#because he didn’t lie about his taste but irony on his desires is a BITCH

[fluffypotatey]

sharpwolf fic go brrrrrrr

“There are some”— Eurymachus eyes the group of maids intently. Somewhere in there stood Melantho, probably giggling or gossiping about whatever the maids did in their spare time— “advantages in seeking alternatives while biding the time.” Antinous scoffed. “You mean lucky.” You can call it that.” A maid on the far left side of the group chanced a glance over to where Antinous and Eurymachus sat. Whatever was exchanged between her and his friend, Antinous didn’t care to read, and the woman’s eyes left their area quickly after.  “You should try it. Maybe that will help ease your frustration.” Antinous laughed, pushing Eurymachus’s head down. The thought of slamming it on the table, the harsh smack of wood and skull, entered his mind, but Antinous was a friend of good humor. Maybe if it was another suitor. He cares for their voices even less.  “You forget me, friend. My tastes cannot be sated so easily.” “Ah of course, my mistake.” Eurymachus fixed his hair, his feet now just a few inches further than where they were. “You need a tramp of higher status, and we will all suffer for it.” “I am only a man of fine tastes.”

i cannot WAIT until both of them die :D

[demonic-activity]

Vincit qui se vincit

He conquers who conquers himself

↢↢ alec lightwood fic // malec // coda-meta-fiction-mesh // read on AO3 ↣↣

“I always dreamed of meeting someone like you."

They’re standing in the middle of the loft. A place that is more home to Alec than Alicante could ever be, and that’s possibly all he had been trying to (rather typically disastrously) convey, but somehow the conversation took this turn that he hadn’t expected or intended. It doesn’t exactly slip out, and it’s not like he doesn’t mean it, but it takes Alec by surprise anyway.

It’s just that it isn’t true - not exactly.

He's happy to let it slide, though. Alec kinda hates having to explain himself, it feels too much like having to answer for something that's completely natural to him, and that is unfortunately something he has a lot of experience with. But this is sort of tantamount and although it's about him, it's also about Magnus; and, Alec realizes, he wants Magnus to understand - to understand him.

He's just not sure - fresh out of almost two decades of struggle - where he should begin to explain.

Years and years back, as soon as he was starting to become aware of such things as dreams and desires, he probably hadn’t dreamt of it. He wouldn’t have been able to conceive such a thing.

Later, he didn’t want to.

Dreams can be a dangerous and terrifying thing. Especially when you’re convinced they could never really come true.

Of course, Alec couldn’t deny there had been desires, fantasies, the painful and impossible what-ifs, taunting him. And yes, sometimes they would take the shape of him meeting someone - someone like him, for him, his. But it was always something fleeting, not something he welcomed, and it never tasted like anything like dreams were supposed to taste.

Besides, someone ‘like Magnus’?

Alec drinks in the view of his boyfriend standing before him: his sparkling eyes that try not to give it away but that secretly hold immeasurable kindness; how his whole body exudes grace with every move; the warm and melodious sound of his laughter; the vibrance and confidence with which he paints himself; and the vulnerabilities that lie beneath that imposing glamour, that are for Alec’s eyes only.  Alec’s heart rate picks up as he’s staring and he wonders how with the amount of blood his heart is pumping around it still manages to feel so incredibly full.

Meeting someone like Magnus, meeting Magnus - how could he have ever thought up such a thing?

Mostly it makes him a little sad to to have to think about his former dreams in relation to his boyfriend. For a long time he hadn’t been ready, and maybe when they met, he still hadn’t been. By the Angel, he’s not even sure he is ready now. But somehow, their paths had crossed at exactly the right time. Maybe that's all that matters right now.

Besides, he hadn’t always dreamed of becoming a high-ranking official within the Clave or the Council either. No - his dreams had been been infinitely more modest and yet laughably improbable at the same time.

If Alec were to try to put it into words he would say he always dreamed of simply being a complete person.

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“I didn’t want you to think there was something wrong with me,because I grew up in the Institute, because I always knew I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

Growing up, there was never one clear moment that brought it home to Alec that he was different, that there was something inherently wrong with him - at least in the watchful gaze of those around him. Even at the Institute, away from both mundane and Shadowhunter society, he and the other children didn’t grow up in isolation. They were still molded and shaped by a million cultural and societal impressions. Some lessons he remembered being told outright (“don’t slouch”, “eat your greens”, “it’s spelled a-t-q-u-e”), but more often - Alec guessed -  he learned how to behave through observation and imitation, through silent, contextual clues that he might not have even consciously picked up on. Even when he had been very young, Alec didn’t have to be told it was expected he would marry a woman shortly after coming of age, that he would pass on the Lightwood name - preferably to a couple of boys. Just like he didn’t have to be told that ichor burns your skin like a bitch, that you have to be polite to a Silent Brother and that a simple answer from a Seelie is rarely that.

Alec knew he had always felt a drive to not just function, but to be best, the smartest, to learn the fastest, to preferably never fail and at least contain his mistakes to single instances - not to be repeated. So he practiced and worked hard at meeting the expectations he could practically feel breathing down his neck, and he did his best to follow all these rules - the written and unwritten ones. Because he knew his trajectory, he knew what he had to do. It was almost a relief for him to find out that a combination of skill, training, dedication and repetition - it got him there, it let him tick the boxes of belonging, had him track the steps to succeeding.

Barring that one area, of course.

He tried - the Angel knows he had tried. He looked at girls, understanding perfectly well what he was supposed to see, to feel, to do. He knew equally well he wasn’t managing any of it. From boyhood on there had been countless moments, daily reminders and red flags that he was not speaking the same social code, not meeting the expectations that cluttered the air like low hanging fruit in an orchard, hitting him in the face every three steps. Even worse, these expectations had grown and multiplied as Alec grew up, till he was as good as drowning in a sea of overripe crops, afraid to squish them to a pulp as he still tried to cleave a path forward.

So, no, no one ever had to tell Alec he was gay, no one had to tell him it was not okay to be gay. It probably wasn’t till he was practically grown up that he even dared to voice the word in the deep confines his own mind - let alone out loud. That’s how unspoken this collective understanding went.

No one had to tell him it was something outside the realm of possibilities. It all went without saying.

“We’ve all got our things.”

Alec had long ago rationalized this one misstep in conforming as a shortcoming. Everyone has their weak points, right? Aaron, who had come along with his parents on a visit to the New York Institute and trained with Alec and his siblings almost daily, threw a pretty terrible punch, especially his hooks, but he was great with swords and a good strategist. He also had the most clear-blue eyes Alec had ever seen, but that wasn’t so much a strong point of the other boy as a shortcoming of Alec in noticing.

So this was his, his thing. Some shortcomings meant: try again, try harder. But he wasn’t a complete idiot, he had long since figured out this wasn’t something he could weed out or overcome. These were simply the cards he had been dealt and it wasn’t going to change, it was - and would always remain - what he was going to have to work with. He didn’t need to be fixed, he just had to learn how to manage himself.

So he adapted. He worked twice as hard in every other area of his life, he covered up his biggest weakness the best he could and tried to reconcile this part of him with the reality of life around him. He tried to imitate the picture of the perfect son and Shadowhunter as best he could, as though donning camouflage. Still it pained him, maybe more than anything, that there was no way for him to live his life authentically and honestly.

It was then, on the brink of teenhood, that realised his mistake in adapting so far: he shouldn’t have been so focused on what others thought of him as on what he thought of himself. Because, in the end, the only way to be honest with those around him was by lying to himself.

And the only way to lie to yourself is to make sure you really, truly, believe it.

“Emotions are nothing but a distraction.”

During the day it was all right. He could focus head-first on his strengths, shoot arrows until his fingers bled, spar with Jace until he ached all over, practice Chthonian till he’d nearly choke on his own tongue, or memorize the events of the 1815 European Downworlder Treaty like he’d been present at the signing. During the day there were distractions, there was work - holy shit, there was enough work - and there were his siblings. They often got on his nerves, but when they did manage to drag him out for a taste of their idea of fun, they still effectively took him from his own mind, from his own skin that felt more more like a stranger’s with each passing day.

The nights were another story. Alone, under the protective cover of darkness, away from scrutinizing gazes, demands and commands, and awkward interactions, something shifted, something slipped. There was a door suddenly ajar and it filled his mind with thoughts he could normally keep at bay.

Generally, he reveled in darkness; it was where he fought demons, where he felt at home - familiar and secure. It was what he knew and in that, it was safe. But darkness was also dangerous, because in that safety and comfortability he could almost feel his guard slipping. Darkness can cloak you, hide you, can give you something of a free reign within its obscurity. In it he was as near invisible as one can get. Being in the dark felt the closest to being himself, truly himself, and it absolutely terrified him.

He was aware of the painful irony - a Shadowhunter afraid of the dark, of facing demons; albeit so wildly different than the ones he faced every day.

Then there were the dreams. When his mind would finally tire from overthinking every interaction he'd had, every move he'd made, and the tossing and turning gave way to sleep, his subconscious reigned free and there was no longer any control over his thoughts. He remembered waking up a particular night at fourteen from a very vivid dream involving him and Jace, and he hadn’t been able to look his best friend - his adopted brother - in the eye for the rest of the week.

More often, it wasn’t a particular person so much as scenarios, impossible scenarios of strangely wonderful intimate moments. Sometimes they were just sweet, sometimes they were hot, but they all left him feeling hollow and slightly nauseous upon waking.

He didn’t always remember his dreams, but just waking rock hard with a vague, receding, recollection of a body, a nameless face, a touch, meant that Alec knew enough.

He had never felt more alone or at war with himself than when he woke from those kind of nights.

The hormonal teenage years had been the worst, but as he got older and gained more control over his body, he started to fear that it wasn’t so much the REM sleep kind of dreams he had to worry about. That - as much as he had tried to avoid it - somehow, ideas had taken root in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.

One day, he had been rushing down the street - glamoured and as oblivious to the mundane world as ever - when he’d come across a tableau that stopped him dead in his tracks. Just two men on the sidewalk, walking together, checking out window displays, holding hands. Just that. Except not at all because it was enough to quietly rock his world. All air had seemed knocked from his lungs. Alec felt as though he was caving in on himself, like he was a house of cards and not flesh and bone. He had dashed into the nearest alley, gasping for breath. Thoughts spinning in a mindless swirl of incoherent fragmented snippets, rearranging themselves with every ragged gust of air leaving his throat.

He couldn’t explain it to himself, at first, why he was reacting so strongly, but he couldn’t force the image from his mind either. He felt sick. And then he felt sick with himself for feeling that way. Self-loathing mixed with pre-existing self-hatred till it formed a giant mass of revulsion burning through him, leaving no vein or artery untouched to the point where he wondered what would come pouring out if you cut him open.

He didn't know how long he stood there, bowled over in a nameless alleyway, slowly losing control. He replayed the image over and over in his mind till he could come to no other conclusion. It wasn’t that he didn’t know this was a … possibility for - for others, it wasn’t that he’d never witnessed it so up close, or even the fact that no one had seemed to bat an eye. It was rather that a part of the illusion he had created for himself started to come undone, ripping at the seams, in those few seconds he had stood there, staring, taking in their clasped hands, easy smiles and soft looks. Because before anything else, before reason, before confusion, before shutting it all out, there had only been a single thought. Baffling in its simplicity.

I want that.

It was ludicrous, really, because he knew, he had always known, that nothing like that was for him. And he had dealt with the reality, the clear-cut facts of his sexuality, he’d managed it. He had set up rules for himself and and a strategy to go from there. Besides, Alec knew he wasn’t a romantic. Even if he had been attracted to women, he was sure he wouldn’t moon over them as ridiculously as Jace did, or be at the receiving or granting end of any so-called ‘grand gestures’. That wasn’t for him. That wasn’t who he was. Was it?

That was what brought the panic to a peak. After all the deception and creation of narratives he’d undertaken on his own behalf, a heinous thought suddenly surfaced in the back of his mind and sent him reeling, the bile rising in his throat once again. I don’t know myself at all.

And then he threw up.

“Life isn’t about what you want to do, it is about what must be done.”

Over the years, he had retreated further into himself and he knew it wasn’t exactly healthy, but what could he do? He was deathly afraid that even opening up ever so slightly would cause everything to unravel completely. His carefully crafted house of cards would collapse, and he didn’t think he could live with what would come crawling out from the rubble.

Izzy looked more and more worried and hurt every day. His mother would barely look at him at all. And Alec... well Alec had a hard time facing his mirror image as well.

He knew it wasn’t working out. Since the incident in the alleyway, he’d become aware that he wasn’t exactly immune to any kind of feelings. So he had to reassess, reacquaint. No problem. So far he had been mostly familiar with the needs, had been prepared for them. So what if one way or the other - despite carefully fencing off specific parts of his mind - certain wants, ideas… dreams had started to spread, inching their way through his limbs like tangled strands of ivy. He was aware of it. Just another layer to the flaw he had built his existence around, no big deal.

Except yes big deal.

It was like there was another voice inside his head, one that had been slowly gaining in strength and volume as he lay in bed staring at the dusty, vaulted ceiling of the Institute. From a barely audible whisper to a steady stream of live commentary, an incessant hum. It got harder to ignore, but he could do it. He had to do it.

In the end, knowing what was at stake, what he craved simply didn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, what did it matter what he wanted? It was almost laughable to think of his own wants as eclipsing the cause he stood for, had stood for all his life.

So he steadfastly ignored the murmurs in his mind, the turn his thoughts sometimes wanted to take, the paths his eyes wanted to stray. And he was doing an okay job of it. Not great, but okay.

Till everything turned to shit, and his life became a confusing mess of the Cup, Valentine’s daughter, Downworlder affairs, raves, necklaces and lares.

Till he turned around.

And in Alec's head the voice didn’t whisper, didn’t speak: it roared.

“You can’t change who you are.”

“And you can?”

- “I know who I am”

He’d take it out on the punching bag like he could punch his life back in line, back in order. It didn’t exactly relieve him of his frustration, but it was better than doing nothing, than being a prisoner to his own thoughts that rang loud and clear inside his head, but never out of it.

Alec knew he was homosexual, had known it for many years. He wasn’t denying that. All he was trying to deny was how much of an influence that should play in his life. Was it too much to ask to get a say in that?

He was trying, goddamnit, he was trying to just live his life, to reconcile who he was with everything else he was supposed to be. Who he was and what he was.

Izzy had - more than once - declared him to be repressed. Alec loved his sister, more than maybe anything in the world, and she was often right about him, but this would probably never stop rubbing him the wrong way. Repression seemed to indicate he was forcing the issue from his mind. How could he explain to Izzy that his sexuality was sometimes all he could think about?

Surely, in his teenage years he’d repressed a lot, but along the way to adulthood he’d come to accept himself the way he was. He’d come to terms with his reality, he wasn’t running from anything, he wasn’t in denial, and he wasn’t repressing any feelings he had. He simply wasn’t acting on them. Isabelle - the Angel protect her - didn’t see that. For some reason she just couldn’t accept his fate the same way he had done a long time ago.

Around him, his life was crumbling. Everything he derived his self-worth and pride from, everything he’d worked towards, it was slipping away. Jace felt further removed from him than ever, his parents had not only betrayed his trust, but also all the supposed morals and values they had always stood for. Now a homicidal maniac was threatening their world, war was on the horizon, and nothing he did seemed to work out.

And this - this was his last vestige, the last area of his life he had any control over. He couldn't let anyone take it from him. He wasn’t repressed, he was just resigned.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The only sound in the room was that of flesh hitting solid leather, and his labored breathing. He tried to drown in it, disappear in it, like he was one with the room. He was the body and the punching bag - just fighting himself.

“You have to be true to yourself."

- “I am.”

All day Alec had been busy mindlessly choosing from an array of near-identical objects, variations of linen, china, and endless combinations of flowers. Who gave a fuck? Apparently all these decisions were paramount. And maybe it did feel important, but for all the wrong reasons. He had no doubt his sister would have been able to make all these selections on her own perfectly fine, but she had insisted on him weighing in - all the while sending him sharp glances and not so subtly giving him outs with regards to the whole ceremony.

Alec felt more exhausted from this ordeal than he had ever had from a training session or hunt, but sleep still wouldn’t come.

Why didn’t anyone get it? Why was everyone giving him pitying looks and treading so excruciatingly lightly around him? Why was everyone judging him for what was supposed to be his choice, and the only logical and proper choice at that?

Magnus called it ‘living a lie’, Izzy construed it as him following his parents’ orders and ruining his life, Jace insinuated he wasn’t being true to himself. None of them got it.

He was true to himself. This was who he was. Gay, yes, but more importantly: fighting hard for his family, the Institute, all of their honor and future opportunities. He was trying to gain control, crucial control, over the situation with Valentine and over the Institute. Trying to ensure everyone would be safe.

This wasn't his parents marrying him off, this wasn’t the Clave dictating what he had to do or brainwashing him. This had nothing to do with sexuality or preferences, with romance, with social codes or expectations. This was about him.

Yes, Magnus was… confusing and nerve-inducing and sort of incredibly wonderful, really. But the point remained: Alec had to do right by himself. He needed to do this. He needed to marry Lydia. Not because he loved her, not because it was expected of him, not because he was in denial or unable to be true to himself, but because - because - he had to be true to himself. This was the moment where he could put his ideals, his beliefs, to the test.

Alec turned over in his bed once more, tangled in his worn cotton sheets, and breathed in harshly even though it barely seemed to make a difference. This was his choice and he would stand by it. This was him, proving himself to the world.

It didn’t taste like the sweet success he had hoped it would, though. If anything, it tasted like bitter regret.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, but this, it isn’t it.”

Alec fiddled nervously with his bow tie, the one he was supposed to put on in a couple of hours. This day was flying by in a daze and he was feeling consumed by nerves the one moment and completely numb the next.

The voice in his head had steadily increased in volume in the past few weeks, and now it was something of a daily shouting contest in his mind.

He didn’t think he had any chance of winning that contest. Having locked himself in his room for the larger part of this day, he was actually afraid he might be going mad.He'd been arguing with himself for hours on end.

And that’s what brought it home to him, hitting him in the face like a quick jab posing as a right hook: he had indeed been arguing with himself this entire time, not anybody else. The voice in his head was just as much him as the thoughts it seemed to continuously interrupt. On this lifelong issue of Alec, nobody was actually coming for him, nobody but himself.

It was a startling, haunting realization: that the threat to his carefully constructed manageable situation wasn’t from any outside forces, but rather from within.

He desperately tried to make sense of this braintwister. Because maybe, maybe he didn’t have to reconcile these two voices, the two aspects of himself, because all of it, everything, it was him. Attraction to other men, discomfort with that very same concept, hesitation, confusion, dedication to the Shadowhunter cause, to his family, his drives, his honor: it was all him, would always be him.

He had been so busy accepting that his sexuality defined him, would always be a part of him, that he hadn’t stopped to think that so would all of the other integral parts of his life. He wouldn’t stop being an eldest child, an older brother, a protector, a soldier, a Shadowhunter. He wouldn’t stop loving archery, valuing sincerity or thinking strategically. He didn’t have to work extra hard on those parts of him, just like he didn’t have to ‘work’ at being gay. Of course, he would always try to be a better version of himself, but he didn’t have to compensate or sacrifice other elements, like his romantic life, for a fear of losing everything else that made him, him.

To be gay.

To be a Shadowhunter.

These concepts had always warred within himself, but maybe it wasn’t so complicated, maybe he had already proven - in the 23 years of his existence - that he could have both, could be both. Because he was - simple as that. There was nothing to compensate for.

A strange relief rocked through him such as he had never felt before. Fiercer than when Jace had agreed to be his parabatai, than when he was appointed acting Head of the Institute, or than any of the moments they’d all made it out of a difficult hunt unscathed.

The springs in his decades-old mattress squeakily complained as he sagged down on his bed in a daze. He swallowed past a lump in his throat that only seemed to grow and grow until there was no way out. No way but out, and he cried - properly, with abandon - for the first time in years.

“I’m the same person I’ve always been. Now everything’s just out in the open.”

It was one thing grappling with this paradigm shift in the safety of his own bedroom, but by the time he stepped out he got smacked in the face with reality, with the expectation and stress hanging heavy in the air. It felt like too little, too late. He wasn’t ready to put his new-found perspective to the test, and he wasn’t one to forget the promise he had made.

Everything went so fast and before he knew it, he was up on that dais, feeling far removed from everything below him, stuck on a mile-high tower rather than a few steps up.

The sound of a door swinging shut brought him back from his trance, and the sight of Magnus Bane at the other end of the aisle toppled his tower. In that moment, everything else just ceased to exist. Inexplicably, it simplified everything.

For once Alec’s mind was blissfully quiet.

Jace whispered something at his back and Alec brought his attention to those immediately around him. The most important people in his life. For them, it was okay, it was fine, he was certain of that. Even for Lydia, apparently, even though he hadn’t been sure there. So, in the end, it was just him, standing in his own way.

Every step felt a mile-long.

It wasn’t so much walking towards Magnus as it was walking away from a reality where he didn’t have the option, towards one where he did.

And he felt sure - for the first time in his life - that for him, whatever would come from that option, living with it would mean living whole.

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Ever since that conversation about his job offer, Alec can’t stop thinking it over all evening. He only pays half a mind to their conversation at dinner, he brushes his teeth mechanically, goes through all the motions, while he turns his own words over and over in his head. Magnus probably notices his merely physical presence - he always reads him like a large-print book - but he leaves Alec to his thoughts, confident in Alec’s ability to bring it up when he’s ready.

They’ve been in bed for about half an hour, Magnus already dozing off, when Alec finally speaks up. It’s little more than a whisper, but Magnus immediately stirs at Alec’s side.

“So when I say I’ve always dreamed of meeting someone like you... it’s true, but it’s also not. I’m not sure. I - it’s complicated.”

There’s a moment of silence in the bedroom - Alec can hear his heart pounding in his ears. 

Magnus’ voice is soft and balming and he tangles his fingers with Alec’s.

“So tell me.”