#also I just woke up this morning suddenly feeling like I wanted to draw simon-- I was otherwise going to give myself a break today but oops

[mewkwota]

This is a warmup sketch referencing a pose from one of Judgement's promotional artworks. Again, translating it to Simon's actual big boy physique was an expected but very rewarding challenge.

(And it was an over-the-shoulder shot, yaaay~)

[madiwritessin]

Adapting Part 2

Fandom: Shadowhunters

Character/s Included: Alec, Magnus, Reader, Raphael, jace, Clary, Simon, Izzy

Word Count: 581

Series: Adapting

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

A/N: Triggering Acts are in the next few chapter (SA)

Y/N holds Raphael’s hand tightly as the head out into the Brooklyn street Magnus’ place was on. You look back at the building you had just left to you it looked like a massive apartment complex but you never knew what it looked like to the mundanes roaming these streets. To say you never really saw Brooklyn was an understatement, if you weren’t at the institute you were at Magnus’. Raphael decided that since you haven’t really seen Brooklyn he would give you a tour of it. At some point in the walk around Brooklyn Raphael gave you his coat since the dress Izzy put you in didn’t have sleeves and you didn’t bring your coat with you.

While you and Raphael walked past the Botanical gardens a group of demons decided to attack you and him. About half way through the battle you were cornered by a group of them and received a few battle wounds but you managed to keep fighting till the very end. After all the demons were killed you just sat on the sidewalk, when Raphael noticed he picked you up and took you straight back to Magnus’.

Magnus stopped the part as soon as he saw you in Raphael’s arms. “Put her on the couch” Magnus said, his voice showed he was worried.

“What happened?” Alec asked to Raphael.

“A large group of demons attacked us just outside the botanical gardens. A few cornered her, I didn’t notice she was injured to she sat on the sidewalk after all of them were killed.”

Jace grabbed his stele out of his pant pocket and begin drawing an iratze rune on her to heal her runes. Jace wasn’t shaking but Alec could sense that Jace was also worried about you. “I can’t sense any demon venom in her system” Magnus said to everyone “She just needs rest, Raphael can you take her to the spare room and watch her tonight just in case anything happens during the night”

“I have nowhere else to be” Raphael said before picking you up and taking you to Magnus’ spare room and laying you down.

He lays beside you so he could be closer to you and hear you heartbeat louder then he would if he sat in the chair on the other side of the room. During the night Raphael could sense your heart rate increase and your breathing become rapid but it stopped after a bit so he put it down to nightmares. He fell asleep in the early morning because nothing dramatically changed. At around 9 am you woke and didn’t feel right. You looked over at Raphael debating on waking him up knowing that he would usually be asleep right now but you also thought he wouldn’t be in here if Magnus didn’t ask him too. You shook him lightly at first and when he didn’t wake up u decided to hit him hard in the stomach which woke him but his fangs were out. He looked over at you suddenly noticing you were awake.

“You okay?” He asked looking at you dumbfounded. You lent slightly over to your bedside table grabbing the photo frame off it with a picture of Magnus and younger versions of you and Alec in it. You pointed at Magnus and Alec lightly; he thought you were showing him. Realizing he didn’t know what you were doing you pointed at the angrily. Getting the point he yelled “Magnus! Alec! Y/N wants you”

[brokenjardaantech]

abstract ghosts, concrete lives

written for this prompt challenge. rated T for potentially disturbing scenes but nothing too graphical imo.

relationship: captain allen/simon

fandom: detroit: become human

summary: 

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality.

also on ao3

---

Louis Allen prides himself in being able to more or less take care of himself properly despite having lived alone for more than ten years. Of course, his usual routine has been disrupted since the arrival of a certain little kid on his doorstep, but that doesn’t change the fact that he goes to sleep and wakes up regularly unless his child needs him and he is woken up by their cries; even if he is tired enough to sleep through them, there is always Simon to take up the job, and by now Shub sees the android as their second father more than anything else - not that Louis will have it any other way, the android being more human than most actual humans he has ever met. 

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality, Shub being compressed into the simplest shapes before shattering like broken glass, Simon’s body falling apart piece by piece as his face twists in the gravity of an object heavier than a black hole and his arm stretched outward awkwardly and his mouth open in a static-filled scream, a tide of white and brown that manages to remind him of the darkness at the same time sweeping them away until he blinks and his heart races and suddenly he is back to staring at the ceiling of his bedroom with Simon curled up against his side, the android’s breath too deep and regular to be a regular human’s but his movement and position also too human to be a regular android’s. Simon’s mere presence and regular heartbeat are usually enough to calm Louis down, but as the cycle repeats itself for the sixth time and midnight passes, he knows that it isn’t going to help tonight. Not wanting to disturb the android’s stasis with his own tossing and turning in case those images turn into actual nightmares which he would have no control over, he slides off his bed, careful not to disturb Simon, and pads first to check on Shub, finding them still sound asleep and their vitals steady and strong, then climbs the stairs to the attic which is, most of the times, his own space. 

A small window allows him a narrow view of what is outside his house from this angle, and normally speaking he can stare at the nothingness until he bores himself out and falls asleep because of it, but tonight, the shadows and darkness only brings out the ones his mind creates for him to fill the gaps in his memory that he has known since a long time ago that exist but never sought them out: they are mostly from before his eighth birthday which to this day he still has zero recollection off, but on top of that there are also moments with his mother who went MIA shortly before he graduated from high school, things that he did together with his father that returns as him speaking more than ten languages without a single memory on why and how he learnt them, events that he brought his sister to (or vice versa) that confuses him whenever she mentions them because he never remembers. Tonight, they all blend into one, reality mixing with imagination and memories that should have been long gone but choose this moment to resurface temporarily before disappearing like wisps of dissipating smoke, untouchable and uncontrollable and gone just like the ages. So he alternates between drawing and writing, trying to capture bits and pieces of the images at the front of his mind with his stylus and his fingers while being completely oblivious to the numbness of his crossed legs and the knot forming on his back and the dryness of his eyes, but even though the logical and adult part of him tells him that he isn’t exactly twenty and young anymore and he should be aware of the strain he is putting on his body, the part of him that has always been running from the lost memories, the one that somehow manages to remain a scared little boy despite four decades’ worth of life experience and growing pain - it just takes over and urges him to let everything out until his entire body is shaking and the page is full. Guided by the magnets within the two devices, the stylus snaps to the side of the tablet automatically, its light blinking yellow to indicate that it is charging, and Louis puts down the tablet on the floor next to him before he closes his suddenly-heavy eyelids and unwinds his body with a wince and too many popping joints and needles underneath his skin. He picks up his tablet again to take a better look at what the hell he spent the last… two hours and a half working on just to hear the familiar creak of wooden floorboards, the attic illuminated by the faint blue glow of Simon’s LED. Louis freezes like a deer in headlights.

The android folds himself into the already-cramped space of the attic and sits with his legs folded underneath him next to the human, his hand reaching for Louis’ thigh, and the warmth through his sweatpants is enough to drain whatever fight that remains in his body away. So much for going back before Simon notices.

‘I woke up and you weren’t there,’ Simon whispers without breaking eye contact. Then he cocks his head, his LED spins yellow, and he continues, ‘You didn’t sleep at all.’

Louis blinks and looks away, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Can’t.’

He can feel Simon’s intense gaze on his own face. ‘Why?’

He starts fidgeting with the stylus by removing it from where it’s attached to the side of the tablet just to let it snap back again. ‘Memories,’ some images still flash in front of his eyes, but they are less haunting now, less graphic, less detailed, ‘or lack thereof. I try not to think about them.’

‘But…?’

‘Sometimes they just come back and haunt me.’

‘Do you want to talk about them?’

Louis unlocks the tablet to view his creation again, a mixture of abstract images and words that don’t make sense when put together that hurts his head to look at, telling him that keeping it and letting anyone else even glance at it is a mistake, is a torture, and that it shouldn’t have existed in the first place, but they are a representation of his own head so they must have been there since a long time ago but it’s just his damned fault for avoiding the issue and running away instead of facing it heads-on and maybe solve the problem instead of losing sleep and making shitty evil art and making other people worry about him and probably not being able to be a good father for his child in the morning because of sleep deprivation and -

The tablet is taken out of his hands with its screen turned off, suddenly leaving his hands empty and flexing and scrambling for something to hold onto, and the next thing he knows is that there is a warm body pressing against his own and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, grounding him and giving him very little choice on where his hands should go apart from winding them around the android’s waist as well. He inhales deeply, smells the detergent on Simon’s shirt and the body wash that they share, and the chain of thoughts slows down and turns itself down until the thud of their hearts overwhelm it. He suddenly feels restless, his hands twitchy and itching for things to do, but he’s lost, his brain isn’t working, and his eyes refuse to close even though he’s suddenly so, so tired.

Simon stills, and that is when Louis realises that the android has been rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to further calm him down. ‘Let’s get back in bed, shall we?’ he asks, his voice soft and barely audible, but the way he phrases it makes it sound more like a command than a question, so Louis lets himself be guided down the attic and back into their bedroom under the covers, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other. ‘Do you want me to stay awake with you, or may I go into stasis for now?’

‘Stasis,’ Louis answers immediately. ‘You need it.’

‘And so do you, but here we are.’

‘You are aware that you will most likely take over most of the childcare, aren’t you?’

A soft smile appears on Simon’s lips. With a hand on Louis’ cheek, he leans forward to kiss the human chastely and then pulls back. ‘We’ll figure that out when we wake up again. For now, try to go to sleep, okay? And don’t leave the bed even if you can’t; it’s better than getting up and working.’

Louis nods, and Simon’s eyes slip shut and his body relaxes immediately as he goes into stasis. He scoots close and holds him to feel his breath on his skin and his chest rise and fall against his hand again, and even though the images pull him away from slumber whenever he nearly falls asleep, everything remains relatively peaceful compared to the overwhelming barrage from before. Head now clearer, he thinks of what he will do after both Simon and Shub are awake, recalling bits and pieces of information that he gathered from his surroundings and his work to help himself make decisions: tomorrow is a weekday and has a high chance of being sunny for the whole day on top of being his day off. There are no appointments for Shub and neither does Simon need to report back to a CyberLife store for check-ups anymore, there are enough ingredients in the kitchen and the fridge to make a light meal for himself and Shub, the parks will also be relatively quiet because all other children are at school; maybe he and Simon can bring them there, have a picnic together, let their child have their fun without being harassed or bullied by other children because of their cybernetics and prosthetics that extends all the way from their face to their feet. He might need some strong tea to keep himself awake or a nap in the park to recharge halfway through the day, but it will be another day when the family can spend the whole day together and relax, another happy memory for Shub before their inevitable… no, he has faith in his sister and her people. They will figure out a way to make sure that Shub has many happy years to live before old age takes them. They have to.

Dawn comes with light alongside the grumbles of a hungry child rousing but not quite awakening yet, and Louis feels more than sees Simon’s smile against his neck as the two of them slide out of bed and begin their usual morning rituals with practised fluidity. He forgoes going to the gym in favour of spending a slow morning smelling of tea and warm breakfast at home with his family, knowing that it won’t matter much if he only skips it for a day and doesn’t let it become his habit. Ah well. Not like staying up all night is something he is planning to do often.

‘Picnic, Shub?’ he asks after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes. ‘Just you, me, and Daddy. How does that sound?’

Shub’s wide green eyes and her flailing limbs are answers enough, and as Louis’ own eyes meet Simon’s sky blue ones, it is as if one gaze is enough to communicate everything between them, Louis moving to prepare for the upcoming trip to the park that may seem insignificant to most children but is certainly a big thing for their child while Simon coaxes Shub to finish the last of their breakfast and swipe the plate away from grabby hands before loading it into the dishwasher. 

It is another day.

[bytheangell]

This is the Coda That Never Ends... Part 18

(Read on AO3) (read from the start)

“You let her go home?” Jace says, pacing back and forth across the length of Izzy’s office. He wishes they were in the training room instead, not just for more pacing room but also because he has the sudden urge to punch something, and hard. He’s had a stressful couple of hours. 

It was bad enough he was meeting with his mother and Luke when Clary arrived at the Institute. He can’t imagine how she got there but he wishes that it was him there to greet her�� someone who cares about her. Someone she can trust. Not that he doesn’t trust Underhill, or (to an extent now) Lorenzo, but… it should’ve been him. Maybe he could’ve helped… but instead she ended up so overwhelmed that they had to knock her out not once, but twice. 

It certainly should’ve been him to go to her after she woke up again but instead he found himself benched, waiting for some kind of update from Simon or Isabelle since they were allowed to go. He tried to sleep, or eat, or train - anything to get his mind off of the waiting. He hated waiting. He hated feeling helpless. The only thing that kept him from completely losing himself to worry was the fact that Simon was there. Simon knew Clary the longest, and Jace can admit that even with how deep his love for Clary is, Simon loves her just as much, if not even more in his own way. He felt entirely reassured by the fact that Simon was there…

...until just now, when Izzy and Simon got back and gave him the rundown of what happened. 

“What do you mean, you let her go home?” He repeats, his voice rising. 

“Jace, calm down. It isn’t like she ran away. We know where she is, we know how to contact her. We’re keeping an eye on her the same as we were before,” Izzy reassures him. 

Jace turns an accusing eye to Simon, the look on his face silently asking how he could let this happen. 

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Simon says, taking a step back and putting his hands up. “I got them to agree to get her memories back, remember? I’m on her side, here. If anything, I should be the most upset. She remembers me and still didn’t want to stay.” 

This, finally, gives Jace enough pause to really take a step back and look at the situation. There’s a definite pain in Simon’s eyes, his words shaky even as he uses them to insist that it’s the right thing to do. When Clary started to remember Jace he was the one to turn and walk away, not the other way around. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, so softly that he’s sure Simon with his heightened hearing is the only one to hear him. 

“It’s fine,” Simon says back. “I mean,  it isn’t, but. If Clary wants to go back to school, back to her friends and her life there… we can’t force her to stay, can we? Those memories… they’re still the past. Maybe she just likes what she has now better. Can’t say I’d blame her.” 

“Simon,” Izzy chimes in, placing an arm on Simon’s shoulder. Jace watches the moment of comfort between them and wonders if he should excuse himself. It seems too personal, and even a year later it still catches him a little off guard to see his sister drop her defenses so completely around him. Growing up with Isabelle it was always just accepted that her love was a ‘tough love’, but she’s different around Simon. But a good different. 

But when Izzy speaks it isn’t just to reassure Simon. “We don’t even know if that’s what she’s doing. She took our numbers, she’ll call. She just needs some time. Clary got a lot of information dumped on her, and it’s only been what… two days? She just needs some time to process.” 

Simon nods. “Yeah. You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just… I just got her back, and now it feels like she’s gone again already.” 

“Tell me about it,” Jace agrees. “But Izzy’s right,” he adds quickly. “She just needs some time.” 

He has to believe that. After all, this isn’t the first time Clary’s been driven to the Institute on instinct. He has to believe it won’t be the last, for better or worse. But the last thing he wants to do is to force too much on her all at once because he’s impatient over missing her this past year. 

“Until then,” Izzy says, walking herself over to some papers sitting on her desk. Jace saw her flipping through them before he arrived, not sure what they were then, but now that his pacing brings him up beside his sister he can see the forms clearly - they’re incident reports. 

Izzy picks them up, hitting them against the desk twice to get them back in order, and then slips them back into a manilla folder in her top pull-out drawer. 

“This doesn’t leave our circle. I haven’t been able to reach Alec yet since we left Lorenzo’s to know if he made an official report about what we stayed behind to do, but as far as I’m concerned since we’re the ones who took those memories from Clary, not the Angels and not the Clave, then we don’t have any obligation to report it.” 

Jace, on a personal level, loves this theory. He wants to keep as much of this away from any sort of official powers as possible, knowing how they tend to overreact when it comes to perceived ‘threats’ to the way things are. It’s changed a lot in the last year, what with the sway Alec and Magnus have in Alicante now, but even so… 

But on a political level, on the level of a soldier who is supposed to care more about the greater good than one girl he has feelings for, he knows the trouble this could get Isabelle into. Especially if Alec did go to someone about what’s happening and it looks like she’s trying to cover it up. 

“And if it’s too late for that?” Jace questions. 

Izzy shrugs. “Then we deal with it when it happens. There are too many variables, I can’t possibly plan for all of them. I just have to be… adaptable.” She shrugs again. Jace is almost positive she sounds more confident than she actually feels about all of this but it’s the best they’ve got and he doesn’t push the issue further. 

“So we’re waiting for Alec’s update?” Simon asks. “Because I’m supposed to swing by the Dumort later and I just want to be perfectly clear on what I’m saying about all of this.” 

As if on cue Izzy’s phone rings, and Jace instantly recognizes it as the ringtone she has set for Alec. Her call with him isn’t very long, five, ten minutes at most, and when she hangs up he watches her go back over to the report sheets. 

“We’re reporting only what we have to. That she showed up, that Underhill called Lorenzo to take her away, and that when she woke up she didn’t remember why she came or anything specific about the Shadow World, so they let her go. Everyone got it?” Isabelle spoke as she wrote, keeping the recount of the night’s events to a bare minimum before handing it to Simon. “Hand this to Nightshade to send over on your way out, okay?” 

“Oh,” Simon said, and Jace could see he was caught off-guard by the assumption he’s leaving. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Sorry Simon. It’s just… something tells me this is going to draw some attention sooner rather than later, and it’d probably be better if you weren’t already here in the morning if The Consul shows up about Clary.” 

Simon nods, giving Izzy a quick kiss before turning to leave. “Right. I’ll just… take this and head out, then. It’s late anyway. Keep me posted?” Simon asks, knowing he doesn’t have to - if Izzy doesn’t update him, Jace certainly will. 

“Hey, Si,” Jace says, stopping him on his way to the door. “If you need to talk just call, okay?” The two of them spent a lot of time talking in the year that Clary wasn’t around, and Jace knows Simon well enough now to know that he’ll get himself all worked up over Clary remembering him now the longer she doesn’t reach out. Jace doesn’t blame him, but he also doesn’t want him to think that needing to keep some distance from the Institute for a night means they aren’t there for him. 

“Thanks,” Simon says, and actually looks visibly more relieved at the reassurance before leaving. 

Jace knows Izzy only told Simon to go home for his own good, and he can already see that distracted look in her eyes as she thinks over everything that’s about to fall on them from this. She has the unfortunate habit of pushing everyone away when she's anxious over something Head of the Institute related, ready to take the full brunt of the fallout alone rather than have Simon, or Jace, or anyone else around to help soften the blow. They know not to take it personally but that doesn't make it any less frustrating to deal with sometimes.  

Jace sighs.  “I suppose we should try and catch some beauty sleep before everything we’ve ever done is put under a magnifying glass tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry, Jace. You’ve done nothing wrong-”

“When has that ever mattered before?” Jace points out. “Anyway, it isn’t me I’m worried about.” 

“We’ll protect Clary. We haven’t stopped all this time, we aren’t about to now.” There’s a determination in his sister’s tone that Jace can’t help but find comfort in. 

He takes his leave and goes to sleep, but it’s a restless one. After a solid hour or two of tossing and turning with very little actual rest in between he decides to give up, changing into sweatpants and shuffling down to the training room instead. The sun isn’t even up yet when he gets there, doing some technique practice with a few weapons he doesn’t use very often, eyeing a pair of dual kindjals. They aren’t Clary’s - he has those in his room for safe keeping, unwilling to let anyone else claim them as their own even when they thought Clary would never return to this world to use them again. But just the sight of them reminds him why he’s awake right now, why he’s down here instead of sleeping peacefully in his bed, and he grabs for them, testing their weight. 

He goes through a few training exercises, repeating moves which would utilize the sharpened edges on both sides of the blade, until he’s suddenly aware of a presence in the doorway of the training room. His bangs are plastered over his forehead obscuring his view, and at first all he sees is the figure of a woman wearing black, assuming it’s probably just Izzy there to yell at him for not resting. 

The last person he expects to see when he wipes the hair back from his face is Lydia Branwell, hair pulled back into a bun, dressed in a black suit with a blue undershirt that brought out the blue in her eyes, which were narrowed in his direction. 

“I should’ve known you’d be the one making so much ruckus in here at-” she checks the watch around her wrist. “-five in the morning.” 

“...is it five already?” Jace huffs, taking the kindjals and placing them back on the rack he got them from, continuing to speak without turning back around. “And what, might I ask, are you even doing here at five am? Or, y’know, at all?” 

He has a sinking suspicion that he already knows the answer to that question but it buys him some time to wrap his head around seeing her here, wondering if there’s any way he can warn Izzy without her noticing. 

“Consul Penhallow sent me to run lead on… well, whatever this whole Clarissa Fairchild event turns out to be. Which I sincerely hope is nothing, just like your sister’s report suggested. But I’m here to gather some more information and keep an eye on things for a little while just the same.” Lydia’s heels click against the floor as she crosses the room toward him. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to take over anything. Just… observing.” 

He catches her easy smile and, much to his surprise, actually finds her words a little comforting. “Alright. Like what you see so far?” he can’t help but add with a wink. 

“You wish, Herondale,” she counters with a light punch to his arm. 

Jace never knows exactly how to read Lydia. They don’t interact often enough for him to be truly comfortable around her, not after the rough start they got off to (even though she did try to side with Magnus at the end of Izzy’s trial, and did a huge solid by being surprisingly cool with Alec leaving her at the altar). But Alec doesn’t seem to mind when she’s around, and neither does Izzy. Jace supposes if anyone should have the reservations it’s the two of them, not him. 

Maybe a few days ago he might’ve humored the words. Flirted back enough to see if there was something to push there, just for fun. They both have the sort of challenging, performance-driven attitudes that could make for a bit of fun together, and after a full year of Clary being gone he’d finally been easing into the idea of actually listening to everyone telling him that refusing to even attempt to move on is only going to make him miserable for the rest of his life. He knew it, on some level, but maybe there was a reason he couldn’t move on this past year, because now that she’s back…

...except she isn’t back, not really. She remembers everything from before the day she first met him, that’s all. There’s no guarantee her full memories are ever going to come back, and if they do that the Angels will let her keep them. 

Or that she’ll even want to pick things up from where she left off.

He hasn’t brought that particular concern up to anyone else yet, knowing the generic lines of comfort he’ll be fed if he does. ‘Of course she will’, ‘she loves you as much as you love her’, etc, etc. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s been a year, and a year can change a lot. Look at the few months he’d known Clary before she was taken from them, after all - they changed his entire life, for better or worse. 

At least this time he doesn’t have long to dwell on the idea of Clary not wanting him back in her life, focusing back on the voice (and person attached to it) in front of him. 

“...Herondale? Hello? Earth to Jace?” Lydia says, waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Sorry.” 

“You alright?” Lydia asks, brows furrowed. “You definitely spaced out there, I was afraid I’d have to catch you if you passed out and you’re far too gross for that right now.” Jace is certain he catches a note of actual concern in her voice despite the deflection at the end. 

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he says, shrugging it off. “Nothing a nap and a few stamina runes throughout the day can’t fix.” 

“Mmhmm,” Lydia hums in response. Jace can practically see her making a mental note of the entire exchange, and wonders if this will end up in her ‘observations’. ‘Shadowhunters barely sleeping, unable to hold single comprehendable conversation’, he can see it now. 

“Any chance that lack of sleep is over a certain redhead getting her memories back?” Lydia follows up, raising an eyebrow. 

For a second he almost slips up with an instinctively defensive ‘she doesn’t remember us at all, only Simon and Luke’, but catches himself and only shakes his head in reply at first. 

“No. She doesn’t really remember me anyway. This is all some sort of, I dunno, fever dream haze she can’t quite reach, or something. At least that’s what I heard, I haven’t been very directly involved.” He can’t help the bitter tone at the last part of that, but it’s an admission that seems to please Lydia. 

“Too close to her, so Isabelle is keeping you away? I’m surprised, but impressed. Well, at least any concerns of bias Jia might have will be put to rest early on.” 

As if on cue, the click of approaching heels from down the hallway stop short in the doorway. “Of course they will. What sort of Institute do you think I’m running here, Miss Branwell?” 

There’s a moment between them after that where Jace can’t read either of the girls. There’s a tension there, a charge to the air over Lydia’s overheard comment and Isabelle’s reply, and for a second Jace is afraid he’s going to have to step between them…

But then Lydia is smiling and Izzy follows suit, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“Only one of the most reputable Institutes we have to offer,” Lydia shoots back. They both cross to meet one another in the middle of the room, greeting with a hug. “It’s so good to see you again. Sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” 

Isabelle nods. “I understand. Can’t really turn down a direct appointment from Jia, can you?” Lydia shakes her head. “For what it’s worth, if it had to be anyone I’m glad it’s you.” 

“Thanks. I want to help, but I do have to report what’s best. Even if it isn’t-” 

“I know. It’s fine; we’re only interested in doing what’s best for everyone involved as well, so we have nothing to hide. Isn’t that right, Jace?” Isabelle says, roping him back into the exchange. 

Up to this point he’d simply been content to take the step back and watch the back-and-forth between the two, always in awe of how flawlessly Isabelle fell into this role. He was in no shape to take it when Alec left for Alicante, and there’s always been lingering talk of shifting it to him once he was, but he doesn’t think that time will ever come and he’s grateful for it. Watching her here it’s like Izzy was born for this. 

“Of course. After all, our brother is the Inquisitor, we wouldn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our reputation here.” Jace points out, all charm and innocence. 

Lydia smiles again, but it’s more tense this time. “For all of our sakes, I hope you’re right.” 

Silence settles between them at that. They all know what’s at stake here, not just for Clary, but for them, too. Clary is something the Clave never experienced before, both her abilities as well as the way she left the Shadow World. Shadowhunters are people of tradition, of long-standing rules and categories and they do not do well with sudden changes. Alec’s been the cause of enough of them this past year, to find himself in the middle of yet another unexpected shift in ‘the way things have always been’... they all know the ramifications that may have, for all of them. 

“Well, as fun as the start of this reunion has been so far, what do you say we break for breakfast before we go about the monotony of a formal interrogation?” Jace suggests, and is relieved to see the eye-roll it produces from both of the women in front of him. 

“Like I said, I’m not even here to do anything, just observe. But I’m certainly not going to say no to breakfast. It’ll give us time to catch up,” Lydia agrees. 

Jace allows Lydia and Izzy to leave first, chatting between themselves as they made their way to the cafeteria. He isn’t sure they have a lot to ‘catch up’ on that she wouldn’t already know about… nothing she can know about, anyway. It isn’t like they’re friends no matter what sort of front she and Isabelle are putting on here. Especially not considering the reason she’s here. 

It’s nearly impossible to read Izzy when she’s around people she needs to present a certain front to because she’s damn good at it, not breaking for a moment, not even to mouth a few words to him or give him a look of anger, or concern, or whatever she may actually be feeling. He doesn’t get the chance to ask her until a few hours after breakfast when Lydia excuses herself to take a call outside. 

“So?” Jace asks Izzy almost immediately. 

“So what?” Izzy asks back. “We knew this was coming.” 

“Yeah, but Lydia? I mean, you were acting friendly enough, but…” he allows the question to hang, implied. 

“Alec told me once not too long ago that I can trust her. He said if I ever needed help and he couldn’t, for whatever reason, I could go to her, so…” Izzy shrugs. 

“Alec said that? Alec, our brother Alec?” Jace repeats incredulously. 

“I know. I’ve heard the same things you have that the two of them butt heads whenever they’re pit against each other in proceedings or policy changes but if he says we can trust her, I’m going to trust her. For now. I’m not an idiot, Jace. The second I think she’s up to something it’s game over.” 

Jace nods. “Alright, if you say so. Or, I guess, if Alec says so.” Something about it doesn’t sit right with Jace but he isn’t going to argue it right now. Instead, he uses their limited time alone together to make sure they’re on the exact same page about everything that happened so far. 

Izzy may trust Lydia for now, but that doesn’t change anything about why she’s here and the scrutiny they’re about to undergo. And he, for one, is going to be ready.

[feargender]

impossibility is a kiss away from reality

read on ao3 here

This wedding is shaping up to be exactly nothing like Alec’s first one. They’ve abandoned the ceremony hall in the Institute for a tree lined glade, the location of one of Magnus and Alec’s dates before they had even made a year. It was spring then, the clearing littered with pink and white flowers, golden sunshine shining down on them like the benevolent eyes of some deity, blessing their love.

It’s autumn, now, the blue and purple dusky sky meeting the treetops. A rough wood pavilion has been erected toward the center of the glade and leading up to it is a neatly grown path of gold wildflowers, flanked by rows of seats. There must be thousands of lanterns floating above it all, illuminating the scene with a serene yellow glow.

The entire day is dipped in gold.

With a little bit of effort, Magnus and Catarina orchestrated the construction of several permanent portals to the glade. One stationed at the Institute, another at the loft, another at the Hunter’s Moon. Guests are trickling in from each, warlocks and Shadowhunters and werewolves and mundanes. Simon is the only vampire present so far, the rest waiting for the sun to dip just a little lower behind the trees.

Alec watches them from the tree line, the only privacy allotted to him while Isabelle, wearing a stunning purple gown with her hair piled into a complicated twist around the back of her head, fusses with his clothes. She smooths his lapels and straightens his tie, licking her fingers to neaten his hair before he ducks out of her reach. She takes a centering breath and beams at him, eyes wide and wet beneath pretty gold makeup.

“How do I look?” he asks, gesturing down to himself. Though Magnus had joked about recycling his first wedding tuxedo, he is wearing a different one. It’s pale gold and stitched with blue, creating runes of love, longevity, luck and trust. His tie is a dark gold, and he tugs at it awkwardly, feeling constricted.

“You look ready, big brother,” Isabelle says softly, touching her fingers to the underside of her eyes, a movement Alec knows is meant to dissuade herself from crying. “I just did my eyeliner,” she mumbles, sniffling.

Alec looks away from her, giving her a moment to compose herself, and casts his eyes toward the pavilion. Before the adamas dais stands Brother Zachariah (“Please, Alec, call me Jem”). The adamas, Alec knows, will activate two new steles. One for him, and one for Magnus.

It was a conversation they had started almost a year ago. With the topic of marriage came the topic of immortality, and Alec’s lack thereof. The most obvious solution was vampirism, which Alec turned down, but in doing so left a problem. He didn’t have any interest in keeping a mortal lifespan when he could spend eternity with Magnus by his side.

The answer, in the end, was as simple as it was complex. The magic inside of warlocks is what keeps them alive, gives them their longevity. Warlocks need magic as much as they need air. If Alec were to be bound to Magnus’ magic, it would keep him alive, too.

However, no spell had proved to be powerful enough to guarantee Alec both immortality and keeping his sanity in tact. In the end, it was Catarina’s idea to ask Clary. She could make runes for necromancy, immortality didn’t seem to be much of a stretch.

Clary spent nearly two weeks in the Silent City with Jem, experimenting with new runes. Runes that could be drawn on a Downworlder, runes that could bind Downworlder and Shadowhunter irrevocably.

The rune ended up looking familiar. Sweeps and curves like an iratze, intricate like the parabatai rune. New as a baby. His future.

Movement catches Alec’s eye, an arrival from the portal leading to the loft. Quickly, Isabelle’s strong grip is on his shoulders, jerking him around, smiling knowingly. “Bad luck,” she says, “seeing the groom before the wedding.”

“This is the wedding,” Alec says, gesturing behind himself, but doesn’t fight her. The anticipation of seeing his husband for the first time in days at the altar coils pleasantly in his stomach, so he’s content to wait. The fact that Simon, urged on by the final descent of the sun, begins playing a slow song on his piano off to the side of the pavilion at that moment doesn’t hurt, either. Alec won’t have to restrain himself for long.

“Got the ring?” he asks Isabelle, who waves the silver band under his nose. “Got the stele?” She rolls her eyes, but flashes him the stele hidden in the pocket of her dress.

He offers his arm, then, and Isabelle takes it. His legs suddenly feel weak, a swarm of butterflies raging inside of him, trying to escape up his throat. Isabelle’s hand looped in the crook of his elbow is the only thing keeping him steady.

She tugs him forward and he walks, timing his steps with hers, counting in his head as he nears the flowered path. He feels the soft crunch of thin petals and dead grass underfoot, looks around at his friends and family cast in flickering shadows under the floating lanterns. He catches Maryse’s gaze, her eyes shining and wet already, hand clasped tightly in Luke’s. Luke winks at him and Alec grins.

Madzie is wiggling in her seat next to Dot and waves at him, wearing a frilly yellow dress and flower crown. Alec waves back and she giggles, gripping the edges of her seat and looking behind him, up at the lanterns, to Isabelle in her flowing gown. Her jittery excitement mirrors exactly how Alec feels. His heart is pounding, wanting to be everywhere at once; wanting wanting wanting.

He reaches the dais, Jem regarding him with what could be mirth, swathed in parchment colored robes. Isabelle takes her place just behind him and he looks down the aisle. There are smiling faces of family and friends there, happy for him. Their joy is practically contagious, but there’s no room for them in his mind anymore.

Every thought, every sense, is focused on Magnus approaching him. He has Catarina on his arm, who is murmuring something to him. His suit jacket and pants are dark gold, the shirt beneath so pale it could be white, only it glimmers in the lantern lights. His tie is midnight blue, Alec was there when he chose it.

He meets Magnus’ eyes and thinks of every cheesy romance line he’s ever laughed at and regrets. There’s no way he could ever describe this feeling to another person without writing a thousand page book about it. This is the feeling that ends wars and builds up civilizations. This is what every poet has ever been trying to convey. It almost feels like heartbreak. There is an ache in his chest, thudding along with his pulse, as his heart cracks open like a geode, revealing so much beauty inside that he may die from it.

Several eons later, Magnus makes it to the dais. He takes Alec’s hands and Alec expends an admirable amount of self restraint when he doesn’t kiss Magnus then and there before Jem ever gets the chance to speak.

“You can’t cry before I even start my vows,” Magnus chastises quietly, reaching up and brushing the few escaped tears from Alec’s cheeks. Alec hadn’t even noticed them there.

“I’m just a sensitive guy, I guess,” Alec whispers back and they dissolve into fits of giggles, which Jem waits out before his omnivoice addresses the congregation.

I have never before presided over a union, he begins, but change is a necessity of life. This marriage symbolizes the greatest change any of us here may ever bear witness to. A bridge between two worlds, forged in the heat of a love that could not be contained.

Silent Brother voices contain no emotion, but Alec thinks Jem is proud of them.

In the hush that follows, Alec realizes it’s his turn to speak. He clears the tears from his throat, draws on the memory of weeks spent planning the vows he’s about to deliver, and begins.

“Magnus,” he starts, voice awkwardly deep and ceremonial. Magnus feigns a serious expression before grinning, squeezing Alec’s hands. “Magnus,” he says again, softer, calmer, Magnus’ grip steadying him. “For most of my life, I felt like I was in a balancing act. There were too many versions of me fighting each other in my own mind. I thought that I had to sacrifice parts of myself for the good of the man I was meant to be. I was meant to be a leader, a brother and son my family could be proud of. A warrior that my community could admire. I was prepared to give up anyone ever truly knowing me, or ever loving someone wholly, for that.

“You ruined all of that. I saw you and my plans shattered to a million pieces. Every version of myself focused on you. You helped me realize that I life where I wasn’t free to be who I am wasn’t a life at all. And now I can’t imagine a life without you in it. With you, I’ve been able to be a good leader, brother, and son. A good man. Magnus Bane, the man I’m meant to be is the man that loves you. That’s the best version of myself. The me that exists when I’m with you,” Alec finishes, letting out a long breath. It catches in his throat when tears spill over Magnus’ cheeks and he shakes with a wet laugh.

“I can’t compete with that,” he mumbles, releasing his grip on Alec long enough for him to get the ring from Isabelle, who is shaking with her own happy tears, and slide it onto Magnus’ finger.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, taking Alec’s hands back in his, new ring pressing into his skin, “I have lived a very, very long time. I have seen and experienced it all, I thought I knew the extents of what the world had to offer. What my own heart had to offer. It came to a point where the idea of change disturbed me. The world around me could change all it wanted, but I would stay the same, calcified. I believed that there was nothing truly new under the sun.

“You were new. With you, I have felt things I never thought possible. I have changed. My heart is altered forever by your presence in my life. As I’ve watched you grow, I have grown also. From the morning you woke up on my couch, I knew that I would never be the same. I knew, even, that I could not go back to the way I was. I was trapped inside of myself, a living fossil. Not any longer. Now, I can imagine no better future than a future in which I get to spend the rest of my life changing with you,” Magnus finishes, smiling a watery smile before he turns to Catarina.

Alec can feel his heart in his throat, pounding in time with the tears pressing behind his eyes. His entire world is a blur. Blur, and Magnus. When Magnus slips the ring onto Alec’s finger, a broken sob breaks past his lips. Then he’s moving, grabbing Magnus by the lapels of his jacket and kissing him. Salty tears are running into both of their mouths and noses and Magnus is laughing against Alec’s lips, but this is the best kiss of Alec’s life.

Magnus pulls away first, placing his hands against Alec’s chest and saying, “I think we skipped a few steps.”

“I love you so fucking much,” Alec replies breathlessly.

“I love you, too,” Magnus says. “Forever.” He reaches behind him blindly and Catarina hands him the stele. He looks down at it in his hand as he presses it to the adamas, looking to Jem. Alec does the same, hand shaking.

Jem, with great dignity, says, Now, this marriage will be bound with a rune that will stand the test of eternity. If we can get through the ceremony without any more interruptions. He turns his head toward Alec, who just grins ridiculously as the steles gleam, activated with angelic power.

Magnus goes first, undoing Alec’s cuff on his left hand and exposing his wrist beneath, tracing a glowing, fiery rune on the bare skin there. It burns brightly, almost blinding, as Alec reaches for Magnus’ wrist. He meets Magnus’ eyes before pressing the stele to his skin, catching Magnus’ encouraging nod.

When the last line is drawn, Alec’s entire arm begins to burn. He clutches at Magnus tightly, angelic power and warlock magic both coursing through them, sparking between their bodies like lightning. It echoes in the cavern of Alec’s chest, settling beneath his ribs and against his heart, magic coiling its way up his spine with sharp fingers.

His mouth drops open at the feeling. He can feel Magnus’ life source, that magic which binds his soul to his body and his body to this earth, expanding. Wrapping around him, inside of him, taking him in. His heartbeat stutters and changes rhythm, throbbing along with Magnus’. The air is punched out of his lungs and the next breath he draws is different.

The first breath drawn with lungs that will never tire, air filling an immortal chest.

Alec glances toward Jem, who nods. Then, he’s moving in and kissing Magnus again, magic still crackling between them like a lightning storm. Magnus cups Alec’s neck with both hands, warm with life. Alec clenches Magnus’ suit jacket tightly, pressing closer.

The cheers that erupt from the assembled crowd registers, to Alec, as the sound of new beginnings, underlaid with his and Magnus’ breathing.

This is his eternity.

[sucaritra]

Bāṛi - Chapter 9

Word Count: 1804

Warnings: language, anxiety, Negan

Summary: someone gets a little too close for comfort

A/N: sorry this is so late, not my best. chapters will be less frequent for a while

Masterlist

Hushed conversation woke you from what turned out to be a little longer than anticipated nap. There was no light coming in through the windows, and the clock on the far wall told you that you had missed dinner.

After changing into clothes that hadn't been slept in and chugging half a bottle of water, you decided to make good on your promise to James and meet him in the games room. Pulling back the curtain to your bed space, you notice that the area is just as empty as when you came in this morning, save for a few residents getting an early night. The new resident that creeped you out earlier was also there, along with a couple of his buddies that he arrived at the Sanctuary with. You realise that the hushed conversation that woke you was from them, though that had abruptly ceased as soon as you made yourself known.

You made a speedy exit, not wanting to feel their stares on you for longer than necessary.

Entering the games room, you notice that most of the residents are here tonight, socialising, drinking, some playing ping-pong while others played various board or card games. It was a heartwarming sight to behold, people making the best of what they have and enjoying themselves in a time where most, if not all, have lost everything.

You quickly located James, who was sat with a few people you recognised, and made your way towards him, only to be stopped as an arm shot out in front of you halfway there. Your belly lightly collided with Negan’s arm, who grinned up at you from his relaxed spot on an armchair.

“You look like shit.”

“Wow, if you talk like that to all women I can see how you managed to get five wives.”

You noticed that Sherry was sat on a sofa close by, along with two other women who were both watching the interaction between you and Negan with confused expressions. You gathered they were wives, though you had only caught glimpses of them before now.

“Position number six is still available, baby girl.” he grinned and winked up at you, making you look away in a vain attempt not to get flustered.

“Oh I’m sure there are many positions available, but I’ll pass.” You’d missed the glint in his eyes and the devilish grin at your response as you caught James’ eye at this point, who sent a strained smile your way once he noticed you. You tried to start making your way towards him again when you realised that Negan still had his arm across your stomach.

“As much as I’d like to delve further into that, I was serious when I said you looked like shit. I thought I told you to rest up?”

“I did. I only woke up ten minutes ago.”

“You haven't eaten?”

“Not hungry. I'm gonna hang out with James for a little bit.”

Negan watched you go, narrowed eyes watching you stumble your way towards James. Everything about you was awkward, as if you were constantly aware of the movement of your limbs, shown in your slightly too stiff walk; your posture was fucking awful, your shoulders forever slumped, though he’d catch you trying to straighten yourself while working every now and again, only for you to slouch mere minutes later; and the fucking eye contact. Simon had mentioned that was pretty fucking annoying, and boy was he right. Just when he'd think he'd caught your attention, your eyes would immediately dart away. Though, he'd give credit where credit was due - he could see you'd been trying to work on that shit since becoming a member of the Sanctuary.

You were a ball of nervous energy, and Negan knew he wasn't pursuing you because he was infatuated or lovesick. No. You were a conquest. And when Negan sets his sights on a woman -  one who may be a fidgeting, anxious mess but fuck were you easy on the eyes - there's not much that can stop him from fulfilling his desires. Negan can wait, it'll just make the reward that much more sweeter.

You stuck around for a little while, getting to know some of James’ friends. You instantly clicked with the two women at the table who you recognised from the market.

Sheila was the oldest woman in the group and Sam was probably a couple of years older than James. They immediately struck up a conversation with you while the men talked about whatever the hell men talked about. Sheila gave you some good tips to make life as a lowly Sanctuary resident easier - the best times to go for a shower, what foods to avoid, what Saviors to avoid… - whilst Sam was more interested in what it was like working so close to Negan. Eventually, you were roped into a game of Parcheesi, though everyone did have a good laugh at your expense when you called it Ludo. Fucking Americans.

By the end of the night, you had a smile stuck to your face from all the laughing at the boys over how competitive they’d get over a freaking board game, as well as the completely terrible trash talk. Only when your eyelids started to droop did you bid your farewells to the group, promising to meet up with the girls soon, and retreated back to your room.

Unsurprisingly, a lot of the beds had filled up by the time you'd made it back, and so you quickly and quietly made your way to the far end of the room as you suddenly found yourself craving the comfort of you barely-there bed and sorry excuse for a blanket. Drawing back the curtain, your eyes immediately hone in on the small lumps on your bed. Picking up the bottle, you recognise it to be the orange juice that's sold in the market. It’s sold alongside apple juice too, but being as stingy with your points as you are, you never got to indulge in your favourite drink.

Until now. The wrapped square next to the juice is a cheese and cucumber sandwich, and your stomach immediately growls at the sight. You'd managed to ignore your hunger up until the sight of food, and you wasted no time devouring it, along with downing half the juice, saving the rest for the morning.

With a full stomach and pleasant evening on your mind, you managed to fall into a restful sleep.

Though the stares never did subside, you had managed to avoid getting too close to the creepy new resident. That is, until about a week and a half after his arrival.

You were the last one to leave the canteen as you had worked into your lunch break slightly, wanting to finish going through the crop inventory as there wasn't much left to do. It was while you were making your way up the empty staircase, passing the third floor entrance and about to go up when you felt a hand grab your arm.

Whirling around, your eyes took in the sleazy form of the man whose eyes constantly burned your skin.

“I'm sorry, didn't mean to startle ya.”

“It’s fine, I’ve gotta get to work.” You tried to tug your arm out of his grip but the man wasn't budging. You tried to keep your breaths steady and not panic, knowing you'd need a level head if things go sideways.

“I hope I haven't been too intense princess,” - your eyes immediately narrow at the pet name - “you hafta understand though, it’s been a long time since I’d seen a woman, especially one as exotic as you,” - yeah, you weren't panicked no more, you were pissed - “so it’s only natural for me to become so tempted by your beauty.”

You were downright scowling at this point. You wanted your arm back and you wanted to get the hell away from this slimey wanker.

“Well, I’m afraid you're going to have to set your eyes on someone else because I’m just not interested.” You tried to pull back yet again, only for his nails to start digging into your skin.

“What, you with that burly prick I seen you with sometimes? Ah, you're one of those shallow bitches that are into all those male model types ain't ya? Of course you fucking would be.” He bared his yellowed teeth as he sneered at you, making your stomach turn and your heart beat faster at his abrupt change in attitude.

“Even if I was it would be none of your fucking business. Now, are you going to let me go or shall we wait for Negan to come down to see what the fuck is taking so long?”

He seemed to be thinking a mile a minute before he slowly loosened his grip, and seeing the opportunity, you quickly yank your arm back. The fury was still evident on his face as you wasted no time in turning away and quickly making your way up, rubbing at your arm once you were out of sight.

You didn't know what to do. Technically, he didn't actually do anything apart from grabbing your arm and spitting out some vile words. While you would love to see Negan beat the crap out of him, you haven't actually seen any punishments taking place at the Sanctuary since you’d been here, so you didn't actually know how he’d react. Maybe he won't even react at all and just call you a pussy for crying to him as soon as someone didn't treat you nicely.

You were still running through all the different scenarios in your head when you arrived at the office letting yourself in, though you stayed in the doorway as several pairs of eyes immediately turned towards you. With wide eyes, you realise you'd just interrupted a meeting, as everyone but Simon and Negan looked as though they’d just risen from a bended knee.

“Sorry, do you want me to come back?” you looked apologetically towards Negan who shook his head.

“S'alright baby, they were just leaving. New residents.” he tilted his head towards the small group in front of him, consisting of three men and two women, all looking grimy and smelling of death.

Your brow furrows slightly as you turn your gaze back to Negan.

“Again?” You may not have been at the Sanctuary long but it’s hard to believe Negan welcomes survivors into his home on an almost weekly basis.

“Mhmm. Simon, assign them their posts.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Your suspicious gaze followed the group out, as they passed you, only breaking it to return Simon’s smile.

Closing the door behind them, you turn your attention back to Negan.

“Does that happen often? Groups of survivors coming here so close together?”

“Nope. No it fucking does not.”

tagging: @neganisking @backseat-negan