odd?”

“Well— yes!”

Newt stares at him, with cold eyes and a clenched jaw. For a while the only sound in the flat is Theseus’ breathing and the pitter patter outside.The traffic passing by. Then Newt looks down, chair creaking as he pushes it back.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says coldly. “I think I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Theseus watches quietly as Newt takes his coat and disappears. He hears the door open, the cars driving outside becoming louder and clearer before the door is slammed shut, a shout dying on his lips.

Theseus sighs, placing his head in his hands.

“Brilliant, Scamander. Another successful family dinner.”

Newt pulls his coat tighter around himself as a particularly nasty breeze blows by. Keeping his head down, Newt walks the dark streets. He’s not sure exactly where he’s going, he had passed his street a while ago now. Even as the cold nipped at his cheeks and fingers, and the slush on the ground splashes at his feet, he has no desire to go home.

But he probably should go home. It’s getting rather late and he has to feed his creatures in the morning. He sighs, anger dissipating from his body. His shoulders slump. He’s tired. The warmth of his fireplace sounds especially inviting at the moment.

He turns right, towards the bridge. He just needs to find a secluded alleyway where he can disapparate home. As he walks over the bridge his foot slips on the ice and he stumbles for a second, but he’s able to catch himself before he falls. He looks around, pleased to see that no one was around to witness it.

He stops in the middle, gazing out over the river, and the sparkling London lights further down. It reminds him of New York, in a less grand and spectacular way. While New York had been bustling with lights and activity at every corner demanding your attention, London comes forward as a much calmer city. Quiet corners every now and again - and while not a city that ever quite falls asleep, it is certainly quieter. More magical, with hidden corners everywhere.

Tina would like London, Newt thinks. At least he likes to think she would. Then he could invite her to visit and show her around. She’d enjoy Diagon Alley, he’s sure. A place where you don’t have to hide. Maybe he could—

Newt’s neck prickles, his posture stiffening. Carefully, almost nonchalant, Newt looks over his shoulder. There’s no one there, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. He takes a deep breath, losing the tension in his shoulders and starts walking again.

He stops abruptly after only two steps, whipping around fast enough to give him whiplash, and deflects a spell headed straight for him.

Newt doesn't recognise the wizard standing before him, but he certainly recognises Newt. Newt does his best deflecting the spells being thrown at him. There’s almost no room for him to defend himself, and even then the wizard deflects his spells with ease. Whoever this man is, he is a better dueler than Newt.

Newt’s wand clatters to the ground a few metres away from him. He gasps, stumbling backwards. Frantically he looks between the mystery man and his wand and the realisation hits him; this man might kill him. Newt could die tonight.

Maybe Theseus had been right. Maybe—

“Newt!”

Newt looks to the source of the voice, eyes landing on Theseus. The older Scamander is running towards him, wand in his hand. Relief washes over him.

And then Newt stumbles over the edge and then the feeling of free-falling.

Theseus watches in horror as Newt falls over the edge.

“Newt!” he yells, running onto the bridge. A quick, wordless spell sends the wizard flying, landing in a heap on the cobbled street. Unmoving and unconscious.

There’s the telltale sound of a splash and then quiet. He peers over the edge, down towards the dark waters of the Thames river. Heart thundering behind his ribcage, he waits for Newt to resurface. To come back up and tell him everything’s okay. That he’s fine.

But it doesn’t come. For each second that passes Theseus’ breath catches in his throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. It’s so cold. The water must be freezing. Newt must be so coldI.

Newt doesn’t come back up. No matter how much Theseus wills him to.

He can’t take it anymore. He turns, picks up Newt’s wand, and apparates down to the banks of the river.

“Newt!” he tries, but to no avail.

With a quiet sigh and shaking hands, he throws off his coat and jumps into the water. The river is icy and Theseus has to take a second to get over the shock of the temperature change. He pulls himself together and starts swimming through the water with vigor. Navigating between rocks and sand and fighting with the current. The water is dark and murky. It is from pure desperation alone - as well as a lit wand between his teeth - that Theseus manages to find him at all.

He doesn’t see anything at first. Until he spots a dark figure slowly singink to the bottom. His fingers brush against the wool of Newt’s coat. With a few desperate reaches he manages to hook his fingers around the fabric and drags the unconscious man towards him.

Holding his brother against his chest with his right arm, he swims up. When he breaks the surface he gasps hungrily for air, his lungs feeling like they’re on fire. The cold air bites at his lungs for each breath, but Theseus can’t quite find it in himself to care.

Doing his best to keep Newt’s head above the water he swims towards the bank of the river. With great difficulty, and some minor magical help, he manages to drag Newt out of the water and onto land.

The air is chilly, but Theseus can’t find it in himself to care. His thoughts are only with Newt, who lies sprawled, motionless on the frozen ground.

“Newt,” Theseus says with chattering teeth, absolutely sopping wet. Frozen fingers tap against Newt’s cheek, but he earns no reaction. “Newt,” Theseus tries again, this time more desperation creeping into his voice. He brushes away the hair plastered to his forehead from the water and tries again.

Despite Theseus’ attempts, Newt does not as much as stir. With terror gnawing at his insides, Theseus leans down and places his ear by Newt’s mouth and listens for breathing. He already knows the answer before he gets that far though. Newt should have woken already. The river is freezing. Newt was in the water for a while.

“You bastard,” he mutters, voice cracking slightly as he readies himself. Placing his hands on Newt’s chest he takes a shuddering breath. “You bloody bastard.” Then he pushes down.

Theseus has no idea how long he keeps doing the compressions. It feels like years. It feels like seconds. It’s as if he’s on autopilot. Breath hitching with each compression - the air setting fire to his lungs for each breath - and then breathing air into Newt’s lungs until his head starts swimming. At one point he’s pretty sure he can hear Newt’s ribs crack under the pressure of his weight. He certainly felt it at least, cringing on the inside. That will certainly need Skelegro.

No one seems to notice them. Theseus can’t tell if he’s pleased or not. The help would be helpful, but the risk of running into a muggle is too great, and Theseus is not sure how he would handle the situation then. How he would explain.

But Theseus isn’t sure Newt dying is something he’s willing to sacrifice for the secrecy of the wizarding world.

Theseus’ fingers are long gone numb by the time Newt finally stirrs. He sputters and coughs, body jerking awake in a motion that startles the older Scamander. He helps Newt onto his side as he coughs up the river water. He rubs Newt’s back comfortingly as he trembles under his hands.

Theseus feels like he could cry. The joy he feels - despite the freezing temperature and the fact that their hair has frozen stiff from the cold - is almost overwhelming.

Newt shudders in his hold and Theseus hugs him tightly. With one hand cradling the back of Newt’s head and his face tucked into the crook of his neck, Theseus allows himself to breathe.

“Bloody hell, Newt,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You scared me. Don’t do that again, ever. You hear me?” Newt doesn’t answer, but his ragged breathing is answer enough for Theseus.

Theseus isn’t sure if he’s crying or not, but he feels like he is. Especially with the pathetic sounds he lets out as he holds Newt against him. It’s like the shock of it all is finally setting in.

Newt could have died. Theseus’ little brother could have died tonight, and he wouldn’t have known if he didn’t come after him. How long would he have been in the water before anyone found him? Would the muggles have found him first? Who would tell him about it?

He’s not sure he can handle losing someone else right now. Especially not Newt.

If Newt notices Theseus holding him just a little bit tighter he doesn’t say anything about it.

A particularly cold breeze blows past them and Newt shivers in his arms as Theseus suppresses a tremor. With great effort from his frozen limbs Theseus gently rubs Newt’s back, hoping it will provide at least a little warmth.

“Are you alright?” he asks after a while.

Newt nods weakly against his collarbone and croaks a quiet, “Yeah.”

“That’s...that’s good.”

Theseus picks up his wand from the ground next to him. Then, making sure they’ve not left anything else laying around, he apparates them back to his flat.

They stumble into the flat, Newt’s legs weak as he leans most of his weight on Theseus. They both seem to sigh in relief when they get inside. It’s still warm, the fire crackling pleasantly in the sitting room.

Even inside, with his clothes dried, Newt continues to shiver. Theseus carefully lies him down on the guest room bed before he disappears into another room to get a blanket. Newt lies there in silence, except for his wheezing breaths. His ribs ache something terrible. He’s exhausted. He’s cold. Even just taking a deep breath is hard.

Theseus comes back in with a stack of blankets and a vial of Skelegro. He props Newt up with some pillows before he spreads the blankets over him.

“Better?” he asks, to which Newt nods tiredly. Theseus smiles faintly, mouth quirking upwards. He fumbles with the vial before passing it over to Newt. “You should take some.” Newt grimaces, all too familiar with the potion. Still, he takes it gingerly and tips the liquid into his mouth.

It tastes as horrible as he remembers. It burns on the way down. The taste stays in his mouth long after.

Theseus tucks the blankets tighter around him and walks to the door. “You should get some sleep,” he says. “You need it.”

Then he leaves and closes the door behind him. Newt falls asleep soon after.

When Newt wakes again Theseus is back in the room. He groans quietly and Theseus is at his side in an instant.

“Newt!” he exclaims. “How do you feel?”

“The’sus..?”

Theseus smiles. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Newt gazes up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Does it still hurt?”

Newt shakes his head. Theseus smiles again.

“I made some food. You should eat,” he says before helping Newt sit up against the headboard. He carefully hands him a bowl of soup and a spoon. “Eat up.��

Newt eats the soup slowly, finding that he is indeed hungry and that he very much appreciates the food. Even if he still feels weak and achy all over and his hand shakes just slightly when he lifts the spoon to his mouth.

“Thank you...for this. You really don’t have to do this.”

Theseus cocks his head at him, a soft look on his face that Newt can’t quite read. “Of course I do. You’re my little brother. It’s my job to look after you.”

Newt gazes down at his lap. He fiddles with his fingers, acutely aware of Theseus watching him. He’s sat here, in Theseus’s home. In Theseus’ guest bedroom. In Theseus’ bed. Eating his food and taking up his time. After arguing with him and storming out on their dinner.

“I’m— I’m sorry for how I behaved last night. I��”

Theseus interrupts him. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says. The bed dips as Theseus sits down by his legs. “You really scared me.”

Newt glances up at Theseus before returning his gaze down to his lap again. Shame and embarrassment burns in his belly. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he croaks. “I just wanted to go home.”

Theseus smiles. “I know. I’m sorry too. For the things I said to you last night. Truth is that you are different - and maybe a little odd - but it was never a bad thing. I’m sorry That I’ve made you feel that way. That mother and father and the world has made you feel like that. I’m sorry that they’ve never been able to see just how brilliant you are. I am proud to have you as my little brother, and of course you are capable of looking after yourself, but sometimes you worry me because I’m your big brother and that’s what big brothers do.”

You’ve been scaring me a lot lately, actually. You always have, but lately especially. With Grindelwald on the loose, and your creatures, and just everything, you know.”

When Theseus looks at Newt he is watching him intently. His head cocked, brows raised. There’s a look of fondness on his face, something Theseus has only ever really seen directed at his creatures. It makes something in his chest swell with warmth.

Theseus clears his throat and gets up. “Well I suppose you must still be tired,” he says. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

Before Theseus can manage to close the door behind him Newt clears his throat. He stops, hand on the door handle, looking at him almost expectantly.

“Thank you,” he says. “Just— thank you.”

Theseus smiles warmly at him, eyes flicking to the corridor and back to him, as if he wants to say something. He doesn’t, however. Just flashes Newt another smile - hoping Newt understands, which he does - and Newt smiles back. And then he closes the door. Theseus’ footsteps echo from the corridor. Newt listens to them until it fades and he falls asleep once again.

#fantastic beasts #fantastic beats and where to find them #wizarding world #fantastic beats the crimes of grindelwald #fbawtft #fbtcog #newt scamander #theseus scamander #scamander brothers #fics #my fics #mine

26 notes · View notes

tamyrawilliams · 4 years ago

Photo

TASK #003: DO NOT GO GENTLE

“Breaking news! From unnamed sources we’ve learned that international superstar, Tamyra Williams’ private plane has not landed at Heathrow Airport in London. According to our sources, the plane was supposed to land hours ago and nobody has seen or heard from the plane since it left LAX at the scheduled time. Authorities declined to comment at this time. Our good wishes go out to Tamyra Williams and everyone else on the plane, hoping for their safe return soon.”

Lanelle Williams was sitting in the living room, the tv quietly going in the background while she was going over her script pages for the next day. She was in the middle of shooting a (relatively) smaller part in what she hoped to be a big blockbuster movie in the theaters next year. If everything would go well, her role in the second movie would jump from a small role to the main character, where she truly would get to shine - the whole arc of the character through the two movies as a whole was what sold her on taking up the role in the first place.

Khalon was somewhere in his study, working. She wasn’t exactly sure what project he was working on, or if he was even working on any project at the time - he just stormed off in the middle of dinner and hasn’t emerged since, something that has been happening more and more lately. She enjoyed the quiet for now, but she knew in an hour, maybe two, either Khalon would emerge from the study to make amends, or she’d go look for him and try to smooth things over. It was never one clear person, who initiated at all times, and Lanelle was okay with that.

She didn’t pay attention to the tv, it was just a background buzz mostly - she couldn’t learn the lines in complete silence, she never could, she needed something. What did catch her attention, though, was Tamyra’s name, and she looked up to see what they were saying about her daughter. She assumed it would be about a new project of hers, or maybe some paparazzi got a shot of her arriving in London on her way to Nakeisha, and they decided breaking her privacy like that was newsworthy.

When she looked up at the screen, though, she frowned. Not the imagery she was expecting. As she started paying attention to what was being said, her stomach started to sink and a cold, indescribable, horrid sensation settled inside of her.

“KHALON!” she called for her husband, but no reply. “KHALON, YOU NEED TO COME OUT HERE.” The desperation and panic in her voice was apparent, but she couldn’t move from where she was sitting.

“For fuck’s sake, Lanelle, I need more time, whatever it is, it can wait!” bellowed, annoyed and frustrated. Lanelle, for once, didn’t care one bit.

“KHALON, IT’S TAMYRA, COME OUT HERE AT ONCE!” She was screaming now, her hands slightly shaking, her brain telling her that it couldn’t be it. It couldn’t be true, that her baby girl was all right and well and it must have just been some kind of delay. Her plane probably landed earlier somewhere else for some technical reasons.

By the time her husband came out, the report was done and the news anchor moved onto something else, nothing at all important or news-worthy, as far as Lanelle was concerned. She wanted more information about Tamyra. The fact that nothing important was on the tv, though, meant that Khalon got even more pissed when he thought he came out of his study for nothing.

“Well? What was so important? She didn’t call, I would have heard the phone ringing, so what could it possibly--”

“They say her plane didn’t arrive.” The words tumbled out of her like a plea, almost as if Khalon himself would whip out all the evidence as to why Tamyra couldn’t be hurt, why she had to be okay, but instead he just stared at her like she lost her mind. Maybe he wasn’t that far away from the truth, especially if this news was true. “The news. They said her plane hasn’t arrived yet. And it should have, hours ago. Hours, Khalon. She would have already called at this point, if everything went okay.”

“She went to see Nakeisha, they probably got lost in catching up and she forgot to call.”

“Then why is the fucking news reporting that nobody can find her?”

Khalon was silent for one, two, three seconds, and every passing moment felt like an eternity of torture for Lanelle, even though she couldn’t think of any other valid, acceptable answer to her question. She could see Khalon’s fingers twitch next to his body, almost as if he was playing the piano, which only made her stomach sink even more. She knew every twitch, every movement of her husband, and that meant Khalon was stressing, panicking, he just had to hold it in. It was something Lanelle only really saw him on a job, when a problem arose that he had to solve, not in their house.

There was a first time for everything, it seemed. A horrible instance none of them ever considered could be a possibility.

“We need to call Nakeisha,“ he decided and strolled over to the phone and Lanelle turned back to the television. They were showing a picture of her daughter from the last event she’s appeared on - even looking at that picture hurt. Tamyra looked put together, ready to conquer the world, as always. It was such contrast to one of her latest memories of her little girl, curled up on the couch she was lying on fifteen minutes ago herself, passed out from tiredness, wearing a casual pj. She shouldn’t have let Tamyra go - but really, what could she have done to prevent this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She didn’t even realize Khalon had finished the conversation on the phone (or if he even had a conversation, really), one second she was staring at the television (which has at his point moved onto other news, but Lanelle could only see her daughter on the screen still), the next Khalon wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to his chest, gently pressing a kiss to her cheek. And Lanelle knew, before he said anything else, that he didn’t have any good news to tell her.

The tears started streaming.

“It’s been a month since internationally known and loved actress, Tamyra Williams’ plane has disappeared from its scheduled flight from Los Angeles to London. Today the authorities officially announced that they are stopping the search for the remains of the private plane and the people who were aboard on the flight, and declared them, including Tamyra Williams, dead.

The actress’ parents remain silent aside from the single statement they made a week after the disappearance in which they’ve requested privacy and understanding in this trying times for them. Khalon Williams seemed to have postponed a project that would have expected him to be starting work in two days.”

Lanelle was sitting on the floor, her back against the sofa, as she watched the television. She had an almost empty bottle of vodka in her hand and she regularly took a swung of it (every single time she’s heard a news reporter talk about her daughter and every time she looked at the clock on the wall and realized that Khalon still hasn’t come home).

She had so many things to do - now that Tamyra has been officially declared dead, she needed to organize the funeral, she needed to actually go over to her place and pack it up, figure out what they wanted to keep and sell the rest, maybe offer it up for some charity or something. Figure out how to go on now that her daughter, her precious little daughter wasn’t around anymore, something that has never supposed to have happened. And the list of things to do could have possibly went on a lot longer.

And yet, she just sat there, in the dark at this point, drinking alcohol and letting the grief take over.

She wasn’t really sure how long she’s been sitting there for when she heard the front door open and then heard his voice. “No, I can’t do tha-- no, I’m not going to. And you have to stop calling me with this, my daughter jus-- Yes, you pointed it out but that doesn’t change the fact that Tamyra has-- I don’t know what you want from me and how else I could explain this. --No, I can’t talk right now, I just got home. --No, I’m not going to go see you, I need to see...”

This was when he walked into the living room and saw what kind of state Lanelle was in - who has since stumbled up onto her feet and was swaying in place, arms crossed, her fingers clutching onto the bottle of alcohol still. She could have thrown daggers at her husband with her eyes in that moment, if it was actually possible.

“Like I said, I have just arrived home, so I’m going to hang up now. I have things I need to take care of,” Khalon said and then hung up the mobile phone he had.

“Am I one of those things you need to take care of?” Lanelle sneered in anger.

“Honey, how long have you been drin--”

“Are we back here again?”

Khalon stopped for a moment, freezing, those fingers twitching just for a single second before he collected his composure. “Back where? You shouldn’t be drinking, Nelle. I know today has been rough, but we’ve talked about it. It’s not leadi--”

“Where have you been?”

“I’ve been out to get groceries.”

“Then where are the groceries?”

Another pause from Khalon, now an even longer one, before he let out a long sigh. “I ended up going for a drive instead. I needed to clear my head. Think.”

“Think?” Lanelle echoed, the word slurring. “You needed to think? What did you possibly need to think about, Khalon? About losing your daughter or about how to use that to fuck somebody else?”

Even the air froze around them fora moment, and thenk he spoke up again, “You’re drunk, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So you haven’t been talking with one of your side pieces?” Khalon paused just for a moment too long. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. You know, I thought we were over this. I looked the other way, you got it out of your system and I figured we could build things up together again. And now? You start this back up now?”

Khalon pinched the bridged of his nose and Lanelle felt a surge of pain hit her heart. Just like Tamyra. “I haven’t been out sleeping with anyone, Lanelle, not now, and not for a while. I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, but it wasn’t anything like that.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “You shouldn’t be drinking. Did you open that bottle after I left?”

Lanelle shook her finger in front of him, “No, you don’t get to--” she hickuped, “you don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You don’t even get to waltz into this house after-- after everything you’ve been doing off with your women while I am-- while we--”

The bottle slipped out of her fingers and broke on the floor with a loud crash and Lanelle realized she was crying again. She was drunk and angry and grieving and she didn’t even know what to do anymore. She looked up at her husband - probably only on paper, she wasn’t sure anymore, just like she wasn’t sure if she could take another loss -, and he hesitated for a moment before he stepped closer, cradled Lanelle’s face and pressed a kiss onto her forehead before he cradled up into his arms, rocking the two of them back and forth.

“I wasn’t seeing any women, I swear, my dear. I couldn’t do that to you, not since we lost our princess.”He ahs done it before, though, Lanelle knew that, so she was probably an idiot for beliving him this time around, but she couldn’t help it. She got lost in the comfort of his arms and when she could feel his tears streaming down, too, she forgot all the accusations. They were hanging onto each other as if their life depended on it. And maybe it has. Maybe this was the only way they could get through losing Tamyra.

(They could never properly get through it, though, not really.)

“The funeral of Tamyra Williams was held today. The news of the disappearance of the actress has shocked the entire world back in September. The talented woman was declared dead a month after her disappearance, and today her parents, director Khalon Williams and actress Lanelle Williams has held a funeral to say their final goodbye to their daughter. The couple has held an open ceremony for their daughter to allow the public to attend and pay their respects, if they wanted to - and the public wanted to. The crowd was huge, people wanting to say their goodbyes to a person who have made an impact on their lives. Once the official, open ceremony has ended, the parents held a smaller, more intimate gather of just close friends and family.

A woman who spent her entire life in the entertainment industry, delivering us movies that we will remember for years. In remembance of Tamyra Williams, you can watch Women of Life, which is considered to be Williams’ first adult role, later tonight.”

Lanelle found the birth certificate about three months after the funeral. Khalon and her relationship was hanging by a thread, but they were trying to make it work. Only they could understand the pain of losing their daughter, they had to stick together. Or so Lanelle thought.

She was drinking again - she was trying to do it less, but that only meant that she became smarter about it and hid it from her husband -, so when she found the certificate, she thought it must have been the alcohol. It had to be it, right?

But she blinked and She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for in Khalon’s study, she has forgotten about that the moment she’s seen the name on the birth certificate. Because it didn’t hit her immediately what she was holding in her hands, no. Lanelle thought it was Tamyra’s birth certificate first. Why else would any other person have her husband named as the father of the person.

And then she saw the name.

Clementine Ike. Born November 1, 1988. Father Khalon Williams.

Lanelle just stared and stared at the birth certificate, trying to force her brain to work through the haze of the alcohol and put the information together. She knew he has been sleeping around before, they even talked about it finally in the last couple of months, but Khalon has never mentioned a child. Another daughter. He said nothing was ever more than a mistake.

The timeline fit. They had a rough patched around that time, but they bounced back, and Lanelle has decided to not say anything even though she knew about the cheating. They stuck with each other through so much over the years, and they were good together, this was something she could forgive, in the end. Or so she thought.

As she was looking at the birth certificate of this girl she has never known about, she couldn’t stop thinking about Khalon with Tamyra. He was the one who started calling her their princess and it caught on. He adored his daughter as much as it was possible, he was so good and so sweet with her. They both had busy schedules, but whenever they got the chance, he was with her. Lanelle thought it was special. Lanelle thought the one woman he’d never betray was Tamyra.

And now all she could wonder if he was the same with this child, if he went to visit this Clementine more than he has seen Tamyra during her childhood. If he called this girl his princess, too. If he was finding solance in his other, new, shiny daughter after the loss of Tamyra.

This was the last staw. This was too much, even for her. She could forgive so much, she could look the other way, but a child he never told her about - what else was he hiding? How else was he disrespecting her? She couldn’t handle this, she couldn’t take this, she couldn’t just stay after this.

She downed the rest of her alcohol, packed a bag and called herself a cab. Before she left the house, she left the birth certificate and a short note on the coffee table in the living room. It read: “Don’t wait for me, I’m not coming back. Hope you’re happy with your new family. Rot in hell.”

“Lanelle Williams has filed for a divorce from Khalon Williams 8 months after the couple have tragically lost their daughter, Tamyra Williams. Lanelle Williams, in her public announcement, claimed that the reason for their divorce was incompatibility, but the two of them would always be connected through their daughter and would remain supporting friends to each other. Khalon Williams has not broken his silence over the matter yet.”

#stranded event 3 #task 3: do not go gentle #tasks #family #death mention tw #ft. clementine #technically just mentioned #but damnit i am tagging her lol

5 notes · View notes

talatomaz · 5 years ago

Text

start again | team legends x fem!reader

a/n: this takes place during ‘helen hunt’. i really had no clue where I was going with this

warnings: none

word count: 2.8k

masterlist | request list | request rules

reader was like any of us. someone who loved legends of tomorrow. but one day, she falls asleep watching the beloved show and finds herself in the show itself

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Attention, Legends. Captain Lance requests that all personnel report to the bridge immediately.”

You groaned as your body began to wake up. Great, you must have fallen asleep watching Legends of Tomorrow again. You instinctively reached out for the tv remote on your nightstand but came up empty.

You shot up, eyes wide with alarm as you looked around in confusion and realised that you weren’t in your room.

You were on the Waverider!

You lightly slapped yourself thinking you must still be dreaming but then you jumped when you heard knocking at the door.

“Y/N, get up! Sara wants us!”

You stilled at the familiar voice and looked at the door in shock. Zari?! You’re definitely dreaming.

“Miss L/N, Captain Lance is requesting your presence.”

You looked up as if trying to locate Gideon. This was unbelievable. You got up out of your bed and threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Your hands shook with excitement as you buttoned your jeans, but your mind still swam with confusion and disbelief.

This was everything you had ever wanted.

After putting on your shoes, you ran out of the room and to the bridge where the rest of the Legends, bar Ray, Jax and Stein, were stood waiting.

“What took you so long, y/n?”

Your mouth dropped as you realised that the Sara Lance was talking to you. Just as you were about to answer, all of your heads turned when Jax, Professor Stein and Ray walked into the room.

Wait, was this the Helen of Troy episode?

“I guess we know where the explosion came from.”

Yep, definitely was.

You stayed silent as Jax and Stein began arguing causing everyone to look at them. They were confused as their vernacular appeared to have been switched.

After Ray interrupted them and referred to the incident as a ‘Freaky Friday’ situation, Nate burst out laughing.

Sara then hit him so he could start to explain the reason for you all being summoned. Of course you already knew, it was due to an anachronism. It was, um, Helen...Helen of Troy. Right?

You shook your head in confusion as if trying to sort your thoughts. Wait, what was happening?

You listened as Sara discussed the team’s reconnaissance mission for when you landed in Hollywood.

As she spoke, your memories started to form again resulting in you frowning.

“Y/N? You okay?”

You glanced up to look at the Captain who now appeared to be the only one left in the room; everyone having left to get changed.

“Yeah, um. I-I think I’m going to sit this recon out.” You said, trying to formulate an excuse.

Sara moved closer to you and placing her hand on your shoulder, she spoke, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her blue eyes were piercing and you found yourself almost willing yourself to tell her the truth but you knew she wouldn’t understand.

Pushing your words aside, you nodded and cleared your throat, “Of course, Captain. I just think I should keep an eye on Firestorm considering their current predicament.”

You watched as the blonde gave you a once-over before nodding in agreement, having believed your excuse.

“That sounds like a good idea. Just stay on comms.”

***

Whilst the rest of the team set out to complete their mission, you made your way to the med bay.

After several misdirections and wrong turnings, you finally found the correct room. This ship was like a maze. Nothing like what you saw on TV.

You sat in one of the chairs and lay your head back.

“Is everything alright, Miss L/N?”

Opening your eyes, you stared up at the ceiling as if expecting the AI to be there.

“Gideon, can you do a cranial scan please?“

The sounds of machinery whirring filled your ears as Gideon conducted her scan but ultimately came up with nothing to explain your short-term memory loss.

You desperately tried to grasp at your thoughts to try and remember what happened in this episode but seemed to fall short.

The best you could guess was that the longer you stayed here, the harder time you would have remembering the events of each episode that you had watched. And yet, you still had no idea how you were even here.

“Gideon.” You called out to the super computer.

“Yes, Miss L/N?”

“Can you just keep this between us for the time being? I promise I’ll explain everything to Sara later.”

“As you wish.”

“Y/N?”

Your head turned to the doorway where the Captain stood, staring at you with concern.

“You’re not okay, I knew it.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you went with the rest of the team?”

“I decided to stay. It was only recon anyway. Why are you in the med bay? Did you get injured when we were back in London? Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I-”

You ran through your mind trying to think up another excuse before deciding to use one of the problems you had back in the real world.

“I just have a really bad migraine so I had Gideon give me some medication.”

“Gideon?”

Sara asked the AI for confirmation and you closed your eyes, hoping the former would stay true to her word.

“I have administered pain relief that will take effect immediately, Captain Lance.”

You let out a breath of relief and hopped off the chair, “See, I told you. Come on, the team’s probably back.”

Sara followed you to the bridge where Nate, Zari and Amaya stood, dressed to the nines in Hollywood get-up. Nate then gave you all a history lesson on Helen of Troy which then ended up in Jax-No, wait-Stein ranting about the historical figure ruining all the classic films.

“What’s ‘Casablanca’ without Ingrid Bergman? The ‘Philadelphia Story’ without Katherine Hepburn?”

“Or ‘White Cargo’ without Hedy LaMarr.” You added, making everyone’s gazes fall upon you.

“Exactly, Miss L/N here understands that this is inconceivable. And now this upstart steals the career-making role of Hedy LaMarr; my boyhood crush.” Jax aka Stein finished.

“Since when do you watch old films, y/n?” Zari whispered to you.

“Since always.” You replied.

Back in your world, you loved noirs. Whilst many were misogynistic in nature, they still had a way of telling a story that movies nowadays had difficulty capturing.

“Everybody go put your best digs on because we are going to save Hollywood.” Sara said after Gideon announced that K&G pictures were hosting a Gala in honour of their latest star.

***

“I hate stockings.” You murmured, pulling the undergarments up as they persisted in falling down.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say.” Zari said, looking at you in surprise.

“Great minds think alike, Z.” You winked at the totem bearer as you refocused on the boys comments on Helen.

“Guys, snap out of it. We’ve got a job to do.”

Sara chastised, pressing a finger to her ear. She then signalled for Zari to use her totem to spill Helen’s drink.

When she successfully did so, Zari and Sara followed her whilst you and Amaya remained behind.

“Are you okay, y/n? You’ve been acting rather odd lately.” The JSA member asked.

“Do you ever just feel completely out of place? Like you’re in a place where you shouldn’t be?”

“Of course. I mean, look at me. I’m supposed to be back home at Zambesi, blissfully unaware of the impending danger but yet, here I am, trying to fix time. But we can’t help where we are now. Our choices led us to this moment and all we can do is follow where they take us.”

“I guess you’re right.” You replied softly, her words having put things in perspective for you.

“Look, she’s back.” Amaya nudged you and you both watched as the woman approached a man and began conversing with him.

Your brows frowned as you tried to allocate the familiar face.

“Wait, is that-”

“Damien Darhk.”

As the name fell from your lips, a feeling of dread filled your stomach as a genuine migraine started to form. He was important. He was going to cause something very bad to happen whilst you were here but you couldn’t place your finger on it.

Pushing your frustration aside, you helplessly watched as Sara told you all to stand down so she could speak with the villain. Then your frustration was overtaken by anger when the boys started to fight with other guests at the Gala.

Your eyes fell to your arm where a hand was gripping you tightly. You looked up to find some man dressed in a suit and you stomped on his foot and swivelled round to face him. Lifting your dress, you kicked him and then punched him before swinging him over your shoulder and onto the floor.

Woah, since when did you know how to fight?

You didn’t have time to think when another man charged for you resulting in you knocking him out too. You then joined Amaya and Zari, running up to the boys so you could break up their fight and drag them back to the Waverider.

***

After Sara reprimanded and sidelined the male members of the team, you joined her and the rest of the women in your new attempt to get the starlet on the ship.

You used a Trojan Horse to gain entry to the secured residence where you quickly found Helen of Troy. A fight then ensued between the two film industries so you had to put your skills to the test again in order for you all to escape.

When you safely arrived back on the ship, Jax and Stein advised that key parts of the time vessel were vanishing. You correctly remembered that this was due to a wrench having been thrown in Hedy LeMarr’s career, so to speak. This resulted in Jax aka Stein to find her so he could convince her to begin her technological advancements.

When he left, Sara started to discuss Darhk again and you winced as the pain returned to your head, catching you off guard, dread rising up in you once more.

“Y/N?” Sara, Ray and Stein-Jax-called out in concern.

“I-I’m fine. This migraine is just-Ah!”

You recoiled again as the pain spread throughout your body. This was increasingly worse than the ones you had back in the real world.

“Okay, you’re sitting out the rest of this mission. Ray?”

Sara ordered and you felt yourself being lifted off the ground as the hero gathered you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style.

When he reached your quarters, he gently lay you down and tenderly kissed your forehead, in a brotherly manner. Sara had followed him and when he left, she sat beside you as you gripped your head to try to relieve the pressure.

“What is going on with you, y/n?” Sara asked softly but you could hear the fear in her voice.

“Sara!”

The shout had you both turning to face the doorway where Jax appeared in Professor Stein’s body.

“Grey’s scared to death, I can feel him.”

“Darhk must have found him. We’re going in. You are staying here.”

Sara carefully pushed you back down on the bed when you got up in an attempt to help them.

As she was about to leave, you abruptly grabbed her wrist resulting in her head facing you in alarm.

“Sara, I-I have to tell you something. It’s about-about Darhk. God, he-he. I can’t remember.” You panicked, trying to wrack your mind so you could force the memories to appear.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna be fine but you need to stay-”

“No! Sara, I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t even real. This is a bad time to tell you but I’m not from here. I come from a place where this-this is all a TV show. I fell asleep watching it and next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

You watched as her brows furrowed in confusion,

“Y/N, I have to go but when I come back, I’m going to have Gideon run checks on you because this migraine seems to be interfering with your memory.”

You groaned in frustration when Sara ran out of the room, ignoring your shouts.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours, as you exerted yourself trying to remember the events that would occur. In an effort to calm yourself, you steadied your breathing and ran through the things that had already taken effect, hoping that the rest of the pieces would fall into place.

You listed off each occurrence until you stopped when you remembered Sara having a discussion with Darhk. It all came back to him. He seemed to be the cause of your pain. Your eyes glanced down to your hands and when Zari entered your room to check on you, you focused on her totem.

Eyes widening in realisation, you jumped out of the bed, much to the dismay of the female.

“Y/N, you have to stay in bed.”

“No, Z. I have to go.”

“They don’t need any of our powers right now, least of all yours. You’ll just make yourself worse.”

You barely had time to process her words as the dread came rushing back.

“Zari, Sara is in danger. I need to go or we might lose her. Also, Kuasa is coming here so be careful.”

Not listening to her objections, you warned and then pushed past her, running out of the ship so you could find the rest of the team.

***

Arriving on the film set, you followed the sounds of swords clanging together and found yourself staring in shock as the events unfolded in front of you.

Nate had steeled up, Ray was suited up and Firestorm had just merged. More importantly, Sara was duelling with Damien Darhk, swords extended, and you saw Nora Darhk approach the Canary as Damien Darhk watched in admiration.

“No!”

You screamed, running towards the trio, when unexpectedly, Nora was flung from behind Sara and forward into her father’s arms.

Approaching Sara, you looked down at your hands. Had you done that?

You stared up at the father-daughter duo and only had a second to register the looks in their eyes before raising your hands and hurling them in the air and into some boxes behind them. You all watched as they disappeared with their time stone, and when they did, your attention reverted back to Sara.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, how did you know she was going to do that?”

“That’s Nora Darhk. Damien’s daughter.”

“How do you know that?”

“Sara, I told you. I’m not from around here. Now I have a question. Where the fuck did these powers come from?”

***

You and the rest of the team were stood in the bridge, the majority of them sitting on the steps whilst you and Sara leaned against the technology upholstered in the centre of the room.

After the Darhk’s departure, you revealed to the team who you actually were whilst also finding out that your powers originated from the Particle Accelerator explosion back in 2013.

It took some convincing but the team finally believed where you came from, with a little help from Team Flash who reiterated the existence of other Earths where realities were different.

Despite that fact though, Cisco and the others were unable to locate your Earth meaning you had nowhere to go.

“I can leave if you want. You all know this version of me but not me and maybe it’s better for everyone if I go back home.”

“Y/N, you are home. You are a part of this family regardless of how you came here. If you want to leave, I can’t stop you but I really wish you wouldn’t.”

With Sara’s words ringing in your head, you stared at each team member and then returned your focus back to the Captain.

Thinking back to when you first woke up here, a couple of days prior, you remembered your one overriding thought and that seemed to make your decision for you.

“I’ll stay.”

And with those two words, everyone beamed and clapped, extremely happy and relieved with your decision. Nate then ran up to you and lifted you in his arms as he hugged you causing everyone to join in and you all ended up in a pile on the floor, laughing until your chests hurt. Except Mick, of course; he was still drinking his beer.

But this was everything you had ever wanted.

To get away from your life and be thrust into a world like this.

To start again.

304 notes · View notes

horrorkingdom · 4 years ago

Text

The Satellite Images

A friend of mine showed me how to use Google Maps. I'm sure you've seen it. It lets you use satellite images to look at locations all over the world. A few years ago, I was in a car accident. Since then, I really don't leave the house that often. It's difficult, and the idea of a seeing a car drive by me makes me feel lightheaded. I was fascinated by the fact that I could see all over the world, almost like being there. I could virtually walk down the streets, and it almost felt like I was really there.

I became instantly hooked. It gave me a real eye on the world. I could go to almost any major city, and I did. I'd seen streets in China, Japan, Germany, and England... so many places. I'd even gone to tourist attractions like the Great Barrier Reef and Dracula's castle.

My favorite was to go to random places in major cities and see how many people and animals I could find. The faces of the people were always blurred to protect their privacy, but it was still enjoyable to see them out there, enjoying their life, walking like it was no big deal.

"She must have good taste," I laughed.

I zoomed in closer and noticed the grey bag she carried on a grey and purple shoulder strap. She was walking in a relaxed manner, one hand trailing the wall beside her. I bet if I could have seen her face, I would see that she was smiling. I began to feel a little sad. I let my hands fall onto the arms of my wheelchair and looked at her for a minute more. I wished that I could be there, walking so carefree with her. That wouldn't happen though, until I died. I was stuck in this chair. I sighed and zoomed out of Tokyo. Enough of this for tonight. I turned off the computer and went to bed.

—

I got up early and decided to look around Paris. Paris was always fun. I liked the look of the city, with all of the old, beautiful buildings and so many people to watch. I randomly zoomed to an area and saw a street, lined with old brick buildings, a few small shops, and an old tan brick church. Ahead was an intersection, and dozens of people walked by. A balding businessman walked quickly past, looking back at an old woman, hair covered with a scarf, carrying a large purse. A curvy woman in black pants that were too tight stared into a store window, and two women led a group of small children around a corner.

I spun the view around a few more times, and then saw something peculiar. Sitting on the bench at the bus stop, were two people. One of them was a young woman with her feet stuck in front of her in a relaxed manner. She was wearing a pair of red sneakers, like my own. I was startled for a moment; as I noticed the black pants, white t-shirt, and black hooded jacket. Her dark brown hair was tied loosely behind her head. A grey bag sat on the bench beside her, the shoulder strap hooked over her shoulder.

"This is crazy," I thought. "It can't possibly be the same woman. This is a different country, different continent even. How could it be her?"

This was stupid. It wasn't as if these were live photographs. They were taken ahead of time and then stored. It's not like she was in two places at once. She could just be a traveler. Besides, without seeing her face, it was impossible to tell it was the same person. Brown hair was probably the most common hair color in the world. Those red sneakers were something I purchased online. I'm sure a million other people did too. I shook my head and went to fix some lunch.

When I got back online, I decided to look at Berlin. I picked a random street, as usual. It looked pretty empty. There were brick buildings lining the streets, looking more like factories than anything else. There were also empty lots, full of long grass and piled gravel. There wasn't much to see at all, really. There was a line of motorbikes and a car with two German flags sticking up from it. After more searching, I found one kid. He looked like he was dressed for school, a jacket thrown over his bag. He was intently looking at some kind of mobile device. I was disappointed. I started to leave, but then I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned the view, and there they were. Those damned red sneakers.

She was standing on a street corner, next to some kind of signpost. She had a hand on the post, looking down the street, as if waiting to cross the street. I stared, in shock. How could she be there too? Even if she was traveling, there's no way I would find her every time. Even finding her in Paris would have been one heck of a coincidence, but this? This was crazy. Was this some kind of joke? Had Google decided to play a prank on its users that used their product so much? It would have been a great joke...

I did a quick search, looking for a note about a woman that shows up like Waldo. There was nothing. I looked through articles on strange things you can see on Google Maps, but none of them mentioned the woman that travels the world with you. This was crazy. Had my self-imposed isolation driven me mad? Had I become so lonely that I created a hallucination for myself?

Leaving the Berlin image on my screen, I sent a text message to a friend, asking him to look at the locations. I asked him if he saw the same woman. Then I waited, hands sweating, heart thumping in my chest. I jumped when my phone beeped with a return text message, ten minutes later.

The text read, "I see the lady you're talking about in Berlin. I didn't see her in Paris or Tokyo. Is this some kind of game, or what? Are you okay?"

I didn't respond, instead returning to the locations in Tokyo and Paris. There she was. She was there, but it was different. She no longer sat on the bus-stop bench, in Paris. She was standing in front of it, looking for something in her bag. In Tokyo, she was blocks away, squatting down to pet that calico cat. I shivered. Who was she? What was happening?

I switched the map to Brussels. It was another city street. It was lined with old looking buildings, with shops on the ground level, and what I guessed was apartments above. I quickly scanned the streets. They were empty, other than a stocky woman in a bright blue sweater. I did a second sweep. She wasn't there. I sighed in relief. I couldn't believe I was getting so worked up about this.

It was nothing but a coinci-- I stopped, my eyes frozen on the screen. There was a building at the point of a fork in the road, white with a black-ironwork-framed balcony jutting from the second floor. I hadn't seen her, as I had been looking at the sidewalks. There she stood, standing on the balcony, her head tilted in the direction of the camera, almost like she was coyly looking toward me. My breath caught in my throat.

I switched to Sydney. She was leaning against the wall, inside the doorway of a bright blue Carricks Pharmacy building. London showed her getting ready to step onto a red double-decker bus, her head turned to look over her shoulder. She was everywhere I looked. She stood on a brick sidewalk on a bridge in Venice, she walked across a yellow barred crosswalk in Zurich; and in Hong Kong, and she stood between a Wing Lung Bank and a McDonald's adjusting the strap on her bag. In each picture, she came closer and closer to looking directly at me with her blurred out face.

My heart felt like a terrified bird, slamming around inside my chest. I couldn't catch my breath. I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't call the police. Should I send screenshots to Google?

I clenched my fists tightly and closed my eyes. Who was she? Was she following me? Was I following her? I wish I could see the expression on her face, know what she saw when she looked back at me. I wanted to get out of the chair and run. Why is it that the only thing that made me feel free again, was the thing that made me feel even more trapped? I had to know.

I typed in the name of my town and zoomed into a random street. It was a couple of miles from my house; the gates to the city park were shown in the clarity of daylight, despite it being night here. There she was. There... There she was. She was only a few miles from my house, standing under the ironwork arch that stated the name of the park. She looked directly at the camera, directly at me. I felt like I might throw up. She was near me, and she was watching me. She was coming for me. What did she want?

I typed in the name of the apartment complex where I live. I could see the outside of the building. The parking lot was full of cars, and there were a few blurred out children on the playground. I searched everywhere for her. She wasn't in the parking lot or on the sidewalks, not hiding between the buildings or standing in the playground. I even scanned each of the cars, behind the bushes, and each of the blurred windows. She wasn't there. I curled tightly around myself and lay my head down on the desk.

This place was safe. I didn't leave the apartment anyway. I would never use Google Maps again. I would never see her again. She could stay at the park for all I cared. I smiled to myself and was surprised to find a tear slipping down my face.

"I'm safe," I said to myself in a whisper. It felt good to hear it out loud. "I'm safe."

As I said it, there was a knock at the door. A chill ran down my spine. I had a camera hooked to my computer that showed who was at the front door, which made it easier for me, with my mobility issues. I slowly reached for the control to show myself who was outside, but my hand trembled furiously. As I touched the control, I realized my mistake. The last of Google's images that I'd seen had only shown the outside of the building. Just the outside.

I looked at the screen and saw a woman in a white t-shirt, black pants, black hooded jacket; and carrying a grey bag with a purple and grey striped shoulder strap. Of course, there were those red sneakers. She looked directly at the camera, her face still a complete blur. As I tried to stifle a scream, she raised a hand and knocked loudly on my front door.

#explore #beginner witch #spirituality #sigils #journal #creepy #creepypasta #horror #horror community #truefacts #true stories #follow #new to tumblr #scary stories #creepy photo #Reddit

3 notes · View notes

joe-young-stories · 3 years ago

Text

A Week.

Hey, new to tumblr. This is something I wrote in an enclosed, dodgy Christian community in 2018.

The last time I saw Dad in person I was seventeen, and I’d either just finished my A-levels or I was halfway through them. I’d seen him a year before, for Grandad’s funeral. After we’d got home from the wake I’d nicked a crate of Guinness, and thrown up on my suit. I’d thrown up all over the guest bed as well, and I’d left all the empty cans in the waste paper basket. I told my dad that the emotional stress of the funeral must have affected me, and I didn’t really give a shit about the fact that he knew.

This time it was summer, and it was that one week of the British summer that is actually scorching hot. Dad was waiting for me at Oxford train station for my visit. Visa Skank was there too. Visa Skank is my dad’s Russian wife, and perhaps she married him for a visa or perhaps she really loves him. I’ve never actually had anything against her. It was rude, offensive, calling her Visa Skank, but it made me feel really savage and clever back then. This day at Oxford train station she was in her late forties, and she was wearing this shimmer- shimmer peach linen halter top harem pants combo thing with a dainty cream pashmina and a big floppy straw hat. She was basically just easy mockery.

We went straight from the station to this ultra quaint Riverside pub/restaurant garden. I had Peronis. I had a burger too. We didn’t really have a conversation because Visa had seen a picturesque riverside photo opportunity, and she had my dad take pictures of her next to a drainage sluice for almost an hour, at different angles and filter settings. At the end we walked back through the pub to get to the car and she started draping herself mystically around rustic beams and cosy fireplaces, or sat herself next to like, napkin dispensers that pleased her. And my dad took more pictures. I just wanted to get back to the house. I don’t remember too much more from the meal.

In the daytimes that followed I fell into a routine. Dad would wake up late (his teaching job at the schools wasn’t on) and he might mooch about or he might go into Oxford, or he might just go to Headington High Street. Visa Skank had a busy social schedule attending a young mum’s social club in the Florence Park Cafe. She would spend a lot of time there. I would wake up and take a walk into Central Oxford. And I would stop for a pint in the White Horse, where we used to go for Lunch when I was little. In town I would walk the old streets around the Radcliffe Camera, and this was back when I had academic ambition before I stopped caring about most things, and the scholarly atmosphere excited me. I walked past the cathedral boys’ school – my first school—and into the Eagle and Child, or the Kings Arms, or the Turf Tavern. I would read Franz Kafka stories or Iris Murdoch novels or I’d listen to pretentious students talk shit and praise myself for being more intelligent than them. After a few pints I’d saunter back over Magdelen Bridge and back up towards the house in Headington.

Dad’s house had changed a lot over the years. The retro porn PC used to be in the dining room, and all my 9 year old self used to do at my dad’s was either play SimCity on that computer or watch Dad’s porn. He’d archived literally thousands of pictures, all categorised according to hair/boobs/race etc. Albums of particular stars. I got up early at that age, and if you were proper stealth about it could get up with the dawn and watch a four second clip of a woman getting pleasured by a mechanised shoe buffer. Only if you were stealth though. The computer screen could be seen from the stairs via the dining room mirror. You had to listen for footsteps. God forbid that Visa or even Grandad would walk in. View me wanking it to Dad’s shoe buffer porn.

Now though the house layout was different. Grandad had been a cantankerous twat since Nan died, and all he ever did was sit in the living room watching cartoons and chat shows. GMTV, Pokemon, Digimon, Homes under the Hammer. That was all I ever saw him do on visits to my dad’s. I left him to it.

But he started losing control of his faculties, and Dad and I would walk in from the pub to a stray smell of nappies, the CBBC channel playing in the background. His osteoporosis got worse. The last time he was alive I was seventeen and he’d been moved to a hospice. He was half asleep next to his colostomy bag but he murmured a greeting and a goodbye. The three of us, Grandad, Dad and me, sat in near silence for approximately fifteen minutes. “Good to see you, Grandad,” I said to him as I was leaving. Grandad had written “to a very impressive grandson” on my birthday card seven months previously.

While Grandad was dying his house was being renovated. The dining room and kitchen had been knocked together into this rustique farmhouse experience, with a big beaten up pine table, a pine dresser and a freshly installed aga. An aga in a nineteen thirties semi. There were a lot of wholesome wicker baskets bought in and gooseberry jam jars were placed in them for effect. Next door the garage was knocked down and a den/conservatory/stargazing lounge/music studio was built. The living room, where Grandad watched all the kids TV, and which I was told was always going to be “His Space” had had all the carpets ripped out and new sofas put in. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, and they were all full of this intelligentsia Russian shit no one read. The retro porn PC was upstairs in Dad’s bedroom now, so after I got back from Oxford that last week I’d sit in the conservatory on my laptop. Sometimes if my dad was around I’d bring up an attractive female friend’s Facebook profile and wait for him to ask me about it. He’d talk about organic food and hand picking your own raspberries, and how Russian customs and traditions were the best way to live. But most of those afternoons he was upstairs in his bedroom checking his email, which took about two hours and was a pretty full-on activity for him. If Visa was at home she’d make still life displays from Kitsch crap she found in charity shops. And she’d do photoshoots. Most of the time she was out though. Presumably with the young mums.

When I was downstairs on my own I would drink from the many, many bottles available on the farmhouse shelf. I never drank in front of Dad, but I’d never bother hiding how drunk I was getting either. A little bit of gin, little bit of vodka, whiskey, white rum.

I’d always done this. When I was about twelve, thirteen, fourteen I’d go through Dads bedroom and raid his wardrobe. I’d find his extensive magazine stash and his books on “Tantric Passion”, “The Multi Orgasmic Man”, “Make Her see you Mean Commitment”. I’d find the hamper full of Bombay Sapphire bottles; I never questioned the water bottles full of urine next to his bed. I wasn’t subtle. I’d try and incite his scorn, his discipline, his parental authority. I’d find glow in the dark condoms in his bedside drawers, and I’d take them out of the packets and leave them under his pillow like a treasure hunt. I would neck a bottle of chardonnay, refill it with tap water and leave it in the fridge for him to find. He’d look at the bottle, look at me, deliberate and stammer “I must have rinsed it out for recycling and put it back on autopilot.” I don’t think he knew me well enough to confront me. He once drove me back to mums with me throwing up ass the way down the M40, and we both agreed that I must have eaten some “ropey” quiche.

I didn’t want Dad to parent me anymore; I just didn’t really care. So while Dad was upstairs checking his email I’d access the WiFi and watch naked men beat each other, and I’d masturbate and drink gin. I think on the Tuesday of that week he found me full-on passed out in the stargazing conservatory, sleeping it off. Later on he’d said something about travelling being exhausting, especially across London, and it always took a few days for the mind to properly relax on holiday. I agreed.

In the evenings we’d go out to a pub, the Vicky Arms or The Chestnut or something. I would tell Dad what A levels I was doing. I’d namedrop attractive female friends quite a lot, and talk about parties I went to with them. I’d wait for him to be like, “Are they pretty?”, “Are they into you?”, “Like yeah, get in, my son!”, “Well done, boyo!” and things like that. Visa would come with us. She’d sit there in peach tracksuit bottoms and some kind of burgundy flamenco/matador top, and she would say things like, “Never microwave food because it changes the molecules. Did you know this? We go through a recipe book and you will find meals you would like to try.” We might order popcorn from behind the bar. Visa might demand a photo shoot of her next to an inspiring sunset or whatever.

At home Dad and Visa would go to bed in Grandads old room. Nans room, now the guest bedroom, was being fitted with a “Roman balcony” so I slept on a blow up bed in the living room with all the Russian volumes. I’d drink more whiskey and watch a comedy show about teenage lesbians.

That was it, really. The last week I saw my dad was fairly uneventful. Mundane. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the last time I saw him I doubt I would have remembered it

Only two events stand out in particular. On the Thursday of that week Dad was playing at a jazz and tango concert at a bar/club in Wantage. He did concerts like that to keep money coming in when the schools weren’t on. Visa took tango lessons down at the community centre, and she’d met a new friend and tango partner called Allan. He had had a stroke and divorce in a five year period and had taken early retirement, so I was told. So I was briefed. Briefed why? I didn’t care.

Allan met us at the house. We all sat about having a back garden beer and then Dad and I set off for Wantage. Allan’s and Visa came later, in Allan’s car, which he could still drive all post stroked up apparently. We had another pint in a pub in Wantage. Dad introduced me to the concept of a “Session Beer”. Advice I have never followed.

Dad gave me money for the evening and then left me to my own devices. I sat on the balcony and drank a lot of Stella, and from my vantage point I could see Dad playing onstage. I could see Visa and Allan as well, and she had her head on his shoulder and he was holding her close around the lower back. This didn’t look particularly tango-ey, but Visa had told me on one pub evening that tango was more about feeling than steps. “Feeling. Yes?” she had said with gusto. This was the passion of the dance I was watching, then. Dad had told me in the car that tango was Allan’s hobby, it’s what got him out the house, like his physio. I looked at Dad, and he was playing some sassy chords on the piano, watching the two of them become one with the dance. He didn’t do anything else. He just sat there, watching them get on with it. I finished one of my Stellas, and later on I thought to myself that he looked like a drooping bunch of flowers in a vase, half dead. A bit sad, maybe. A bit lacking. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of that. It felt very grown up.

Two days later we were having a back garden beer, Dad and I. The garden had changed, and where a swingset once stood there was now a very wholesome vegetable plot. Beyond that was a washing line. It was one of those washing lines with one pole in the ground, and it folded out like an upside down pyramid. You could spin it around for ease of pegging/unpegging. I looked at the washing line and remembered my eight year old self playing by it. I had been playing with a football. I was staying with him for a few weeks or so over the summer. I was out there, by myself, with the football. But I liked to pretend I was playing with all the other children I knew from school. Kids who were actually busy with their own friendship groups or who called me poofty boy by the wildlife pond. But when I was playing with them by myself they were all like, “I did not see this coming! We have not appreciated your serious skills! Hey guys, check out this Baller!” and none of them called me a poofty boy by the wildlife pond.

I had devised a game where you had to throw the ball into the opened up washing line to score a point. Dad came outside just as I was about to land the sickest shot from ten feet away, the shot which was going to blow George and his gang away, and was going to make Sadia and Carrie-Ann think I was total boyfriend material. He asked me if I wanted anything to eat.

And I really don’t know what came over me, but I said something along the lines of “I’m playing a game. We have to get the ball off each other and get it in the net. Do you want to play?”

“Oh, right!” was something like he said “Yes alright then, I will”. I’d never played a game with Dad before, and we were both a bit hesitant. Like, do we just…start, or what? I chucked the ball at the line and missed, and he grabbed it. We ran around the garden, playing the game. He scored a point. I scored a point. At one point he wrestled me to the ground to get the ball off me, and then helped me up. I remember laughing and smiling, being out of breath. I was tense, too. How did things like this come to a logical end? Did, like, the session finish? Was there a way for this to end without Dad having to just be really rude? Like: “I’m sorry Joe, but I need to stop doing this at this point and go back to my day. You are welcome to continue though.” How did it work? After approximately fifteen minutes it mercifully started raining, and we went inside. It was the only time we ever played the game.

Sitting and having a beer with my dad that last week was the last time I looked at the garden, or indeed spent any time with him. Halfway through our drink Visa came out of the stargazing conservatory doors, and she was wearing a floor length lacy white gown, a white bonnet and silky white gloves. She was carrying a large wicker hamper, and she put the hamper down and pulled out a silver teapot. “I am English lady at tea,” she said, and she raised the teapot in the air. Then she laid the patio table for a country manor high tea, and started demanding a photoshoot. I went inside.

The next day I was due to go home. I woke up that morning to find that I’d drunk too much and pissed the blow up bed. I put my soggy boxers in a plastic bag, and I covered the damp sheet with my duvet and left it to fester.

I hardly spoke to dad after that week. There was no reason to most of the time. I rang him twice to ask for money, once to say merry Christmas can I have some money and once to tell him I’d just left rehab. In 2018 I had written to him to tell him he was a cunt and I wanted to burn his house down. “Past wounds” with my Father had become a significant part of my “Life Story” by that point, and I thought that sending such a horrible letter might activate a Life Event in some way, some dramatic finale.

Dad has always had his settings such that I can’t find him on Facebook, so I have to log in as my mum to see his profile. Him and Visa quote Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare sonnets on each other’s pages. Visa’s profile has about 64 photo albums. They’re all called things like “Casserole dishes on the patio”, “Beauty In Autumn”, “Sensuous mermaid has adventure”. Her name isn’t actually Visa Skank. All the photo albums are silly and innocuous. When I’m drunk, or self pitying, or feeling like a victim, or all of the above I sometimes find myself thinking about the game me and Dad played with the washing line and the football.

#writers on tumblr #writers #short story #story #childhood

1 note · View note

takadasaiko · 5 years ago

Text

Clever Minds and Strong Wills (a Captain America fic)

FFN II AO3

Summary: Steve and Howard have a late night chat in the labs in which Steve learns more than most about Howard's family and his past. WWII fic.

Clever Minds and Strong Wills

There was rarely any warning when they showed up at the command center in London. Word filtered through the ranks that the Howling Commandos had arrived and the lab went into overdrive. It was a race to get the equipment repaired and upgrades implemented, often just in time to shove them right back out the door with only the Hydra tech they left behind as proof that they were there at all.

Today was different, though. They still hadn't had much warning, but at least they had a few days to work with the team to make sure everything functioned as it was designed to when they were out in the field. It was a shame that it took half the team in the medical wing to keep them there. From what Howard had heard, Gabe Jones, Dum Dum Dugan, and Steve took the brunt of the hit. Cap was, of course, already back on his feet like nothing had happened by the time they'd arrived back at HQ, but the others would need a few days minimum of time away from the chaos they functioned in.

Howard had thought that he'd have to drag Cap into the labs to stake claims on even just a few minutes, but Steve had stuck around longer than he'd expected. As the hours stretched on and the others filtered out for the evening, the two men sat in the quiet of the space. The conversation started and stopped, ideas bounced around for a bit before Howard lost himself in the work only to be pulled out of it by Cap's voice after an undetermined length of quiet.

"You know, last time I got any say in the designs was from a few thousand feet in the air."

Howard's hands stilled and his lips twitched into a lopsided smile. "Last couple. I snag the time when I can get it."

He heard Cap snort a soft laugh. "I always got the impression you offered to fly us when no one else would because you like the thrill."

"I have been told I get bored too easily," Howard chuckled and reached for a wrench.

"Do you always stay after everybody else is gone?"

Howard glanced around, realizing that they were the last two left in the lab. "Most nights." By accident, most of the time. He'd dive into a project and forget to surface until the wee hours of the morning.

He heard a soft acknowledgment from Cap, but then nothing more for a long moment. Finally he glanced back before swiveling around in his chair to look directly at him. "I doubt you need a lot of sleep, huh?"

"Not since the serum."

Howard tilted his head, studying him. "Had to have been a hell of a turn around. I saw your records before the procedure. Looked like you had every health complication in the book."

He wondered if the question was a step too far as he watched Steve expression shift. With the exception of the occasional conversation about Peggy Carter, they really didn't discuss personal matters, much less Cap's life before the serum. Slowly, though, the other man's tense expression softened a little. "It's amazing how little I think about it now. You'd think I would, but one mission to the next, I don't really have time for it."

"Your buddy Barnes doesn't give you hell about it?"

"Only when the other guys aren't around, which isn't much."

Those sharp blue eyes were fixed on him and Howard had to crush the urge to squirm. He wasn't used to being the one under careful observation.

Finally, Cap drew in a breath, settling back in his chair a little more. "What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"You've seen everything in my file, probably know my whole life story, but about all I know about you personally is that you have a successful company, you're the best pilot I've seen yet, and I still can't place what part of New York you're actually from." He stopped, amusement flashing through his eyes. "Oh, and you hate being called Mr Stark."

"Mr Stark's my father," Howard answered automatically, not liking where this was heading. He liked Steve. Respected him, but he had found out a long time ago that letting people get too close - letting them learn too much - was a dangerous business. He'd stuck his foot in it by bringing up the other man's past though, hadn't he?

"Is he still around? Your father?"

Yep. Up to the kneecap and sinking fast. His own curiosity had gotten the better of him. "I imagine so."

Howard saw Cap's face twist up like he was trying to find the missing piece. "Don't you talk to him?"

"Not if I can help it." He risked a glance over, a frustrated sigh escaping at the expectant look he was on the receiving end of. Yep. This was on him. Never should have brought it up. He waved his hand in the air, doing his best to keep his time casual. "We never saw eye-to-eye."

"On what?"

"Anything."

There was a long, likely thoughtful pause before, "He has to be proud, though? Everything you've accomplished? Everything you've done."

Howard wanted nothing more than to dive back into his work and ignore the question. He could kick him out, true. Come up with a semi-reasonable excuse or just be an ass to ensure Cap got the hint. He had no problem handling others around him that way, but there was something obnoxiously honest in those blue eyes. Rogers wasn't an idiot - far from it. He might not have had the same training or scientific leanings that Howard did, but the man was clever and one of the quickest learners the engineer had ever come across - but he was naive in a lot of ways. Sheltered. Fathers were proud of their sons. Families were close. That was just the way his world worked. Must have been a nice place to grow up. Safe.

"Nah," he answered at last. "He thought I was lazy. Wasting my time."

"That can't be true," Steve managed, almost as if hoping he'd misunderstood something.

Howard glanced around, re-confirming that they were alone. He spun his chair so his own dark eyes met those bright blue ones. "My earliest memories of my old man are of him chasing me out of whatever hole I'd found to tuck myself away in to read. Thought I was lazy and useless because I wasn't just like him. My guess is he's still selling fruit from the same overpriced vendors from the same rickety old cart on the same corner in the Lower East Side."

He risked a glance to see Cap soaking in more information than Howard had shared with anyone in a decade. Strange. That overwhelming honesty that Abe had seen in him was apparently contagious. He needed to watch himself there.

Rogers loosed a long breath, settling a little deeper into the chair. "We didn't have much when I was growing up either but… all I wanted was to be like my folks. They always did the right thing, even when it cost them. Especially when it cost them."

Howard didn't mean to snort. Not really. "I hate to break it to you, Cap, but no one's perfect." Even Captain America's perfect parents had a skeleton or two Cap just hadn't found. Everybody did. Idolizing then just because they were blood was a luxury Howard had never known. Never wanted to. It was t like he could have ever been what his father wanted anyway. He'd have sooner thrown himself off the Brooklyn Bridge.

"When's the last time you spoke to him?" Steve asked carefully.

"I left home at thirteen. Went to school and didn't look back." He'd left in the middle of the night without even a change of clothes with him. He'd lied his way into the prestigious school, but if his father had had half a notion where he was going he would have found a way to shut his plan down. The senior Stark has come to America at the same age looking for a better future, but instead had settled into society's expectations and had tried to teach his son to be complacent with the same. Howard hadn't had it in him. He didn't have a complacent bone in his body.

"Do you have contact with your mother?"

"A little. Usually get a letter from her once a year or so. Last time I was in the same room with her I had the audacity to offer money. I thought the old man was gonna come after me with his belt like I was ten years old again," he chuckled, shrugging. "Guess that was actually the last time I saw him. She's never without him, so we don't see each other. Her choice. She knows I'd cover the fair uptown."

Cap stared at him like he'd broken him. That look was exactly why he didn't like to discuss it. A look like he'd lost something. Couldn't lose something you'd never had, though, so what was the point? He did well enough. Hell of a lot better than if he'd stayed put.

Howard loosed a long breath and rolled his shoulders back, trying to straighten them out of their increasing slump. "Don't make a bigger deal of it than it is," he muttered. "And, uh….keep it between us, huh, pal?"

"Not a big deal, just a secret?" Steve asked, a quirked eyebrow accompanying his amused tone.

"You know how people are." From the look he received he wasn't entirely convinced that he did. "Born on the wrong street, wrong side of the tracks, you gotta be running a scam of some kind."

"Can't possibly be the fact that honesty isn't exactly you're go-to."

Well huh. Okay. With the physical changes that the serum caused, it was easy to forget that clever, observant mind that drew Abe to Rogers in the first place.

"Lessons learned," he said instead, shrugging.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's life. Coulda been worse, and I came out of it."

"Maybe he'll change his tune after the war's over."

"You never lose that damnable optimism, do you, Rogers?"

"I try not to."

Howard snorted, the sound amused more than not, and stood. Three in the morning. If he wanted even a couple hours of sleep it was time to call it a night. It was probably the easiest way to end this increasingly uncomfortable discussion as well.

"He should be."

Cap's voice startled him a little and he looked over. "Should be what?"

"Proud. You know, Dugan's only alive right now because the body armor you sent with us this last time took the brunt of the blast we were caught in. You've gotten us in places that no one else would touch and make sure we're ready to face whatever tech Hydra throws at us."

He paused and Howard found that he couldn't break the gaze that held his. He'd become accustomed to - and even expectant of in many cases - the high praise that accompanied his work by those around him, but Roger's words dug in deeper. He wasn't one for idle flattery and, unlike so many others, there were no strings attached to this. No quid or quo that exchanged praise for whatever the person wanted in return. No. Cap was just honest. Absurdly honest. Howard wondered if he'd ever get used to that.

The engineer cleared his throat. "Thanks, Cap," he mumbled, not entirely certain that was the right response, but it seemed to work out okay. Rogers flashed that grin that went all the way to his eyes.

The blond didn't leave as Howard packed his equipment away, but he also didn't press any further on the other man's family. They chatted about upgrades and design flaws and an upcoming mission that Steve wanted Howard to fly them in on. When they finally parted ways to catch as much sleep as they could before the next day officially began, Howard felt a strange sort of ease that he never found after his father found a way to bully his way into his thoughts. He had always been a stranger in that man's world and an oddity in the one that he wanted to belong to, but here - surrounded by soldiers and danger and tech he could only begin to unravel - he felt at home. Sure, Cap was right. He did plenty of good around here, but in the end he was fond of the people that surrounded him. Clever minds and strong wills. The Steve Rogers that wouldn't be told he couldn't enlist and the Peggy Carters that would be put behind a desk. The Abraham Erskines that wouldn't bend to oppression. They weren't pinned down by what society wanted to make them.

And to think he almost passed up the opportunity to join the SSR at all.

End.

Notes: I feel like there must have been so much more behind Howard and Steve's friendship for Howard to be so, so obsessed with finding him. You don't develop a life-long obsession like that for an acquaintance, even if you were involved in the experiment that changed their life. I can't help but think there was a piece of Howard, that kid from the Lower East Side, that found a connection with the kid from Brooklyn.

Might be more to come.... We'll see.

#MCU fanfiction #captain America: the first avenger #Howard Stark #Steve Rogers

19 notes · View notes

sasskarian · 5 years ago

Text

Fanfic Authors Tag Game

Tagged by @marblesarelost

AO3 Name: Sasskarian

Fandoms: Lord. Uh. Star Wars (Legends EU and canon, though I tend to cherry pick what I like). Dragon Age. Mass Effect. Elder Scrolls. Crimson Peak (one completed fic, one WIP). Witcher. Arcana game. When the Night Comes. Cosmere/Sanderson works. Mercedes Thomspon. Black Jewels series. Good Omens. Haven.

Number of fics: 27, not including my Scrivner or Drive folders

1. Fic you spent the most time on: At this point, I’d say it’s a toss-up between my Hollywood/Noir/Murder Mystery AU of Dragon Age, Glitterverse, and my Jaal/Ryder romance, Home.

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Honestly? Probably the Arcana fic I’ve started three times and thrown away every time. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my Voiceverse fic but not actually writing it.

3. Longest fic: Technically, my longest fic is a collection of tumblr prompts, totalling 38k. My second longest work but longest proper fic is Glitterverse, at 30k.

4. Shortest fic: He Might Like That, a Mandalorian ficlet. Din reminiscing on how mandokarla Cara Dune is, and Cara being oblivious.

5. Most hits: Shakarian Smut that’s been under construction for like a year. (I want to rewrite it, I just never... seem... to actually get to it) at 4.2k. Current fic that’s still up would be the kickoff to Home, Come to Me, at just under 4.

6. Most kudos: Come to Me, at 342

7. Most comment thread: Glitterverse at 48

8. Fave fic you wrote: Oh man. Don’t do this to me. >< How can I choose between my bi disaster hollywood!Hawke (Glitterverse) and my overly-romantic Orlesian au Isera (Fairbanks)

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: There are definitely a few. Like... most of them. Mostly the Shakarian smut-- now that the OT3 of Garrus/Shepard/Thane is my canon-- and I want to expand on the Crimson Peak fic. My girlfriend and I had the great idea of mashing together Crimson Peak and Rivers of London, and having Nate end up associating with Nightingale at some point.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

New Fairbanks:

“I’m sorry,” Isera says, blinking slowly at her advisers. “Can you repeat that but… make it make more sense?”

Leiliana sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What part of this is difficult to understand, Inquisitor?” Josephine makes a noise somewhere between amusement and resignation, and Isera narrows her eyes at the way Cassandra and Cullen are very carefully not looking at one another. “Your presence is not required at the evening meeting.”

“My presence,” she says, “is not required? Me? The Inquisitor?”

“That’s correct.” Cassandra nods once, decisively, as if to say and that’s that. “Your evening is yours to do with as you like.” Something twinkles in her eye, something that suddenly and sharply reminds Isera of the look Varric gets right before he gets into mischief or starts bullshitting in the hopes of distracting her.

“...you’re up to something,” Isera says, accusingly. “I know you four are up to something.”

Witcher, with my beloved heart-sister @suspendnodisbelief:

“Even now, I hear them at the gate, crashing against it to make their way here,” Calanthe announced, and Jaskier quoted verbatim in a recitative cadenza. “You must go now, both of you. Renfri, will you help me guard them as they make their escape?”

“Fight a swarm of all manner of dreadful monsters, alongside a Queen who has matched me cut for blow? Oppose Death itself, and cry our defiance against the endless night?” Renfri’s bladed arms glistened red and wet in the dim tavern light, and the black pits of her eyes sparked hotly with the joyous violence of distant stars. “Why, Calanthe, I thought you’d never ask.” “Jaskier, give Mousesack my order to hold the tavern behind us as long as he can, by any means he can.” Calanthe stretched and limbered open her enormous brazen wings, and the tavern seemed to distort and expand around them all, making room for her. Every feather was a sword, and her lashing tail now more closely resembled a whip tipped with steel teeth, striking embers in the air and sending red cinders flying every time it cracked.

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm, attempting to pull him along, before realising Geralt still couldn’t detect where he was. For all that Jaskier wasn’t simply passing through Geralt, as though not a solid object, Geralt still seemed impervious to his touch, and pulling on him was like pulling on a mountain in hopes it would budge.

Crimson Peak sequel:

Nate never set out to be a ghost hunter.

Bollocks, William would say, in that lounging, charmingly-arrogant way that was all flattened vowels and half-swallowed consonants. Your mam and pap bein’ who they’d be, what else could you be, Nathe?

Glitterverse:

“Anders, if anyone in this group deserves a punch…” Varric trailed off, hands hovering over Hawke’s prone form like he was afraid to touch her. “Hawke, come on. Wake up.”

His hands finally settled on brushing Hawke’s hair away from her face and Cassandra hissed as she stepped around for a better view: Hawke’s thin wrists were covered in angry red marks, some already darkening to purple. The bruising was grotesque in the stark magelight, no softer than a crime scene tech’s flashlight, and it took Cassandra several blinks to dismiss the intrusive image of Daniel’s bruised, broken face highlighted by a similar harsh light months and months ago.

Distantly, a door opened and the chattering of the party drifted down the hall for a moment, a reminder of where they were. “We need to go,” Cassandra said, armoring her heart back in her training, stopping the sideways slide from sorrow over Daniel to Hawke with brutal pragmatism. Mourning and memories were luxuries she couldn’t afford right now; there would be time for falling apart once they were safe. “Either she wakes or someone carries her, but Bartrand will kill us if we don’t get out.”

When neither man moved, just stared at their friend so pale in the dark, Cassandra hissed again. “Tethras, move your ass!”

Shakarios:

There are a few days, Garrus marvels, when the universe is still able to surprise him. Usually it’s in bad ways, like a thug having more firepower, or Grunt’s grenades having a dud at the wrong moment. Having Cerberus drones appear out of goddamn nowhere.

This moment, though, where the artificial sunrise of the Citadel skims pale fingers over the curve of Shepard’s waist, gentle and lovely on the freckles and scars life has left on her, is glorious. Thane’s dark eyes blink at him sleepily from the other side of their Commander, mouth already curved in invitation. “How long’ve you been ‘wake?” Garrus asks through a yawn.

“A while,” is the soft reply. “It is a rare pleasure to see her at peace.” Delicately-scaled green fingers reach for his own, stroking with what Io would call intent. Garrus’ throat flushes, heat crawling up from his chest, at the memory of just what those soft fingers can do.

Tagging, no pressure: @aban-asaara @systlin @shetanshadowwolf @thebisexualmandalorian

#I did the thing #my fic #dragon age #mass effect #crimson peak #the witcher

8 notes · View notes

modernmisterdarcy · 5 years ago

Text

Bliss, Goodbye, and Business

“Always…”

Eirene's voice echoed in his mind, and it would, in some strange and distant place, echo there for the rest of his life. Her sweet, breathless whispersaid , “Always…” Always she would be with him, so she said, and so Adrian believed, in that moment, with every fiber of his being.

He had found his beloved. After all these long years of suffering and darkness, his connection with Eirene was like the sun, finally appearing to burn away the fog and the chill, to bring everything within him to life anew. Her hands gently tracing down the front of his body were healing him, knitting together everything which had once been broken, unusable, and discarded.

His heart ached with the force of his love, and when the door slammed open, Adrian's spirit reared up with such protective passion he nearly reached for his saber-- which had not hung at his hip in more than two years.

Terror and relief vied for prominence when Adrian recognized, through the shadows, the face of his dear friend, and Eirene's father.

“I did not mean to intrude,” said the Earl.

Adrian flushed with embarrassment. “That is-- I did not mean to suggest-- an intruder in your own home--” Adrian stammered, relieved, however, that Alexandros's only thought was for Eirene's well-being.

“Eirene, are you alright?” said Alexandros.

“Yes, of course! I wasn’t, but now…” Eirene trailed off, and looked back at Adrian. His heart leapt, and something in him was deeply touched that his attentions could have ameliorated-- in any measure-- the pain his brother had caused that night. “When I left the party, His Grace came to console me.”

Yes, I came to console you, never imagine I should end up professing my adoration at such a strange moment. Yet I cannot say in earnest that I am sorry...

“Is that what you kids call it these days?” the Earl laughed, bringing another flush to Adrian's face.

“Lord King--!” Adrian exclaimed at the same as Eirene said, “Father!”

The Earl's teasing relented, much to Eirene's apparent relief. Adrian was relieved only that the Earl seemed far, far from upset. Adrian had known that his friend approved of the match with his daughter, but to overlook such an impropriety as this? Adrian could scarce fathom it, but he was grateful not to have offended the other man.

As Eirene made her exit, Adrian wished he could kiss her one last time, but he dared not do so in front of her lord father. Instead, he contented himself with their last wistful glance, and offered a tender, meaningful smile.

“Adrian--” she said, “Thank you.”

“Any time, Lady King, you may avail yourself of me... any time.” Nearly overcome with emotion, Adrian bowed to her as she exited, almost having forgotten that Alexandros was there until the man spoke. Adrian smiled, swinging back into his embarrassment at having been caught with Eirene in such a compromising position.

“Alexandros, I-- I--” Adrian stammered, but the Earl seemed not to hear.

“I would advise you to get some sleep, but I have a feeling you will have quite the mess to return to. Call upon me tomorrow; we can discuss this curious evening then.”

Adrian had also nearly forgotten about Toby, but this sobering reminder brought his feet a few inches closer to the ground. This newfound connection between himself and Eirene stoked his ire all the hotter, and his grip on his walking-stick tightened until his knuckles were white and his fingers shaking.

“I shan't rest until the boy is dealt with,” Adrian assured him through clenched teeth. “And it is only this conversation with your daughter which has tempered my fury from reckless to actionable, words cannot express how embarrassed and sorry I am on his behalf. Please, Alexandros, accept my apologies and know I'll do all I can, for as long as I can, to turn this situation around to Eirene's favor.”

Adrian was nearly lost again in his anger over Toby when the Earl clapped him on the back. Adrian smiled uncertainly and took a little stumble to the side.

“I knew there was still some fire in you yet, boy!” exclaimed the older man.

“I hardly knew it myself, Alex, but your daughter is... very special.” Adrian flushed, smiling, looking at the door from whence Eirene had disappeared a moment ago. “I... daresay I feel for her as I've never felt for anyone.”

With that, the Earl and Adrian parted for the night. With the master of the house gone, Adrian availed himself of a nearby bench, taking a seat with a tremendous sigh. He closed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose, allowing all that had transpired in the last hour or so to sink in to his mind, body, and soul. Yes, Tobias had committed a colossal mistake; the ramifications would follow the family for years-- perhaps decades-- the scandal would perhaps never be forgotten, and Tobias should have a difficult time showing his face in society for ages to come. Which fact had never bothered his younger brother.

It should have bothered Adrian, but the man was too drunk off of his love for Eirene to care a whit about his brother's social misfortunes. A time would come to deal with it all-- when he stepped beyond the doors of the greenhouse, it would begin-- but Adrian took that moment to sit, and to just be, with the cool humidity of the lush tropical foliage, and the echoes of words and kisses that lingered in his mind and in the air.

He loved her. Ardently. Wholly. Perfectly. She might-- should-- would-- be his wife. He knew it with all his being, and he resolved to propose to her as soon as he rightfully could, after this mess with Tobias was as cleaned-up as it could get. Perhaps he could not erase the scandal, but the Duke was certain that his getting engaged to Eirene so soon afterward was the correct thing to do. It would redeem Eirene's reputation in whosever eyes it might've been lost; and the excitement of the tragic bachelor Duke of Bainton finally being engaged might detract from some of the gossip about Tobias. It was a smart move, and he knew it, but more than that, it felt correct. It was not always the case, the smart thing and the thing which felt good. But this time, the two happened to be one and the same.

It was raining, and cold. Tobias was soaked through, his formal evening wear ruined, and in some measure, he did feel he deserved it.

The cold was sobering, and that was a problem.

After a time of aimless wandering the dark streets of London, searching himself for any shred of remorse or guilt and finding only a little, Toby wound up at one of his usual pubs, patronized by the usual people. While Adrian and his like greeted Tobias with disdain and coldness, this pub greeted Toby with warmth, enthusiasm, and some distant species of love often shared by problem drinkers who are in their cups together.

Toby received the welcome into an aching heart, and he couldn't quite understand why he had no enthusiasm to return. Instead, he sat down at the bar, dripping wet and ignoring all the questions about his ridiculous outfit, feeling very alone despite being surrounded by friends.

All he could think about was Adrian. The look of horror in his brother's eyes. The pallor of his face. The rigidity of his posture under any and all circumstance.

Worst of all was the anticipation: knowing that Tobias's actions would land him firmly in the very lowest of his brother's opinions, and that this evening's incident would earn him nothing but new heights of contempt, coldness, and distance from his brother. And Toby could hardly think of anything worse than that.

How long he sat there, Tobias could hardly reckon. He exchanged but little conversation, and drank far, far too much for his own good, such that even he knew he was too damn drunk.

On jellied legs, Toby got off his barstool, stumbling, and a few nearby patrons caught him. The pub was considerably emptier than when he'd come. Toby asked what time it was; they said nearly one in the morning. Someone less drunk than Toby asked if he wanted a ride home; Tobias declined, preferring to walk. His friends professed their skepticism that Tobias could find his own arse, much less his home, in his current state of inebriation, to which Toby responded, “Fuck off,” before stumbling out of the pub.

He found his way home. He wanted to apologize to Adrian. Toby was prepared to beg forgiveness on his knees. He'd even apologize to Eirene, if Adrian wanted him to, although he wasn't sure what good it would do. But he'd do anything, anything, to repent to his brother. Anything to prevent the rift between them from widening-- as if the damage hadn't already been done.

As if Adrian weren't about to ask him to do the only thing that Tobias couldn't do on his own.

He was too drunk to notice the strange carriage parked in front of their home.

In his wretched drunken, sodden state, somehow Tobias knew where he'd find his brother. How could Adrian sleep before this thing was put to rest?

Yet the parlor was dark, except for a high fire in the grate. Adrian stood before the fire, leaning on the mantelpiece, the contours of his slightly sunken features thrown into sharp relief, with pitch-dark, dancing shadows, and highlights of glowing red and ember orange. He wore a look of deep, brooding anger, the fire in the hearth paling in comparison to the fire in his eyes. To Toby's drunken mind, his brother looked like some kind of demon from a play. The sight shook him to his core.

“You have behaved very badly tonight, Tobias,” said the Duke, his voice silken with his finely-controlled rage. “You have never, ever disappointed me like this.”

“I'm sorry--” Toby started to say, but, as usual, Adrian wanted none of it.

“You have left me with no choice.” At last, Adrian stood straight, and looked Toby dead in the eye with his piercing black gaze. “You understand that, in order to remedy this situation I must do something drastic. And I can only interpret this wretched act of your as a sign for help.”

“What d'you mean?” Toby slurred, stupid and inarticulate, taking a step backward, his stomach heavy with dread. “What are you talking about, brother?”

“Do not call me that,” Adrian said, wincing. “I cannot bear to think we are blood relation on this night.”

Toby fought the urge to weep.

“I am sending you away. Masterson.” Adrian turned, and gestured, and from the corner came a grim-looking fellow whom Toby had never seen in his life-- whom he would, in time, come to both love and despise as much as he loved and despised his brother.

Masterson, the person in question, approached Toby.

“I am from the Finley Sanatorium in Berkshire,” said Masterson, and before he could say any more, Toby cut him off.

“Sanatorium? What the hell do you mean?” He took another step backward, looking at his brother with a mix of betrayal and deepest hurt. “Berkshire? Adrian, explain!”

“You are ruining your health. You are ruining your reputation, degrading it farther than I ever imagined possible, and despite all my efforts, you are beginning to harm my own name. This cannot continue, Toby, and for the love of God--” Adrian's steely surface cracked, and his voice quavered slightly with emotion-- “you are ruining your health. You are destroying your own well-being.”

“I didn't think you gave a damn what I did!” Toby cried, his eyes welling with tears at the first sign of concern Adrian had shown him in some time. “What are you talking about!”

“I'm sending you away.” Adrian steeled again, gesturing at Masterson. “My colleague happens to be in town, he will escort you straight away to the sanatorium. You may go willingly--”

“-- or not,” Masterson finished, holding up a pair of handcuffs. “Your choice.”

“But you will go, or I shall have you put in jail, you besotted git.”

Toby looked between the two of them, and all he could think was, No. To be sent away from Adrian, to be forced to dry out, to be held against his will behind high brick walls away from everything and everyone he knew? To be left wondering whether his brother lived or died? To be left without a girl to fuck for God knew how many months?

No.

Toby whirled, and darted out of the room, too drunk to get far at all. He reached the front door, tripped over the threshold, and fell face-first on the porch, scraping his chin on the concrete, jarring the broken bones in his nose. He scrambled, attempting to get to his feet, before he felt Masterson's leather manacles being strapped about his wrists, and the man hauled him to his feet.

“Tobias, I...” Adrian paused. “It pains me to do this. But it is for the best. For your good as well as everyone's. Especially for Eir--... for Lady King's very dignity. I must do something for her sake. It is this, or it is prison. I cannot send you to prison, cannot bear the thought. They may be able to help you at Finley to recover some of your sanity--”

“I never lost it!” Toby growled, and was unpleasantly surprised at the laugh that elicited from Adrian.

“I should say that tonight's events suggest otherwise-- and your misbelieving it only confirms it.”

“How long am I to be away?” said Toby in a hollow, helpless voice, disbelieving that his brother had just had him clapped in manacles like a common criminal.

“I... I shall let the doctors be the judge of that.” Adrian gave a rueful look to Masterson. “But out of decency, I've asked him to take you for three months at the very least.”

“Likely more like six,” said Masterson.

Toby groaned loudly, and hung his head.

“After all these years, and so many god-awful mishaps, perhaps now you shall learn some sort of lesson,” the Duke sighed, tapping his walking-stick on the ground, as if to punctuate the statement. “Goodbye, Tobias.”

“Adrian,” moaned the boy, his heart in a tumult. “Please write me--”

“I cannot promise anything.”

“-- just let me know you are well.” Toby uttered a quiet sob, struggling minutely as Masterson led him to the waiting carriage. “Goodbye, Adrian--” he started to say, but the door shut behind him, so that Adrian did not hear, and Toby was convinced that Adrian did not care.

Adrian cared, in his way, but he did not care in the same peculiar way as Toby. Sending his brother to the sanatorium was how Adrian showed his caring; to Toby's tender heart, it felt like deepest betrayal and rejection.

Having Toby under lock and key, and under competent professional care, took a weight off Adrian's shoulders which he had not realized was there. He stopped worrying about whether Toby would turn up dead in a gutter somewhere; he stopped nervously anticipating the next time Toby would come too drunk to stand straight; he stopped wondering whether Toby would drink his mind away. Toby was not there to hound him about his health, or to incessantly remind him that he could die at any time, or to harangue him about what he ought to do to take care of his own bloody body.

Adrian realized that having Tobias around was its own special kind of exhaustion.

He also missed the little bastard terribly after just a few days.

Still, it was not much in Adrian's nature to ruminate; after spending a day to recover from the events of Eirene's coming-out party, he went back to business. And aside from his duties at Parliament and various pressing social engagements, there was one item of business which Adrian was very eager to attend to.

Three days after Eirene's disastrous party, Adrian returned to the King household on an unexpected call. He first ascertained whether Eirene was in residence. She was, and Adrian was relieved. Then, he asked to see the Earl, alone, preferably in his study. After waiting anxiously in the foyer for a few moments, Adrian materialized in Alexandros's study.

He was dressed a bit more gaily than usual, his severe black suit replaced with a handsome gray one, and a pale blue cravat. Upon seeing his friend, Adrian greeted him with shaking hands and bright red streaks of color on his cheeks.

“I have something of great importance to discuss with you, Alexandros,” he started, pacing in front of the Earl, albeit slowly, due to his leg, “I hope you will forgive my boldness. I hope you will overlook my eagerness and my... my audacity. I have thought this matter over very seriously, and I believe that, all things being equal, the timing is perfect, and my heart is... utterly decided.”

Adrian drew a deep breath, then blew it out, dabbing at a sheen of sweat on his brow with a handkerchief that matched his cravat.

“I have borne affection for your daughter since I met her. Lady King...” He smiled a little to himself. “She may or may not have told you, but I first met Lady King at the Astley's gala for the younger Lady Astley. I was quite ill that night, and your dear daughter tended me in a moment of need. Ever since I have been unable to forget her face, and each time I see her, my affection grows. My regard for her is... the utmost. Oh, Alexandros, I...” Adrian sighed again, unable to look his friend in the eyes. “I daresay I love her. I have loved her since the first moment I saw her. She is beautiful, she is kind, she is spirited and vivacious, and I declare I have never loved another the way I love... Eirene.” Finally, he looked up, and met the Earl's gaze.

“I have come today to ask your permission to propose to her. I know it is very sudden, but you know me well enough, Lord King, to know that I would not commit any impropriety without good reason. Though I have known her but a few weeks, I assure you, my affections are pure, and... if you'd not mind my saying so... I've reason to believe that Lady King has similar feelings for me. Would you permit me the honor of asking your dear daughter's hand in marriage? And be honest with me, Alex, for I'd rather die than marry her without your approval. Your friendship means the world to me.”

3 notes · View notes

harveywritings92 · 5 years ago

Text

Hidden Blades and Cricket Bats: Older! Jacob Frye x OC

OC: Iris Adair

Aliases: Reese (Jacob) snow angel [Jacob/random bloke.] Home-wrecking trollop! [Barbra] Kyle Reese [Herself]

Age 10 for chap 1 & 2 , 19 through chap 3 and onward....

Eyes: gray

Hair: ash blond

skin tone: fair light freckles on her face

Height 4'2" [child] 5'5" {Adult}

Weight: 75 pounds [child] 125 pounds {adult}

Sexual orientation: Pansexual.

Occupation: Private Detective.

Summary: Just after the Roth fiasco Jacob meets Iris when she was a child, she saved him from freezing to death when he passed out drunk in the icy rain, when he coming to and throwing up, the assassin awkwardly introduced himself to the little girl who called herself Iris, Jacob decided to repay her with some breakfast and warmer clothes, when they're suddenly attacked by group men who ordered Jacob to hand the kid over if he valued his life. the thugs obviously didn't realize who they were dealing with, he took care of them, then Jacob brought the girl to Inspector Abberline who was just about to approach the assassin over an abduction case of one Iris Adair, Guess who Jacob's been running around London with all day? once the people who were after Iris were dealt with she was returned to her grandparents in Scotland. ...Until they meet again nine years later.

Jacob is like 29-30 years old he was engaged with a woman named Barbra who he just found cheating on him and just using him for money to support her opium addiction, He called off the engagement and kick her out, a few days later he goes to a pub to drown his sorrows when he meets a girl covered in soot looking just as lost as he was...

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

Jacob woke up to a splitting headache he winced as his eyes tried to adjust to the light and wondered what station they were at, until his ears picked up the sound of birds and crud chill of wind against his skin, but what really snapped him awake was the pair of curious gray eyes staring down at him, it was then the assassin realized his pillow was the lap of a little girl!??

Alarmed the hazel eyed man recoiled away from the child letting out a startled yelp only to regret it a second later, when all that alcohol he consumed the night before decided make a resurgence, Jacob threw a hand over his mouth before looking around and spotting a storm drain and vomited once he was sure it was all gone, he turned to his little...host? if this makeshift camp was anything to go by.

"Oi poppet you got a name?"

"Iris, Iris Adair..."

The assassin cocked a brow at the girl's Scottish accent "hmm, well good to meet ya Iris, I'm Jacob Frye."

"..."

"Iris how did we get here?"

Jacob asked trying to piece together how he ended up sleeping under a bridge with a little Scottish girl, "I found you over there." She muttered pointing towards a park he followed her hand, he saw a set of tiny footprints in the mud then a secondary a drag trail leading to her camp, it wasn't hard for Jacob to put two and two together he got drunk and passed out, Iris must stumbled onto him and instead robbing and leaving him there.

The blond girl pulled him out of the rain impressive feat for child, the assassin frowned as he turned his attention back to Iris, she wasn't one of the orphans he rescued her accent would've set her aside, it was then he noticed the bruises on her wrists, Her clothes weren't her's the pants she wearing legs were too long to be hers and rolled up to her knee, her legs were visibly bruised and scraped like she'd been running, her dingy blond hair was hastily and unevenly cut.

It became clear that Iris has escaped from somewhere and was hiding, from who and where Jacob intends to find out, but first his empty stomach rumbled "Right then let's get something to eat and you cleaned up." The little girl gave the assassin an odd look before he suddenly picked her up and carried her out of the park.

they ended up at a cafe in the strand; not the best place for a man and child who looked like they were fished out of the Thames, But then no one addressed the matter, unless they want to deal with Jacob who shot the staff a ''Say something I dare you.'' look the second they walked in. He ordered a lemonade for Iris and lemon ginger tea for himself being hungover and all and couple scones.

"Need help with that?" Jacob asked watching Iris's body language carefully; as she struggled with a scone; it was clear she wasn't some run of the mill urchin, whoever the little blond was; she was clearly from wealth, what with her proper table manners and etiquette. "yes please." she said shyly and pushed her plate over to the brown haired man *polite too...* Jacob noted cut her scones for her then slid the plate back and she thanked him, after a few minutes of silently eating. "Who are you running from?" Jacob asked taking a sip of his tea, Iris flinched at the question. "Iris, I can help you. But you have to trust me." the assassin pressed as the little Scottish girl looked at him unsure.

"I don't who they are, they took me while was playing in the yard..." She doesn't know how she got to London they "gave me this gross juice that made me sleepy.." Jacob frown bloody sods were drugging her, than again a child screaming murder would rouse some suspicions.

Iris continued saying she woke up in this shed, wasn't sure how long she was in there for she could hear her captors talking about money, So it's a ransom case... And chances are those kidnappers are out there right now looking for their meal ticket...

Jacob heard someone clear their throat and looked to see what appeared to be the head waiter glaring daggers at them before the snob could even open his mouth the assassin cut him off. "Yes,yes we're leaving." Jacob said slamming some money on the table the head waiter's tune started to changed when realized the rough looking man actually had money!

But Jacob wouldn't hear it, he grabbed Iris's hand and the two walked out of the cafe they wandered a few more blocks before stopping at a tailor shop. the couple running the place owe the twins some favors, needless William and Emma were happy to see Jacob who introduced them to Iris and explained he needed her cleaned up and was here some clothes.

Emma took the girl upstairs to the couple apartment while Jacob stayed with William and picking out a gray jacket, shorts, tights and black boots and gray paper boys cap. William brought them to his wife and went back to Jacob to inform him that his suit was repaired.

Jacob thank him... "Never thought I'd miss you." he mumbled to his Top-hat as he finished getting dressed just as miss Emma came downstairs with a now clean up and dressed Iris. "She's a lovely girl Mr. Frye, But don't you think a dress would've suited her?" the old woman fussed as Iris shifted uncomfortably Jacob ruffled the little girl's hair.

"Yes, But at the moment the less she looks like a girl the better, Ain't that right Reese?"

"Reese?"

"Well, I can't exactly call you by your real name now can I?"

"That makes sense."

Iris mused as Jacob felt a little smug having someone agree with him, he and Iris left the Strand with the intention of finding Fred Abberline when the little girl noticed someone following them.

the little girl saw them duck out of sight, her stomach felt heavy as she tugged on Jacob's jacket to warn him "I know." he said in a hushed tone and he waited until they were in a more secluded area when Jacob turned around and pulled Iris behind him and glared at a group of men coming out of the alley.

"Easy there we don't want any trouble, just hand over the kid and we won't hurt you." a sleazy looking ginger haired man said attempting to intimidate Jacob who glared at him defiantly as Iris clung on to his coat terrified. "Afraid I can't do that gents," as the men glared at him as the ginger haired man scoffed at Jacob tough guy act. "Look I tried to be civil mate, but if you want to die for a brat be my guest, let's get him!" Jacob took his top-hat off and handed it to Iris and took out a smoke-bomb and strode towards the men.

As the men circled him "Sorry, Sweetheart this show's Adults only!" he winked before pulling his hood up and throwing the bomb down a huge smoke cloud filled the alley.

Iris flinched everytime she heard weapons and the sounds of pain and bones cracking when the smoke was clearing up , she closed her eyes using Jacob’s top hat as a shield as something large was thrown passed her.

Hearing someone groan Iris opened her eyes and lowered the hat to see the ginger haired man beaten and bloody clutching his ribs as a hooded Jacob came up behind her and gabbed the man by the front of his shirt and pinned him to the wall.

"Now here what's gonna happen mate," the Assassin growled as the man wheezed in pain "I'm gonna let ya live because you're my messenger boy now."Jacob hissed and pretty much told the guy to tell his boss if they wanted Iris? He'd have to take it up with Jacob Frye... He saw the light go off in the man's eyes which soon dissolved into fear. "Yeah... now y'know who I am now don't ya?" Jacob hissed the man nodded his head as the assassin threw him aside and watched as the man got and limped out of the alley.

Jacob then looked at Iris who was staring at him not in fear like most children would in her situation, but in curiosity... he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, he was about to take his hat from her when he heard someone yelling at him and cussed seeing a group of Blighters he tucked his hat into his jacket grabbed Iris and aimed his grappling hook to the rooftops. "Hang on tight Reese." he said and the girl let out a squeak when they were suddenly airborne!

Needles to say Jacob found out just how fast he could run with a kid on his back! The blighters were hot on their tail but oddly enough weren't shooting at them? which was off to say the least, when it seemed they were headed to a dead end. Jacob suddenly maneuvered Iris into a bear-hug "Don't scream." the gang leader warned as he did a backwards leap of faith with Iris in his arms.

they landed in a hay cart the assassin shushed the little girl and held her close as he listened to their pursuers search for them, but gave up when they couldn't spot the assassin or child anywhere, Jacob relaxed and hopped out of the cart then pulled Iris out setting setting her down taking a few seconds to pat her down and get some of the hay off her, He pulled back his hood and put his hat back on then took Iris's hand and the twosome continued on their way through London.

#assassin's creed syndicate #jacob frye x oc #inspector Abberline #Scottish OC #female oc #assassin's creed fanfiction #pansexual character

5 notes · View notes

boredroo · 6 years ago

Text

A Messenger pt. 3

Summary: The Council has heard of the names that have reigned down London; the Frye twins have evidently brought upon a change for the better good against the Templar’s tyranny, but order must still be kept.

You have been sent by the Council to evaluate the two sibling assassins, report what is must and maintain control where it must be maintained.

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Part 1 Part 2

[][][][][][][][]

You find yourself constantly in the train, book and pen in hand, and eyes scrutinising.

The Assassination Wall provides you with much information on the progress of the Frye twins’ in liberating London from the grasp of mastermind Crawford Starrick and his Blighters.

…Which, to be quite honest, doesn’t seem much at the moment. They’ve barely just started it seems, with only very recently procuring the train for their hideout from the hands of gang leader Rexford Keylock.

A tap on your shoulder, you turn away from your notes and the pinned papers on the wall.

Evie greets you with a smile, though still quite guarded. “Something caught your eye, (Y/N)?” She follows your glance towards the pictures of unknown conspirators of Starrick, barely any of them crossed out, remaining as free targets on the streets.

Catching onto your thoughts, Evie frowns, shoulders sagging. “I know, I know. But spare us, if you may. We’ve barely just begun.”

“Perhaps if you joined hands with your brother,” you snap your book shut, “You’d find a smoother, much faster progress than this.”

Evie seems miffed at your words. “Are you seriously telling me that you agree with Jacob’s plan? Which, to be quite honest, isn’t so much of a plan in the first place. Leap before thinking; are you truly that sort of a person as well?”

You raise a hand to calm her before she intends to lash out. “I don’t agree with any of your plans—Frankly, I don’t have an opinion at all. Whatever it is you proceed with, I have no thought of it. I simply suggest that you two choose one goal to work on for efficiency.

“Either you search for the Piece of Eden, or you rid of the Templars’ power. Is that not the logical solution?”

She softens at that, understanding now where you’re coming from. With a sigh, she pushes her stray locks away from her eyes.

“Well, you can try telling that to Jacob. He’d probably listen to you… in a few long years, give or take. I’ve been with him since he was born and he still doesn’t listen to a word I say.” She offers a wary smile at that, and you turn away. You’re not quite sure how to feel about the subtle kindness in her eyes, the warmth she tries to share with you—You didn’t come here to make friends.

Coughing politely, you return to face her, business as distinct as ever in your voice. “I’d like to see where the Blighters are most present in this area. You’ve said their influence remains in only a few more of their operations scattering around. Perhaps I could lend a hand, speed things up for you.”

Evie nods, seemingly pleased and appreciative. “Of course, but only if you’re up for some field work.” She jokes, then gives you a small pat on the back before leaping out of the train.

You stare towards where she stood just seconds before. Determined that your book and pen are tucked safely into your satchel, you pull your hood up, before joining her as well.

***

The streets are buzzing with lively activities, with lively people going about their routine under the pleasant warmth and brightness of the sun.

Evie walks beside you as she guides you to the nearest territory teeming with Blighter activity. She even points out various things during your rather peaceful walk there, having wanting to lay low just until you come close enough before you two would move to the rooftops.

“Those kids over there, see? Feel free to ask them for information or any materials if you ever require any,” she gestures towards a group of street children, with cheap clothes covered in dirt and grime. They wave at her amicably as you pass them.

Evie reassures you that they’re good at what they do, and that their work, albeit slightly questionable and rather dirty, being thieves and all, are more than well-compensated. And yet, you can’t help drop your gaze towards the ground.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” She asks in concern, noticing the heaviness in your gaze. You take only a second to clear your head, before pushing on.

“Nothing,” you pretend to not see her still worried expression. “Are we close, Miss Frye?”

Evie doesn’t answer right away, but at your now cold mask, she reclines. “Quite. We’re heading to a smuggling base of theirs, as you remember?”

You nod, and she continues. “Good. Our plan of action is to steal their cargo for our own. You’ll be the distraction, give me enough time to take reign of their carriage.”

“A carriage?”

“Yes. A red carriage, with an insignia on it.”

Dread washes over you as you point towards the road. “…Like that one? The one Mr. Frye is driving?”

“What?”

Both of you barely have any time to process the situation, not when the carriage, as you’ve clearly noted, controlled by Jacob comes fast towards your way, nearly barreling over you two. You manage to move back from the road along with Evie within the shortest breadth of time.

With a sharp intake of breath, you turn-

“Miss Frye-”

“Jacob, you absolute moron!” You don’t dare to interrupt as Evie screams in anger. She intends to chase after him, but you pull her back right as several other carriages blur right past you two. Gunshots tear through the air, and so do the terrified screams of the civilians around you.

“Miss Frye, your brother is being chased by the Blighters it seems.”

“Should that even surprise me?” She sneers. “Looks like there’s more on his tracks. That idiot!” She yanks her hood up, then faces you with urgency. “I’ll handle the ones coming, can you try stopping him from getting himself killed?”

“If I must.”

You two part ways, making swift time in heading to your respective targets; Evie to the enemies intending to join the chase, and you to Jacob, who in fact, greets you almost heartily as you drop down from above and onto the driver’s seat right next to him.

“Why, nice to see you drop by, (Y/N),” he laughs, but stops shortly when a bullet whizzes just past his ear. “Oops.”

You try to shove him back. “I’ll drive.”

“Let’s not, hmm?” He snatches back the reins you’ve taken from his hands. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you go over and say hi to our friends there?”

You suppress the irritated groan that almost escapes your lips. “Very well. I trust your safe driving won’t throw me off, Mr. Frye.”

“I would never!” He feigns offence, but breaks into a wide grin right after. Although as you climb onto the back of the carriage where the cargo is, you see the playful glint in his eyes fade away, only to be replaced by a strong, focused one.

“Steady on, girl,” You hear him say, right before the carriage builds up more speed than it already is in.

As you take stance, you meet directly with two Blighters reining the carriage catching up to your own—They crumble before one could even brandish his gun from his coat, falling to impeccably quick, accurate shots of your own, right through their heads.

“Beautiful, (Y/N)!”

“Eyes on the road, sir!”

He whistles. ”Someone’s in a bad mood.”

You take down another driver turning from the corner, a throwing knife into his torso for the upper hand, and a bullet in between his eyes for the kill.

“Heads up, (Y/N)! A pest coming on your left!”

Right as Jacob warns you, you don’t hesitate before you leap and lunge right onto the carriage intending to ambush you from the blind corner. The woman in the red Templar jacket gurgles blood when you sink your hidden blade into her throat.

A gunshot resounds in the air from the road you’ve strayed. You whirl around from your kill to see Jacob’s carriage losing momentum, drifting to the side and struggling to return to the course. You take over the enemy carriage under you to rejoin your brother in arms, hardly caring for the destruction of property you’re causing.

“Frye!” As you reach close to his side, you see him clutching onto his bloody arm.

“I’m fine!” He cries through gritted teeth, “Just let me get these bastards off me!”

There are still two more wheels hot on his trail, more than persistent in catching him. You’re reaching a bridge, vehicles somewhat scarce now out off all times, and both of you are wide out in the open for the Blighters to take more than a few easy shots.

You need to formulate a plan, get close enough and rid yourselves from these stubborn red men already. You need to protect Jacob, but-

“Frye, watch out!”

You barely get to finish when one of the brutes shoots one of the back wheels of Jacob’s carriage. It spirals out of control, and worse, the enemy carriage rams right into him.

“Woah-!!!” Jacob screams as he is thrown off, not from just the carriage, but the bridge as well.

“Frye!”

Your body moves on its own, and it jumps across far to the edge of the bridge. With all your might, you dig hard into the concrete railings to hang onto, your other hand managing to grab Jacob’s just in time his fingers were about to slip away.

“…Nice catch, (Y/N),” he laughs in pain through a hiss, grunting in effort then.

“Your compliment is noted,” you let out a groan on your own, his weight threatening to pull both of you down—down, down onto the small ferry far beneath you two.

…You would rather not fall down in such a way, not if you could help it. The excruciating pain wouldn’t be worth it.

You’re struggling to help him climb back up the bridge, but then he cries-

“Duck!”

You obey immediately.

Where your head was hanging, a knife shoots through and right into the head of a Blighter that must have approached to finish you off.

You’re left agape for a moment, before turning to look down to Jacob. He offers a proud grin and a chuckle in return.

“(Y/N)!” A voice calls, growing closer.

“Evie?” Jacob looks past you and beams at the sight of Evie standing at the edge just above your dangling mess. “Ah, if it’s not my beloved sister! Say, could you kindly help us get off this bridge already?”

Evie scowls. “I could, but I won’t do it so kindly.”

“Great! I’m more surprised you’re not already kicking me off, to be quite honest.” He simpers as he pulls himself up with Evie’s help. Your muscles strain as he climbs over and past you to safety.

“I would have if you wouldn’t drag (Y/N) down with you,” Evie says, then to you, and much softer, “Come on, (Y/N). I have you.”

“Thank you, Miss Frye,” you accept her help, being pulled up next almost effortlessly by the older twin’s strength. When you’ve regained safer, steadier balance on ground, you feel her hand squeezing onto your arm in earnest.

“Please, Evie will do,” she smiles. Your eyes widen under your hood, but you rectify such immediately by looking down.

“…If you say so.”

“Oh, shy, aren’t you? Didn’t quite expect that,” You hear Jacob coo, and you snap towards him in retaliation. He waits for your refute with a big smile, only to exclaim in pain when Evie punches him right in his injured arm.

“What the hell-!”

“You don’t get to joke around, Jacob,” Evie scorns. “You are aware of how’d you be dead by now if it wasn’t for us?”

“I don’t recall you jumping down from the sky like (Y/N) did,” he glances towards you, amusement glinting in his narrowed eyes. You can’t seem to wrap your head around on what his thoughts might be, but he seems to be as if… observing you, wondering.

You hurry to break his gaze, speaking up. “What of the cargo? Did we succeed?”

Evie nods. “Yes, excellently so. I had the Rooks pick it up, the Blighters remaining in the site have stormed, they’re going around rounding them up as we speak.”

“That’s my Rooks,” Jacob lilts. You shake your head.

“We shouldn’t stay here very long then. Mr. Frye is hurt.”

“As what he deserves until he thanks us,” Evie taunts her fist at him, and Jacob shields his arm in case of another incoming punch.

“I had it under control,” he drawls, but Evie isn’t satisfied. She folds her arms almost intimidatingly, and Jacob lets out a loud groan.

“…Fine. Thank you, sister. And you,” he pauses at you, then splits into a suspicious grin.

“Our very own nanny,” he finally snorts. You refrain from correcting him, resigning to accept his gratitude as what it is.

“Your welcome,” you nod. Then, “Good work, Mr. Frye.”

At your words, he stops just to look, only for a brief moment, before smiling slightly and walking away.

You watch the Frye twins from behind as they make no haste in walking back towards the nearest train station. You hear them bantering, laughing at some point, before continuing to vehemently banter again.

With silence, you pull out your book and your gold pen, remembering to jot down important keys and notes for your report later on.

Reckless, you write quickly under the headline ‘JACOB FRYE’, pen scratching the page.

…But more than capable. Bursting with potential. Equal to his sister. Simple matter of needing more finesse.

A look-over of your rough notes, you nod in satisfaction—Just in time when Jacob and Evie have begun calling for you.

“(Y/N), come on!”

“Hurry up, nanny!”

“…Coming,” you respond. Burying your belongings back onto your person, you hide the smile on your lips as you run to join the twins.

——

Long chapter this time, thanks so much for reading! 💕

#jacob frye x reader #jacob frye #assassin's creed #assassins creed #assassins creed syndicate #evie frye

38 notes · View notes

malecsecretsanta · 5 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, @ilovealeclightwood!

I hope this is fluffy enough with everything you wanted and that you love it! Comments and Kudos = cookies :D

Read on AO3

*****

All I thought I'd ever need

For as long as Magnus could remember having his cat-eyes, he could remember throwing Christmas parties. Like there had been an inkling deep inside of him about the importance of finding an excuse to bring together everyone that he loved, and even those that he didn’t, into one room.

In the beginning, though it hadn’t been necessarily just for Christmas. More a case of any excuse for a party and he was there, sometimes as just another person in the crowd getting ridiculously drunk to the point that his glamour would disappear and the crowd around him would withdraw. Which was what had led him to stop hanging around mundane parties so much and finding Downworlder ones instead.

The Downworlder ones were infamous; no matter what part of the world you were in, whether it was the Night Children, Children of the Moon, the Fair Folk or Lilith’s Children they all seemed to have their own definition of a great time.

The Night children were all about blood, more often than not from a living source which ended up being an encatoed mundane on a table stripped bare, being devoured by anyone and everyone with fangs; with encatos often thrown around to get the person they wanted for the night into their bed. One of those nights was definitely how he found himself in Camille’s bed and presence before he even really knew her.

Children of the moon were more about finding a space to be free in their true form, admittedly those were a little dull if you weren’t actually a werewolf yourself, but they were very physically affectionate and he had often found himself in the middle of a dog pile of sleepy werewolves steadily getting drunk or high while they shifted back.

The Seelie parties had been all about being one with nature, the Seelie Queen had always encouraged nudity of her guests which had often resulted in quite a few enthusiastic orgies, only a couple of which Magnus had ever participated in admittedly. But they were definitely something that he remembered on his loneliest of nights. The only downside with the Seelie parties was being unable to eat or drink anything, as their parties were always held in the Seelie court and it was always wise to be careful about that kind of thing. You never knew if someone was planning something to try and entrap you for some reason.

The Warlock parties, well the few he had been to when younger anyway, had been filled with decadence. It was more about showing your status and your material worth than enjoying yourself, or at least that was something Lorenzo had said a time or two when he was particularly wasted, especially at Woodstock one particular year. And admittedly there was some truth to that. They were always held in the homes or properties of High Warlocks, who had decades, sometimes centuries, of knowledge and wealth they wanted to parade to those who cared and even to those who didn’t. The drinks were always over the top with richness, the food equally so and left you feeling that if you didn’t know the host you were intruding on something private.

The only difference with the Warlock parties unlike the other downworlder parties was, there was no unspoken rule that other members of the Downworlders couldn’t come too. So, it was often relatively common to find a vampire talking to a Seelie or a werewolf with a warlock, though admittedly the romantic liaisons were never seen or expected to be a permanent thing.

But as the years passed, Magnus had begun to get tired of the pompous excuses to show off and had started to hold his own. Admittedly he wasn’t a High Warlock at the time, was living with Ragnor who was one of the most antisocial creatures known to mankind and trying to stop a newly turned Raphael from taking a trip in the daylight, but it was all that which had been the catalyst for the party. Well, that and Catarina had been getting tetchy and when she got tetchy you knew she was about to do something stupid if you didn’t intervene.

They’d ended up at one of Camille’s houses, the country of which he couldn’t even recall, with friends of friends of friends seven times removed all getting drunk or high or grabbing a crowd to fuck in a room. It wasn’t even the kind of party he had been wanting at the time, all he’d been wanting was the excuse to get his friends out the house for a drink but it had swiftly become a legacy which he had gladly upheld as relationships and friendships came and went.

It only started to be a Christmas tradition around the turn of the twentieth century, just after his final break up with Camille who’d smashed his heart to pieces at her feet when she laughed at his marriage proposal. He’d been moping for days in Raphael’s spare room in London, his friends gradually getting worried about him though admittedly they had each shown it in different ways. In the end, Raphael had thrown an outfit at him, Catarina had announced they were going to countdown to the New Year in style for once and Ragnor had opened the curtains obnoxiously making complaints under his breath about the state of the room.

He hadn’t exactly been in the mood but had given in when Raphael threated to throw out his favourite pair of shoes if he didn’t come. They had started at some pub not far from where they were staying and ended up drinking on Tower bridge, overlooking the Thames as Big Ben chimed in the new year. All four of them drunkenly singing Auld Lang Sin with the masses and celebrating the beginning of a new century.

It easily became a tradition, no matter what part of the world they were in, they would always have a party of some kind between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. The New Years Eve parties becoming less and less as they became more of a fad, where you could go out into the streets get drunk and chime in the new year. It slowly narrowed down to Christmas though when his friends started to spread out more, and they needed more excuses to come together and catch up. If you were immortal and as you got older birthdays weren’t so much an excuse to celebrate anymore, more a nuisance as you tried to remember what year you were on and mourn over the friends that were no longer around because of the circle’s uprising.

Every year he’d announce a party to the Downworlder community once he became High Warlock of Brooklyn, always maintaining it was never to show off but more to bring everyone together in a safe space away from the threat of the Circle. In the first few years as High Warlock of Brooklyn, he’d held it in his home but as things got stolen and broken when the alcohol took its toll he finally threw in the towel and brought a night club, deciding it was best for those wanting a safe place to party under protection of the High Warlock as well as for the safety of his prized possessions.

Pandemonium had been holding Christmas parties ever since then, the music and fashion often changing with the times from disco to pop to techno to rave and everything in between. The alcohol was always in abundance and the ambience filled with a combination of both safety and pleasure. But Magnus must admit it got exhausting and had taken on staff to overlook the parties now as his friends all finally settled in places where he knew he could find them if he needed them.

With Catarina and Raphael both in New York, Ragnor somewhere between Idris and his beloved country home in the UK and Tessa confining herself to the spiral labyrinth after the death of her beloved Will and loss of Jem, he instead would visit them if and when he had the time.

So yes, technically he had hosted several Christmas parties over the years, but that didn’t mean he always attended them unless he thought it was for the best when Circle members began their weekly terrorising the Downworlder jaunt. So when the prospect of Christmas came around in his first year with Alec, the last thing that he was prepared to was continue on with the same old same old.

For one thing he knew that Alec absolutely detested parties. His beautiful yet introverted boyfriend couldn’t stand being surrounded by crowds of people he didn’t know or even care to know dancing up against him to loud music that drowned out any type of conversation for extended periods of time.

For another, though he had seen his boyfriend drink, he had never seen him completely drunk off his face, which some including Isabelle would probably say was a good enough excuse in itself to hold a party but Magnus adored his boyfriend enough that he would willingly refrain.

And finally, he never seemed to enjoy parties as well when he had to worry about all the planning leading up to it, especially when he was in a serious relationship with someone that wasn’t as social as himself. No matter how many times he’d been in relationships with introverts he couldn’t relax when they couldn’t.

So he was surprised when after one of their rare dates, that Alec brought it up.

“So, I’ve heard that Pandemonium’s Christmas party is an experience in itself, are you planning anything special this year?” Alec asked, brushing his thumb against one of Magnus’ rings as they walked back to Magnus’ after a meal at one of the authentic New York restaurants in the city.

“Why, darling who told you that?” Magnus asked, looking at his boyfriend who shrugged as they stopped to cross the street.

“Izzy. She always said that the Pandemonium Christmas party was the party of the year and made the effort to go every year. She tried to drag me along a few times but every time she’d criticise my closet so I’d just say no.” Alec said, pushing his free hand into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“You mean I could have seen you looking sinfully hot grinding up against a crowd of leather-clad men before? Well, I must say I feel a little bit deprived.” Magnus pouted, causing Alec to roll his eyes and laugh.

“You know how I feel about parties…and clubs…and strange men feeling me up,” Alec said pointedly, leading Magnus across the street once the crossing signal changed.

“I know…and honestly I don’t know how I’d feel about that anyway, now that I actually know you,” Magnus said, pecking a kiss to Alec’s knuckles when they reached the other side of the road and continued walking earning a smile from the taller.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Magnus. Anything special planned this year?” Alec asked, watching as Magnus’ gaze moved to his feet.

“Actually, I was thinking of calling the parties quits this year. I mean, I don’t particularly enjoy them as much as I used to, going to Pandemonium always feels like such a chore now and honestly I’d prefer to spend the night with you anyway.” Magnus said, biting his lip causing Alec to frown.

“Really? I mean I was thinking of coming to at least try and enjoy it for once but if you were thinking of giving them up altogether…” Alec said, Magnus, offering him a grateful smile.

“I know you would darling and I love you for it. But you’d be miserable, I’d be miserable and tired after having to organise everything and by the time the night came to an end, I would have barely seen you. It just doesn’t seem worth the hassle.” Magnus said, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“I wouldn’t be miserable, because you’d be there. But isn’t the party supposed to be for the Downworlders to enjoy themselves safely? I mean the last thing you should do is give it up for that reason right?“ Alec said.

“I guess when you put it like that I can just hand the event arrangements to the events team and it would definitely be a load off my shoulders.” Magnus smiled, resting his head against his boyfriend’s bicep.

“Well that’s good, I don’t want the Downworlder population blaming me for depriving them of the best night of the year. Although….” Alec bit his lip, as if an idea seemed to come to him.

“What is it?” Magnus asked.

“Well, I was going to ask how you’d feel about arranging a party for us? I know you’re probably busy and the last time ended in disaster but…” Alec rambled uneasily causing Magnus to offer him a reassuring smile.

“Angel, how were you to know a warlock would infiltrate it as a cat and cause all kinds of trouble? Besides if that’s what you want, I would be more than happy to do that even if it is slightly short notice. You have a guest list in mind?” Magnus asked as they got closer to his apartment building.

“I can get Izzy to help you with the stuff on our end if that’s ok? I’ve got meetings with Clave envoys and reports to wade through coming out of my ears for the next few weeks leading up to Christmas.” Alec asked, as the doors to the building opened.

“That’s absolutely perfect. Now let’s have a nightcap and maybe you can show me some of the moves you would have used if you’d been persuaded to my party in the past hm?” Magnus grinned with a wink as he led Alec into the building towards the lift.

As it would come to pass, it was probably for the best that Magnus had Isabelle to help him as he was sure that Alec wouldn’t have any idea about the ins and outs involved in organising a party. He loved his boyfriend, without a doubt, but when it came to anything outside of Shadowhunting and his hobbies he seemed to be slightly obtuse. Also, it did mean he could try to brainstorm Christmas gifts for Alec with one of the two people who knew him best. Even if from the sounds of it Isabelle hated Alec with all the suggestions she was coming up with.

“No Isabelle I’m not going to buy lingerie for your brother! I don’t even know where you’ve got the idea from that he would even be ok with that!?” Magnus said, from behind his latte as the two sat in his loft taking a break from party planning.

“Magnus, if you asked him to get on his knees and get you off in public, I’m betting he’d probably do it in a heartbeat no questions asked. But just…. forget that. How about aftershave or something you can make him yourself?” Isabelle asked from where she was lounging back on his other couch gaze rested on her phone.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel like I know him well enough to buy something like that for him and know he’d like it. Besides, I feel like I need to get him something not so out there. We’ve not even been together a year yet and I still don’t know everything about him.” Magnus sighed, leaning back into his couch and staring into the depths of his coffee while the pen he had been previously holding was now spinning around on the tip.

“Ok, how about a book? Like a special edition of something really rare. I know he doesn’t seem like it but Alec is a big book worm when he gets the chance. I’m sure that would be perfect for him. But like I keep saying Magnus, as long as it’s you that get it for him, he's going to love it no matter what.” Isabelle said, casting him a look over her phone.

“I suppose, I mean I do have one or two in my own collection he might possibly like if he’s into classics,” Magnus asked, watching Isabelle smile at him reassuringly.

“He’s into anything and everything fiction Magnus. You’re worrying about this way too much.” Isabelle said, finally setting her phone down after sending one last text and watching Magnus chew his lip as he reheated his lukewarm latte with his magic.

“It’s our first Christmas together Isabelle. I just want it to be special for him since it’s his first one with someone and my first one with someone who sees me and not my eyes. Which sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” Magnus sighed.

“No, it doesn’t. It’s kind of sweet that you care so much. But just trust me, no matter what you get him and no matter how this party turns out I swear it will be special for him because you’re there together.” Isabelle reassured him, getting up to grab the notepad and pen to add some more ideas to the party planning. “Though speaking of the party, I think I might know Alec’s weakness for a certain Alcohol, so we’ve got to get some of that in.”

Alec had thought that finding a present for Magnus would not be as hard as it was turning out to be and unfortunately with Izzy helping Magnus with the party and Jace pretty much useless when it came to presents that didn’t involve beer, himself or some kind of weapon he had turned to someone unexpected for help.

“Fray would you hold up a minute! It’s not like the shop is going to close!” he called, as he saw Clary’s redhead disappear through the crowd down an alleyway and just managed to follow her before he lost sight of her completely.

Normally he and Clary didn’t interact much, barely spoke unless it involved briefings, performance reviews or one on one training which they did from time to time as Jace couldn’t be trusted to keep his mind on the task at hand. But she was also as close to Magnus as Isabelle was, and they seemed to share a close bond that he had hoped to tap into so he could get the perfect present. But unfortunately, they had been from one side of the city to another, looking in occult shops for rare artefacts which might mean something to the warlock or expensive jewellers for bracelets and earrings. But nothing seemed to be right and from how frustrated Clary was getting the redhead seemed to steadily be running out of ideas leaving him up shit’s creek if these last couple of shops came up with nothing.

He finally managed to catch up with the redhead outside an occult shop that had a large window display with signs quoting Latin and leather-bound books being used as a stand for a wide display of plants artfully arranged into a wreath with a pentacle created out of branches in the centre. Clary was waiting for him if the way she immediately made for the door when she spotted him was anything to go by, leaving him with no choice but to follow.

The shop seemed to be eerily quiet as they entered with only the odd murmuring from the back and odd tick from a clock, but it seemed to be filled to bursting with all kinds of things that immediately reminded Alec of Magnus. From the rings in the jewellery cabinet to the large selection of leather-bound books in various languages to even the plant holders of different materials dotted around, yet Clary seemed to be fixated on something that had him bypassing everything else.

“Clary, what are we even looking for?” Alec asked once they were a few rows away from the presently unmanned counter at the front.

“I remember Magnus mentioning something about a certain talisman he was looking for which I thought would be perfect for you to give him…. but….” Clary stopped mid-step and turned her attention to an antique-looking photo frame currently displaying a default picture in the centre. It seemed like something Magnus would like, but it would look incomplete without a picture of the two of them and Alec wasn’t sure he’d be able to come up with a good enough excuse for a picture before Christmas.

“Snap out of it Fray, what were you saying?!” Alec asked as he watched Clary tear her gaze from the photo frame as though filing it away for an alternative if they didn’t find what she was looking for.

“Right sorry. So, the talisman would be perfect for you to give him but currently, it’s seeming like a mission to find it so we might have to start looking for alternatives….” Again, Clary trailed off, but this time she led Alec towards what she was looking at inside a cabinet in the corner.

It looked like a large yin and yang symbol pendant created from two different types of stone bordered by silver with a long silver chain sat in a red velvet box and yet everything about it when Alec looked at it seemed to make sense. Magnus was his opposite and his equal at the same time and what better way to show than by giving him a symbol of that so beautifully decorated.

“It’s perfect.” Alec murmured, causing Clary to look from the necklace to him and nod with a smile.

“Yeah, it is. That is definitely Magnus without a shadow of a doubt. I’m sure he’ll love it. You should go to the counter to get that; I’m going to grab my present for him while you’re busy.” The redhead said, before disappearing back in the direction of the photo frame.

Alec took note of what the necklace was next to in the cabinet so he could find it again before retracing his steps back towards the counter. Again, he heard murmuring from the back, but this time made sure to clear his throat loud enough to be heard and soon someone appeared from the back.

It looked to be a young teenage boy with longish red hair with a fringe that just about covered one eye, a piercing on the left side of his bottom lip, dressed in a shirt of some band Alec didn’t know and a pair of black jeans skinner than Alec’s held up with a studded belt. He didn’t exactly look old enough to own the place so the owner must have told him to watch the place while they were busy.

“Hi, I’m interested in a necklace in a cabinet and was wondering if I’d be able to see it,” Alec asked, watching the boy sigh but nod, grab a set of keys and come from behind the counter.

“There’s a lot of cabinets so you’ll have to show me which one.” The boy murmured, toying with the long-chain holding a collection of keys as he followed Alec’s lead.

Alec immediately pointed out which piece he wanted, and watched the boy open the cabinet, carefully manoeuvre his hand over the other pieces so he didn’t disturb the display and grab the right box. The boy then closed the cabinet and led Alec back to the counter where Clary was stood waiting, holding the photo frame and a couple of bracelets made up of semi-precious stones.

Alec managed to check the necklace over before repeating that he wanted it as though the boy was sure he wouldn’t and pulled out of his wallet. The boy took his time, rambling about the stones the pendant was made of and putting the box back in its original wrappings before putting it in a gift bag. It reminded Alec of something else he’d have to pick up on the way home, as he paid without comment while Clary looked over the contents of the counter in case there was anything else, she wanted.

Once Alec was done, he left the shop with the sound of Clary and the boy making small talk among themselves, feeling relieved that his Christmas shopping was over. He had go-to presents when it came to Izzy, Jace and Max and even the odd present up his sleeve for his Mom that he brought months in advance to make sure it got to New York from Idris with plenty of time. But he had a feeling when it came to Magnus there would never be a go-to, to a collection of things he knew the other liked which he would steadily have to make his way through a year at a time.

Finally, Clary appeared, looking happy with herself and also relieved that they had finally managed to accomplish their goal before throwing in the towel.

“You want to get a coffee on the way back to the Institute, I’m tired after all that walking.” Clary smiled, as she pushed her purse back in her bag and led the way back down the alleyway.

“I suppose one couldn’t hurt though yours is on me. Thanks for this Fray.” Alec said, watching Clary shrug it off as nothing.

“No problem, I always love helping the people I know buying things for the ones they love. Hopefully, you’ll be able to buy something for him yourself next year.” Clary grinned nudging him with her bag as they reached the end of the alleyway back on to the main street.

“I definitely hope so, now let’s get you that coffee,” Alec said rolling his eyes with a small smile as he led her towards the nearest café despite her objections.

Between trying to finalise the remaining details of the party and checking in with his team at Pandemonium to make sure everything was ready at their end, it wasn’t until a couple of days before Christmas that Magnus finally got around to trying to decide which book to give to Alec. It was quite a task not just because of the number of books that he owned, of which there were many from fiction of about every type of genre known to mankind to every spellbook he owned and everything in between.

Admittedly his collection of first editions was limited, but only because Ragnor had been the one to give him his first and he had never actively looked to collect them. Some of them had been handed to him by the actual author who he was a friend or lover of at the time, a couple of which had been signed and a few which had deviated endings which made them probably worth millions in the current market. But when it came to deciding which to give Alec, he was torn.

Though Isabelle had said Alec loved all kinds of books that could easily be a claim that didn’t prove to be true and the last thing he wanted to do was give the other something he didn’t really like. Especially when the first thing that came to mind was an expensive leather-bound first edition of the entire Don Juan Poem which had been left behind by George on one of their nights together, few as they had been. George had never asked about its whereabouts and after reading the first couple of cantos at the time, because it really was ridiculously long, Magnus had held on to it feeling like it might become popular in later years and he could sell it then. But at the same time giving his current boyfriend a book written by a former lover might not be the best of ideas in the world when it would only serve to remind the other of all the other people he’d shared his bed with over the years.

It was a dilemma that saw him sitting at his desk in his study looking through the hundred or so prized books and trying to decide on the best one when Isabelle came to check in on the progress of the remaining party planning in case he needed her to run an errand.

“I thought you said you had a book or two that you thought Alec would like not an entire library.” Isabelle’s voice came from the doorway as he let his gaze move over one of the Cantos of Don Juan that really spoke to him in a way, he was sure Alec would understand. Magnus set a bookmark on the page and offered the younger Lightwood a smile as she came into the room, looking at the pile of books in wonder.

“I did, but I’m still up in the air about what he likes and would like best. The one that seems to speak to me the most I’m not sure I can give him…. or at least half of these anyway.” Magnus said closing Don Juan carefully as Isabelle gave him a look like she knew what he was saying.

“Because you slept with the Author or….?” She asked bluntly, sitting in the chair opposite him as Magnus rearranged the piles of books, sorted according to the genre, so he didn’t have to meet her gaze.

“Exactly. The last thing I want is to bring his attention to the fact that I have been with people long before he was even born, let alone of the most well-known poets of the Romantic movement. Which equally rules out these too.” Magnus sighed, gesturing to the pile now sat beside him holding his copies of Frankenstein, collection of William Wordsworth’s poems and a particularly elaborate copy of The Great Gatsby.

“Wow, yeah I can see what you mean,” Isabelle said, watching Magnus look over those that remained.

“Can you at least tell me some things he’s read so I don’t give him something ridiculous that he isn’t interested in?” Magnus asked, looking pleadingly at Isabelle who rolled her eyes as she got up to look over the titles in the warlock’s possession.

“He read a fair bit of Shakespeare growing up, though it was rare that he read anything by mundane authors it was always set clave allocated reading. But I suppose Mom did try and twist his arm by giving his different books as we grew up, the odd bit of Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck and Kurt Vonnegut. But like I say he doesn’t have just one genre or author he sticks to but I do know that poetry isn’t exactly his kind of thing which definitely rules most of those out anyway.”

“Well, that does rule out a couple more. How about this one?” Magnus asked, picking up a slightly duller but undoubtedly well-kept copy with the title ‘1984’ engraved on the spine and coloured with burgundy ink.

“Well it’ll intrigue him enough to read it I’m sure of that much.” Isabelle nodded, watching Magnus set the book down and return the rest of the piles on his desk back into their allocated bookcase with a swish of his hand.

“Well, at least that’s one thing I’ve finally sorted that I can wrap later.” Magus sighed with relief as he pushed himself to his feet and leaving the study with Isabelle on his heels.

“That was what I came for, I just wanted to check and see if there was anything you needed me to do in the run-up to the party? Any food to pick up or last-minute decorating to do?” Isabelle asked as Magnus sank down on the couch.

“Darling, you’d be surprised how much help magic is when you are trying to organise a party so I do have most of it covered. Alec is still going to come right?” Magnus asked as Isabelle sat down beside him with her gaze rested on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

It was the biggest one Magnus had been able to find, covered from top to bottom in antique ornaments he’d collected over the decades on his travels around the world with strings of carefully selected tinsel and lights wove between them to help break up the continents and eras. Beneath it was a large selection of presents he’d brought not just for Catarina, Madzie and Raphael, who he had insisted on inviting but also for the shadowhunters in his life as well as a few tokens for the other Downworlder leaders that had been invited. Needless to say, it looked like he had spent more than he had done but it was worth every penny and he knew Isabelle especially would love her presents.

But the reason he wasn’t sure if Alec was going to come was that he had been run off his feet the past few weeks with an audit that had been sprung on him by the Clave, leaving him at the beck and call of the envoy that was in charge. It had meant that he and Alec rarely got to see the other, and Isabelle was always telling him how stressed her brother was getting when he still had reports that needed finishing before they could even leave the Institute to celebrate. Though that hadn’t stopped his boyfriend from insisting that those with family in Idris should go and visit them, leaving them on a skeleton staff. It was a good thing a few family members of some staff had decided to come to New York instead leaving them with temporary replacements.

“Of course he’ll come. Even if I have to redress him myself and drag him out the Institute leaving Jace to pick up the slack, he will be there.” Isabelle reassured him offering him a smile when he conjured her a coffee and offered it to her.

“I don’t think I would wish Jace’s attempts at taking over on anyone normally, but I would gladly take it if it meant Alec was here,” Magnus said, as he conjured himself a coffee and bit his lip.

“And he will be. I should probably get back to the Institute then if you don’t need me but if you think of anything else don’t hesitate to text me yeah?” Isabelle asked, getting to her feet with her coffee in hand.

“As I say, I’m sure I’ve got everything more than sorted but I will keep it in mind. Thank you, darling.” Magnus smiled, pecking a kiss to her cheek and creating a portal for her with his free hand.

“No worries, I’ll see you later Magnus.” Isabelle’s voice called back to him as she left through the portal leaving Magnus to double-check everything just to be on the safe side now his present for Alec was sorted.

Christmas Eve came quicker than Alec had been expecting, and so did Magnus’ party that night, meaning he was trying desperately to finish all the work he needed to do. His mother had tried to talk him into just giving them to Raj to do, but he didn’t trust the other enough that he wouldn’t contact one of his superiors about the move. Adding to that, the fact that Max Whispermark, the envoy overseeing the audit, was still sticking around to double-check everything which was making Alec nervous.

But as Christmas eve itself passed he knew he was going to be cutting it fine to get to Magnus’ for the party before the guests arrived, and it seemed to be all the more confirmed when his parabatai and sister both walked into his office while he was trying to sign off and fire message the last few piles of reports to their correct recipient.

“Alec, what are you still doing here? I thought you were supposed to be getting to Magnus’ before the guests started arriving?” Isabelle asked, causing Alec to cast her a glare out the corner of his eye as he tried to finish up signing the reports through his writer’s cramp which was killing him.

“That was the plan, but Whispermark decided to collar me for a whole hour with his report of our audit putting me back a few hours. You guys should go on ahead and tell Magnus I’ll be there soon.” Alec said, setting his pen down and reaching for his stele only for Jace to grab it and twirl it between his fingers.

“Are they all signed?” Jace asked as Isabelle looked ready to blow a gasket.

“Yeah but I still need to send them to….” Alec trailed off when his siblings exchanged glances.

“Which I can do. Give me names and I’ll send them so you can get ready for the party.” Jace said handing Alec’s stele over to Isabelle.

“But it would take less time if I just do it myself,” Alec argued though sighed at the looks he got in response, knowing he was beaten as he scribbled the right names in the written order on a piece of paper and set it on top of the last few bundles.

“Great, then it’s settled, Jace will finish off, and I’ll help you get ready for the party,” Isabelle said, grabbing Alec by the wrist and pulling him out his chair in the direction of the door before Alec could even say a word to Jace. But from the feeling, he got through their bond, part amusement and part reassurance he knew his brother understood how thankful he was.

Isabelle set him on his bed once they reached his room and began to sort methodically through his closet, murmuring to herself under her breath as she threw together what she thought was the right outfit. Alec usually would have put up a fight, but whenever it came to a date or party as the case may be with Magnus he knew he needed to make the effort so he just dealt with it because there was still that side inside him that wasn’t confident enough and continued to second guess why the warlock was with him in the first place.

“Right so, slate grey shirt, black less battered leather jacket, your best jeans and some sneakers and you’re set.” Isabelle quipped, throwing the items onto Alec’s unmade bed as he began to undress with his back to his sister.

He managed to change quickly and after Isabelle finished fidgeting with his hair and he had grabbed Magnus’ present from under his bed, he let Isabelle lead the way out the Institute towards the portal waiting for them which he had a feeling Isabelle had texted his boyfriend for while he was dressing.

When they reached loft Alec could tell Magnus had gone all out in every meaning of the word. From the tree to the decorations dotted around from the bookshelves to the side tables and bar which was crowded with people waiting for drinks to the table covered in food platters and all. Soft music was murmuring in the background but just loud enough for him to recognise the usual Christmas carols that he heard from time to time. All in all, it was a down-played party from what he had been expecting with all Isabelle’s talk of the Pandemonium parties but he had to admit it didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin and hide so that was something.

“Alexander there you are. I was beginning to worry when Isabelle told me you weren’t on your way yet.” Magnus’ voice caught his attention, leaving him turning towards the sound and only just managing to stop his eyes from widening at the sight of his boyfriend.

He was dressed in a burgundy button-up with the buttons done to his chest with necklaces visible from the light and tighter than tight jeans practically painted on to his legs that made Alec’s mouth go dry. His hair was an artfully created chaos that seemed to match perfectly with the usual makeup around his eyes and in the spirit of Christmas Magnus’ nails were painted red which stood out with every movement his hands made. He was perfect just like always and it was only then that the pain in Alec’s chest seemed to remind him of how long it had been since he had last seen his boyfriend and how much he had missed him.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, the envoy from the clave was being ridiculously thorough and then wanted to debrief me interrupting all my reports I needed to do. But this looks absolutely amazing Magnus.” Alec smiled, pecking a kiss to Magnus’ cheek and another to his lips even though he desperately wanted to shove him up against a wall and show him how much this all meant to him.

“Well, at least you’re here now.” Magnus smiled, offering Alec a drink seemingly from mid-air and toasting him with a wink before he disappeared into the crowd when his name was called.

“I’m going to go back and double-check that Jace hasn’t set the place on fire. I won’t be long.” Isabelle smiled, leaving Alec to set his present for Magnus under the tree as he took in the atmosphere.

“Alec!” A sweet yet familiar voice calling his name turned Alec around just in time for him to have Madzie jumping into his arms with a bright laugh that had Alec’s smile brightening as he caught her and squeezed her close.

“Hey Madzie, it’s been a while,” Alec said, pecking a kiss to her head as Catarina appeared from the crowd dressed simply in a deep purple dress with her hair up in a bun and Madzie’s signature pink bag over one shoulder. There was a bemused smile on the elder warlock’s face at the sight of the pair hugging, but she just offered Alec a silent nod in the direction she was going in case he needed her before she walked towards the bar.

“Momma kept telling you were busy when I asked to see you,” Madzie sighed as Alec hugged her to his hip and walked towards the open balcony doors.

“Well, unfortunately, she’s right sweetie, I’m always busy, just like Magnus is always busy. But that doesn’t mean we don’t miss you.” Alec said, setting his glass down on the table before setting Madzie down in one of the two patio chairs.

“I missed you too. Where’s Magnus?” Madzie asked as Alec said in the chair beside her.

“Probably checking that everything is perfect sweetie. He’ll be around here somewhere though; we can always go and try to find him if you want?” Alec asked, watching Madzie’s face light up the offer and took Madzie’s hand and his drink back into the apartment to look for his boyfriend.

The loft seemed to be steadily getting fuller a bit at a time, Raphael chatting with Simon and a few members of the Clan in the corner over glasses of blood with the clan leader offering him a nod of acknowledgement before one of his members seemed to pull him back into the conversation. Luke and a couple of pack members were hovering by the tree taking in the different ornaments and Meliorn had only just appeared from the way he was at the bar ordering a drink. His Mom and Max were at the buffet, trying different foods they hadn’t seen before with Clary and a couple of other Shadowhunters that Alec had suggested inviting. But the rest of the inhabitants seemed to have been invited by Magnus, meaning they were either warlocks or meant something to him.

Finally, Alec spotted Magnus in the kitchen side of the bar, checking in with the caterer about the serving of some deserts from the looks of it giving Alec the chance for him and Madzie to catch him before he disappeared.

“I think I’ve spotted him Madzie, let’s go surprise him yeah?” Alec asked Madzie causing a giggle from the little warlock as Alec led her through the crowd.

“….and I want the trifle served before the mince pies but after the Christmas cake. I want people to have the option of trying things other things if they don’t like them.” Magnus said, the caterer nodding in agreement as they told a waiter to refill some now empty plates on the buffet.

“Magnus!” Madzie squealed, bringing a big smile to Magnus’ face as he turned towards her and bent down to pull her into a tight hug when she reached him.

“Hello Sweet Pea, I was wondering when I’d get to see you in the dress, I made your momma buy for you. Give me a twirl I want to make sure it fits.” Magnus grinned, letting go of her and holding her hand above her head as she spun around on one foot in a make-shift pirouette.

“It’s so pretty!” Madzie giggled, as Magnus picked her up and offered her a glass of juice.

“what do you think of the party sweet pea? Has Alec or Momma showed you the buffet?” Magnus asked, catching Alec’s eye as he sipped his drink.

“Not yet but it looks like there’s lots of food,” Madzie said excitedly, as Magnus led the way towards the buffet, with Alec not far behind him.

The three of them joined the queue and Alec found himself watching Magnus and Madzie interacting more than paying attention to the food on offer. He did put a few things on his plate, but his heart seemed to melt every time Magnus made a face for Madzie’s benefit when he tasted something sour or making content noises when it was something he liked. How Magnus would let Madzie try things and decided if she liked it or not before putting it on her plate. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at how lucky he was.

Magnus handed Madzie over to Catarina once they had filled their plates from the buffet, his old friend sitting at a table with Tessa and a few other old friends near the bar. Alec had taken both their plates to the balcony once Magnus had assured him he’d be there after making sure Madzie got back to Catarina.

“You manage to find something new to try honey?” Catarina asked Madzie once she was settled in a seat beside her with her plate and a drink, though the younger seemed preoccupied with the couple of handfuls of honey roasted peanuts Magnus had put on the plate for her so she turned her attention to Magnus before he could slip away. “You managed to catch your shadowhunter? He was looking a bit lonely when I last saw him.”

“Yes, I was planning on eating with him a little on the balcony, but I have a feeling there’s something you want to tell me,” Magnus said, as Catarina sighed.

“Not tell really, as I’m sure you already know. But that boy is besotted with you in every way possible. You may have only been together less than a year but the way he was looking at you when you were interacting with Madzie before? It was like he saw something he wanted and would do anything to keep. So, whatever you do, don’t let him walk away like you did all the others Mags. He’s the best person in the world for you and you deserve to find that kind of happiness.” Catarina said, watching Magnus over her glass of red wine.

“How many have you had that you’ve already hit your philosophic drunk phase already?” Magnus asked, earning a roll of the eyes from Catarina.

“This is my third and I’m not a light-weight Magnus as you well know. Please just think about what I said and get back to your shadowhunter before he comes looking for you.” Catarina said, with a sigh before she turned back to Madzie who was trying unsuccessfully to cut a big block of cheese in half with her folk.

Magnus took a glance at his friend being maternal and domestic with her adopted daughter and walked towards the balcony, making sure to put a ward up in the doorway so he and Alec could have a bit of peace and quiet from the madness inside.

Alec was sat at the table, his gaze on the view and hand rested on the stem of his barely touched wine glass but from the faraway look in his eyes, he knew the younger’s mind was on him and there was little denying that all Catarina had said was true. And for Magnus, he had to admit it was something he returned whole-heartedly despite how little time they spent together or had been together.

He knew it was jumping the gun thinking of a future, or what could possibly equate to a future between an immortal and a shadowhunter, of living together and sharing all the great experiences that he wanted to witness Alec pursue for the first time. Of trips to foreign places and the firsts that Alec had been depriving himself of for so long because he believed he could never have them. And yet now that was all Magnus wanted to give him, on top of his own heart which he would eagerly cut out and give to Alec if he so much as asked. It was thoughts like these that scared him, after all that happened with Camille, and yet he knew that Alec would never break him the way Camille had.

“Are you enjoying the view Alexander?” he made himself ask before his thoughts found a voice that he knew damned well it was too early to verbalise. Those three words seemed to constantly sit on his tongue when around the younger and yet he knew it was those words which could possibly have Alec running for the hills if sprung on him too soon.

“Huh? Oh yeah, always.” Alec smiled as Magnus sat down opposite him with his own fresh glass of wine, their plates of food ignored for now.

“You tried any of the food yet? I wasn’t completely sure what particular cuisine to stick with so I ended up with a bit of everything.” Magnus said, pulling his plate towards him though his gaze continued to linger on Alec instead of the food.

“Not yet, I was waiting for you, but it does all look good,” Alec said, reaching for his own plate.

The two of them made small talk over their food, sometimes picking at certain things on the other’s food which they themselves hadn’t tried and Magnus refilling their glasses when they went below the halfway point so they didn’t have to disturb their sanctuary by going back inside. But every time the conversation lulled their gazes would meet and it was like a reminder of how lucky they were to have what they had, Once the plates were emptied and Magnus had conjured them a taster plate of the desserts, Magnus’ hand rested on Alec’s free hand as the younger fed him a piece of Christmas cake.

“You know if you keep this up my figure is going to suffer.” Magnus murmured, as Alec tried to feed him another mince pie.

“I don’t think I could ever see the day that that happens. You will always be beautiful to me no matter what.” Alec said, setting the rejected mince pie down and taking a sip of his wine.

“I think you might have had a bit more wine than I originally thought Alec, let’s re-join the party and I’ll give you your gift before you go back to the Institute,” Magnus said, though knew by how Alec shook his head that wasn’t going to happen.

“No, It’s true Magnus. From the moment I set eyes on you all I could think of was how beautiful you are and how lucky I am that you gave me a second look let alone gate crashed the biggest mistake of my life to fight for me.” Alec said, setting his half-finished glass aside and curling his fingers between Magnus’.

“Believe me I would do it all again in a heartbeat.” Magnus smiled, guiding Alec’s hand to his lips and kissing the back softly. He could feel Alec’s eyes burning into him at the gesture and got up to hopefully persuade Alec back into the loft, but when Alec followed instead, he found his lips being consumed by Alec’s with a passion and heat that he had barely felt before.

Something he knew without a doubt would lead to things that there was no denying that he wanted, but at that moment in time with Alec inebriated and them being on a balcony where anyone could see them he knew he would have to put a stop to it.

“Alec…” he panted, pulling back only for the younger’s lips to detour down his neck and suckle at a soft spot on his neck that had Magnus’ legs weakening and his head tilting back as Alec’s body crowded his own against the wall.

Magnus opened his mouth to try again only to feel Alec’s teeth grazing against his soft spot causing a shiver down his spine before Alec’s lips were back on his own and his body was melting at the attention. At the way, Alec seemed so intent on letting him know how much he was grateful for him and would forever want him as long as Magnus wanted him too. As if there was ever any doubt that Magnus would want this beautiful man.

“Alec…. darling….we really need to get you inside and sober you up a little. Not that I don’t love the attention but the last place I want this to progress is on the balcony….” Magnus groaned, hating himself for his self-restraint when he felt Alec’s lips pull away.

“Yeah, yeah right sorry…” Alec murmured hoarsely, pulling away and turning back to the view to pull himself together leaving Magnus leaning against the wall and cursing himself silently as he knew what thoughts must now be going through the other’s head as he approached him.

“Darling, you know how much I want you…and, believe me, I will always always want you. Just, not when you’re drunk, not on a balcony…. unless you ask very nicely and we’re alone in the loft and only when we are both sure this is what we want ok?” Magnus murmured soothingly, lacing his fingers between Alec’s and offering him a smile when their gazes met.

Alec silently nodded, almost as though he was afraid of what, he would do or say if he dared to speak, leaving Magnus to drop the ward to the balcony and lead Alec back inside.

The party was slowly starting to die down, some of the crowd had already left, mostly people Magnus didn’t know very well like members of Raphael’s clan or Luke’s pack and a few of the warlocks that had been milling around. The Lightwoods were sat at a table with drinks though young Max seemed like he was falling asleep on his mother’s shoulder and Catarina was sat on a couch with a sleeping Madzie in her lap.

Magnus led Alec towards the other couch and once he was settled conjured him a glass of water before gathering the presents that he wanted to give out to his guests. Catarina took hers and Madzie’s with a kiss on the cheek and smile before the pair disappeared. Raphael, Luke and Meliorn all accepted theirs and helped to herd out the unwanted guests still lingering before leaving. Only the Lightwoods and Clary remained, leaving Magnus to hand theirs out equally, along with a thank you present to Isabelle for helping with the party.

The only one remaining was Alec, who from the way he was looking at Isabelle as she hovered in the doorway, was planning to go back to the Institute. He probably still felt mortified about what had happened on the balcony in his drunken state, but Magnus wasn’t going to let him go without clearing the air.

He gestured for Isabelle to wait outside with a jerk of the head which she nodded in acknowledgement before closing the door, leaving Magnus to scoop up Alec’s present and sit beside his boyfriend on the couch. His gaze was rested on the now empty glass in his hands, as though wanting to avoid meeting Magnus’, but Magnus took the glass away and rested a hand under Alec’s chin until he looked up.

“Darling, I know it’s not quite Christmas day yet, but I was thinking before you left that we could open our presents to each other. I mean you’ll be at the Institute all tomorrow and I’ll probably be with Catarina, Madzie and Raphael.” Magnus said, offering him the expertly decorated present covered in dark blue wrapping paper with ‘merry Christmas’ wrote in silver calligraphy over and over.

“I’d like that, let me just grab yours.” Alec croaked, getting up from the couch and picking up a small red gift bag covered in a gold floral pattern.

Magnus watched him sit down beside him and offer him the bag to him unsurely like he was still so uncertain that the present would be something Magnus would like. But no matter what Alec had brought him there was little doubt in Magnus' mind that he would like it.

Magnus took the bag and handed Alec his present in its’ place before turning to open his present. The bag contained a royal red velvet box with a gold bow around it to match the gift bag. Magnus took a glance at Alec who was watching him, before untying the bow and opening the box.

What he saw inside was beautiful, there was no denying that. A yin and yang symbol pendant created in moonstone and onyx inside a silver frame which let the pendant spin around from one side to another. The chain was just the right length that he preferred and looked to be easily adjustable. But it wasn’t what he would have pictured Alec getting him, though he couldn’t explain why. Still when Alec met his gaze he smiled and put the necklace on and felt the chill of cold stone against his chest like a physical reminder of all the passion Alec had shown him when out on the balcony.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, Alexander.” He whispered, a chill running through him when Alec’s fingers grazed the frame over the pendant against his skin.

“Honestly I wasn’t sure what to get you since we’re still getting to know each other, but I’m glad you like it.” Alec smiled, before turning to open his own present.

Magnus watched nervously as Alec opened the wrapped box and saw him stiffen as he saw the book. He bit his lip as Alec took the book from the box and looked it over with interest, opening it to reveal the signature on the front page from the author and the first edition status on the inside.

“Magnus, it’s amazing. Where did you get this?” Alec asked, looking from the book to his boyfriend who shrugged it off.

“To be fair it was a part of my own collection, but I thought it was something you’d probably appreciate more since I hear from a little bird that you’re quite the book worm when you get the chance,” Magnus said, watching Alec’s fingertips trace the gold-gilded pages reverently.

“Yours? But I can’t take something this precious from Magnus…” Alec began, though stopped when Magnus put his fingers over Alec’s lips to silence him.

“You can and you will. Because with me all it’s done is sit on a shelf day in and day out, not being cherished and actually read as it deserves to be. And to be fair, the only precious thing in my life that means more to me than this book is you.” Magnus said gently, watching Alec’s still slightly glazed eyes soften at the affection in his voice.

“Thank you, Magnus. I love it.” Alec whispered when Magnus finally let go and pressed a kiss of thanks to his boyfriend’s lips/

“You are more than welcome.” Magnus smiled, grazing his fingertips against Alec’s jawline causing the younger to blush a little and put the book back in the box.

“Izzy will probably be waiting for me so I should get going but I’ll see you before New years right”? Alec asked as the couple got to their feet with Alec holding his book under his arm.

“Of course you will. Come over when you can and I’ll make dinner or something,” Magnus said, following Alec towards the door.

“Sounds good to me. Thanks for a great night and a great party Magnus, Merry Christmas.” Alec smiled, kissing Magnus with small pecks over and over as he opened the door.

“Merry Christmas Alec, bye,” Magnus whispered once Alec was gone and the door closed behind him not successfully muffling the sound of Jace teasing Alec and Isabelle cooing over how cute the couple were as the siblings left the floor.

It had definitely been one of the most memorable Christmas parties for Magnus without a shadow of a doubt, but as he leaned against the closed door toying with his present from Alec, he was sure that it was definitely the first of many and he couldn’t wait to see what they would all bring in years to come.

Fin.

#ilovealeclightwood #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

2 notes · View notes