#and izzy somehow miraculously knows exactly what needs to be done

[krak-house]

now obviously we have Ed as Jack Sparrow and Stede as Elizabeth Swann but wouldn't it be fucking hilarious to have Izzy as Will Turner?

[zoueriemandzijnopmars]

Can I Return It?

(part 2 of Izzy’s story)

Izzy hadn't expected her declaration of war to be answered with a challenge. She looks up from the letter in her hand to the man standing in front of her. He's the captain of the guard, the letter says. "So your king wants a fight between you and me? To death?" She asks, while she entertains the idea. "Yes, your majesty. He will hand over the city if you win, otherwise he trusts your army will turn back." He says. "And what do I have to win with this? I can surely take the city with my army." "A faster and easier way in." He simply says.

...

He doesn't know whether she will accept or reject his proposal. She is quite unreadable, this young queen. She isn't exactly what he had expected. After all these stories about this queen with dragon powers, she looks pretty normal at first glance. That is, until you get close enough to note the flames licking on her fingers. That is, until you note the raging fire in her eyes.

Her next words surprise him. "Tell me something about yourself." He blinks. "Why?" She sends him a predators grin. "Because I want to know the person that I will battle. It's only fair, isn't it? After all, you must know some things about me."

Yes, he does, all terrifying. They say she got her powers through sacrificing princess Isabella. Some say she used them to tame a dragon, while others insist she had a whole army of dragons. Rumor has it that her powers grow with every life she takes, and that that is why she started this war.

He doesn't know if he believes them. He does know she insists that she is princess Isabella, and that she says she has been brought up by a dragon. He knows she killed the brother of his king, who was ruling the neighboring kingdom. He knows she killed more people, she destroyed a village not far enough away from the city for them not to see the flames.

But he says: "I'm a city guard, have been one for 10 years. I married my husband last spring. I have a three year old son, Michael." He drifts off, uncertain whether he has said to much. Or to little.

...

She studies him, so he has a family, interesting. Then why would he do this? Isn't he afraid he might not see his son grow up? Would he be confident that he will win? Could he be that foolish?

Somehow, she doubts that. Somehow, she thinks he does this because he thinks it is the right thing to do. Somehow, she thinks she has a real hero standing in front of her.

...

She's studying him, like a cat would a mouse. Her head is even tilted a little, but somehow, the fire in her eyes has yielded a little to an unsettling spark of curiosity. But then she blinks and it is gone.

She sends him a razor-sharp smile. "I accept your terms, captain."

...

Hadn't the king agreed to a truce if she would agree to his proposal? Still, as she stands in the entrance of her tent, she sees real arrows raining down on her camp. She turns back to her general, Christina, who had come to deliver the news. She looks a bit nervous. But to be fair, everyone looks like that around her. And while Christina is a bit more jumpy and insecure than the other candidates for the position had been. She seemed to be the least likely to put a dagger in her back. Plus, she seemed to have a decent warfare knowledge, even if she had little experience.

"Tell the soldiers to strike back, we attack the city immediately." Izzy says. "But... What about the truce your majesty." Christina asks. She catches the eye of her reflection in the mirror that hangs behind Christina. "That truce is over." Christina bows and leaves to give the orders. Her reflection bites her lip.

...

Idiots, he thinks. What were they thinking? Didn't they realize the queen would strike back with ten times their strength?

He runs through the city, trying to organize his men. Apparently, the king hadn't had much faith in him to beat the queen. And while that might be fair, that doesn't mean that he should've ordered to attack the army waiting outside their gates. The army had quickly done off with the attack, and the few men that had returned had had nasty burns on their body. After that, they had been the ones under attack.

He had quickly given up on defending the walls, after all, it hadn't been much use as soon as the gates had fallen to the flames and they were in danger of being attacked from two sides. Instead he had ordered his men to raise barricades throughout the city, using as much stone for them as possible.

He knows they won't be able to fight off the attack, but this way they could at least bring the ones unable to fight to the relative safety of the palace. He would have surrendered to any other enemy, assuming they would at least spare the civilians. But the king had given strict orders not to surrender, and he had seen the queen when she attacked the city, the look in her eyes had made it hard to believe that she'd be willing to spare anyone in the city.

Now, he finds himself at a barricade halfway the city. Waiting for what will come.

...

She had learned over the past year that if she wanted something to get done, she would need to do it herself. So no sitting back in the camp for her, she fights in the front.

Now that she has helped to burn down the gates, she strolls through the city, looking for places she can help. She's heard from her officers that the defense has been miraculously good organized in the parts of the city away from the walls. It takes them longer than expected to reach the castle.

This is actually her first time fighting in a big battle, and she doesn't know how she imagined it would be. She hadn't imagined all those bodies littering the streets, though, both still alive and death.

She sees the body of a young man, almost still a boy, even younger than she is. He lies against a wall, clutching the spear sticking out of his body.

She doesn't know when she first realized that she was not the hero of this story. Maybe already at the start, when she had found herself in that courtyard full of burnt bodies.

She sees the body of a woman, killed by a stab wound in her chest.

Maybe she already realized it when she saw that village burn. Burn, because she had ordered it.

She sees a little girl, no older than ten, clutching the lifeless body of a woman.

But maybe... Maybe she only realizes now.

She puts a tentative step forward. She doesn't really know why, maybe from an instinct to help the girl? But then she spots the blood, too much to all have come from the woman. So, she realizes, and she runs.

...

They are fighting the first soldiers when he spots her. The queen runs like she's followed by a ghost, but skitters to a halt when she spots the fight. She blinks and looks around.

He gets attacked by a man, and he struggles for a few moments before managing to knock him unconscious by a hit to the head. When he looks back to where she stands, he sees that she hasn't moved in the past minute. He notices that her flames have died out.

He doesn't know why he does it. Maybe because he wants to stop the bloodshed. Maybe because she looks so lost. But he shouts to her. "Your majesty! Didn't we have an appointment?"

It seems to take her some time to focus and process what he said, but then her shoulder's slump down and she nods, almost looking relieved.

...

She sits against a wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, waiting for the hour to pass. The captain has taken it up to himself to organize the duel. He has send out his and her soldiers to tell people the truce is back on.

Because they'll fight, and she'll die, because that is what happens in stories, the hero kills the villain. She realizes that now. She realizes that she is a villain. Only villains could be responsible for so many deaths. She's glad it will be over in an hour. At least she wouldn't have to see that little girl anymore.

...

He looks at the queen on the other side of the square. It's strange, but now that her flames are gone you can clearly see that this queen who has made his kingdom live in fear for months is still almost a girl. A girl he doesn't want to kill.

He thinks he might be able to win though, now that the fire in her veins has retreated. But he just doesn't want to hurt someone who radiates as much desperation as she does. He doesn't want to kill someone that looks so lost.

The messengers must have told the whole city by now. He regrets that he hasn't talked to Matt, and that he didn't hug Michael before he had left their house in a hurry. But still he hopes they won't come here for the fight. He doesn't want them to see it. Not if he wins, and certainly not if he loses.

He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. He shouldn't think like that, he is supposed to be the hero after all. And the heroes are supposed to win. They are supposed to want to.

...

They fight with swords, as they had arranged before. They start with exchanging a few blows to test each other out. Both hesitant at first, but then something shifts in his eyes, and his attacks get heavier.

She stumbles back a couple of steps, defending herself out of habit, when she suddenly trips over her own feet and falls back. She drops her sword in her attempt to stop her head from hitting the ground. Michael is on her in no time, and smirks at her.

She sees another smirk, slowly fading and falling for her fire.  She panics and grapples for her sword. She finds it and sticks it up, right through his stomach.

She stares in horror at the metal piercing his flesh. She releases the sword shoves back, as if she can ignore the wound if she just takes a little distance. As if she can pretend she didn't do it if she's just away quick enough.

...

He fights without really believing in it. He doesn't want to kill this girl. He doesn't want to kill this girl whose eyes contain no life anyway. This girl whose fire has died out for once. But then, he realizes he doesn't have to, he just needs to defeat her.

He makes his blows faster and heavier. She retreats some steps, still keeping off his attack, when she suddenly trips and falls back, dropping her sword.

He quickly gets to her, pointing his sword at her, to make sure she stays where she is. He gives her a reassuring smile, because he won't kill her. He's about to tell her so, tell her that he'll let her live if she surrenders now, but suddenly she looks scared. Before he knows what happens, she has her sword back.

He stumbles back, and stares at the metal piercing his flesh. At the blood dripping along its edges. He blinks and sinks on his knees. He looks at her, for the first time today there is a sparkle of something in her eyes, as she stares down at her trembling fingers. She almost looks terrified at her victory.

...

The villainess whispers: "Aren't the heroes supposed to win?" She catches his eye. "Aren't you supposed to want to?" He asks her.

She had wanted to, yesterday, or at least she had thought that that was what she wanted. She thought she wanted revenge on these people. She thought she wanted them to suffer like she did. Because this is the kingdom where the man who was responsible for the deaths of her family came from. They even helped him with that 20 years ago.

But it had changed, today. It had changed when the villainess saw that girl. So she violently shakes her head.

"No, look at what I did!" She gestures wildly around her. "I burnt down peoples' homes. I killed people! And..." Her voice breaks. "I ordered others to kill for me. I threatened them to do so!" She sinks down, tears running down her face, and she looks at him. She expected disgust, hate or even fear on his face, but instead he looks at her with something like... sympathy? "You don't understand." She tells him. "Everything that happened today is my fault. I'm responsible for everyone that got killed or hurt today. And the worst thing is that I thought I wanted it at first. I thought I wanted revenge. I thought it would make me feel better. But it didn't get me Fier back, and instead other peoples' loved ones got killed!"

"Hey," he reaches for her hand and squeezes it "it's okay." She shakes her head. "No, it's not, and it never will be. And that is why I accepted your offer today. Because I couldn't live with it anymore, and I thought-" A sob escapes from her throat. "I thought that you would kill me. But you didn't." She manages a wry smile. "You didn't, and instead the villain wins this time."

She lowers her gaze and pulls her hand back, Thomas doesn't let go easily, but when he does, he speaks. "I understand how you feel, but it's okay. You've been hurt, so it's understandable you'd want revenge." "But that is the point! I don't want it anymore! Can't I return it?" "Izzy," he says "everyone makes mistakes, and the only thing we can do about them is trying to repair the damage we've caused and learn from them." He takes a deep breath. "I won't forgive you for what you did to my city, Izzy, but I do forgive you for killing me."

She winces at these last words, but before she can reply she gets pushed aside by a man who is followed by a toddler boy. He sits down next to Thomas.

...

Matthew kneels next to him, followed by Michael, who is clutching his arm. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Matt asks. "I love you too Matt." He says with trouble. How long has it been since Izzy stabbed him? "It's just... You got stabbed! And now you lie in a pool of blood, chatting with your murderess."

He looks at her, she has gotten to her feet and moved a bit away to give them some privacy. He can see by the horrified look on her face that she is still close enough to hear them though. He looks her in the eyes as he says: "She's no murderess Matt. It's okay, really. I forgave her." He looks back at Matt and sees that he rolls his eyes. "How noble of you."

Thomas ignores him, and instead turns his attention on Michael. He is still hidden behind Matt, staring wide-eyed at the blood in his father shirt. "That doesn't look very good, does it?" He says, Michael shakes his head, still looking at the blood. "I love you Mikey." He exhales shakily. "I'll miss you." His voice is barely more than a whisper now.

He looks back at Matt, and sees tears welling up in his eyes. "Both of you."

...

She backs away, feeling like she's intruding on something private. She tries not to listen to what they're saying, but then she hears the accusation. "... murderess."

It hurts, even more so because he is right, she did kill Thomas. He looks at her now, he has probably come to his senses now that someone else told him the truth. But then he says: "She's not a murderess Matt. It's okay, really. I forgave her." Matt answers, his voice laced with sarcasm. "How noble of you."

He's truly noble though. He's a hero, and heroes don't hold grudges, that's something villains do. That's something she has done. She has held a grudge to this kingdom, because the man responsible for the death of her family was the brother of their king. And what has it brought her? It didn't bring her family back, and what's worse, she has taken other peoples' families away. People who probably didn't even take part in conquering her kingdom.

She looks back at Thomas, she's been forgotten as he looks in Matts eyes. Matt slightly shakes his head and leans in to kiss Thomas. When they break away, Thomas looks at his son as he lets out his last breath. The loving smile he gave him still lingers on his face when Matt leans in to close his eyes.

She holds a moment of silence, before she slowly walks away. For the first time in hours she is aware of her surroundings again. She looks around her until she spots Christina at the edge of the square. She walks towards her. "Can you re-organize the army and make a list of the dead and wounded? I would like to leave as soon as possible." She bows and says: "I'll see to it your majesty."

Izzy turns her attention on a nearby city guard. "I want to speak to your king. Can you please take me to him?" He looks startled that she addresses him, but quickly tries to school his features into neutrality. He bows and says: "Of course your majesty."

He keeps a healthy distance away from her as they walk to the castle. He hasn't been able to hold up his neutral mask, and sends her a scared glance every now and then. As they wait before the gates of the castle, she says: "You don't have to look so afraid. I won't hurt you." He shakes his head. "I know you won't, that is not the problem. It's just that..." He looks at the floor. "I'm scared of the fire." The fire? She looks at her hands and sees that her flames have indeed returned. "Oh. I hadn't noticed." She puts them out. "Sorry."

She can't hide her flames anymore. She looks at the doors separating her from the king, and bites her lip. Taking a deep breath, she pushes the doors open.

She gets a strong dejà-vu feeling as she stands in front of the throne. Something surely prompted by the figure sitting in it. "You look exactly like your brother." She says without thinking. He quirks his eyebrow. "And you look smaller than I would have expected from the person who killed him." He studies her. "Though I reckon the flames make up for that." She swallows. "Yes, ehm. About that... I'm sorry." "No, you're not" He replies. "You might regret many things you've done, but you're not sorry about killing him. I'm not even really sorry you killed him."

She wants to argue, to tell him that she does regret killing the king. She wants to tell him that she might not regret that he's death, but that she does regret that she's the one responsible for it. She regret's what it has made her. She keeps quiet though, because that is not what she came for.

As the silence drags on, the king asks: "What did you come for? To kill me to?" "Yes," A part of her enjoys that he pales at that. "but I've changed my mind." "Then what do you want? Do you only want control of this kingdom?" She shakes her head. "No." The king looks relieved, but that part of her smiles as she says: "I want three things." He slumps down on his throne, looking defeated. "I don't want your kingdom. Not anymore, you can keep it." He looks relieved again, but he keeps a wary look in his eyes.

"I actually want a peace treaty, where we both promise not to attack the other." He raises an eyebrow. "Really? You want peace? After you marched your army all the way here, you want peace?" "Yes." He blinks, looking surprised, but shrugs. "Fine. What else do you want?"

"I want you to make sure that Thomas gets a honorable funeral." That's what he deserves. "Of course, he tried to save the city." He has quite probably saved the city she thinks, but she again doesn't voice it. "What's your last request?"

She takes a breath. "Thomas had a son, Michael. I want you to make sure that he gets a good education. I want you to give him and his remaining father a monthly allowance for that." He studies her, like she's not exactly what he thought she was. But she stares back, and finally he says: "A bit unusual, but I'll do it."

Exactly like she had expected, he'll be happy to do nearly anything to have her gone. "Good. I'll come back tomorrow to discuss the precise contents of the treaty." She says.

Not giving him a chance to reply, she turns around and walks away. Maybe she'll never be a hero, but that doesn't mean that she'll be a villain.

[bisexualmarvelmagnusbane]

shake your graveclothes off (malec)

magnus and alec, post 2x10, in love and together. (there is a read more on this post, fyi if you can’t see it on mobile.) read on ao3 | my other malec fics

They retire to Alec’s room at the institute after making sure that everybody is as good as they can be – Alec helps Izzy get comfortable in the infirmary, Jace at her side; Magnus checks in with Catarina about Madzie and places shaking hands on Simon and Raphael and Clary, so relieved to find them whole. Alec can’t stand the thought of being any farther than a hall away from Izzy and Magnus doesn’t have the energy to portal them to the loft anyway; mortal terror is exhausting.

They’re quiet as they undress, staying within arm’s-length of each other the whole time even as they fumble in their exhaustion. Alec pulls his shirt over his head and drops it and Magnus drops his coat on top to start a pile. They smile at each other, locking eyes until Alec gets distracted by his fingers tripping over the button on his pants. When looking at what he’s doing doesn’t help him get it done, Magnus steps over and gently pushes his hands away to handle the button and zipper for him. Alec drops his forehead onto Magnus’ shoulder and when Magnus pats Alec’s waist to signal that he’s free to carry on undressing, Alec doesn’t move. Magnus lets his hands rest where he’d patted then, turning his face into Alec’s cheek, lips pressed lightly against the first prick of stubble. Alec’s breath against his collarbone – laid bare as Alec unbuttons his shirt with tender, stumbling fingers – is warm and miraculous and nearly brings Magnus to tears.

Once he’s undone all the buttons on Magnus’ shirt and vest, Alec slips his hands beneath them to slide them off Magnus’ shoulders. His hands slide the clothes all the way down Magnus’ arms. They let them drop to the pile with the rest of the clothes, holding hands for a moment before continuing to undress themselves again.

Magnus’ rings get caught in his necklaces, which he doesn’t notice until Alec catches his wrist, keeping him from yanking on the necklaces and causing himself pain. Breathlessly, Magnus watches Alec untangle the jewelry. Alec has stopped halfway through taking his pants off to do so and Magnus has to catch him as he trips over his pant legs when he steps back after successfully freeing Magnus. They’re too tired to laugh, but they chuckle a little, Magnus’ hands wrapped around Alec’s wrists. They linger like that for so long they almost fall asleep standing up.

Eventually, reluctantly, Magnus’ fingers fall and Alec finally gets his pants slipped off. He steps towards the bed to turn the covers down, fluffing the pillow on Magnus’ side. Magnus still has not managed to begin moving again. Tears burning in the back of his throat, he says, “Alec.” And Alec, stunning in his knee-high socks and boxer briefs, comes back to him immediately, hands coming to his elbows, brow furrowed in concern as he brings his face down to make eye contact with Magnus.

“Kiss me,” Magnus asks, choking.

Alec’s lips come so quickly to Magnus’ that they land only partially on their target. The kiss continues inelegantly, messily; they’re exhausted and in love and relieved and coming down from a day of fear and adrenaline highs. They tremble in each other’s arms and gratefully kiss more skin than lips, tenderness and joy in every point of contact. Breathing hard, Alec rests his forehead on Magnus’ again in coveted closeness. He slides his hands down Magnus’ chest to the waist of Magnus’ pants, gently handling the button and zipper and pushing them down over Magnus’ hips. Magnus steps out of them, sliding them to the side with one foot. Alec pushes him towards the bed when they’re clear, spinning them slowly so that he can sit on the edge of the bed and pull Magnus to him.

With one of the tears he’s been choking on slipping down his cheek, Magnus takes the hint and straddles Alec, resting his weight gently across Alec’s thighs and wrapping his arms around Alec’s neck. Alec exhales, hard, the air brushing over Magnus’ nipples and making him shiver. “I love you,” Alec says, leaning forward to say the words against Magnus’ chest. Once he’s started, he can’t stop. “I love you I love you I love you I–”

“I love you, too; you too; you too; you too,” Magnus echoes, “I love you I love you I love–” speaking the words against Alec’s temple, into his hair, against the swell of his cheekbone, beneath his eye. He has the urge to cover every inch of Alec’s skin with it, like a spell to keep him safe. If only love – or magic – worked that way.

They repeat the declaration until their voices are hoarse and their muscles are trembling. With the last of his strength, Alec pulls them back towards the headboard with one hand, the other arm around Magnus’ waist to keep him steady against him.

Once settled again, Alec folds his knees up behind Magnus and burrows his face into the side of Magnus’ neck, both arms coming back around Magnus until he’s cradling Magnus with his entire body – and promptly falls asleep beneath the weight of him. For most of the night, Magnus remains awake in Alec’s hold, still except for the gentle tears falling into Alec’s hair. The feeling of Alec’s chest brushing his to the rhythm of Alec’s breaths is much more fulfilling than sleep.

But when he can’t put off his own rest any longer, he brings Alec down to the bed, a task he undertakes with some difficulty since Alec refuses to loosen his grip even in sleep. Alec snuffles discontentedly when they’re laid out on their sides front-to-front and Magnus pacifies him by hooking one of Alec’s legs over his waist and slipping one of his own legs between Alec’s, bringing them as close as can be managed. With a sigh, Alec nuzzles his way back to Magnus’ neck and is still.

In the morning, they wake in exactly the same position, hearts beating against each other’s chests. The look on Alec’s face makes Magnus think of prayers he’d forgotten he knew and isn’t sure he can say. He thinks he’ll try anyway. But before he can speak, Alec is sliding down Magnus’ body, peppering desperate, tender kisses down his chest and stomach and slipping his underwear down to get at his cock. Magnus gasps when Alec takes him in his mouth, prayers to all gods new and old, real and not, forgotten, replaced with Alec’s name.

He brings Alec back up with scrabbling fingers when he feels his orgasm coming, always brought with such force by Alec’s earnest tongue, and is kissing him as though he might slip inside him that way when he does come. Magnus trembles apart; the only parts of his body he’s sure are real are the parts beneath Alec’s hands.

When all of his pieces are back in their proper order, Magnus makes to return the favor, but the instant he pushes back to give himself the room he needs, Alec grabs him and pulls him back in. The desperate clutch of Alec’s hot hands is the tightest grip Alec’s ever had on him. “No, don’t,” Alec says, bringing trembling lips to the pulse point on Magnus’ neck. “Just – touch me instead, please? Stay…close.”

Magnus turns his head beneath the touch of Alec’s lips to press a kiss to Alec’s jaw. “All right, dear heart,” he murmurs, and slips a hand between them, magic in that palm to ease and enhance. Alec jerks at the first touch, the magic unexpected, but welcome; the moan it draws from him reverberates through Magnus’ entire body. Magnus uses all of Alec’s favorite tricks, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his neck as he does, biting gently at Alec’s ear when he can tell Alec is close.

Alec comes like his bones are collapsing, his whole body going suddenly, utterly gentle beneath Magnus’ touch. It is the least violent orgasm Alec has ever had and apparently the most satisfying as Alec drifts in the afterglow for longer than Magnus has ever seen him, something that Magnus counts as a blessing. Alec’s beautiful always, but especially when he’s loose-limbed and happy and basking in all the good feelings Magnus knows he deserves. There’s an openness to him in these moments that Magnus feels privileged to see and the press of his warm body against Magnus’ this morning is a holier thing than any angel blood could ever be.

Magnus shifts to get at Alec’s throat. “I love you, Alexander Lightwood,” he murmurs there. He will say this against all of Alec’s skin – and again after that.

“Magnus Bane,” Alec replies (somehow, the promise in his voice echoes back through all of Magnus’ centuries), “I love you, too.”