#but raphael has carved a place out for himself in the world

[not-poignant]

Does Mephistopheles regularly beat all of his Cambion children? Or does he just particularly enjoy hurting Raphael? Or does he specifically find himself having to put Raphael in his place more often than the others?

Feel free not to answer if it’s too spoilery. I’m just curious. The Devil family dynamics are fascinating.

There's some indications that Mephistopheles raped so many women that he has like hundreds of cambion sons and has killed most of them. So that's the lore I'm going with, because that's fun for me, the idea that he just has this endless supply of weak (by fiend standards) sons that he can make do his bidding and torment whenever he likes.

I think Raphael's a bit special (like a few of his sons are), in the sense that he did actually genuinely rise to power, he is very intelligent, and he has secured the House of Hope which is strategically a very significant waypoint for Zariel, and therefore affords him more status than a (Ascended pit fiend) cambion would generally have. I would say that of the surviving cambion sons, he was the most powerful, and had been for some time. That along with Raphael's loyalty is the only reason why Mephistopheles deigned to resurrect him in the first place, he hasn't offered that to any of his other sons, who are just like...dead and/or lemures.

I don't think Mephistopheles regularly beats all his children, in fact I think he's as patchy with the concept of fatherhood as he is with all of his projects. But I do think he has a tangible enjoyment from tormenting Raphael, and I think Raphael doesn't do a great deal to discourage him, because it means he often gets away with other activities that like...his father underestimates him for / thinks he's incapable of.

Mephistopheles needs some of what Raphael supplies to him (particularly funds, most fiends don't care a very great deal about gold or wealth or anything like that. All wealth is measured in souls and the acquisition of souls, and they often need wealth to do that, but, only some are personally interested in attaining that wealth. Raphael is very good at securing gold / gems / capital for manipulating greater populations of people, so he therefore directly funds a lot of his father's 'projects' which means for thousands of years, Mephistopheles hasn't had to bother learning how to do that himself. Which makes him more kind of semi-dependent on what Raphael does for him.

He's been betrayed by at least one of his sons before, and very significantly, so I think he never misses an opportunity to both remind Raphael of his place, and get some enjoyment out of what he's doing re: hurting him. But I also think Raphael benefits from Mephistopheles thinking of him as some poetry-obsessed Faerun gadabout and assuming he's not capable of more than that).

Idk I have a lot of thoughts about those two, I do think Raphael is not above using himself as bait for example, to get enough soul coins to essentially rebuild the boundaries of the House of Hope and get his appetite quenched again. I think he also believes Mephistopheles won't come after him, because M is ultimate ADHD archduke - hyperfixated on a project and loses track of things very quickly (like literally, that's canon). I also think M doesn't want to visit Avernus and he doesn't want to lose the House of Hope so he'll probably grumble and kill some cornugons about it once he finds out, and then settle down lol.

[risestarkiss]

Orange, Baby!

Rise Ramblings #316

When I think about Mikey, this scene always comes to mind.

As soon as they step foot in the library to save Mayhem, Angelo instantly disqualifies himself…hilariously.

On first watch, I found it interesting that he made this decision with no hesitation, especially given the stakes.

At the time I just resigned to him being a silly silly boy, but now I know better.

Yet, before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s explore who Mikey is.

Michelangelo Hamato is the youngest turtle in the family, and it shows.

Consequently, he seems to possess a certain “youngest brother privilege" that his other brothers just can’t help but reinforce. This is the role that Mikey was born into. Therefore, he doesn’t have to push himself to be the smartest, or cleverest, or strongest turtle.

Instead, he decides to be the artist of the family. He’s a creative! He expresses himself everywhere, from stickers on his own shell, to tagging the lair, as well as on paper. The world is his canvas!

Michelangelo also expresses himself in virtually everything he does, so it’s easy to understand why he’s the most open, honest, caring, and emotionally expressive turtle of the bunch. To some it could be seen as a weakness, yet Mikey uses his emotional intelligence as a pillar of strength, of which he utilizes to uphold his brothers when they need support the most.

In the show, Michelangelo often takes on certain personas; Doctor Feelings and Doctor Delicate Touch. (For some reason, they are all doctors, but that’s beside the point.)

At first glance, the personas could be seen as silly bouts of make-believe. But I think that placing these roles upon himself for his brothers' sake is Michelangelo’s way of helping them cope with the world by offering them what they each individually lack.

For instance, Raph, Leo, and Donnie have trouble voicing their discomforts when someone does something they don’t like.

In other words, they have trouble putting their foot down.

But here is Mikey to the rescue!

Dr. Delicate Touch has no such hang-ups.

Similarly, when Donatello runs into trouble, as he is unable to recognize his own emotions, it’s up to Doctor Feelings to help his desperate client in need.

Through taking on these roles, Mikey is able to support his brothers and fill the emotional gaps in his teammates, which, inevitably makes them all stronger.

How is Mikey able to do this and how does he have the strength to take on these roles?

You could think that it’s just in his character, meaning, it’s just how he is. I don’t think so, though. He’s a free thinker, and a creative, but there’s something about these roles that is specifically catered to the needs of his family.

Then I realized, the only reason that Mikey is able to help his brothers in this way is because they first helped him.

Let me explain.

All four of the boys grew up in the same household. Although Splinter tried his very best (there is no Splinter hate here), a single depressed parent doth not a stable child make. Raphael struggled with the burden of his responsibilities as an ad hoc leader (see Being Big Red), Leo struggled with expressing his natural talents as a middle child (see Being Baby Blue), all while Donnie struggled with carving out his place on the team and his feelings of uselessness (see Being Purple Part One and Part Two).

Well, what does Mikey struggle with?

In my humble opinion, nothing.

The struggles of his brothers all related to each turtle coming to terms with themselves and coming to terms with their place on the team.

Yet, due to the love and support of his brothers and father, Michelangelo never had to ask himself if he belonged, struggle with his role on the team, or make huge life-changing decisions that could affect everyone.

Michelangelo is free to just be Michelangelo.

And as a free spirit who is completely in tune with his own emotions, he is able to do things like this:

and this,

and this.

Let’s get back to the scene in the library.

Angelo sees the high stakes of his friend’s pet disappearing forever if they fail but makes the decision to disqualify himself anyway. Why? Because he knows that no matter what he does, it will all be ok.

He has complete faith in his brothers and their ability to solve the problem at hand, so he might as well have some fun.

This not the first time he’s come to this conclusion.

Through out this entire scene, Michelangelo plays in the background.

It’s scenes like this that makes me believe that Mikey’s faith in his family knows no bounds.

Altogether, his brothers and his father were everything he needed to become who he is. Reciprocally, he is free to be everything that they need him to be and more. Over…

and over,

and over again

he trusts them completely.

And through this unwavering trust in his family, he is able to trust himself and his instincts. He knows that with everything they’ve poured into him, he can save them from, well, everything. Over…

and over…

and over again.

Hence, due to all of this evidence, I believe that through the collective love of his family, Michelangelo became the best version of the Hamato spirit, and thus, the best Mystic Warrior of all time.

All because, he’s Orange, baby!

○○○○

Previous | Being Big Red • Being Baby Blue • Being Purple ○ Part One • Being Purple ○ Part Two

Finale | Being Hamato Yoshi

[wufflesvetinari]

Preview: "Be My Mirror"

yeah FUCK it i'm excited and i lost my couth 15,000 spreadsheets ago

presenting a full-length multiverse caper fic by 19 (!!) authors in the wyllstarion discord, coming in mid-aug to an ao3 tag near you! we've got fusion AUs, we've got canon divergence, we've got A Very Normal High School AU, we've got......so many AUs, jesus. please understand. wyll's a mouse in one of them

Summary:

Wyll, that sanctimonious bastard, refuses to help Astarion ascend. Astarion leaves the party, hoping they all die screaming.

Ah, but Raphael has an offer: a mirror allowing travel between worlds. Surely there must be a universe where ascension is still on the table? There’s nothing left for Astarion in Baldur’s Gate, after all.

It doesn’t matter that Wyll’s come looking for him. And it certainly doesn’t matter that Wyll follows through the glass, through boundless universes, through their myriad other lives—searching, chasing, never giving up.

-

Prologue preview beneath the cut

“I’m done with this,” Astarion snarls, “and I’m done with you.”

The cavern is massive, the gullet of a creature crouched beneath the palace. The air is warm and dank. Cazador’s body lies butchered, drenched in its own lifeblood. 

It isn’t enough. It isn’t ascension. Now he’ll never be safe.

Wyll’s face is tight with pain, pleading and princely in equal measure. “I couldn’t let you do it, Astarion. All those people—”

Astarion makes an incoherent noise, pure fury. He doesn’t want to think about the seven thousand wretches in their cages—the familiar desolation behind their eyes. Empty of everything but misery. 

(And hope, perhaps. Hope that Astarion was going to save them. It doesn’t bear thinking about.)

“They—they were as good as gone anyway! You put a pile of corpses over me! Gods below, why couldn’t you have just helped me?"

Wyll’s noble shoulders slump. He looks a picture, standing there in his bloodied gambeson: a proud jaw and a gleaming brow, both of which Astarion had kissed with fevered affection just yesterday. 

A warm red eye.

All Wyll had to do was be his eyes. All he had to do was let Astarion carve the damned sigil into Cazador’s back. He didn’t even have to lower himself so far as to hold the knife.

“I couldn’t watch you lose yourself this way,” Wyll pleads, and Astarion remembers—

Drinks by the river. A dance by firelight. A blade flashing in the dark beside his own. Teasing, challenging, spurring him on—but not touching, never pushing, not unless he wanted it. Gentle enough he could’ve cried.

He remembers Wyll’s palm smoothing across his back, checking in after a tough fight. 

Wyll used to have his back. 

He bares his teeth. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” 

He storms over the stone bridge. He ignores the raised voices, the way the party calls his name—the way Wyll’s stupid stately baritone sounds so close to breaking. 

Idiots, the lot of them. They’ve taken his choices away. It doesn’t matter what happens to them anymore.

Chains sway over the chasm. Cages in the fog.

What’s left for him now? Skulking through shadows, remembering the glorious weeks he’d walked in the sun? (Remembering a palm on his back, gentle—)

No. He’ll show them all. 

This little tadpoled traipse across Faerûn may have been a waste of a good vendetta, but it’s still earned him a few assets. Friends in low places, for one. 

He makes for Sharess’ Caress and the devil he knows. 

--

It takes two days.

Raphael refuses to give a straight answer: some feeble excuse about time travel being difficult. Some lord of the hells he is. 

It doesn’t feel good, throwing himself on a devil’s mercy. It doesn’t feel good, sleeping alone in flophouses he’d once frequented as Cazador’s lure. It feels, altogether, like he’s rather less in control than Wyll had promised he’d be, once Cazador was dead.

Stupid man. Sweet fool.

He hadn’t looked back, in the palace—hadn’t let himself see whatever big wet cow eyes Wyll was giving him. People never talk about how manipulative the Blade of Frontiers can be. You don’t hear about that, in the stories: the diabolical way he twists you around inside until you forget what’s good for you. Until you get all caught up in stupid fantasies of knights and fairness and respectful conversation. Until you forget how to think for yourself.

The Gate is in chaos. Shapeshifters kill civilians, the Zhent are moving in, and none of this is Astarion’s problem anymore.

On the third day, Raphael shows him a hand mirror.

It’s a gaudy thing: silver and studded with pearls. Look straight on, and the glass is normal. Look from the corner of your eye, and it seems almost to ripple.

“And this trinket will allow me to redo the ascension,” Astarion says, carefully skeptical—pushing down the excitement bleeding through his chest.

“Not exactly. At least, not in the way you mean.”

“By all means, thrill me with riddles. Or you could speak plainly for once and we could skip to the godsdamn deal.”

Raphael stands surrounded by the Caress’ plush comforts: velvet drapes, plates of plums and currants, a warm bath set in the back of the room. He regards Astarion with mild, patrician interest. “Patience, little mouse. Have I steered you wrong yet?”

“I am extremely tired of people steering me anywhere.”

“Mm. Hopefully you’ll have the power to change that very soon.” He shifts the mirror in his hand. It catches the light. “My collection lacks any artifact with the power to turn back time. You’ve missed your chance at ascension. This world marches forward, lockstep.”

Astarion grits his teeth. “Then why are we still talking?”

“Because your efforts hardly have to be confined to this world. Not with this…trinket.”

Astarion peers at the mirror more closely this time. There’s an etching down the handle, but it’s half-hidden by Raphael’s hand. Raphael shifts the mirror away from him—casual enough to be coincidental, though Astarion knows better. It’s one bloody powerplay after the next, with devils.

“Shaundakul’s Mirror,” Raphael says, “will allow you to move between universes. I’m sure there are boundless worlds where ascension is still in your grasp.”

“So just…leave? Ascend somewhere else?”

“As another version of yourself, yes.” Raphael examines his nails. “Or I suppose you could stay a spawn in Baldur’s Gate, scuttling between alleyways as you wait out the dawn.”

A strange ringing starts in Astarion’s ears. He’d never considered—of course there are other worlds. Of course things would be different there. He could steer some pitiful other version of himself toward greatness. He could ascend, then make a life there.

Nothing’s left for him here, after all. Not anymore.

There must be other Wylls, surely. Perhaps some of them are more reasonable about the things desperate people do for power. Perhaps he could find a Wyll who’d never look at him with disappointment, or with pain. 

He squashes down the raw-rubbed feeling in his chest. Ascension must be the priority. Mooning over strange Wylls is in a distant second place.

It’s every fool for himself.

“If the first world doesn’t suit your tastes,” Raphael is saying, “just skip to the next. The mirror will be nearby, in some form or another.”

“What’s in this for you? What’s my end of the bargain?”

“I thought it would be obvious.” He smiles, and Astarion knows a predator when he sees one. “I could make better use of seven thousand souls than Mephistopheles ever could. Just between you and me.”

[whispering-about-the-tmnt]

I know Leo is your favorite. I am curious what’s your opinion on Raph?

I love him! I actually love all the guys pretty much equally, it's just that I love Leo a tiny bit more.

The thing about Raph, though, is in some of the iterations he is reduced down to a base "angry guy" personality; and I prefer it when the writers tell us why he is angry, and show more aspects of who he is.

For example, the "why" being, as Splinter put it in my story "Something Wicked", when Raph got angry and punches things after... well, that's a spoiler:

"I am sorry if someone has hurt you in their anger," he said, placing his touch on the teen's arm. "But I swear to you that Raphael would never do so. He is first and foremost a protector, and he believes at this moment that he has failed in that charge. Would you feel any different, if one person you loved was missing, and two others unwell?"

He wants to protect people; that is his primary personality trait, not "angry guy". That is doubtless why he became Nightwatcher in the 2007 movie. It wasn't because he wanted to go out there bashing heads in (that was just a bonus), it was because he wanted to protect people, and when Leo left they stopped doing that. Interestingly, the things that Leo found distasteful about the Nightwatcher were very much the same things that Leo himself was doing in the jungle in South America, but it seems that Raph was actually more conscious of not killing anyone in the process (you can't tell me that Leo let that guy in the Jeep actually live... not with that blood-curdling scream).

But, yeah, Raph and Leo are actually very much alike in that they are protectors of others, except that Leo goes about it very differently. The jungle example notwithstanding, in most versions Leo is the big brother that goes to his younger sibling's bullies and gives them a calm warning; Raph is the big brother that goes to his younger sibling's bullies and pushes them against the wall and tells them to back the hell off or deal with him... then he goes home and smacks the younger sibling across the head.

He can be very soft when he wants to be, though, so those soft moments have much more of an impact. Like in Tales Of Leo in 2k3, when he was the only one to cry when he told his story; or in both Bayverse and MM when he confessed his love for his brothers when he thought they were all going to die; or how well he got along with little Yoshi in TMNT 3; or when, in the 2007 movie, he told Splinter about Leo getting taken; or in Batman Vs. TMNT when he lectured Batman about the importance of family. But one of the most heart-wrenching moments had to be in Same As It Never Was when he was dying and used his last ounces of strength to crawl to Leo's side.

And as I said, I love it when his other interests are put on display. Like when he is shown knitting and carving in Bayverse, or working on his bike in 2k3, or playing video games with the guys in whatever iteration. In the future world of the TMNT Archie run, he is shown to be married and runs a restaurant where he is the chef. And though it is not an interest, knowing that he is afraid of insects makes him seem more down-to-earth and less of just the tough turtle.

Some of his "traits", I must admit, are simply headcanons to me. Because of his protective nature, I like to think of him as a gifted medic (albeit one whose bedside manner could use some working on), whose medical knowledge is second only to Don's. Also, I picture him being able to speak Spanish, which he learned by hanging out with people in the Bronx (also where he picked up his distinct-in-the-family accent). Both of those things, again, I wrote into "Something Wicked", which even has a whole chapter about Raph called "The Protector".

So, yeah, I think Raph is awesome! I just wish we could see more of it onscreen, you know? I am really looking forward to how Tales Of The TMNT utilizes him!

Anyways, thank you for the ask! Sorry the answer was so long!

[goodlucktai]

always darkest before the dawn

rise of the tmnt x tmnt 2k3 word count: 4k title borrowed from the tornado by owl city post-movie

part two of this prompt

read on ao3

x

Raph’s not a crier.

When he was younger he might have said it was because he was too tough to cry, a New Yorker to his core. In his thirties he can admit, at least to himself, that it has nothing to do with being a tough guy, and everything to do with being extremely self-conscious in just about every avenue of his life, but especially about feeling things out loud where anyone might see it.

Blue’s Raph doesn’t have the same problem.

He’s huge, his shell and shoulders covered in dangerous-looking spikes, a big tail that puts Raphael in mind of Leatherhead dragging across the floor behind him. By looks alone this kid is the definition of a tough guy—and he’s weeping openly, tugging Blue into an embrace just shy of crushing.

“Hey, big guy,” Little Blue whispers, shaking hands fumbling for a solid hold on his brother’s shell. His fingers skate across the big hole carved through the top of Big Red’s carapace. He reaches up to touch the bandage packed over Red’s right eye. That’s about when his expression crumples and his own eyes fill with tears. “I’m so—Raph, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” Red rumbles, burying his face in the top of Blue’s head.

“It was all my fault,” he insists, breath hitching like he’s just a few seconds from bawling. “I’m so sorry, Raphie.”

“God, Leo, don’t. You don’t have to—” Red grits his teeth, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He looks like he’s remembering something that makes him sick to his stomach. One of his hands finds the nape of Blue’s neck, thumb brushing carefully over the grisly bruises there. “You don’t have to apologize anymore, okay? I don’t want to hear it. Everything’s alright now. Nobody’s mad at you.”

“I’m mad at you,” Purple interjects immediately.

“Donald,” Orange says at length, which seems to be enough to shut him up point-blank.

Blue’s next sob sounds more like a laugh.

Red only loosens his tight hug for as long as it takes for Purple and Orange to shove their way in, and then he has all three of them squeezed against his battered plastron like there’s a very real possibility he’ll never let them go.

They’re all clearly hurting, clinging to each other in a way that Raph recognizes, even if he wishes he didn’t. How many close calls has he lived through? How many nights has he kept a frightened vigil in the infirmary, counting a wounded sibling’s breaths, refusing to sleep just in case he woke up in a world he didn’t recognize?

The kids huddled on the floor look like it would take a small apocalypse to wrench them away from each other, and even then, they wouldn’t make it easy.

“You scared me, Lee,” Orange says thickly. His tone wavers between desperate relief and actual heartbreak, face screwed up as if he can’t decide how he wants to look at his prodigal brother. He curls his hands into fists around the strap that stretches across Blue’s plastron. “I thought you were—I don’t know what I’d do if…. Never ever ever do anything like that ever ever again.”

“If you do, I will make you wish you’d never been born,” Purple hisses. “There’s nowhere in the universe you would be able to hide from me, you scheming, self-sacrificial idiot.”

It’s definitely a threat, and it definitely sounds genuine. If it weren’t for the way Purple’s snout is tucked firmly into the crook of Blue’s neck and shoulder, the two of them pieced together like a familiar puzzle, Raphael might have been worried.

There’s also the fact that Blue looks absurdly reassured, like all’s right with the world again now that Purple is here to menace him.

These guys are weird, he thinks.

“These guys are adorable,” Mikey coos a millisecond later. That tracks—Mikey’s weird, too. He pitches his voice a little louder, his friendly tone effortlessly disarming. “Hey, kiddos. I’m absolutely a believer in group hugs, please don’t get it twisted. But there are comfier places to cuddle than the floor.”

“And it looks like some of you might need rebandaging,” Donnie adds gently. “I’m happy to help with that, if you like.”

Raph watches as their alternate selves seem to remember where they are in real time. The new arrivals scramble, each of them trying to shove Little Blue behind them protectively and only succeeding in jostling him around like a snowglobe.

He looks dizzy and tired and he’s probably sore as all hell, and his bloodied eye hurts Raph to look at, but he’s laughing breathlessly, trying to worm free. Red makes a deep rumbly noise in his chest that shuts all escape attempts down. His little brothers respond with clicks or chirps, like it’s second nature—first nature? Whatever, like it’s normal for them.

“Take a chill pill, mis hermanos,” Blue says, perpetually unruffled despite the tear tracks on his bruised face and the manhandling. “These guys are cool. They made me an omelet.”

The defensiveness goes out of Orange and Red right away—whether at Blue’s reassurance itself or just the certainty in his tone, Raph has no clue. Purple, who looks like he was born to harbor grudges with every fiber of his being, scoffs loudly and doesn’t let his guard down an inch.

A huff of laughter beside him makes Raph turn his head to find Leonardo smiling at their visitors ruefully.

“It almost sounds like it’s more meaningful to him that we fed him, not the fact that we treated his numerous life-threatening wounds,” Leo says.

Raph remembers being fifteen. He feels his mouth twitch toward a grin of his own. “It probably is.”

The mention of breakfast causes Mikey to loudly mention to the room at large that Blue hasn’t even touched his, which has the intended domino effect of an exodus out of the cramped infirmary and into the den.

The couch isn’t big enough to accommodate Red, something that Raph notes with a pang. The kid agreeably settles on the rug instead, tail curling around his brothers as much as it’s able. Orange picks his way up to Red’s shoulder, sitting among the spikes there comfortably. Blue is bundled in Red’s lap, with Purple shoving him over none-to-gently to climb in next to him.

“Cozy,” Mikey says, hands on his hips. “But we’re back on the floor again.”

“Losing battle, Mike,” Raph butts in. “You’re familiar with those.”

“Boys,” Splinter cuts them off. They’ll never outgrow that exasperated tone, apparently. “Before we become distracted by the tasks at hand, there is one thing I would like to establish first.”

The kids all straighten when he speaks, not so much out of respect as anticipation. They look more bewildered by him than anything. But they seem ready to follow Blue’s lead as a whole, and Blue is eyeing him curiously.

“What would you like us to call you?” the elderly rat says kindly.

“Ah,” Orange says. “Yeah, we all have the same names, huh? You can just nickname us!”

“Nicknames for you and full-names for us?” Leonardo says as if it’s not the best plan he’s ever heard but he’s made do with worse.

“Full names are a mouthful,” Red replies immediately. “Since, uh, you—” He nods toward Raphael a little bashfully. “—probably go by Raph already, I guess you can call me Ellie.”

“‘Ellie’?” Mikey says in absolute glee. Raph resigns himself to the inevitable—the absolute menace masquerading as his youngest brother is gonna run that goddamn nickname into the ground for the next month. “Really?”

“It’s what these bozos used to call me when they were little,” Ellie replies with a shrug, not at all self-conscious about it. “Mike, how ‘bout you, big man?”

“Angie’s cool,” the spotted turtle pipes up readily. “Looks like we’re going with the last half of our names as a theme.”

Purple, however, adamantly refuses to let Raph and his brothers even entertain the idea of calling Blue “Nardo,” because that method of address is his intellectual property and a Genius Built trademark, whatever the hell that means. Likewise, only Blue calls Purple “Tello,” and Purple looks downright murderous at the idea of these strangers using the name.

“If any of you must speak to me, I suppose you can refer to me as Othello.”

“I thought you hated that alias ever since the whole Purple Dragons situation,” Angie says with a wrinkle in his brow beneath his mask.

“Yeah, and I hate it here, too, so it’s perfect.”

Raph doesn’t take it personally. How could he? The kids look like they’ve been through hell and back. Ellie hasn’t made any move to let his brothers out of his arms. Angie keeps clenching his fists, and then shaking them out, like a tic he’s not entirely aware of—or like whatever is under the bandages wrapped up the length of his arms is consistently hurting him. Othello seems like he’s willing to take a bite out of the next person who looks at him for a second too long but he hasn’t let go of Blue’s hand once.

“And you, little lion?” Splinter asks of the only hold-out.

Leonardo’s younger counterpart hums thoughtfully, then surprises the hell out of Raph by looking right at him, past his own brothers and Raph’s more affable siblings.

“What have you been calling me in your head this whole time?”

Put on the spot, Raph doesn’t have time to think of anything to say but the truth. So he gruffly admits, “Blue.”

Blue’s face lights up. His brothers’ expressions shift into something pleased, a little relieved. Even Othello looks slightly less like he’s about to commit a war crime at any given moment. It’s the same way Blue looked at Mikey earlier, when Mikey knew what drink he liked best; like it’s a hint of home they weren’t expecting to find here.

“Fine by me,” the red-striped turtle allows magnanimously.

Smiling, Splinter begins hobbling toward the kitchen. “Donatello, if you wouldn’t mind looking over their wounds, please? Leonardo and I will make a few more omelets for our guests.”

Donnie mumbles agreeably, heading back into the infirmary, presumably for supplies. Meanwhile, Blue lifts his plate up to Angie, balanced carefully in his casted hand. Angie happily tears the cold omelet in half with his fingers, keeping one part for himself and biting into it like a taco before passing the rest back.

“Eggs?” Blue asks, shoving it under Othello’s snout next.

“I’ll reduce you to atoms,” Othello says plainly, tapping on his phone with his free hand.

“Noted. Eggs?” Blue asks Ellie.

“Leon, if you don’t quit fooling around and eat your dang food—”

“I can’t even tell you how likely it is that I’ll puke if I put anything heavier than jello in my body for the next twelve hours,” Blue says conversationally. It draws Ellie up short, something pained leaking into his expression, and Othello bares his teeth at no one in particular. Sensing that his light-hearted remark didn’t really land the way he intended, Blue adds, “I had some strawberry milk before you got here.”

Somehow he makes it sound like his family is here picking him up from day camp. Ellie’s visible eye gets very soft, the gruff concern melting away and pure affection shining through instead.

“That’s good, kid.”

“Hey,” Angie pipes up, with a depth of care in his voice that makes him sound twice his age, “how ‘bout a fruit smoothie instead, Lee?”

“Say no more, mini-me,” Mikey jumps in, clapping his hands together. “I can blend with the best of them. Baby Blue, don’t tell me your favorite combo, I wanna guess—pineapple and banana?”

Blue blinks owlishly at him. Ellie chuckles and Angie says, “Ohmigosh, the parallels!” so Raph is assuming Mikey was right on the money, yet again. He’s gonna get a big head at this rate—a bigger head—and be impossible to live with.

Don returns at that point, shouldering his Mary Poppins bag off onto the sofa and pawing through it. “Can I see your hands?” he asks gently, offering his own to Angie.

“Oh, no, my hands are fine,” Angie says, flapping them. “They’re not cut or hurt or anything, April only wrapped them ‘cause they kept shaking and the pressure helped.” When Blue shoves far enough away from his siblings to crane around and look up at him in alarm, Angie hastens to add, “I just strained myself, that’s all! It’s like, uh, a torn muscle? In my soul? Dad made us all drink this gross mystic tea that’s s’posed to up our healing game, and he promised Pops that all my pain would go away in a few days.”

Blue stares at him for a second longer. If he’s anything like Leonardo, then he’s able to see right through any attempt at bullshitting him from like five miles away. Angie must be genuine, because after a tense moment, Blue relaxes back against Ellie’s plastron.

“Glad I missed the gross tea,” he announces.

“We saved you some,” Ellie replies shortly. He glances up, and starts at the way Donnie is waiting patiently beside them. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry! I think we’re okay, but you could look at Donnie’s shell, maybe.”

“No,” Othello says shortly.

“Dee—” Ellie begins, but Othello jerks his head sharply, and then glowers openly when Donnie settles down on the floor in front of him.

Raph’s not going to say it out loud or anything, but he’d feel better if Donatello kept his hands away from that kid. Out of biting distance, at least. Don doesn’t seem bothered by his little counterpart’s attitude in the slightest, smiling crookedly at him.

“You’re a softshell, right?” he says mildly. “Your carapace must be spiny and leathery, unlike your brothers’ armored scutes. Is that why you built the metal shell you’re wearing? For protection?”

“Eughh boy,” Angie mutters under his breath, torn between horror and a sort of morbid fascination.

Blue squeezes the hand that Othello is still holding, and Ellie’s arm around him flexes—they’re all clearly anticipating a violent reaction. Raph is taking his cues from them, his muscles tensing as he prepares himself for the act of flinging his immediate younger brother out of harm’s way.

Othello is staring at Don with unblinking gold eyes. They’re a perfect mirror of Blue’s, except there’s a gleam in Othello’s that puts Raph in mind of a deep sea creature lurking beneath an unsuspecting fishing vessel, ready at any moment to casually fuck up someone’s whole day.

“Is there a point to this line of questioning?” he asks in a dangerously blank tone.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Donnie replies, every bit as if he doesn’t sense the danger he’s in. “Yours is one of the most dangerous, aggressive species of turtle that exist in the wild, second only to snappers, but most people wouldn’t be able to tell as much just by looking at you. I’ll bet you’re underestimated pretty often.”

That earns him a blink at least. Othello’s brothers are all frozen, eyes darting back and forth between the two hyper-intelligent turtles like they’re following a tennis match.

Donnie’s smile widens. It’s warm, as always. If you didn’t know where to look, you wouldn’t be able to tell that it was sharp, too.

“I know a thing or two about that,” he admits easily, like it isn’t a painful truth to part with.

Don’s vicious little parallel self tilts his head a bit, considering him. Among the items Donnie has pulled out of his bag is the handheld sensor he modeled after the tricorder from Star Trek. Predictably, Othello’s eyes linger on it. Donnie agreeably offers it to him.

The whole thing reminds Raphael of the countless hours he’s spent with Mikey in countless dark alleys, winning feral cats over with morsels of food.  

Ellie, Angie and Blue all exhale in relief when Othello sets his phone down and takes the tricorder.

“My brothers and I are diamondback terrapins,” Don goes on. “You’d think that, by virtue of belonging to the same species, we’d have had an easier time understanding each other. But growing up, there were times I didn’t understand them at all.”

After a beat, Othello grudgingly engages him. “Human DNA complicates everything. Our genetic donor was equal parts martial arts superhero and an on-fire trainwreck of a man, so at least we come by our eccentricities honestly. But even if my dumb-dumb brothers were softshells like myself, they would still be their dumb-dumb selves, and I would still spend half my waking moments engaged in mortal combat with them at even the slightest provocation.”

“The Cain Instinct,” Angie supplies wisely.

“Indeed,” Othello agrees.

“I guess siblings are the same everywhere,” Donnie says with good humor. “That’s actually kind of a comfort.” He glances back at Othello and nonchalantly adds, “If you show me your shell, I can show you how the sensor works.”

The siren call of an unfamiliar gadget is enough. Othello finally lets go of Blue and extracts himself from Ellie’s hug to disengage his metal shell with a quiet hiss of hydraulics. He leans it against the front of the couch and hands the sensor to Donnie, turning his back to him expectantly and settling tailor-style with a white-knuckled grip on his own legs that betrays his nerves.

Blue plants his elbows on Elllie’s knee and props his chin in his hands so that he and Othello are eye-to-eye. He offers a stupidly charming smile. Othello says, “Get away from me, I’m busy.” Donnie snorts and activates the tricorder, narrating his every move.

A stunned Angie leans down to whisper at Ellie. “Dude, did you see that? Their Donatello just finessed our Dee. He made it look effortless. It took him like two minutes.”

“April is never going to believe this,” Ellie replies weakly.

“Speaking of April,” Blue asks of no one in particular, “how are we getting home?”

“Believe it or not, we jumped in face-first without an exit plan,” Othello says dryly. “We be we, et cetera, ad nauseam.”

“Um, in my defense, it’s really hard opening portals between dimensions, and I’m not even really sure how I did it the first time,” Angie says in a prickly tone. His mouth tugs into a frown, and he bites the inside of his lip, before he adds, “If I hadn’t thrown that chain around you before you disappeared, we might never have found you again, Leo.”

“In the immortal words of J Beiber, never say never,” Blue says immediately. He doesn’t lift his head or look away from the Donatellos, and Raph gets the feeling that the only thing keeping Othello from snapping at Donnie’s hands when they get too close is the knowledge that his brother is keeping an eye on things for him. “There’s nothing in this entire goddamn universe that you can’t do, Angelo, and that’s on god.”

“Jesus, Leo, language,” Ellie snaps. But Angie is smiling again, so Blue accomplished what he meant to.

Splinter, Mikey and Leo return at that point with plates of fresh food as well as reheated food from earlier, and Mike presents Blue his smoothie with a flourish. Othello is quick to scoot back around to press his carapace safely against Ellie’s side the moment Don is finished with his scan, and makes grabby hands at it to view the data for himself. Angie hops down from his perch to take his plate, beaming his thanks at Splinter.

“If I overheard you correctly, you don’t know how to get home?” Leonardo asks, passing food to Ellie with a worried line in his brow.  

This is the sort of thing that would strike absolute fear into Raph’s heart—stuck someplace he didn’t belong, without direction or an immediate next step to take—but the snapper digs into his eggs and only looks vaguely worried about his situation.

“Not really,” he says slowly. “And we may have promised Pops we wouldn’t do anything stupid, but—”

“But if he believed us, then that’s on him,” Othello says unapologetically.

“But,” Ellie stresses, “when the portal opened and we felt Leo’s ninpo on the other side, what other choice did we have? Besides, Mikey tossed them a line before we jumped in.”

Humming around the big bite of omelet he just scooped into his mouth, Angie lifts a hand and makes a grabbing motion in thin-air. Chains materialize in his grip, the same burning gold links that had held onto Blue so tightly.

The length of chain is taught, as if the other end is anchored onto something, keeping the young turtles moored to their place in the unknowable vastness of the universe. Wherever they go, they’ll be able to follow that glowing lifeline back home eventually.

Angie lets it go after a moment and it vanishes. But Raph knows it’s still there, even if they can’t see it anymore.

“We’re not alone,” Ellie explains, as if just that says all it needs to say.

Blue settles back, sipping his smoothie through the pink metal straw Mikey thoughtfully provided. None of the fear or uncertainty that he woke up with has stuck around. He’s listening to his brothers talk without hopping into the conversation anymore, and each time he blinks his eyelids get a little heavier.

God, Raph thinks, these kids could make themselves at home anywhere as long as they were there together.

It’s that, more than anything, that Raphael recognizes innately. Their different species and personalities and abilities aside, they’re the exact same breed as Raph and his family in the ways that really matter, in the heart and soul and marrow of the thing.

Plates are scraped clean, and conversation is beginning to stall, starting again in fits and then petering out again. Blue is fast asleep by the time his brothers are nodding off. Leonardo is still talking in a low, level tone, a tried and true tactic to lull stubborn little brothers to sleep that he perfected when he was ten years old. Like clockwork, Ellie shifts to lie flat on his plastron, and Angie and Othello follow him down into a comfy-looking turtle pile. Blue turns onto his side without waking to take the pressure off his cracked carapace and tucks his beak under Othello’s outstretched arm with a content sigh.

“Finally,” Mikey whispers, blue eyes soft.

Splinter picks the massive homemade blanket off the back of the sofa and unfolds it with a gentle shake. It’s a multicolored mess of mismatched squares, a gift from April nearly a decade ago when she was going through a quilting phase, and a family favorite. Over the years it’s been worn to unbelievable softness, and it has kept Raph warm through even the coldest winter nights in the underground.

It’s big enough to cover their guests entirely. One of them makes a sleepy subvocal noise that’s echoed immediately by three others, and it makes Donnie huff out a fond, amused breath from where he’s silently gathering the pieces of the tricorder that he had gamely allowed his mad scientist counterpart to dissect. Raph helps Leonardo pick up the empty plates and Mikey turns the TV on, volume so low it’s almost inaudible, so the kids won’t wake up in total darkness and silence.

They never outright said what happened to them, what they lived through that left those brutal marks on their bodies, and wrenched Blue away from his siblings, and made them afraid to go more than an arm’s length away from each other. Concern weighs heavy in Splinter’s eyes, echoed in Leonardo’s—obvious in the way Donnie and Mikey find reasons to linger in the room—and hell, Raph’s worried, too.

But for now, they’re safe to sleep and heal. Anything that might want to hurt them won’t be able to find them here. And even if it did, it’d have to go through Raph and his brothers first. That’s not much, but it’s not nothing.

In about four hours, give or take, a very pissed off young woman is going to metaphorically kick the door of Raphael’s dimension off its metaphorical hinges, rattling the entire fucking foundation of the place with the sheer force of her love and loyalty, fully ready to fight god to get her little brothers back. She’ll be backed up by a small army—as mismatched and messy as the quilt Raphael’s own sister made them once, made up of pieces that have no business belonging together that belong together anyway, effortlessly, endlessly, always.

None of them will be immediately familiar, but Raph will still know who they are. Some things really are universal.

Family, he’s learned, is one of them.

[haematoclan]

Um, maybe 6 with Donnie and Raph?

oh hi! i hadn't even noticed i've got one! sorry about the wait i honestly didn't get the notif? but the moment i saw this prompt i got struck with an inspiration, thank you for the ask! (also sorry for that(?))

content warnings: family death/major character death, description of a dead body (it's short and not detailed but still), grief and denial

ao3

6. “We’re gonna fix you up, brand new. I promise.”

A welder sends sparkles into the air, dancing in front of a mutant turtle's face, protected by a mask. A room is dimly lit, barely giving any idea what is going on inside. It smells of burnt metal and paper, sweat, copper, as well as something that… in the past would be, perhaps, harder to identify, but after spending ten years in the apocalypse the smell of a rotting corpse becomes obvious. And this room reeks of it.

There’s banging on the door, people yelling, begging, pleading… it’s all targeted at the engineer, he knows, although he cannot decipher what is being said in detail, his head’s stuck, swimming at the bottom of the ocean. It’s a barrier between him and the rest of the world, shielding him from hearing things that would stop him from working, from registering how his body aches and begs for rest. The murk of dissociation ensures he can finish his most important but the most challenging project yet to date.

He has to succeed. Failure is not an option.

The softshell finishes wielding two metal rods and turns the torch off, darkening the room even more. He sighs and, lifting his mask, stands up, ignoring the wobble in his legs and dizziness in his head, staying up only by the sheer force of will. He maneuvers through the metaphorical minefield on the floor full of the robot parts. He gets to the light switch and he flicks it. Weak ceiling lamps blink to life, revealing the workspace in its entirety; it’s a mess of scattered projects, destroyed and gutted machinery, drawers ripped out of the cabinets, their contents haphazardly thrown on the floor, glass and ceramic shards are everywhere, as if someone smashed mugs in rage. Then, amongst all the chaos, there are bloody and dried stains all over the place. The almost black droplets can be seen as high as on the ceiling.

Yet the most imposing and eye-catching scene is located in the center.

Here’s a medical table on which lays an enormous, spiky robot body of a mutant turtle. His green skin and red accents made of steel are shining in the light, looking surprisingly clean and neat, considering the state of disrepair and dirtiness of the workshop. There were small details that were lovingly applied during the long hours spent on this craft, like the snaggletooth was perfectly shaped and sized, every spike applied exactly where it should be and the so called “Raph Chasm” is carved ideally, just at the exact depth and size.

On the opposite table lies a nearly identical looking mutant body, the main difference being a gaping hole in his chest and the many, many, many scars the body acquired through the years that the scientist decided to ignore in his design.

Donatello turns around to see his progress on the robot, but his eyes accidentally gaze at Raph and- the moment he catches a glimpse of the gigantic carcass… his body moves in its direction almost like on autopilot, his mind’s set dead on the need to be by his big brother’s side as fast as possible. He doesn’t even register tripping over and stepping on the precious robot parts that he so painstakingly retrieved from the ruins of the civilization as they knew it. At this specific moment, this didn’t matter.

When he finally finds himself by Raphael’s side, Donatello lays his hand on the cold, decaying fingers covered in dried blood. His voice wobbles a little when he says: “We’re gonna fix you up, brand new.” He takes the much bigger hand in his two, squeezes it with trembling fingers and lays his forehead on its bony knuckles. A small whisper leaves his lips: “I promise,” and he means it. He will not stop until Raph is back with them, even if it kills him.

[unascended]

THE WEIGHT IN THE PALM OF HIS HAND WAS AS CUMBERSOME AS THE ONE IN HIS CHEST. Astarion took her soul coin, clutching at it like the desperate thing that he was. How was he to say no when she held out something to him - something of value both personal and literal? After everything Karlach had said, he felt as if his tongue (or perhaps his very being) had been scalded. It was as if he'd pressed against her bare flaming skin only to come away charred and cracking. There was no balm to soothe how wretched her goodness made him feel by comparison.

Even still Astarion felt she misunderstood him. Karlach was looking for something in him that no longer existed. Perhaps it never did. Or worse: if it did how did he justify, well, ALL OF IT? There was so little left of himself to make sense of because of Cazador, and so little that made sense in the world at all. (He made sense of it by believing it was all bad, even himself.) Was he responsible for the children? For every beautiful corpse he'd thrown in a muddy pit while Godey or some beady eyed werewolf kept watch? For the sex and the deceit and the way he hated it, hated his body, hated how it'd been used, hated -

Slender fingers unclenched from around Karlach's soul coin, his swimming ruby stare flickering over it in a silent battle against the urge to shed tears. No, he wouldn't cry. A single hard swallow, a deep breath, and Astarion turned his gaze on her with sharp intensity.

"Of course I want freedom," he began, tone icy and distant. "So does everything kept in a cage."

Despite the fight bubbling to the surface in him to spill past his lips, his fingers curled around the coin one final time. This time he pulled his hand back, pushing it up between his middle and index fingers to begin rolling it over his knuckles. Flippant treatment for something so priceless offered to him, maybe, but he had no intention of giving it back now that it was his. Maybe it'd make a good bargaining chip when they reached the Shadow Cursed lands in a couple of days. If he were lucky enough to meet Raphael again. (If he could bring himself to truly part with it.)

"The difference between you and I, darling..." His tone was more biting than his expression - no, his eyes denoted fear. Fear of himself. Perhaps of her getting close to him for real and hating what she saw. "The difference is you had the free will to run. If you were corrupted you didn't stay that way, but I don't think you were. Zariel might have cut out your heart, Karlach, but a part of you still held onto it even when it was hopeless. Even when it was stupid to."

There was a soft metallic clink as Astarion's thumb caught the edge of the soul coin and flipped it into the air. Snatching it up, he finally pocketed it and leaned forward with folded hands resting between his spread thighs. With his head bowed he could see all manner of tiny critters scuttling through the dirt at his feet. He grimaced, plagued by memories of the bugs he'd eaten when he was starved and rats were off the menu.

"Mine stopped beating two hundred years ago. You clung to your love for this plane and the people in it to get you by. I learned to hate it. Faerûn has its mildly redeeming qualities, sure, but... I had to hate it. Because if I didn't..." The fingers of his left hand squeezed his right so hard he felt his bones ache with it. "Maybe I would have died. Maybe someone else would be in my place. I would be forced to face the idea that there might have been people who loved me once, and I had to accept that there never will be again. Not really."

Desperation crept into his voice again, like a starved beast prowling in the night. Cazador had carved him hollow of all hope. He'd lived two centuries stripped of even the most basic agency over himself, and she expected him to play hero? "Why should I save anyone but myself? Oh, I'm sure you think your reasons are so compelling. So no one else has to feel what we did. That's so sweet, Karlach, really, but since when did anyone look at ME and think that?"

Burning red eyes caught the firelight when he finally looked up at her again. In his gaze there was a well of rage and misery so bottomless that it put the Abyss to shame. Even if he knew she was right, he had to argue. He couldn't just not - he had to make sense of it. He couldn't.

"For two hundred years I've had to live with knowing that the objectively right thing for anyone who came across me to do would be to put a stake through my heart. The right thing to do would never be to save me. To help me. To take pity on me for being tormented every moment of my miserable existence. No one looks at THIS -" His fangs flashed at her, left hand dropping the right to jerkily point at his own gaping maw. "- and thinks I'm suffering. They see a monster and they leave it to rot. Or hunt it. Even the Gods wouldn't help me. So why should I help anyone?"

With his vitriol drained like a pus-filled wound, Astarion deflated. Any anger in his expression melted into sadness because he knew she was right. Even so, he had no idea how to go about righting whatever was so wrong with him that he'd ended up here to begin with.

"I don't know how to be better. I hardly think I know what better is to begin with. But if it helps you be better - I'll keep the coin. I'll make sure we fix your engine. I'll see to it you never have to go back there." A tear carved a wet valley down his cheek, setting his teeth on edge and his shoulders stiff. He looked, maybe, like he might want to say: But I want to try. Instead he said, "That is at least some good I can do. You would do it for me."

BEING GOOD NEVER CAME WITH A REWARD IN AVERNUS . Devils sought to exploit you, and to ruin you. To take any hash of weakness, any give, any falter, and they would use that - take, and take, and take, until there was nothing left. All devils were unapologetically like that - no matter what kind of pretty face they'd put up or feign of innocence. There was always something more going on behind the scenes, because those skeevy little fuckers were sly. In the beginning, Karlach really wanted to be good, and she did all she could to help those that really needed it. A passing ration here, a slip of a refugee there - but it didn't last long. That good heart of hers was sullied the moment Zariel honed in on her potential, and tore it free of her chest. That good heart of hers was sullied when Zariel cast it away, and perverted her body. Shoved something dripping with malice into a place it didn't belong. It had no home in a body like Karlach's - and every other little pet project died from this procedure.

WHERE DID THEY DIE , SHE WONDERED ?

Was it from breaking all of their ribs? Rending their flesh from the very bone, tear through arteries and shoving long metal tubes in through their limbs? Was it from bloodloss, or just sheer fucking pain? Was it fast, or did it take days to die? Perhaps it was when Zariel ripped out the still-beating heart from their chest, pulling it before their very gaze, with a wicked gleam in those soulless eyes. Or when their heart was severed, nodes being forced into a machine on the table next, infernal metal tubes attached to it next. Was it when the engine roared to life - did it scorch them from the inside, out? Did they survive the process, then? No. None of them did. Every creature who was forcibly perverted by Zariel's disgusting machinery that was not some denizen of this plane died from the procedure. It was too much stress for their bodies to handle, too much trauma. Too much pain. NO ONE WAS MEANT TO SURVIVE THIS PROCESS . That's why it was called experimentation, why the engine was a prototype. It wasn't meant to inhabit bodies - just cold steel. It wasn't meant for someone living.

BUT BY SOME FUCKING MIRACLE , KARLACH DID .

She was the only one. Every other subject died on the table, bloodless, scorched, debauched, and aberrant. Countless pounds of flesh and bone, thoroughly strung out like macabre feast suited only for the utterly deviant and twisted monsters with their own special places among the Styx. The ones who willingly serve Zariel, and beg for all of her attention like touch-starved mutts. It was most deplorable - and yet, when her body recovered, she yearned for that same attention. Malice loves malice, and that thing shoved into her achy-breaky body loved nothing more than it did Zariel. THUS BEGAN THAT VICIOUS CYCLE OF OBSESSION , OF ADDICTION , AND IT WAS FUCKING RUINOUS . Karlach tried her best to keep her wits about her, but it was impossible to think when she was fighting for her life one moment, and high off of Soul Coins the next. Her moral compass, with time, began to skew. Help was few and far between now, and after only six years in Avernus, did that hope start to dwindle and die. She never stopped looking for a way out- but sacrifices were made, and they were no longer on her plate. It was about controlling what she could - and too many innocent victims of the Blood Wars were spared by her axe. She never wanted to kill them - but she could hear the murmurs. The hopes. That another tiefling would come, like herself, and they could become another fleshy experiment.

In that, a line was drawn. Morality fighting with her skewed compass, battling like her consciousness did her addiction, and she felt wholly unworthy to be the judge, or the jury. BUT SHE WOULD BE THE EXECUTIONER . Even if that did nothing more than shorten what fate they were destined to have - she could save them the agony. It wasn't something she was proud of. It wasn't something she would even mention, not ever. Speaking it into existence would only solidify Wyll's statements, calling her a devil, a monster. She would stick to her guns, she was a victim of the Blood War - but her hands were not clean. They never would be, and not enough water in the planes would wash away the atrocities she had to commit.

That level of self-loathing from Astarion was quiet. Too quiet. But Karlach was one who could pick out that thousand-yard stare - she saw that, too, in the mirror, if she spaced out enough. Keeping it covered was the real trick - and her blind optimism would have to do. It wasn't fabricated, not really. BECAUSE SHE WAS A FREE WOMAN . Just not as free as she wanted to be. That, and the sins of her past would drag her down like a ball and chain. Even still, she had to march on. This time, it's not just about her, anymore. They all need to survive this, and they all need a big, strong rock to lean on. Her eyes flicker up to meet his again - and he looks utterly deprived of care. Care for the things about him, or care for himself? Outward, inward? It would take a bit to suss out, she suspected. He said he doesn't care - but it felt like a cover. He cared about something - and maybe that was freedom. She latched onto this.

" Nay, let's say you don't care. " Karlach amuses this thought, hands kneading together with contemplation, and her vented shoulders deflate a touch. " Still better than hate. There's not a lot of things I hate, Astarion. List is quite stubby, if I'm honest with you - but I'll let you in on a secret. " She didn't get closer, for fear of making her companion who had gotten closer to her heart in the past decade than even she had been into a crispy little critter. But, she did lean in a touch, ensuring her gaze met his own with blazing intensity. " You want something more. And it's freedom. " She pauses, to survey any change in expression, any hint of admission, before she leans back slowly, allowing the weight of her words to settle in. Then, crimson hues shift to the stars above, and she watches him - the movement of his head, of those little peeping scars on his throat. A certainty. MAYBE RIGHT NOW , HE WAS A FREE MAN . Good things weren't meant to last. All the more reason to treasure them most.

" It's always a gamble, y'know. Saving others. Acting selfless. " She continues on, after that brief pause, shoulder shrinking in at how her engine revs. Bathing in blood made her oily blood pump - and indulging sex made a low heat brew in her belly. Two things she desperately needed, like him, but she had some atonements to make. THAT , AND SHE COULDN ' T INDULGE IN MUCH OF ANYTHING WHEN SHE BURNED LIKE HELLFIRE . " But it's not an expectation. " Karlach continues after that beat, lips tugged into a pointed frown. It was hitting a little too close to a proverbial home, and that ragged laugh that left him was forced. Too devoid of humor for her to entertain. When she swallows, it's thick. Her tongue feels thick.

" Sometimes we gotta do things 'cause they're right. 'Cause maybe, you and I wouldn't be in the places we're in now, if someone had done it for us. I'm not gonna sit here and ponder on all the what-ifs, since that's just shite, but-- " And she sighs again. This wasn't just for him, after all. But his words made her engine stir - and it wasn't with innocence. " All I've done is gone berserk. I don't know what it was like in your shiny palace, but don't think it was any better or any worse than what it was like, in Avernus. I had to do a lot of shit to survive, 'n... A lot more than that. It's war - and there are no winners in war. No one comes out the way they went in. If I'm honest with you, if I let myself go berserk again? I . . . I don't rightly know what you'll see. That being said- " And she leans up, shoving a hand into one of her pockets - where she squeezes what's inside. There's a beat of hesitation, but she intends to make a promise. She produces something strange - soaked in the stench of brimstone, and utterly haunting in the palm of a hand. A strange, infernal coin, that she was desperately holding onto. She almost flinches, holding it out - but forces her arm to steady. Offering HER Soul Coin to the rogue. " Can't risk it. PLEASE , TAKE IT . "

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Angel With A Shotgun

Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?

Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader

1900's Mafia/Gangsters AU

A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean's body so like...idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles

Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading

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The Novak's that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you'd think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.

The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak's have been introduced the world's most feared gang the L/n's is one family not to be fucked with.

(Father's name) leading his kingdom no...empire with his wife (Mother's name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn't much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. "WHAT THE HELL!!!" Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. "I'm due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!" He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. "I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There's no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father's name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother's untimely passing and (Mother's name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed." Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.

"You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories." Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. "He was one of the only people you'd go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there's on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all." Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he's sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.

"No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He's in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don't need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet." With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. "Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer" that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he's not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he'd do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn't settling well with him that didn't mean it felt completely wrong.

One day later

Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. "Can I come,please!" His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. "Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time." The pout on Castiel lip didn't move as he held up his hand his pinky out. "Promise?" Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. "Promise." With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.

Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man's leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. "Were is my money?" He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. "Help please!" He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn't called for assistance. "No can do." A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. "I came for my five notes." The didn't seem fazed at the torture. "Fuck you gypsy scum!!" The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. "I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I'll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are." His tone dropped further the blade under the man's fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let's just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.

He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. "Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost" The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. "Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself." His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael's guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. "Why did you do that?" Michael asked as they walked out of the town. "You worked for that money and gave it all away." He was confused he's never seen a man work for a family that wasn't his own.

"They need it more. Schools out the children don't get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I'm alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work." Novak wasn't sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. "Thats very admirable of you." Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. "It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I'm not saying I'm amazing,but sometimes I'm decently above average. That's what people need someone decent enough go care."

Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. "It's been a pleasure,Mr. Novak." The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. "You know who I am and I don't even get a name." He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. "I'm N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams." Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he's taking what's his this time.

Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner

The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak's. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn't want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men...no boys with guns.

"Everyone get down on the ground. We've come only for the money we won't hesitate for blood as well." The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. "Ah! If it isn't Michael Novak no men to protect you now." A man he didn't realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. "Pathetic." The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. "It would be in your best interest to leave,boys." They all train their guns at the man. "Why's that,you motherless bastered?" The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. "Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men." After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. "I only count ten I still have the upper hand." N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what's to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. "Upper hand you say?" He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.

N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. "Thank you." His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. "Consider it a gift from M/n L/n." The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. "Now if I'm not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy." He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. "Will you be there?" Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. "You can count on it. We'll be seeing eachother alot more." The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.

Family Dinner was about to start the Novak's sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. "The L/n's are here." Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. "M/n been a long while hasn't it?" The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n's answered. "That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn't come he had some other business to handle." N/n or M/n now to Michael's knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. "This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don't mind him." The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. "Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me." A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak's way. "Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what's mine,their little toys they call guns were child's play compared to my men." M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.

"Are you a knight that saves people?" The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes when I want to be." A bubbly giggle rang out. "You saved Mikey making him your prince." Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. "Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?" He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn't bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. "Yeah and I'm gonna make him my king and take him to my castle." M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. "We'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after." Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. "Um if you'll excess me. I need some air." Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.

The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn't hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. "You knew the whole time who I was." Micheal didn't look up at the man as he sighed. "Yes I knew who you were...we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself." The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. "Chuck knew as well." Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. "He didn't know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick." Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. "Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I'd slip away made me realize it can't be so bad." M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. "I was afraid at first you'd hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults."

Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. "I know this won't mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you'll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband." In M/n hand that wasn't interlocked with Micheal's he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. "No matter what,Novak,I'll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing." M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. "Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting." as he slipped the ring on the silent man's finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.

Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. "My angel with a shotgun."

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A/n: Second Male reader and I had to spell check for almost 50 she/her in her so I think I got them all lol.

@spnquotebingo

Quote: "I'm not saying I'm amazing,but I'm decently above average."-Blacklist @spnquotebingo

[fandom-space-princess]

The Game of Us

Rating: T (gen, no warnings)

Chapter 3: Raphael

Raphael watches, impassive. “Our pain is not weakness, Michael. This grief... it took some time, but I did eventually come to understand. Why I awoke here, that is. You met Gabriel at the Styx? Fitting. Judgement always was her burden to bear. But this... this is mine."

Read below the cut, or on AO3

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With Gabriel gone, the shades begin to dissipate, and soon Michael finds himself alone once again.

It doesn’t last long.

“Well done,” comes a voice from behind him. The tone is the same as before, but now the words are spoken aloud. The entity’s form has shifted. It wears a body that, while still indistinct and hazy, appears far closer to human than it had previously done.

Michael scrambles to his feet. He can feel his own form shifting as well, physical appearance undergoing continental drift atop his roiling grace.

“You took her. Gabriel. What have you done with her?”

“Please try to keep up, my boy. I took nothing and no one. The messenger is safe and well, merely—well, let’s call it offstage, for the moment. And she came quite willingly, as you saw for yourself.” The entity folds its hands neatly in front of it. “I see that she has given you much to consider. I trust your time together was informative?”

“That’s—one way of phrasing it.” The entity moves away, beckoning, and Michael doesn’t fight the impulse to follow. At the termination of the crevice, just outside the circle of crumbling stones, he is unsurprised to see that the path continues deeper into the forest.

As they walk, low-hanging branches catch and drag at his hair, his clothing. Michael feels as though he might be leaving snippets of himself behind, like fur snagged in brambles along the trail. He thinks of Gabriel’s wispy audience with sorrow. “So much of the Host, dead and gone. So many shades. I knew, of course I knew. But seeing them there... it’s not the same.” Regret swirls within him, settling as a tightness around his eyes; he can feel it there, performing the subtle work of reshaping the image he wears.

Into what, though—he doesn’t yet know.

The being at his side nods, curt. “You must understand where your actions lead. Not solely for yourself, but for others. You cannot abdicate your duty to your nature by refusing to choose, any more than you can by making choices.” He gets the impression that it raises its eyebrows meaningfully in his direction. “In your brief period of freedom, you knew the state of Heaven, and yet you turned your back on your responsibilities. On Earth, with that human—that wasn’t choosing. You were hiding.”

The words dig at him, slivers of ice working their way into the center of his grace. Adam. “He needed me. And I needed to keep him safe.”

“That’s a partial truth at best, and I’ve no interest in coddling self-delusion. Try again.”

Being dead, he is discovering, has a way of making it harder to lie to himself. Shame flares low in his stomach. “I... I should have done better by them all. They were my family, and I failed them. I couldn’t face them. Couldn’t face—”

He stops. The path has led them to the edge of another river. Crystalline and clear, smooth as glass, it burbles quietly past their feet. It winds away in lazy curves, disappearing into the deeper shade of the trees.

Michael looks down at his reflection, and his Father’s face looks back at him.

A hand on his shoulder. “I am not without sympathy for your pain,” the being at his back says, gently. “But running from it is no solution. The realm of Heaven is in disarray. Without you and your kin, it will fall, new God or no. And then—whatever it is you love, whatever it is you fear—then there will truly be nothing left to salvage.”

Michael crouches down, touches fingertips to the image of Chuck’s face. Tiny ripples distort the surface, rebounding off each other, spreading and fading away. “This isn’t the Styx. None of this should be here at all. What have you done to the local reality? And to what purpose?”

“Ask your next brother. They always were the wisest of you.”

This time, Michael doesn’t need to turn to know he is alone.

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He follows the river further into the wilds, meandering gradually down the mountainside. The underbrush thins with the change in altitude, and the straggling trees grow steadily sparser. Before long he finds himself among yet more ruins, though these appear considerably more modern than the last. The river glides through the bones of a forgotten city. He picks his way along streets of stone dwellings adorned by grand archways, airy courtyards, monolithic houses of worship. Mist twines in and among the silent remains of civilization, and everywhere he looks he sees the incursion of the forest: trees growing in cracking walls, moss overhanging low rooftops.

Near the center of the city, both buildings and trees grow abruptly denser once again. A thicket of olive trees and creeping ivy, solid and unassailable, tangle up through ruined foundations and collapsed walls. The river seeps between the roots and disappears under a wall, alongside a single narrow entryway into what must once have been a church. It is barely wide enough to permit him entrance.

He pushes forward, through the vines.

An uneasy aura pervades the air within, musty and stifling, heavy across his shoulders and thick in his lungs. The further in he travels, the stronger it becomes. As it intensifies, he realizes that the feeling is not solely physical; a heady and potent psychic residue that he recognizes as grief only when he finds himself choking back a sob, without understanding quite why.

Down an overgrown corridor, and as suddenly as the vegetation had closed in upon him, it clears. He finds himself in an interior courtyard, roof all but gone, open under the sky.

“So, I get to see you again, after all. Hello, Michael.”

He looks around, confused, for a moment unable to identify the source of the words. Then, all at once, he sees.

In the quiet grove that has sprung up to consume this once-thriving city stands a sparkling pool, the termination point of the river’s above-ground course. Here the water stagnates, swirling deeper into a reservoir carved through foundation and bedrock to disappear into the earth. A stand of trees grows about the edge, roots worming deep down to seek the water through cracks in the floor. What he had originally taken for a statue carved into that living wood shifts minutely. Raphael meditates among the trunks, limbs now gnarled branches, head crowned by thick twisting ivy.

They are, he realizes, the source of the pain imbuing this place. He circles the pool and seats himself beside them, back bending under the onerous weight of their distress.

“You’ve taken His face,” they observe. Their voice holds neither scorn nor approval. Only sorrow. “Don’t take this personally, but I don’t think it suits you.”

“I’m not so certain of that,” he replies morosely. He brushes his hand lightly over the back of one of their own, firm and warm as olive wood. “And you’ve given up on a human form at all. I didn’t realize you held any fondness for dryads.”

“I needed—a change of perspective.” There is, momentarily, a hint of wry smile in their voice. Even on their worst days, he reflects, Raphael always held a spark of gentleness. It makes him ache for them; warrior and healer both, the only one among them as truly skilled in restoring life as taking it. They had never needed his protection, but he should have done more to uplift and support them, still. “Hamadryads have no skin to stitch. No bones to set. They neither bleed, nor do they break. They put down roots, and they grow, and they watch the world pass. It’s a peaceable enough existence.”

“Brother, you—you do realize where we are.”

Raphael rolls their eyes. “I’m dead, Michael, not blind.” They shake their head, ivy tumbling back and out of their face. Michael realizes, abruptly, that the ivy is a deep emerald green; like the blindfold Gabriel had worn, it is the only point of color against the otherwise monochrome environment.

“Then maybe you can enlighten me. I was sent to find you. By... well, I still don’t really know by who.”

“Don’t you, though?”

“I don’t,” he replies, adamant. “I can’t see the purpose to this, any of this. We are asked to return to the world, but to what end? What makes him think—” Michael breaks off, defeated.

“What makes him think we’d do any good for it this time around?” Raphael finishes knowingly.

Michael studies his reflection in the water, and says nothing.

They shake their head again, turning to contemplate the pool. “Did you know this pool has no bottom? If you fell in, you’d sink for eternity. There’d be no point in swimming; you couldn’t save yourself.”

“Why do you sound like you’re considering it?”

Raphael sighs. “I tried so hard, Michael. I fought and bled and died for our family, and still, it fell apart. You’re wearing His face, and for what? You blame yourself?” They look down at their palms, loose in their lap. The wood there is stained; in a place with light, with color, Michael wonders with a shiver if the stains might not appear the ruddy brown of old blood. “But I was our healer, Brother. And I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t heal anyone.” The sadness in the atmosphere redoubles, clawing over Michael’s skin.

Their voice cracks. “I couldn’t even heal myself. He wouldn’t even allow me that much.”

Michael’s head drops to his hands. This agony, like a breaking bone or a breaking heart, has been eating at their foundations for so long. Gabriel struck speechless, Raphael in tatters, and himself—what had he done for them? Other than carry out the edicts of a creator who treated his creation as no better than toys, to be discarded when He was bored of them?

He feels tears bead at the corners of his eyes, and overflow. To his astonishment, they do not fall onto his hands. He draws back in surprise.

The tears hang suspended in the air before him, crystalline. Gently revolving, they slowly coalesce, and descend toward the pool. When at last they meet the surface of the water, they merge without a single ripple marring the glassy shine.

Raphael watches, impassive. “Our pain is not weakness, Michael. This grief... it took some time, but I did eventually come to understand. Why I awoke here, that is. You met Gabriel at the Styx? Fitting. Judgement always was her burden to bear. But this... this is mine. The Kokytos is fed by the tears of mourners.” Their voice rings hollow, but there is an underpinning of tenderness there, Michael thinks. Something patient. Something compassionate. “My own contribution was long overdue.”

“How do you know where I came from? And why the rivers at all?”

“My stubborn, immovable brother.” Raphael’s smile is weary, but fond, even in their grief. “This place is his to command, he who sent you here, beyond mortality as it is. Knowledge flows through it. You need only listen for it.”

Michael scrubs hands across his eyes, and takes slow, steadying breaths. “Raphael. You don't belong here, not like this. Please. Move on from this place with me. We can do it together.”

Their eyes crinkle at the corners. Gently, they extend a hand down to break the surface of the pool. “No, Michael. In that, you are mistaken. It has been too long since I allowed myself to sit with my pain, and learn what it has to teach me. Give me time. I’ll catch up with you.” They draw the hand to their face. Trace their fingers over their lips. The tip of their tongue flicks out, catching at the water that beads there. “If I am to heal, first I must let myself mourn. Don’t worry too much about me. I know how far the river of lamentation runs; I will not drink so deeply of this well that I drown.”

The thought of leaving Raphael behind fills him with dread, but he nods. Stands. They reach up to him, trace a hand over his wrist as he pulls away.

“I wish I could have done more for you, too,” they murmur. “But you aren’t Him, Michael. Please remember that. You’re nothing like Him. I wish I could have helped you to see that more clearly.”

Michael resists the urge to look back into the pool, to see his reflection there. “I don’t know what I am. But I’ll keep searching until I do know.”

“That’s all I could hope for. See you soon.”

He feels the edges of his countenance shift and blur again. When he exits the room, his companion is waiting.

************************************

(Chapter notes:

- The city in which Michael finds Raphael is inspired by the ghost city of Kayaköy, currently part of Turkey; by its former inhabitants, it was referred to in modern Greek as Levissi. Between World War I and the Greco-Turkish war, its entire population was either forcibly exiled or killed. Despite the horror of that recent history, until that point it had been a relatively peaceful place, its mixed Muslim and Orthodox Christian populations living together harmoniously. It is now officially under the protection of historical conservation, and there have been some attempts at restoration. I think Raphael would consider such a place deeply meaningful, and be able to find healing in the possibility of moving on even in the wake of such tragedy.)

[thepandapopo]

His Star

This is my first FE fic in over ten years. The last time I wrote anything for FE was back in FE7 which, to this day, is my second favourite game of all time.

I have been on a Claudeth binge lately and since it is our favourite deer’s birthday tomorrow, I thought I would try my hand at a fic.

This is most likely going to be a multi chapter fic as I am spinning the plotline in my head as we speak, but whether or not that plot bunny makes it to paper is a different story.

Pairing: Claude x F!Byleth

In which Byleth falls sick for the first time in her entire life, but those who slither in the dark insist on making her life difficult. 

OR

The one where Claude fears he won’t make it in time.

Chapter List: 1 / 2 / 2.5 

Masterlist

XxXxXxXxX

“Professor, you need to rest!”

For someone so demure and dainty looking, Marianne is deceptively strong. Though, Byleth thinks absently as she lets her former student push her back down onto her large 4 poster bed, she shouldn’t be so surprised since she’s seen even Raphael himself bend to the gentle bishop’s will in the odd instances that he sustains a critical enough injury to land himself in the healer’s tent.

“Don’t worry, Professor. I’m sure Seteth will be able to hold down the fort while you recover.” Leonie says from her place at the foot of the bed. Despite the fact that the war has been over for nearly 6 months, her lance is still clipped neatly to her belt, next to her sword scabbard - close enough within reach to attack on a moment’s notice.

Since the end of the war, Leonie had taken it upon herself to act as the new Queen’s Head of Royal Guard. When Byleth had questioned the orange haired girl about her decision, she was merely met with a grin and a simple “I would be a terrible apprentice to Captain Jeralt if I let anything happen to his only child.”

“I’m... sorry.” Though the words themselves are not strange on her tongue, the unfamiliar dryness of her mouth and stuffed nose make Byleth sound weaker and more hesitant than she would have liked.

Leonie snorts, “you don’t have to apologize for catching a cold, Professor. Especially one due to stress. Despite what I think of you when you’re on the battlefield, you really are just a person like anyone else - of course you’re bound to get sick every now and again.”

Still, Byleth broods silently as she watches the blue haired healer usher her other student out the bedroom door, she has never gotten sick in her entire life until now and it just seems a tad bit unfair.

Fusing with the progenitor goddess has several advantages, but unfortunately it seems like being immune to illnesses is not one of them.

As her eyelids begin to lose the fight against consciousness, Byleth cannot help but let her mind wander longingly until she falls asleep dreaming of beautiful emerald eyes and a crooked grin that shines brighter than the dawn.

----

It only takes one week of being bed ridden before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

Byleth is finally starting to feel well enough to stand up without feeling like she has ingested a vial of Claude’s infamous dizziness poison, when the scouts return with a report that the remnants of the Imperial army have joined forces with Those who Slither in the Dark and are marching for Derdrui, the country’s new capital.

It does not take a tactical genius to figure out that they are coming for the newly appointed Queen and Archbishop of the United Land of Fodlan.

Urgent messengers are sent out to all the nearby houses, requesting any available troops they can spare without leaving themselves vulnerable. It’s almost laughable the pitiful number of men that show up to help fight, but the arrival of all her golden deer is enough to raise Byleth’s morale and hope that she can conquer this disadvantaged fight without her schemer by her side.

Despite the protests from her students - former students, she corrects herself - Byleth steels herself and leads the meager army at her disposal in a defensive formation. This is her duty, after all. Without her, troop morale would falter and that in itself can be the deciding factor in a battle. Additionally, though she has not used it in several months and truly, she does believe in all her students’ skills, Byleth cannot help the unease that creeps up her throat when she thinks about her precious deer on the battlefield without her Divine Pulse. She has fought so hard to make sure they lived to see the peaceful world Claude and her dreamed of, that it would seem like a cruel joke only for them to fall now.

Even sick, the Ashen Demon earns her reputation. Fells of enemies fall to the Sword of the Creator as it burns with power, whipping around its wielder like a snake striking with deadly precision at the enemy’s weakness. Byleth refuses to let any enemies get close to the city. Her people have already been ravaged by war. They deserve peace, not another battle at their front step.

Hilda is somewhere to her left swinging Freikugel and cleaving through enemies with all the difficulty of a hot knife slicing through butter. Byleth is tempted to relocate the pink haired girl to the back line to act as a final barrier, but she knows that those orders will fall on deaf ears.

“If you insist on going out there Professor, then I have to come and make sure you don’t die. Can you imagine what Claude would say if he came back to find you dead? He would mope for the next century!”

Ignatz and Lysithea are further back providing cover with their long ranged attacks. Arrows and black magic rain from the sky, piercing through unsuspecting enemies and carving a path for Byleth’s battalion to advance and cut through the ranks of the enemy.

Somewhere to her right, she can hear Raphael’s battle cries above the cacophony of sounds. Judging by his sheer volume, Byleth knows that he is doing well despite being far outnumbered. Besides, the brawler is accompanied by Lorenz and Bernadetta, and while Lorenz specializes in black magics, he knows enough healing spells to keep them afloat. Plus, no matter how timid she is off the battlefield, Bernadetta is a force to be reckoned with when protecting her loved ones. Especially her mountain of a husband.

Marianne, Leonie, Felix, Ingrid, Seteth and Flayn are scattered elsewhere to protect against the enemies from crushing them in from both sides, but as the battle wages on, it becomes more and more apparent that their ranks are thinning and those that still stand are beginning to feel the fatigue of being outnumbered three to one.

The battlefield has long since warped into a jigsaw of cracked earth and chasms, courtesy of some nasty earth spells from Those Who Slither In the Dark. Where there should be rolling plains leading out onto the salty water of the ocean, there are now steep cliffs of jagged rocks jutting out of the ground, and despite her best efforts, Byleth eventually finds herself cornered on the precipice of one such cliff.

It can’t end like this.

Another enemy falls to her sword and Byleth barely has time to parry an oncoming arrow before another wave of nausea assaults her body.

She knows she’s probably burning up right now. Mint green strands of hair are matted to her skin with dirt and sweat, and the pounding behind her eyes is growing increasingly difficult to ignore. Byleth is pretty sure that had it not been for her father hammering in years of battle instincts into her, she would have had her head lopped off ages ago.

Despite how much she tries to will herself to stay in that cool, collected mindset that has won her numerous battles, Byleth cannot stop the tightness in her chest that accompanies the tears of frustration accumulating at the corner of her eyes.

She wanted to see Claude again. To feel his arms around her. To fall asleep to the steady pounding of his heart that seemed to inexplicably speed up every time she let her body melt into his. To let herself drown in the scent of pine needles and spices.

She could try using the Divine Pulse, but where would she rewind to? A few minutes would not be enough to make a drastic enough decision to turn the tide in their favor.

It’s not fair.

Goddess. She is so tired. But she cannot give up. Not when she has a promise to keep.

“I love you. With everything I am. And the next time we see each other... it will be at the dawn of a whole new world. A peaceful, happy world.”

Claude...

The ground beneath her feet teeters and he sky is suddenly above her. It is a brilliant blue with fluffy white clouds and even though she knows she is falling, she cannot help but be reminded of the first time Claude invited her out on his wyvern and they spent the afternoon soaring and diving through the air on a beautiful day just like this.

Claude... I’m sorry I couldn’t keep our promise...

She thinks it is a trick of her mind, but right as Byleth feels her consciousness slipping away, she hears his voice one last time crying out her name with such fear and anguish.

Then, there was nothing.

----

“BYLETH!”

Claude feels his heart stop and clench painfully as the familiar black and green figure tumbles off the edge of a jagged cliff.

He is shooting across the battlefield on his wyvern’s back before he can even spare a thought to how absolutely reckless it is to fly so low in the range of archers.

Behind him, he vaguely registers his generals shouting at him in alarm and Nader barking out orders to support the retreating Fodlan forces.

All he can think about right now is getting to His Star in time.

Later, he will wonder to himself if perhaps he might have the power to pause time as well, because although it was probably less than 4 seconds, Claude swears that the world around him slowed as all of his senses honed in on his one goal.

Please, goddess, let me reach her in time.

---

To those who participated in the Final battle with Those Who Slither in the Dark, they would recall vividly the moment when a loud battle cry rang out from the east heralding the arrival of the Almyran army.

They would also recount the arrow of white and gold that shot across the battlefield towards the Queen whom had made her last stand on the edge of a cliff before fainting from exhaustion and tumbling down to the depths below.

Above the din of weapons clashing and cries of agony rose a single name, cried out with such fear and panic that even those who knew not whom the shout belonged to, felt their hearts clench painfully with the raw emotion.

Although not many could say for certain what happened next, all the surviving Fodlan soldiers would recall shortly thereafter seeing their former leader, Claude von Riegan, atop his white wyvern loosing arrow after arrow on the lingering enemies with such brutal efficiency that reminded everyone exactly how he had ended the war.

When the fighting ceases and casualties are tallied, fear for their Queen runs rampant through the soldiers. For those who have had the privilege of fighting under the combined leadership of Claude, the master tactician, and Byleth, the Ashen Demon, they know how strong the bond is between the two, and although they have their doubts, they allow themselves to let their worries melt away when they see Claude exit the medical tent with a look of such knee wobbling relief that he has to lean on a nearby wall to stop from collapsing.

XxXxXxXxX

Ugh. I hate how this ended. I’ll come back and fix it another day.

Anyhoo, hope you all enjoyed it!

Chapter 1

Next: Chapter 2

[drsilverfish]

15x03 Coda - Castiel in the Desert

Cas drives through the night and into the pale morning.

He has the things Sam thrust into his hands; fake IDs, credit cards, a change of clothes, a bag of weapons.

His own few possessions, the things from his life in Lebanon, Kansas, that he’d treasured: a “Welcome Home” card with a bee on it from Claire Novak, sent after he got resurrected from the Empty; the music tape Dean made him; a polaroid of Jack, leaning on the bonnet of the Impala, smiling; the T-shirt Sam printed for him which read (in Enochian) “It’s funnier in Enochian” - these, he’d left behind, a small pile on the bed in the room that had, sometimes, been his.

Sedona, Arizona, a place of red rocks and juniper trees. He doesn’t want to think too hard about why he picked this town. But, he can’t lie to himself. Some of the Westerns he watched with Dean, back when Dean seemed eager to be in his company, were filmed around Sedona. Angel and the Badman, starring John Wayne, he remembers particularly, because Dean had looked at him before they pressed “play” and said “That’s kinda you and me, huh?”.

He figures a semi ex-angel who still has some healing powers can get lost here, amongst the spiritual seekers and ley-line tourists.

It’s fall, and the yellow-greens of the oaks, the reds of the maples, against a blue sky heading into noon, are almost psychedelic in their bright potency, as he drives along the road into Oak Creek Canyon.  

Being “Steve” back in Rexburg, Idaho, after the great angel-fall, had given Cas some life-skills outside of hunting. He plans to head to the library in Oak Creek Village to create a resume. There are coffee houses, and artists’ galleries and crystal shops in this part of the world. He’s pretty sure he can find work.

He promised Sam he’d keep his phone, but its silence feels like a lead weight in his pocket. He stops the car by the creek, watching a cascade of leaves fall onto the hood, and takes off the trench coat and tie, bundling them into the back seat.

“And what visage are you in now, huh? Holy tax accountant?” he hears Dean’s voice, from long ago.

I don’t know what I am, he thinks, but not this anymore, not Heaven’s soldier and not the Winchesters’ angel - just... Cas, whoever that may be.

...........

A week later, Cas has settled on Flagstaff, thirty miles north of Sedona. His shifts at Coffee and Bagels on the NAU Flagstaff Mountain Campus don’t make rent, but he has begun to establish a lucrative side-line in tarot card readings. Although his powers crap out at odd moments, he finds he can still look into a person’s soul. He remembers his lesson, from the brothel that night before he and Dean trapped Raphael in a ring of holy oil; no sudden mentions of absent fathers. Dean’s laugh from ten years ago echoes in his memory, as if a moth has become trapped in his chest.

He still doesn’t need much sleep, so Cas’ solace becomes night-hiking in the surrounding Coconino forest and the San Francisco peaks.

The first time he decides to walk through the night, he heads for the highest point on the mountains, Humphrey’s Peak. Beneath his feet are dark roots. The pines and aspens shiver in the night air. Cas can taste the copper of the fallen leaves, hear the worms blind and joyous in the mulch underfoot, brush the sleep of Calliope hummingbirds, resting under cover of darkness on their winter migration south to Mexico.

As he reaches the treeline, there is snow and basalt underfoot, and finally, the gasp of stars he is searching for. The Milky Way, that glittering stairway to Heaven, casting her fishing net across the shoals of light in the pitch sky.

There, as the canopy of the world arches over his head he finds, heretic that he is, a voice for prayer.

He prays to his dead son, once so golden and eager in Kelly Kline’s womb.

“I’m sorry, for all the things in this world I never got to show you; roses of Jericho like desert sculptures in Judea; dancing revellers in red pvc at Battle Hymn in New York, golden monkeys with blue faces in the forests of southwestern China.”

Cas prays, not to Chuck, whom indeed he has cursed bitterly, over and over. But, as if otherwise they will shake him apart, rather, he hurls his prayers into the black holes of God’s expanding universe.

“If it is blasphemy, to have gravitated to the particular calluses of one pair of human hands; if it is blasphemy, to have carved my name onto bright bone, remade in Hell; if it is blasphemy, that no thousand-year command of garrisons in Heaven could ever compete with a single year’s savage nights in Purgatory; if it is blasphemy, I have been no more, and no less, a blasphemer.”

“And yet,” he whispers, into the cold solitude of the mountain, “if many waters cannot quench it, and neither can the floods drown it, is it not, also, holy?”

Cas stays there with his question, like some modern Prometheus, a piece of quantum infinity on the edge of finite time, until the rocks bleed out in the dawn.     

[calumcest]

good morning :) loved the new drabbles and i was wondering if you'd write about 'actually.. i just miss you' and lashton again but like.. in the angel/devil au? i completely get it if not because you already wrote one with that prompt (and it was great) but i'm a sucker for this verse and the phrase just reminded me so much of them (oh and maybe alternatively for them if you don't want to use the prompt again: 'why do i love you?')

thank u so much!! omg i’m so glad you enjoyed the verse bc i am slyly living for it its very self-indulgent so any requests to write more in the angel/demon verse...how could i say no also forewarning this is not a drabble its 1.7k sdlkfjhsbdf 

Ashton, Michael prays, an edge of desperation to the word, and Ashton jerks up from the record of the soul he’s currently processing, focusing in on the prayer. Come down. I need you. 

What for? 

Luke. 

Ashton can’t help the butterflies in his stomach at that, and he swallows, pushing himself back from his desk. 

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t go. Michael’s more than capable of handling Lucifer - he’s proven that once before - and Ashton’s busy. He’s got at least three thousand more souls to process today. He doesn’t have the time to go down, doesn’t have the time to chase whatever stupid nonsense Lucifer’s up to now. He shouldn’t. 

Instead, he focuses in on Michael, lets his prayer swell in his heart, closes his eyes, and heads down. 

He turns up in the dark outside a restaurant, lit up by one feeble streetlight. He can feel that Lucifer’s in there, feel it in the burning, crawling sensation under his folded-in wings, so he takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. 

It’s nearly empty, save a table with Calum, dressed in all black, leather jacket catching the light as he gesticulates wildly, frowning. Michael’s opposite him, white shirt setting off his pale skin and blond hair, frowning right back at Calum, lips twisted in a way that Ashton knows firsthand means I know you’re right but I refuse to lose this argument. Lucifer’s sat next to Calum, looking incredibly bored with whatever’s happening, but, almost as though it were an instinct, his eyes are drawn to Ashton, north meeting south. 

Ashton swallows at the dark look in Lucifer’s eyes, and heads over to the table. 

“What?” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as hoarse to everyone else as it does to him. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Michael says, a look of relief spreading across his face. The curse rings loud and unholy in Ashton’s ears, and makes him wince slightly. Michael barely even notices. “Cal, let’s fucking go.” 

“Wait,” Ashton says, as both Calum and Michael scrape their chairs back, and Michael turns to look at him, faint annoyance etched in his features. 

“What?” he says. 

“What?” Ashton echoes, slightly incredulous. “You call me down here, and then you leave?” Michael shrugs. Ashton cannot believe him. “You said-” he cuts himself off, with a glance at Lucifer, who’s watching the exchange idly. Lucifer doesn’t miss the glance, and a lazy smile spreads across his face when he realises what the look means. 

“I just said I needed you,” Michael points out. 

“For Lucifer.” 

“Yeah, to keep him company,” Michael says, “while me and Cal go off and fuck.” Calum nods seriously at that. Ashton’s going to speak to Him about blanket banning consorting with demons. Michael’s getting worse by the day, and he was never good to begin with. 

“I think he can look after himself,” Ashton bites out, casting Lucifer another glance. Lucifer just looks back at him, amused smile playing on his lips. 

“No,” Michael says, placing a hand on Ashton’s shoulder, and Ashton feels it, feels the full weight of God’s love and holiness thrumming through his veins, heavy in Michael’s touch, stronger than any other angel. He kind of gets why Raphael hates Michael whenever he feels that. “I think you should be there with him.” He says it with the kind of gravity only an archangel can muster, and Ashton has no choice but to nod, because it’s an order. Michael grins at him, quick and easy, all seriousness gone, and pats him on the shoulder, right above his wing. Ashton winces, and falls into the seat Michael had been occupying. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lucifer calls after Calum and Michael as they head for the door. 

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” Calum shoots back, and Lucifer grins wickedly. 

“Exactly,” he says, and both Michael and Calum roll their eyes fondly - and, okay, when did Michael become fond of Lucifer? Something rolls uncomfortably in Ashton’s stomach at that, but he pushes it aside, focusing on the task at hand. Keep Lucifer entertained. Keep him company. Ashton can do that. 

“So,” Lucifer says, blue eyes flicking to Ashton, lit up and amused. “Just me and you now.” Ashton nods tightly. 

“Looks like it,” he says. That just seems to amuse Lucifer even more, small smile stretching to a full grin. He leans back, tilting his head like he’s scrutinising Ashton, and suddenly there’s a cheeseburger in front of Ashton. 

Okay. Ashton’s not a fan of human food, he really isn’t, but Michael had gone on and on about cheeseburgers for at least fifty years, begging Ashton to come down and try one, and Ashton had eventually relented and said he’d try one if Michael brought one back up, which he’d duly done. It’s been at least forty years since that happened, and Ashton had only managed about ten before he’d caved and started taking the odd secret trip down to Earth for a cheeseburger. Nobody, though, nobody, not even Michael, knows about that. 

“I don’t eat human food,” Ashton says primly, because he doesn’t. Ashton may not be able to lie, but all that’s done is make him very good at bending the truth. 

“You eat cheeseburgers,” Lucifer says, like this is a well-known fact, and not something Ashton’s sworn Michael to secrecy on. 

“I-” Ashton’s cut off with a wince, holy power seizing his tongue, caught in an almost-lie. Lucifer grins, recognising the telltale signs of an angel trying to lie all too well. Ashton clears his throat in a dignified manner, hoping Lucifer can’t see the flush on his cheeks, and tries a different tack. “How do you know that?” Lucifer shrugs. 

“Kept tabs on you,” he says, and then proceeds to reel off Ashton’s cheeseburger order. “Double cheeseburger, extra pickles, no mayo, two tomatoes.” Ashton stares at him. 

“You stalked me?” he says, and it comes out a little strangled. He’s not sure whether that’s the holiness or the fact that his stomach has done, like, a full Olympics gymnastics set at the idea that Lucifer’s been keeping up with him, been watching him from afar. 

“Well, now, stalking is a strong word,” Lucifer says, grinning, because he doesn’t care, he’s the Devil. That thought sends a strong wave of revulsion coursing through Ashton, top to toe, followed immediately with a wave of guilt. He really hopes Raphael’s not tuned in to him right now. The last thing Ashton needs is someone spreading the word that Ashton’s hanging out with Satan. 

“You-” Ashton cuts himself off, because he’s not really sure what he wants to say. Lucifer watches him, half-amused, half-interested. Ashton feels the full weight of something under his gaze, but he’s not sure what it is - holy, sacrilegious, Heaven, Hell - and drops his gaze to the cheeseburger. 

“You should eat it,” Lucifer says casually. Ashton eyes it warily. 

“Do I look like an idiot?” he says. Lucifer rolls his eyes. 

“What, you think I’ve carved a banishing sigil into the lettuce?” he says, like it’s the most ludicrous idea in the world, and then stops. “Hmm. That might be one to try on Michael, actually.” Ashton, because he’s a good friend and an even better angel, dutifully sends a prayer in Michael’s direction informing him as such. Michael doesn’t respond, and Ashton withdraws before he gets too close to the dark spikes of whatever it is that Michael’s currently giving off. 

“I don’t want your food,” Ashton says, because it’s true, he doesn’t want Lucifer’s food, and pushes the cheeseburger away from him childishly. Lucifer rolls his eyes, but pulls the cheeseburger towards himself, and takes a huge bite out of it, holding Ashton’s gaze as he does. Ashton prays for the strength not to watch the line of his throat as he swallows, but He doesn’t seem to be listening. 

“Have you always been this fucking boring?” Lucifer comments idly, licking his finger obscenely, and oh, oh, the repentance for the thoughts that just went through Ashton’s head hits him like a train. He visibly flinches, and Lucifer grins. “Man, you know shit’s a lot more fun when you don’t feel shitty about every thought you have.” 

“I don’t feel bad,” Ashton grits out, because he doesn’t. Repentance is a necessary consequence of sin, and he always feels good that he’s repented. Lucifer shrugs, and takes another bite of the burger. Ashton swallows, not entirely because he kind of wishes the burger were going down his throat instead of Lucifer’s. Like he knows what Ashton’s thinking, Lucifer quirks a brow at him. 

“You can still have some,” he offers. 

“I-” Ashton winces again, unable to say I don’t want any, because he does, he really does. Lucifer laughs, and pushes the burger back towards Ashton, but there’s something fond in his eyes, and it makes Ashton feel a little sick with something that he tries not to identify as guilt. 

“Eat,” he says, and it’s soft, it’s gentle, and it breaks Ashton’s heart into a million pieces. The Devil shouldn’t have it in him to care about anyone, least of all Ashton. 

Ashton can’t rid himself of that sneaking suspicion, though, staring at the burger in trepidation, and Lucifer sighs. 

“You really don’t trust me, huh?” he says, and there’s a note of bitterness in his voice. Ashton hates it, hates himself more for causing it, hates the guilt and confusion that washes over him as an immediate consequence of both of those thoughts. 

“You are the Devil,” Ashton points out, and Lucifer huffs out a laugh. 

“I’d never fuck with my second-favourite angel,” he says solemnly. 

“I’m glad Michael’s safe, then,” Ashton shoots back before he can stop himself, and Lucifer grins, shaking his head. 

“Why do I love you?” he says, and there’s something so raw and wistful in his tone that Ashton wants to cry, wants to reach out, wants to tell him I’m sorry, I’m wish I could make it better, I wish I could fix this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wish I’d never loved you, I wish I’d found a way to stop loving you. 

Instead of saying anything, because nothing would be enough, and anything would be too much, he reaches forwards, picks up the burger, and brings it to his lips.

The radiant smile Lucifer gives him is all angel, no Devil. 

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Changing Channels: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,876

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I am so sorry this is out late. I’ve been dealing with shit the past few days.

I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

When the morning came, Dean wanted nothing more than to get out of this town. Sam was nowhere to be found which was odd, but you didn’t say anything of it until Dean started to notice. When he was finished brushing his teeth, he spit out the rest of what was in his mouth.

“I'm worried, man. What that SOB did to Cas. You know, where is he?”

“Sam isn’t in here,” you called out from bed.

“Where the hell is he?”

“I don’t know. I woke up and he wasn’t here. His bed wasn’t even slept in,” you frowned.

Dean shrugged on his jacket before pulling out his cell phone. He grabbed his keys, and you both walked to the car as Dean called his brother.

“Sam. It's me. Where the hell did you go?” Dean left a message just as you two got in the car.

“Dean? Y/N?” Sam said, his voice a bit strange.

“Where the hell are you?” you asked since he clearly wasn’t in the car.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Noticing the flashing red light on the dashboard, it lit up in time with Sam’s words.

“Shit,” you sighed.

“Oh shit. I don't think we killed the Trickster.”

“Is it too early for an ‘I told you so’?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Save it,” Sam sighed.

Dean put the car in drive and peeled out of the parking lot and down the road.

“Okay, stake didn't work. So, what, this is another trick?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think it’s a Trickster,” you announced.

“What do you mean?” Dean wondered.

“Don’t you find it kind of weird that he’s so invested in this Michael/Lucifer/Amara storyline? He’s so obsessed with us saying yes, it’s getting suspicious. Did you know that there are currently and only has been four archangels? Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and—”

“Gabriel,” Dean finished for you.

“Yeah. We know who Michael and Lucifer are. Dean and I met Raphael when Castiel needed him. That leaves Gabriel left. This isn’t a Trickster. He’s an angel, and he’s hiding. And I know just how to get him to admit it,” you grinned, looking at Dean with a mischievous look.

“For once, I like that look in your eyes,” Dean smirked.

Dean drove to the spot where it would be perfect to do your little experiment. If you were right about this, then you get to go home—your real home. If you were wrong about this—and you knew you weren’t—then this really was a Trickster, and you’d need to find another way home. After retrieving the holy oil, you made sure to leave a big enough circle that if Gabriel does show, then he would land in it. Once that was complete, then Dean rummaged through the Impala’s trunk to hide the container of holy oil.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“That, uh, feels really uncomfortable,” Sam cleared his throat. Dean slammed the trunk of the car down hard. “Ow. You sure this is gonna work?”

“No, but we have no other ideas,” he sighed, looking to the sky as if Gabriel could see you three that way. “Alright, you son of a bitch! Uncle! We'll do it!”

“Should I honk?”

“Wow. Sam. Get a load of the rims on you,” Gabriel appeared right in the spot you needed him.

“Eat me.”

“Okay, lady and gentlemen. Ready to go quietly?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast. Nobody's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs.”

“What's the difference? Satan's going to ride his ass one way or another.”

“Now,” you glared.

Gabriel rolled his eyes but snapped his fingers. The lights go off in the car, and Sam stepped out of it with narrowed eyes.

“Happy?”

“Tell me one thing. Why didn't the stake kill you?” you asked.

“I am the Trickster,” he chuckled.

“No, you’re not,” you smirked, holding up a flaming cigarette lighter and tossed it to the ground. A ring of fire springs up around the archangel right where you laid the oil out. He looked all around himself before laughing. “You’re an archangel.”

“A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?”

“Fine, then why don’t you jump out of the holy fire, and we’ll call it our mistake… Gabriel, the youngest of the four. I wonder what your big brothers would think if they saw you here. They do know you’re here, right?” you chuckled, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Gabriel laughed, but stopped once he knew he’d been caught. The surrounding areas vanished in a burst of static, only to be replaced by the inside of the warehouse you approached days ago.

“Well played, Y/N and Co. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?” Gabriel clapped.

“Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass,” Dean chuckled.

“Where'd I screw up?”

“You didn’t. I wouldn’t have figured it out if it weren’t for Castiel. Ever since I first met you, I knew there was something about you that just didn’t add up. Plus, it was mostly the way you talked about Armageddon.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family,” Dean explained.

“So, Gabriel, how does an archangel become a trickster?” you asked.

“My own private witness protection. I skipped out of heaven, had a face transplant, and carved out my own little corner of the world. Till you three screwed it all up.”

“What did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?” Dean asked.

“Daddy doesn't say anything about anything.”

“So why ditch your family?” you asked.

“Do you blame him? I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles,” Dean smirked.

“Shut your cakehole. You don't know anything about my family. I love my father and my brothers. Love them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it! Okay? So, I left. And now it's happening all over again.”

“Then help us stop it.”

“It can’t be stopped.”

“You wanna see the end of the world?”

“I want it to be over! I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you three! Heaven, hell, I don't care who wins, I just want it to be over.”

“That’s no way to think. Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” you nodded.

“You do not know my family,” Gabriel laughed. “What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. A fight against a force that comes out of nowhere, and acts as if they know and rule everything. You'd think you'd be able to relate.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you three are the vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father. Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. Amara, the surrogate mother who invades and latches on like a leech. Why do you think she’s in prison right now? You three were born to this. It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other.”

“What the hell are you saying?” Dean glared.

“Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always.”

“No, there is no way in hell that’s happening. I won’t allow it,” you shrugged.

“And therein lies your similarities. See, Amara was just like you. Strong, powerful, and protective. Then she stopped caring and it all went to shit,” he groaned after pausing. “Guys. I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers and endings wrapped up in a bow... but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be.”

“No,” you whispered painfully.

The four of you stared at each other for a long time before Gabriel spoke up about it.

“Now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?”

“No, you’re going to bring Castiel back from wherever you stashed him,” you glared.

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, you are. I wasn’t pissed before, but I will be. You don’t want to see that,” you crossed your arms with the promise of your blue magic.

Gabriel groaned, but he snapped his fingers to bring your angelic friend back. Castiel appeared next to you three, and you placed a hand on his arm in comfort.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Hello, Gabriel.”

“Hey, bro. How's the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful.”

“Okay, we’re done here. Come on, Sam and Y/N,” Dean decided, turning and walking to one of the doors.

“Uh. Okay. Guys? So, what? Huh?” Gabriel stuttered as everyone began walking away from him. “You're just gonna, you're gonna leave me here forever?”

“No, we’re not,” you stopped by the door and turned to the archangel. Sam and Dean were already out of the door along with Castiel, but they stayed close to hear what you had to say. “We don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family.”

Lifting your arm, you swept your hand from your left side of your body to your right, the flames dying down in motion of your arm. Your magic was able to extinguish the flames on their own.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” you scoffed as the archangel glared.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel left, and you were about to follow when Gabriel stopped.

“I saw her. Amara. I don’t know what she’s doing to you or how she’s communicating with you, but don’t trust a word she says. She’s evil and manipulative and stubborn. Most importantly, she’s real because I’m the one that helped put her away. If you say yes to her, she will destroy everything good about you and then the world.”

“Like Michael and Lucifer?” you asked. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need someone like you to look over my shoulder. I have family for that.”

Leaving the warehouse, you joined Sam and Dean at the car where they were discussing what happened.

“All that stuff he was spouting in there, you think it was the truth?”

“I think he believes it,” you commented.

“What do we do now?” Dean asked.

“Live our lives the way we want to. I don’t believe in destiny because if I did, I’d at least hope there was something better for us out there. We make our own rules, and the angels are going to regret it if they think they can try and dictate our lives,” you announced, turning to Castiel after. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Right about now I wish I was back in a TV show,” Dean huffed, sliding into the car.

“Yeah, me too.”

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[hmel78]

In conversation with Raphael Doyle ...

A few weeks ago my attention was drawn to a video in which Tom Robinson [Tom Robinson Band / presenter on BBC radio] spoke about a project he’s working on with his old friend, Raphael Doyle. Now, Crowd Funding has become the ‘in thing’ and many people pay it no mind, but this pledge was different. And why? Because there’s real a story behind it - This is not just about a band expecting their fans to donate money in return for a signed photo, or a cheesy ringtone, thus ensuring  the next album is made. From what I’ve heard, the album is going to be something special musically - but not only that, this album is a genuine work of LOVE; not for profit. but for the sake of creativity, for the music ; it’s about old friends, and new, coming together to be a part of Raphael’s album - And they’re against the clock  (for more than one reason) which makes it all the more compelling. I was, of course, interested to know more about Raphael, who along with Tom Robinson and Hereward Kaye in the late 1960’s, formed the trio ‘Cafe Society’.

I should imagine you’re already familiar with Tom, and perhaps Hereward too [from his days with The Flying Pickets], but Raphael has clearly managed to remain off the radar - until now! Born in Northern Ireland, Raphael absconded to England when he was 15 - An unconventional teenager, but a keen songwriter and poet - he found himself at Finchden Manor in Kent, before carving a career, one way or another, in music. ‘Cafe Society’ enjoyed a relative amount of success but it was short lived, and following the break up of the band in 1976, Raphael’s  biography states that he was, at that time “Painfully short on confidence and increasingly dependent on drink”. By the time he was 19 Raphael had already married Rose. Over 40 years later, through thick and thin, and with a clan of four children, they’re still going strong! When I first spoke to him he was telling me about his return to living in the North East of England, having been lucky enough to buy back the very same house he and Rose had lived in as a young couple ; add to that his return to making music, and it would seem that there are many aspects of his life that are coming ‘full circle’.   “Never Closer” is the title of the album - Raphael sings us through a number of extraordinary tracks inspired by “a messy life encompassing darkness and recovery pain and love”,  but at the end of it all, quite contentedly  concludes - “The whole journey has definitely been worth it” ... You can keep up with Raphael’s story, and the pledge campaign, as it unfolds via his website and social media, but in the meantime, we thought we’d attempt to extract some more of his memories about those early days as a musician.

HR : If you’re open to talking about it Raphael, I’d like to go back to 1968 - to Finchden Manor**, where you met up with Tom Robinson - what was life like there?

Raphael Doyle : Well, I was 15 when I arrived at Finchden. I'd come from Northern Ireland where I'd had unhappy fallings out with a couple of schools.  I was clashing with the conservative, Catholic environment of my upbringing, and I was a fledgling hippy in the world that didn't like that. Finchden was like another world entirely - suddenly you found yourself somewhere where you weren't in the wrong all the time - where you could be yourself. It was very unstructured. Your time was your own.

HR : Were you encouraged to be creative?

RD : It wasn't so much that you were encouraged to be creative, but more that you were given the space to be yourself. So some people got into making things, some got into gardening, lots of us spent a lot of time talking. And there was a great spilling out of creativity, whether music, art, pottery, poetry. Whatever people had in them. Just in the time that I was there, there was Matthew Collings scribbling away amazing cartoon-like drawings, who has gone on to become a very highly regarded artist and art critic. There was Mike Medora who was playing searing blues guitar and he went on to do the festival circuit with Global Village Trucking company. There was Danny Kustow, still a much loved guitarist, who became famous beside Tom Robinson in TRB. There was the amazing and eccentric Robert Godfrey who went off to form the Enid, a legendary prog rock band, and he took with him a bunch of other boys, notably Francis Lickerish, another brilliant guitarist and multi-instrumentalist. And there was Tom and me, writing songs, putting groups together- and I guess we were encouraged, yes. We used to be brought out to play to visitors… I remember us being taken off on long journeys in George Lyward- the founder -in his old car to visit Lord and Lady somebody or other in a mansion, and he would give a fundraising talk, and Tom and I would sing a couple songs, and then wander outside where we chanced upon this old guy in ancient corduroys tending a rhubarb patch, who turned out to be the Lord himself. Very PG Wodehouse!

HR : Actually it sounds like fun,  despite being a difficult time ... There’s a great quote from Hereward [Kaye] about your songwriting, he says “The lyrics were all his own and smelt of trouble. How I longed to be deeply troubled like him!”     What was it about music, and songwriting that engaged you? Is it fair to say that without music, you may have strayed onto a very different path?

RD : Well, Hereward was right. I was a troubled young man. We all were at Finchden. But even before I went there, back in Northern Ireland, music and writing had become my escape valve. I came from a little seaside town, and a Scottish wild card called Colvin Hamilton took over the swimming pool cafe and turned it into a venue -  The Scene  - and he would bring down bands from Belfast. This was at the height of the early 60s R&B boom. ‘Van Morrison’ and ‘Them’ were the big name. I was too young to be let in but I'd spend the weekend nights with my ear pressed to the blacked out plate glass window, listening to that raw, rough earthy music. And at home, and in friends’ houses, I was listening to Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Nina Simone, Ray Charles, Buddy Guy, Robert Johnson, John Mayalls blues breakers ... So Music was already my landscape. It didn't stop me getting into trouble though!  So it was arriving at Finchden, having a place of respite , the chance to heal and grow, and there to get together with Tom and start honing my musical instincts - that's where my direction became set. I became a musician at Finchden.

HR : It was Tom who introduced you to Hereward, in Middlesborough - what happened in the interim before you eventually moved to London and formed ‘Cafe Society’?

RD : Tom's family were living in the north-east and I went up there with him for a holiday. A neighbour of his decided to introduce us to some other arty young folk she knew of from Middlesbrough, and that's where Hereward came in. We just clicked - it wasn't so usual then to meet others passionately into writing and making music. Hereward in Teesside and Tom and I in Kent would make reel to reel revox recordings of each new song and post them to each other, then when we'd meet 2 or 3 times a year and we'd have long sessions playing the songs to each other and trying out harmonies. So then when we finally got together in London it was natural to get into a bedroom or a cellar and just spend hours playing and arranging and practicing.... We were buzzing on it.

HR : From what I’ve read, many people were buzzing about it, including Alexis Korner. You had a really strong connection to him - how did that come about?

RD : Alexis had been at Finchden in his youth - he was an 'old boy'. While we were there his daughter Sappho stayed for a while ... I remember Alexis and Sappho singing the country blues song “Trouble In Mind” together. This was when Tom and I would be wheeled out to play for visitors and there were some powerful times when Alexis and us would play in a packed Oak Room to visitors and wild eyed disturbed adolescents ... So Alexis got to know us and became something of a mentor. HR : Alexis was really big on the music scene, especially with  ‘Blues Incorporated’ - how connected  were you to all of that?  

RD : I remember staying at his place in Queensway and meeting John Mayall - I was a bit dumbstruck. It wasn't that long before that I'd been standing in the dark in a blues club in Belfast watching the ‘Blues Breakers’ with John Mayall and the new guitarist Peter Green playing stunning music, and here was the man standing before me. I don't know what I mumbled but I think it was embarrassing. Another time I was sitting in Alexis' front room with Andy Fraser who was someone Tom and I both loved very much. We'd been to see ‘Free’ at the Redcar Jazz club - the place of been jampacked and heaving and the band were incredible. And here was Andy talking to Alexis about what to do now Free had broken up. He put together a band called Toby. A little while later Hereward and I nicked his drummer Stan Speake, for the band we were putting together while we were waiting for Tom to come to London.

HR : So when Tom arrived, and ‘Cafe Society’ formed properly, what attracted you to the folk scene above any of the others?

RD : We didn't really choose the folk scene. It was just that we were three guys with acoustic guitars, a focus on harmonies, writing our own songs. In those days you either put together a band and played places like the hundred club, or you went to the booming folk circuit. So we began there ...

HR : You landed a residency, as a 3 piece, at The Troubadour coffee house - what do you remember about those first performances?

RD : As far as I remember we had a residency at Bunjies first. We were playing around a lot of clubs- The Rising Sun in Tottenham Court road was a good one. But the Troubadour had the cachet; it had a more serious reputation. We used to go down there and do floor spots on other people's nights and gradually we were building up a following. So then we got a night of our own-Tuesday nights.   It was a wonderful time, a very atmospheric place to try out new songs, to practice our harmonies. We had a captive audience in a little space and it became a shared experience. I think we had a very distinctive blend.   Tom was serious about the nuts and bolts of arrangements and song structure. Hereward was a showman, flamboyant in his songs and performance, and I would escape into the music and let my soul pour out. It made for a dynamic blend. And we were all fans, we all loved music, for us the people we listened to were our heroes and we wanted to join them. HR : And it wasn’t long before you did, was it? RD : No - By now we were trying to get a deal. That was the big Next step in those days. First you build up a bit of a following, then you got management, then you got a deal. We got a manager. Hereward knew John McCoy who ran music venues in and around Middlesbrough where he came from. John went on to become Chris Rea's manager and got him signed and started on his career. We used to go up and play at the Kirk, the most happening club on Teesside at the time, which John owned and ran. He listened to our stuff and wasn't quite sure what to make of it but he agreed to manage us, and one thing led to another and it resulted in Ray Davies of ‘The Kinks’ coming down to the troubadour to check us out. It was the same night Alexis was headlining for us so there was a real buzz in the air. Ray did a bit of a floor spot with us standing alongside not quite able to believe what was happening. Ray saw something in us, I think, that chimed with his own sense of song. He signed us up to his new indie label Konk -the first one in the country-and he himself produced our first album.

HR : Presumably that opened a few doors?

RD : Sure. From playing the London folk clubs, suddenly we were getting support act slots on national tours. We supported ‘The Kinks’ a whole bunch of times,  which was a bit odd because we were this very well mannered acoustic trio in the middle of the stage set up for this raucous pop rock band and the audiences were kind of looking for a good time. But we went down surprisingly well on those tours.  HR : Didn’t you also open for Barclay James Harvest? RD : Yes -That was a bit weird because they were a full blown prog rock band with colours and smoke and atmospherics and everyone took the whole thing very seriously!   I think for some of them a support band was just a necessary evil so we felt a bit sidelined. But luckily a lot of their audiences were the listening kind and enjoyed what we did. Also I have to say that Woolly Wolstenholme was a really sweet guy and he was always very encouraging and would make time for us. We learned a great deal on all of those shows. Sometimes it's when you're not doing your own show, but having to make your mark in someone else's, that you can learn most about holding true to yourself and standing firm as a performer. Then I remember we did the Alan Hull solo album tour. Alan was big at that point as the singer songwriter of Lindisfarne so it was a much better match for us as an acoustic trio. He did the whole tour solo and the audiences were great for us.  Mind you the dressing room was a place to be .... A parade of beautiful people hobnobbing with the latest thing ... Eh, that'd be him, not us!

HR : So as things progressed, and you were having this amount of success as a trio, what prompted you to add more members and form a ‘proper’ band, changing the dynamic, and presumably the sound?

RD : Well, as I said, we weren't really a folk group. We did love people like Neil Young,  Paul Simon, Dylan... We used to finish with a James Taylor song “Lo and behold” . Tom always really liked Richard Thompson. I remember at The Troubadour we used to sing the Fairport song 'Meet on the Ledge'. But really our folk credentials were accidental. We always saw ourselves as a band. Hereward and I had both been in blues bands, and played the raunchier end of R&B pop. Tom's musical interests ranged really widely. He was a big fan of early ‘Manfred Mann’. He and I were besotted with ‘The Band’, “Music from Big Pink”. So really we were just waiting for the chance to expand and go electric - unfortunately it happened just as Ray Davies was making the first album with us. He signed an acoustic trio, but while Ray was supervising recording us at Konk, a process in which we didn't feel we had much say, we were off down the road when not needed in the studio, doing our own demos in a little place in Holloway with a drummer and a bass player and a keyboard player. We abandoned the folk circuit and started to play the pub scene. The Golden Lion in Fulham, The Three Kings in North End Road where the unknown Elvis Costello was forcing himself on the attentions of a bemused audience! Upstairs at Ronnie Scott's. There was a new buzz around and we wanted to spread our wings. So with one thing and another the Konk relationship fizzled out.

HR : ‘Cafe Society’ were dubbed band of the year by Sounds magazine in 1976, but the same year saw  the arrival of ‘The Sex Pistols’ and a whole new scene - what impact did Punk have on you and the rest of the band?

RD : We had built up an expanded following as a band and it felt like we had lots to do. But Ray Davies brought in a production team to work on our second album, who were nice guys but they were not about new music. We were trying to make a go of it with them, and Hereward and I were both newly married and putting a lot of time into that side of things - so the impact of punk, for me at least, Was Tom turning up one night to visit me and sitting down in the front room and telling me how he had been going to the hundred club and seeing  this group - ‘The Sex Pistols’ - and that everything was changing. Tom was going out nights and seeing them and ‘The Clash’, the new bands, and he knew that the album we were recording was redundant.   And he did the right thing. He went off and he dived into the deep end of this new wave. A few short months later Hereward and I were standing at the back of the Lyceum on the Strand looking in disbelief at this mass of thousands of people all with their backs to us, Facing forwards, arms raised and yelling to the rafters for TRB. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I think we did both, but very proudly.

HR : It seems at that point, Tom was destined to go a different route - did you and Hereward plan to continue?

RD : When Tom announced he was leaving I didn't want, for myself, to carry on. But Hereward really wanted us to finish the album, which was looking more of a Hereward album anyway. So we continued. But it was without any real sense of ownership or involvement or hope. Really, it was over when Tom left.

HR : What direction did you take musically after the band broke up for good?

RD : I put together a band doing mostly my songs and some of my favourites. There was still a healthy pub rock circuit in London and we were playing places like the golden lion in Fulham and the Stapleton near Crouch end where the Jam were making their mark. There was a buzz - EMI were interested. Robert Plant came down to check us out. But the truth is my confidence was in bits ... I would be sick and need a drink before going on. I couldn't handle the business side - promoters, A&R men. Aargh. It freaks me out just remembering it. You either have the balls to be a good self promoter or you don't. I didn't. I carried on writing songs and playing in many different settings - clubs, in pubs, in schools, and made a couple of albums with a  gospel rock band in England and in the states. Later I returned to the blues with an old friend Paul Davey on guitar. I always loved Paul's playing and he has a quality to him which is very authentic. He is not flashy, he's like The early Peter Green I saw all those years ago in Belfast. But essentially I think I'm still what you might call a soul/folk singer. I love to make contemporary music that is now on the surface, but plunging deep into the timeless in the feel

HR : Some 40 years later there seem to be a lot of things that are coming full circle in your life ... in music particularly ...

RD : Yeah - Really when I look back my life has been about life, but music is a thread that runs through it either in the actual doing of it or in the yearning for it. I absolutely love making music. And that special magical thing of making music with really good musicians, where an unspoken understanding happens and creates a platform on which something even better then you know how to make, actually suddenly happens. A moment outside time. I remember seeing an interview with a very respectable English poet John Betjeman  - he was old and in failing health and he was asked rather respectfully if he had any regrets. And he said "yes. I wish I'd had more sex ". That's how I feel about that level of music making. And that's why am so blown away with what's been happening. Everything I've hungered for has come to me this year.  Making a new album, working with great people, and a really special night at the Troubadour. HR : Oh yes - the show at The Troubadour - how did it feel to perform there again? Was the atmosphere the same?

RD : Actually, the atmosphere was even better than before! I've just been listening to a recording of the opening song, “Give Us A Break”. It's a song of Tom's he and I used to do back at Finchden and we did it acoustically to start the night and it was magic. Then a series of great artists doing floor spots, then me with a spot-on young band, and Tom and Hereward getting up to join in. It was a 10 course meal by candle light! And the audience .... They might as well have been on stage, we were all so involved together.

HR : You remained friends with Tom, and Hereward - as you say they played with you recently, and have teamed in for your Solo album “Never Closer” - how does it feel to be back in their company on a creative level?

RD : Well you know we haven't been strangers to each other.

Hereward and I are brothers in law as well as friends so there's always been opportunities for us to get the guitars out and play together.  My song “Feet on the Floor”, on the new album, wouldn't be the same without Herry's harmonies.  And he's put a lovely, subtle keyboard part on “Kiltermon”, one of the most important songs for me. Tom though, his part in this has been crucial. He says he sees himself as executive producer, just making sure it happens but leaving the music up to me. The truth is he is much more than that. Looking back to the beginning, I wouldn't even be a serious musician but for Tom. And so to be doing this album in partnership with him is just fantastic.

The sense of coming full circle, of completion, of fulfilment is really strong in my life this year. This album is a big example of that, and Tom and Hereward and myself getting up on stage together at the troubadour, and being in the studio together looking into each others eyes, listening to each other, singing together, is deeply wonderful for me.

HR : You’ve said recently, that the recording process took the magic out of the music in the early days, so what has changed for you with this solo record?

RD : The heart went out of the music in the recording process in the 70s for us because it was an artificial environment and a rather autocratic structure. Music is about musicians sharing from their souls together, and that sharing combining, meeting in the air and combining into something extra. That just can't happen in a compartmentalised and splintered and structured and often rather heartless recording process. It's not always like that of course, but too often it has been. We need to get back to the magic of creativity. With this album it's very different. I suppose it's not too strong to say that this album is an act of love. And everybody involved in it is acting with creative integrity and with mutual regard. It's a great thing to be part of.

HR : What was your inspiration for putting these songs together, now?

RD : Back in the spring I noticed that I couldn't grip the plectrum when I was playing the guitar. That led me to check some things out, and I was diagnosed with motor neuron disease in April. I've had a good long summer since my diagnosis, holding the condition at arms length, and it's been great - But it is increasingly something that I am living with day by day so it is a big part of the reality of this stage of my life, and will only continue to be so, and more so ... So it's true to say that all this has come about in response to my diagnosis: Tom and my son Louis started looking at the songs that had never really seen the light of day, and talking about making an album - they were both very much spurred on to bring this about with me because time is an issue.  I wasn't sure  ... I certainly didn't want to make an album just for the sake of it. I wanted it to exist primarily as a piece of work in its own right, and have not wanted my health issue to be a dominant factor in what I've been doing - but the reality and beauty and urgency of this project has come about in trying to get these tracks down while it is still possible. Every stage of this process, of building this album, has been full of surprises.  It's incredibly alive. It's the story of a life. And it's a great collaboration between creative artists - not just me, but Louis, the brilliant Gerry Diver, Tom and everyone who's contributed..

HR : As you say there, the album also features your son Louis - what does it mean to you to be able to have this creative relationship with him, and your other children?

RD : It's been brilliant doing this with Louis. I always say he outstripped me musically a long time ago. The work he's done, from his early band the Cadets, to Slides, and now the Spare Room is often amazing. When he and I started looking at the songs for this album we started to get some of those shivery moments, like I used to get rehearsing in the cellar in Clapham with cafe society. I remember the rehearsal before the troubadour, we got the band together at the Music Room in New Cross and I had Louis on one side of me and my other son Jess on bass guitar on the other side, and we were all blasting out harmonies and it was like something in me just took off and flew up into the air. To be doing this together, at The Troubadour, and in the studio, and at such a wonderful high standard, is something that it's hard to explain. It's just beautiful.

HR : When are you hoping for it to be released?

RD : We are making the album with crowd funding - pledge music - so people are pre-ordering their copies and that helps pay for the cost of making it. The aim is to release it in January - hopefully on the 6th, my birthday - when I'm 64! 

HR : And what can listeners expect? RD : Well, the answer to that changes every week and every time we go back in the studio. It was going to be a good album, but there is all kinds of magic brewing in the cauldron. What can I say. I'm blown away by some of the things we've done. Gerry Diver is doing some extraordinary work on arrangements and production. Louis has written some great music, played brilliant guitar and found lovely musicians and I, I promise you, am singing my heart out. I tell you, I'm a happy man. But there's lots of previews on the PledgeMusic page, with some videos of different songs from the album or the Troubadour - keep watching.   It's at  http://www.pledgemusic.com/projects/raphael-doyle-never-closer , and my Facebook page raphaeldoylemusic

https://www.facebook.com/raphaeldoylemusic/?fref=ts

“I Come From Ireland” - a spoken word track is currently claiming worldwide acclaim, having made it to a feature in the Huffington Post!

The album - Songs Of Experience - can be found here http://www.raphaeldoyle.co.uk/

[Sadly Raphael passed away in March 2018. It is with huge thanks to my friend Ian Donald Crockett, that I had the pleasure of knowing Raphael for that short time].

[tmntxreader-fics]

TMNT Raphael x Reader: A Damaged Love

Request: 

@skywolf42   Ooh I have prompt for you!! RaphaelxReader where the Reader character gets in an argument with Raphael and flinches and freezes up at some point when he gets mad. Raph is immediately guilty that he's done something to make the Reader think he'd ever hit them, not understanding at first that it was a subconscious response due to physical abuse at the hands of a masculine figure at some point in the Reader's life. 

I took a different take on this, and added some 2007 Raph elements to it. Made it a little bit darker. Raph goes a little too far. 

WARNINGS: Cussing (as usual), mention of physical abuse, angst, and typos because I’m a dumb bitch. Violent anger. ANGRY RAPH. like, Unreasonable 2007 Raph angry. 

Fem Reader this time around.

‘Every couple squabbles.’

 At least, that’s what they say. That’s what you had told yourself when you were ignoring the ringing in your ears.

They say that ‘the arguments make the relationship stronger, make them healthier.’ With delicious irony, you remember repeating that one beneath your breath quite regularly; especially the nights when your purple jaw ached. 

‘Now that everything has been spilled into the air, you can both work on coming to a compromise together.’ On the contrary, you discovered that attempting to “compromise” simply resulted in a doomed-to-be-overdue hospital bill.

Now, on your second attempt at playing a role within a relationship, you realize that the first point was correct; every couple does squabble. Or, as you have found to be more accurate, they go to war. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

With a tragic spark of displaced humor, you consider the fact that this is the first time you have heard Raphael direct those words at you, rather than his enemies. Venturing further into your morbid curiosity, you wonder if, perhaps at this moment, you are his enemy. 

You suppose that you should have seen the burst of volume coming, really. It was bound to arrive between both of your voices rising in a steady crescendo. The predictability of the explosion was evident, so you’re unsure as to why it had shocked you so intensely. 

Maybe it was the words in which he had spoken, or perhaps, the way he had so aggressively pointed his finger towards you; accompanied by a menacing step. 

“Excuse me?” Your tone is the perfect picture of aggravated bewilderment. Now you understand how people could be so taken aback that they question the reliability of their hearing. “What did you just say to me?” 

“What, are you deaf? You heard me,” Raphael snarls, pacing from side to side as if he were a caged animal. Maybe he is, you muse. Perhaps he holds a barely contained animalistic anger; simmering beneath that rough, viridescent skin. Something that not even the Mutagen could evolve; or possibly, it’s responsible for encouraging the aggression. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Your voice is ripped from your lips in a bellow, your anger almost tangible. “What makes you think that you can talk to me like that?”

“You think you’re fuckin’ special?” he sneers, the simple sentence acting like a spear to your chest. The terrapin spins on his heels to face you, raising his finger once again to point at you accusingly. “You think that just ‘cos you’re my girlfriend, that means I can’t get mad at ya?” 

Your jaw drops in indignant disbelief, “there’s mad and then there’s this!” 

“You started this!” He growls, inhaling sharply in a poor attempt to maintain composure, “I didn’t fuckin’ come for you, you provoked me!”

Taking a step back from his overbearing presence, you return his words with a humourless snicker, “of course, it’s my fault.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Raphael snaps, eyes boring holes into your own; as if he were praying that looks could kill. Your stomach churns, clearly understanding the intent behind that gaze. 

“Of course it is! When have you ever taken responsibility for your own fuck-ups?” The words leave your lips before you can help yourself. You know instantly that you’ve just poured fuel over an already flaming fire. You could almost see the uncontrollable rage spread from his chest throughout his body. 

Still, despite the signs, you’re unable to prevent yourself from stumbling backward when the wooden table explodes into splintered pieces beneath his fist. You’ve fallen uncomfortably into the bench, tripping on the heel of your own shoe in your desperate attempt to gain space between you and the destructive beast on the other side of the room. Despite the blatant fear your new position exclaims, leaning back against the support of a metal structure with fingers that grip the edges for comfort, you cannot bring yourself to move. 

You try to stand to your feet and straighten up before he can turn around and see you. Before he can witness the power his anger has over you, the humiliating way you cower from his explosive outburst. Your body barely budges an inch at your mental commands and you remain frozen to your place.

Habit is not easily broken, your body reminds you. 

You know, logically, that Raphael would never hurt you. But, as much as you’d like to trust yourself, your logic has led you seriously wrong before. Your fiery nature has only brought you to once conclusion in your relationships, and they started off just like this. Just once. Just one fight. Just one blow. Then it never stopped. 

All is quiet, except for the heavy breathing that fills the room. Distantly, you remember that Mikey had carved that table himself as a kid; it was lopsided and ugly but he had made that. It was a piece of their childhood, a fond memory- and Raphael had just obliterated it without a second thought. 

You stand torn, staying put leaves you in the ‘danger zone’ and leaving the room is basically a flashing neon sign screaming ‘weakness’. You had promised yourself to grow stronger in the face of the opposition, to challenge and at the first sign of violence, to leave. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” His voice is hoarse; breaking the silence so suddenly that you jump a little. His shell is turned to you, though you can tell that he is hunched over a little; shoulders heaving with the weight of your words. 

“I asked you the same question and you didn’t answer,” the reply leaves your lips as a rasp. The longer you dwell on the thought of Mikey’s face when he sees the damage the stronger your resentment towards Raphael becomes. You find that you want to grind your teeth until there’s nothing left but small shards of bone; you want to clutch his world in your hands and burn it to ashes. With the rage rushing through your blood you find the energy to at least stand and somewhat straighten your stance. You’ve never felt such unfathomable wrath towards somebody that you genuinely love, even against those of whom you had thought you loved. 

Perhaps, it’s because you love him and you know it’s mutual that it hurts to see the relationship take a tragically familiar path. Is this the inevitable truth of love? Is it simply a means to an end? Could it be that love is so desired that they hide the horrors of it behind a quaint picture, and collectively everyone drinks it in like a sweet cocktail of poison. They thirst for it because they think that the high is worth the consequences, that the repercussions of love are the lesser of two evils- the other being loneliness.  

“You want me to answer your question?” His voice interrupts your train of thought. Turning your gaze to your partner’s hulkish figure you can’t help but shiver when he straightens up, shell still shielding him from your observation. “I’ll tell you exactly who I am.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat when Raphael turns, his eyes narrowed and blazing with a heat that make your instincts scream at you to run. 

One step. 

“I’m Raphael,” he begins. 

Two steps. 

“Now, see, I got a bad, bad, temper.” 

Three steps. 

“But I’m the best at what I do; putting a fist through someone’s jaw is how I get off.” 

Four steps. He’s halfway across the room now. 

“Now, I got a girlfriend. She talks big for someone who’s half my size.” 

Five steps. You stomach lurches and you can’t help but lean back into the metal bench once more. 

“She reminds me of my brother, can’t stop themselves from tryin’ to dictate my life, correct me at every turn,” his teeth are gritted now, words ground out rather than said. “Of course, they call it guidance.” 

Six steps. Too close. 

“Kinda funny that my girlfriends joined in when you think about the fact that I’m ten times as strong as her.” 

“Raph,” you whisper. Your heart sinks, you know where this is going. You had held out hope that it would never come to this, perhaps you’ve pushed him too far. Maybe this is your fault. 

Ignoring your voice, he takes another step forward. Seven. 

“Faster than her.” 

“Please,” you rasp, gripping the metal beside you in an attempt to not curl up. 

“Bigger than her.” 

Eight. 

He’s in front of you now, his body towering over your trembling self. You can barely breath, your eyes fixated on the fists that are balled at his sides. If it’s coming you might as well make the most of it. 

“What do you want from me?” You burst, voice breaking mid sentence. “What do you want me to say?” 

“I want you to support me!” He snaps. You can feel his breath brushing the top of your head and you lips tremble at the volume of his voice. Don’t break, stay strong. “Why is this so fuckin’ hard for you’s to understand. I don’t want authority I want a partner!”

“Why is it so hard for you to understand that partnership is about guiding someone through their flaws and encouraging them with their strengths,” you whisper shakily. Finally you turn your eyes up to meet his hard expression, watching the way he observes the wateriness of your gaze. “You’re so insecure that you can pinpoint everyone else’s problems but the second yours are addressed you think you’re being attacked and dominated.” 

“Insecure?” 

Perhaps, that was not the best word to throw around when you’re trapped between a metal bench and a 6′5, 340lb angry turtle. 

“I’m insecure? Look who’s talking!” His laugh is a humorless roar and you flinch beneath him.

“I don’t intimidate the people I love to hide my insecurities,” you snap back, gesturing to his aggressive posture. 

“Being intimidating is the only way to shut you’s up! There’s no other way to get you to back off!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up in disbelief. Your stomach clenches, shoulders flinching upwards to your jaw at the sudden movement. 

"What are you a caveman?” You cry, poking your finger into his plastron and straightening your posture in an attempt to cover your previous reaction. Be strong. “Use. Your. Words. Be honest! Be open! No one is gonna understand where the line is if you explode the second we open our mouths. Communicate through your words, your touch, your actions!” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you realise instantly that your courageous facade is permanently over when you catch his eyes. The sheer fury. Your body begins to tremble harder than it has in so long, the adrenaline rushing through your body in an attempt to evoke a response. Run, your instincts scream, hide! 

“You want me to use my words?” He sneers, his voice so low you don’t expect the volume from his next sentence. “Then shut the fuck up.” 

He steps in so that your body is pressed between his and the metal digging into your back. Your hands immediately raise up to press against his chest. “Raph....” 

“You want me to use my touch?” His voice is a steady shout now, you distantly wonder whether the boys can hear his bellow from the streets. But you know the truth, that you’re alone. Left at his mercy. 

His hands grip your body by your shoulders and at the sound of your startled cry he lifts you up so that only your toes brush the ground. He shakes you, as if hoping that somehow he could scramble your mind and prevent you from conjuring anymore words. “Then let me shake some sense into ya.” 

Your first sob is overpowered by the roar of his voice, you don’t know if he’s even heard it. You feel as though you’re going to puke any second now and you can’t find your breath. There’s no air. Where’s the air? 

“You want me to use my actions?” He drops his grip on you and your body falls into the bench behind you. “Then here!” 

He leans in and your body is bent backwards over the table before his fists smash into the metal on either side of your body, undoubtedly denting it. 

With that, you break. 

Your body crumples to the floor beneath his feet, hands raised above your head in a feeble attempt to protect yourself. 

Not again. 

There’s a silence before his voice, ever so soft, violates the quiet. He says your name. He says it twice. 

Is this how it’s meant to be? 

He says it three times. 

Please, not again. 

Please. 

He doesn’t touch you, not yet. 

Please. 

Please.

He says your name again, this time his voice sounds as broken as you feel. 

Please. 

He’s apologising, the words sweet nothings lost to the air. The whispers caress your body, curling around your neck in a deceptively loving touch. The words stroke your cheek, touch your lips. 

He says your name again, so softly. So gentle. The hushed tones wait for you to look up, they’re coaxing you to unfurl. But you know; you know from experience that they beckon you so that they can look you in the eyes. So that they can watch you, adoration in their gaze. They want to see your face when they choke you with the very thing that you crave. 

Love.

This is love. 

[pisang-goreng-ao3]

Coming to America

Beta: @sugarandspace​

Artist: Amanda

---

Chapter 1: Another beautiful day in Edom

 It’s eight in the morning and Raphael makes his way down the hallway, the sun already beaming through the windows. His steps are audible in the empty hallway, briskly moving over the polished marble. Stopping at large wooden doors, ornately with carved flowers, he takes a deep breath, opens them, and steps inside. He taps on a panel in the wall on his left, it opens with a click and he presses some buttons. Looking up, musicians walk in to take their places on the balcony. Once seated, Raphael gives a curt nod to the conductor, silently instructing the string quartet to begin.

 The curtains slowly open as Bach’s Air fills the room. As the sun hits his face and the music reaches his ears, Magnus stirs and considers opening his eyes. Is it morning already? He props himself up on his elbows and, like every morning, finds Raphael flanked by two servants standing in his doorway. 

“Good morning, your Highness,” Raphael says as he bows. 

“Good morning,” Magnus mumbles back. 

“And, of course, happy birthday, Your Highness,” Raphael continues. 

“…Right, it is my birthday,” says Magnus, as a wave of nausea and dread come over him. Well, he couldn’t avoid this forever, could he? He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and is promptly helped into slippers and a robe by a servant. Said servant bows and retreats, so Magnus can follow Raphael into his en suite.

 Magnus is well aware that his bathroom is larger than some people’s homes. The white marble is polished to perfection, the crystal chandelier refracts the light into rainbows and the scent of sandalwood envelops him more with every step. 

Raphael stops and turns, claps his hands twice and two more servants appear. 

“Good morning, Your Highness, and happy birthday!” as they too bow reverently. After their greeting, Raphael turns around and walks out again, disappearing from their view. 

Magnus figures he might as well try. “Good morning, Dorothea, Elliot! Please, would you be so kind and grant me a birthday wish?” 

“Anything for you, Your Highness!” they bow.

Magnus takes a deep breath, finds his most charming smile, and says, “Since it is my 29th birthday, would you be so kind to let me bathe and dress myself? Just this once?”

Dot and Elliot chuckle politely. “Oh, Your Majesty, you have such a great sense of humor! Now, let us get started. We do not want you to start such an important day as today by being late for breakfast.”

 Magnus lets his mind wander as they move around him doing their daily tasks, from brushing his teeth to bathing him and washing his hair. At some point in his life, he was sure he loved this kind of treatment and would never get enough of it. That he had enjoyed being the crown prince of Edom, and the lifestyle that came with it. 

From an early age he had been assured that as the royal he was, there was no need for him to worry about menial tasks such as washing or dressing yourself when there were servants who were honored to do it for you. But the last couple of years it had only added to him feeling useless.

 “Your Highness must be excited about tonight,” says Dot, as she applies a fresh coat of nail polish.  

Oh yes, and there was that. 

“Can’t say that I am, my dear Dorothea. How can a man be excited about being married off to a woman he’s never met?” says Magnus, in between blowing on the drying polish on his other hand.

Dot avoids his eyes. “Oh Your Highness, I am sure it will all be wonderful.”

Magnus takes his hand from the table where Dot was trying to give him a manicure.

“Dot, sweetheart, I know what you’re trying to do. But please, just… At least call me Magnus when you’re trying to reassure me my life won’t be ruined after tonight.” 

Dot visibly forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Your nails are almost done, Prince Magnus. Now, let’s finish up here so we can get you over to Elliot to get you dressed.”

Magnus looks at Dot and Elliot as they work on preparing his outfit for the morning. He has known them for years now, and had a front row seat watching them fall in love and finally get married two years ago. 

“I mean, look at you guys. You make marriage look like a dream come true. Because you both wanted to. You look so happy together, you’re basically glowing! Frankly, it’s a bit unfair to rub that in my face on a daily basis,” he jokes.

 They stop fussing with his clothes and whisper something to each other. Finally they turn and look at him with apologetic expressions. “Prince Magnus… We’re sorry. You know we’re not allowed to talk about this. But to be honest, we do feel for you.” Elliot starts. “We care about you. We’ve watched you grow into a man ready to be a king these last few years.”

Dot walks over to him to take Magnus’ hand in hers, and says, “I know you wish this was different, but we believe you’re ready. We know you are. You’re ready to take the throne a few years from now and this wedding is the last step. It is tradition. It’s how your father married your mother – and you must agree that your mother is the most wonderful person, right? Have faith, my Prince. I’m sure they have found you a worthy queen.”

 Magnus sighs. He knows there really is no way out of this no matter how much he wishes there would be. The least he could do was pray Dot and Elliot were right. 

“Thank you both, I’m lucky to have you in my life. Now, let’s get me dressed.”

---

Magnus gently touches the sides of his head, careful not to touch the hair that’s pulled into an impeccable topknot. They shaved his hair at the sides of his head this morning to look sharp for the ceremony, and he loves the feeling against his fingertips. 

Dressed in a burgundy colored linen pants and a loose linen top with ornate golden pattern swirling across, Magnus follows Raphael to the dining room, stopping as he opens the doors for him.

“Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Magnus!” he proclaims. Servants standing on the side of the doors shower Magnus with rose petals.

Magnus shrugs the petals off his shoulders and walks in the room where his parents are already seated at their ridiculously large table. He shrugs off the rose petals that had landed on his shoulders and walks over to his mother to kiss her cheek. “Good morning mother, father,” he says as he takes his place on the far end of the table that could have hosted a soccer team. 

“You are late,” King Asmodeus frowns. “And today is a day where tardiness can not be overlooked.”

Magnus stares at his plate. “Apologies, father. It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh Asmodeus, it’s only 15 minutes, no harm done,” his mother says before she turns to Magnus. 

“Happy birthday, my dear boy. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. We are so blessed to witness this day.” Queen Raniya smiles at him, and Magnus returns it. There isn’t a person in this world he loves as much as his mother. “Thank you, mother. You look lovely this morning.” 

 Breakfast is surprisingly uneventful. Servants put a napkin on his lap and fill his plate with the usual, but he doesn’t enjoy his fresh fruits or coffee at all. He mindlessly pokes at his plate, unable to clear his mind. His parents look at him inquisitively.

“Is something troubling you, my son?” Asmodeus asks, sounding more stern than a father probably should. 

“No, father.”

“Son, please. I am more than the magnificent ruler of Edom and all its inhabitants. I am also a concerned dad.” 

Magnus can’t help but laugh a little at that. It’s not that he thinks his father doesn’t love him, but he has never been much of a concerned or involved father figure.

“Well, father…” Magnus starts, putting down his fork, before he wonders how can anyone have a serious conversation with three meters of empty table between them. He stands up, ignoring the confused look on his parents faces -and the panicked ones of the servants- and sits down next to his mother.

 She smiles at him lovingly. “What is it, my boy?” 

Magnus grabs her hand. “Well, first of all, it’s things like this.” 

Queen Raniya doesn’t seem to understand. “Like what?” she asks.

“This!” Magnus wildly gestures with his hands to the servants all around the room, feeling mildly embarrassed. “Being announced to any room. Having rose petals thrown at me. I can’t even sit myself down in a chair!”

“What is the matter, dear? You are the son of a king, why shouldn’t you be showered with the petals of roses?” His mother asks him, looking quite confused.

“But mother, if there were no rose petals, I would still be the son of a king!” Magnus counters. “And it’s not just that, it’s everything! The cooking, the pampering, the dressing, the bathing… I’m 29 years old! For once I’d like to cook for myself, take care of myself, dress myself – and why, why can’t I find my own partner?”

 “Aha!” Asmodeus smirks. “So that’s what this is about. Don’t worry, my boy. We have gone through a great deal of trouble to select a very fine wife for you.”

Magnus takes a deep breath. “But what if I do not love her?”

“It is normal to be a bit nervous before meeting your queen. Your mother and I… We were quite frightened, to be honest with you.” Asmodeus looks at his wife affectionately. 

She smiles back at him, saying, “When I first met your father, I was so nervous, I became nauseous! But… Over the years, I have grown to love your father. Very much.”

“So you see, my son, there is a very fine line between love and nausea,” Asmodeus concludes. Raniya just stares at him. Judging by his mother’s facial expression, that wasn’t the message she had hoped to convey.

 Magnus sighs. He realizes there is no time left for subtlety in this last ditch effort to get through to his father. “I understand,” he begins, “But father… When I marry, I want someone to love me for who I am, not what I am.”

“And who are you?” Asmodeus looks at him with an amused expression.

“I am a man who has never tied his own shoes before!” Magnus exclaims, wondering if he could sound any more desperate than this. 

“Wrong! You are a prince who has never tied his own shoes before,” Asmodeus looks at his coffee, swirling it in his cup. “Besides, believe me. I have tied my own shoes once. It is an overrated experience.”

 “But father, that is not the point -” Magnus begins.

Asmodeus gives him a cold look and raises his voice. “No, Magnus. Let us be clear. The point is that as of today, you are 29 years old. By law you are to be married before the age of 30 in order to remain eligible for the throne. And since your mother and I were not blessed with more children, you are the sole heir to the throne of Edom. We have been more than patient with you as it is. We have humored all of your dalliances, even those male ones, because you were diligent enough with your studies. You have had your time to play and now it is up. A wife has been chosen for you. You will fulfil your duty.”

 Magnus tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone dry. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but somehow it felt like his last sliver of hope just disappeared. This was real. There was no escape. And he feels guilt, because he knows his mother would have loved to have more children, and here she is stuck with one son who is apparently too pathetic to fulfill his only purpose in life.

Suddenly, the door bursts open to reveal a man in green workout gear, sporting a big grin. “Good morning! It’s another beautiful day in Edom!” he belts through the dining room. 

King Asmodeus snaps, “What is it, Ragnor? Why must you interrupt us like this? Have you no manners?” he belts back even louder.

 “I’ve come to take the birthday boy for his daily workout! We can’t have him looking out of shape tonight!” Ragnor says, seemingly unaffected as the smile never leaves his face. 

He turns to Magnus’ mother. “Queen Raniya, you look exceptionally radiant today,” he says smoothly, as he kisses her hand. 

“Is that so, Ragnor?” Her amusement is audible. “Say hello to your mother for me, will you? Tell her we must catch up over tea soon.” 

Magnus is grateful for his best friend -who has been hired as his personal servant for a few years now- barging in so he’s able to excuse himself from breakfast. 

“Yes, Ragnor, let’s go get me in shape. Excuse me father, mother…” he mutters as he kisses his mother on her forehead. She squeezes his hand as he turns to leave. Ragnor bows to the royal couple, and leads Magnus out of the dining room. 

---

“Now let’s see if you can defend your lazy arse at the ripe old age of 29.” Ragnor baits, tossing a staff at him. Magnus shoots him a faux annoyed glare, but isn’t too worried. 

Because his father had been dead set on him never leaving the country, Asmodeus had gone through great lengths to bring in people from all over the world for Magnus to socialize with. Ragnor was born and raised in London, where his father worked at the Edomite embassy. The family had moved back when he was 12, and once in Edom, Ragnor was immediately introduced to Magnus. He didn’t know what to think of the boy with the aura of a hundred-year-old, so naturally they had been best friends ever since. 

As adults, they had concocted the plan where Ragnor had become his personal servant, after it hadn’t worked out with previous applicants. Apparently he didn’t have other ambitions in life, Magnus was fairly sure he enjoyed the royal lifestyle. Which he was more than fine with, the life wasn’t nearly as lonely with his best friend by his side at all times.

Magnus taunts him with a simple hand gesture and takes his stance. Center. Right. Right. He focuses on parrying Ragnor’s strikes in the most elaborate way, rather than looking for an opportunity to get a hit with his stick himself. He flips and twirls effortlessly, much to Ragnor’s annoyance.

 “OK twinkle toes, time for a break,” Ragnor pants as he reaches for his bottle of water. “So what you’re saying is… You got confirmation -again- of the fact that your father and half the court have been going through the effort of finding you the perfect wife, and you’re moping about it?” Ragnor summarizes in his own way. Magnus sighs, grabs a towel and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

 “You’re saying that like it’s no big deal at all! How would you like it if you were married off to some stranger? As for perfect, that’s my father’s definition of perfect, not mine,” Magnus took a sip from his water bottle. “I want to marry someone I love. And maybe that someone is a man. But it’s most definitely not someone my father selected for me, that I have never even met before our engagement.”

“No offense, my friend, but maybe this is exactly what you need. You’re 29 and you have not exactly been very successful at finding yourself someone worthwhile.” Something about his English accent made it sound even worse, Magnus thinks. 

“I mean, let’s be completely honest here,” he continues, “George, Etta, Farrokh. Did you even catch their last names? What about that son of the previous Peruvian ambassador, what’s his face…” Ragnor stops his rant to think.

 “…Imasu. Yeah, you’re right. That was a disaster. Looking back, they were all hopeless.” Magnus feels embarrassed having to admit that Ragnor is kind of right. Even during those relationships, he couldn’t fool himself into believing they were marriage material. 

“Can you blame me for hoping they’d eventually see me as more than the crown prince? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am doomed. Maybe after Camille I shouldn’t even try any kind of relationship anymore, renounce my throne and just… I don’t know. Sign myself up for a life as a monk in a monastery somewhere up in the mountains.” Magnus gracefully slides down the wall to sit on the floor. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling, that is frankly way too ornate for a gym.

 Ragnor rolls his eyes in such an exaggerated way Magnus fears they might end up stuck in his skull. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, my friend. We talked about this. Camille is a one-of-a-kind sort of evil, she is gone, and you really shouldn’t let the rest of your life be dictated by that vampire.”

 “Easy for you to say…” Magnus mumbles, moving his torso forward to stretch out his leg muscles. 

He had met Camille at university, in his small class dedicated to teaching the children of the Edom elite. The daughter of a French noblewoman and a high ranking Edomite military official of French descent, she had set her sights on him since day one. And he had let her. She had long wavy hair, a curvy figure, was always dressed to kill and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Magnus had let himself get swept away by this new experience. 

Usually his dates were so impressed by dating the crown prince, that they lost every bit of their own personality. They expected him to take the lead on everything, and he was sure they would bark like dogs if he asked them to. The fact that Camille wasn’t afraid to go against him and ask him to do things, to get her things, all while keeping their relationship a secret... It had made him feel alive again. After a year together, Magnus had to stay behind while Camille moved back to France with her family.

 She had told him they could make it work if he loved her enough, and he believed her - until her social media was full of evidence of the contrary. He had called Camille to ask her how she could do this to him, she only laughed and called him a fool for thinking she wouldn’t do everything to enjoy student life at the Sorbonne. 

Magnus feels like his heart had never really recovered after that particular break up, even though in retrospect he realized how unhealthy their relationship had been.. Again he had been used for his money and royal status, just in a different way from the others.

 “…I think it really just might be me.”

---

Magnus overlooks the lavishly decorated ballroom, filled with Edom high society. Rich tapestries were hung across the walls and crystal chandeliers light the room. The ladies and gentlemen, displaying all their gold and jewels like human Christmas trees, walk around trying to outshine one another. This is the world he grew up in and he never realized it was so incredibly fake. He recognizes some of the faces from work – the prime minister is here, the mayor of Edom City, the chief of police, admirals, generals. Everyone who is someone in Edom’s high society apparently got an invite for this circus.

 On the dais, his father is seated in his large golden throne, wearing his most formal crown that was designed by his great-great-great-grandfather. It’s a sight to behold and could even put the St. Edward’s Crown to shame - clearly his father wasn’t about to be out-decorated by any of his guests in attendance. 

His mother and Magnus himself are sitting on significantly more modest thrones on both his sides. Queen Raniya looks lovely, he thinks, wearing a modest golden tiara on her headscarf that was loosely draped over her head and across her chest. While Raphael had insisted Magnus would wear his military uniform for the night, he had refused. They had apparently felt sorry enough for him to offer an alternative for once. So now he sits here in a traditional Edomite tunic, purple and embroidered with gold with a high collar, and loose black pants. A subtle golden crown is attached to his topknot, because he’s the crown prince, and it’s his engagement party.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling this lonely before. Or nauseous, for that matter; his father’s words about the fine line between love and nausea dancing in his mind. Forcing himself to ignore those words, he lets his gaze roam through the ballroom again.

Finally he finds Ragnor in the crowd, chatting with their American friend Catarina. She was the newest addition to his international entourage: a 25-year-old exchange student from St. John’s University in Queens, studying to be a nurse practitioner. She and Magnus had clicked in a way he hadn’t experienced since meeting Ragnor as a teenager. As for Ragnor... He wouldn’t admit to it, but Magnus was sure he had developed a massive crush on the nursing student since meeting her a few months ago.

He manages to catch their eyes and they both give him an awkward but strangely comforting smile while clutching their glasses of champagne. Magnus takes a deep breath and looks straight ahead again, letting the sounds coming from the ballroom wash over him.

 Minutes, or maybe hours, pass. Suddenly, the sound of a gong makes the chatter of the audience die down immediately. Magnus’s stomach flips in the worst way. The ceremony is about to begin.

A man in an imposing military uniform steps forward. “Your Majesty, King Asmodeus! His Royal Highness and benevolent ruler of all of Edom!” he exclaims and bows deep, then stands up straight in a way that suits his garb. “I am Colonel Belcourt. And today, with your blessing, I offer my daughter to your son.”

 Asmodeus stands up from his throne. “My blessing is granted. Let the courtship commence!”

 The Colonel cleared his throat, “I humbly present my daughter, Miss Imani Belcourt!”

The gong sounds again, and the crowd parts through the middle. Gamelan music begins to play and about 30 dancers in Edom ceremonial dress move into the room. Gracefully the men and women dance in pairs, portraying the courtship rituals and people falling in love. 

Asmodeus turns his head and lays down his hand on Magnus’. He squeezes gently along with a curt but pleased nod. Magnus returns a polite smile and brings his hands to his lap instead. The last thing he wants right now is for his father to give these kinds of comforting gestures he has never given before. 

Magnus forces himself to focus back on the dancers. He loves all forms of dance, but he can’t find it in him to appreciate anything about this performance.

One by one the dancers take a pose, creating a pathway. The music changes into something more delicate as the flutes take the lead melody, and a figure of a woman in a sparkling golden dress appears at the end of the ballroom. She spreads her arms and seems to float between the dancers towards the throne, the click of her heels muffled by the sound of her train rushing along the floor. As his bride-to-be strides down to halfway across the ballroom, she begins to take a familiar, curvy shape.

 Magnus struggles to breathe as he feels his heart pounding. It can’t be, can it? The Belcourts are a military family, surely Imani is a cousin that looks just like her? Right?

 His worst nightmare comes true once Imani -well, Camille- stops in front of the dais next to Colonel Belcourt. Who must be her father (apparently, as they never got to the meet-the-family part of a relationship) and puts her hand in his. She lowers her gaze while curtsying the royal family, and shoots Magnus a wicked grin while looking back up again.

 Magnus feels the bile rising in his throat. He can’t do this. He can’t. He jerkily stands up from his throne and all but storms towards Camille.

 “May I talk to you in private for a moment, please?” Magnus grits out between clenched teeth. He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before grabbing her wrist and urges her onto and then to the left side of the dais, through a door that leads to a sitting room. He feels the eyes of everyone in the ballroom burning on his back, but is too overwhelmed to care. After slamming the door shut, he leans his forehead against it and takes a deep grounding breath.

 “What? Am I not all you ever looked for in a woman? I definitely recall you saying so. More than once,” she smirks. Magnus turns to face her, feeling all pain she ever inflicted like it just happened. It rages through him like a tornado.

 “I could not have been more mistaken. And you are no woman, in fact, I’m not sure you’re actually human! Do you even have a soul?” Magnus blurts out as he frantically paces along the room. “You know what? Don’t answer that. And what’s with Imani? Did you give me a false name on purpose, just to mess with me?”

 “Magnus, darling, calm down. Camille is my middle name, and I always liked the sound of it better. And since we didn’t exactly spend a lot of time talking… I knew you would appreciate the surprise.” As if her tone of voice wasn’t infuriating enough, she throws in a wink with her self-satisfied expression.

 He stops pacing, and looks at her. “Why don’t you fuck off back to France? Because I’m sure as hell not marrying you. So get lost.”

 “Yes, you are. I’ve been selected. Come on Magnus, we had so much fun, we can get there again,” Camille purrs, seductively making her way over to Magnus.

 Magnus clenches his hands into fists at his side as Camille ends right in front of him, disregarding his personal space, while smirking. For a second he is afraid she’d grab him by the lapels and kiss him, but instead she stops when her toes touch his own, the same smirk never leaving her face.

 “I will make such a beautiful queen,” she whispers. In that moment, Magnus wishes his glare could literally shoot daggers.

 The door flies open and Asmodeus barges in. “Ah! I see the two of you are getting along!”

 Magnus rolls his eyes. Of course his father chooses to interpret the mere inches between them as a good sign, conveniently ignoring his body language.

 Magnus turns away from Camille and walks to his father, nervously wringing his hands together. “Father, about this wedding…” Magnus begins.

 He is interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat. He looks to the door opening and sees Raphael standing there with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Your Majesty, the guests are waiting.”

 “Let them wait!” Asmodeus barks impatiently. “I am talking to my son.” He turns back towards Magnus. “Come, my son, let’s go for a stroll.”

 Camille curtsies and doesn’t break her eye contact with Magnus. “It was an honor to meet you. I will wait for you, my Prince.” She gracefully moves herself towards the ballroom.

 “Fine girl, isn’t she?” Asmodeus looks pleased. “I told you not to worry. She will give you much pleasure, don’t you think?”

---

Magnus follows his father into the palace gardens. Ever since he was a boy he loved to go on walks here, through the carefully crafted pathways, looking at the flowerbeds that were planted to form intricate designs. Beautiful birds fly from tree to tree while singing their songs, the soft light of the lanterns make it feel like something out of a fairy tale.

 “Time does fly, my son. It feels like yesterday I ordered your first diaper change. And now you’re a man, who’s about to be married,” Asmodeus smiles contently.

 “Father, I won’t marry Camille. I refuse.” 

“Nonsense, Magnus. We’ve gone through a lot of trouble to select this girl for you. She is from a very respectable military family with foreign ties. Prepared and ready to become a queen, and a mother.”

“But I’ll never be ready for her! Father, please! I’m 29 years old, and I have never even left Edom! I have yet to experience what the outside world has to offer, and now my life is over!” Magnus nearly trips over his own tongue, trying to get the words out.

 “So… You want to sow your royal oats?” Asmodeus says with a smirk.

 “No, it’s not that, it’s that Camille isn’t who she-” Magnus starts.

 “You are right!” Asmodeus laughs. “Now listen. This is the last time I will humor you, Magnus. Get out, see the world, enjoy yourself! Fulfill every erotic desire. And in 90 days you will come back and marry this girl.”

 “But father…”

 “It is settled.” Asmodeus pats his schouder roughly behoren making a sharp turn and striding back into the palace.

---

Magnus isn’t sure how he found his way back to a study in the west wing of the palace. He stares at a painting of his great grandfather and feels tears stinging in the corner of his eyes. This possibly couldn’t have gone any worse than it did. Right now, he would give anything to be married off to anyone but Camille

 “What the hell was that? What is she even doing here?!” Ragnor storms in, closely followed by Catarina. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” Catarina must see the tears in his eyes because she immediately moves to wrap his arms around him. He can’t help that some of those tears roll down his face.

“What have I done in my life to deserve this?” he mumbles into her shoulder.

Ragnor looks lost for words. If he wasn’t feeling so miserable Magnus would be enjoying the fact that apparently, there are things that can shut Ragnor up. 

“Come, sit with us.” Catarina guides Magnus to the sitting area. As she sits down with him on the loveseat, Ragnor takes one of the fauteuils. Catarina gently strokes his back while Magnus tries to stop his quiet tears.

“I am so sorry, my friend. I don’t know what else to say.” Ragnor finally says. 

“It’s OK. I don’t know either.” Magnus’ vision blurs again as his eyes fill up with tears again. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t do this, I can’t!” His voice breaks and he leans into Catarina as she pulls him towards her in an effort to comfort him.

He lets himself be comforted in silence as he cries. After a few minutes, he forces himself to get it together. In an effort to lighten the mood, he says, “Well, at least my father has given me permission to finally leave Edom before my wedding from hell. 90 days. That should give me enough time to go hiking in South America and move to a remote mountain village where the outside world will never find me.”

“Come on, we both know you’re way too high maintenance to survive in a village without electricity or plumbing,” Ragnor snorts. “But I suppose it’s preferable to marrying a random person in Las Vegas or something, because this way, you’ll eventually come back home.”

Magnus shoots up from the couch. “Ragnor, that’s brilliant!”

“Wait, what?” Catarina says, while Ragnor just stares at him blankly.

“That’s exactly what I need to do. I need to find my own spouse! I need to go somewhere, far away where no one knows who I am. That way, I can find someone who’ll love me as me, not as the crown prince of Edom!” he paces through the room, gesturing wildly. “And if we get married in Vegas, I can’t get married to Camille! And I’ll have someone to rule by my side so my father can’t possibly get upset. After all, all he wants is for me to get married.”

“Magnus, I’m sorry, but that is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” Ragnor interrupts his pacing and firmly places his hands on Magnus’ shoulders. “You can’t just move across the world, find someone, lie to them about who you are, fall in love, get married and then tell them, hey, guess what, you’re royalty now, and we’re expected to rule over a proud island nation soon!”

Ragnor leans his forehead against Magnus’. “You are my best friend and I know you are desperate. But please, this plan is a recipe for disaster. We will find another way to get Camille out of the picture.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this, Ragnor. I need to get away.” Magnus hears his voice breaking again.

“And we will. Your father gave you 90 days and carte blanche. We can travel anywhere you want, in style, while we figure this out,” says Ragnor.

Magnus swallows thickly. “No. I don’t want to travel in style. I wasn’t kidding. I know I shouldn’t go and get married to someone over 90 days, but... I do want to know what it’s like to live like a normal person. Just to be by myself, to take care of myself, just be Magnus, for once in my life.”

Ragnor looks at him sympathetically. “As you wish. Now, where in the world would you like to do that?” 

Magnus sighs. “You know, I absolutely have no idea. Preferably somewhere I speak the language, and far from Edom.”

Catarina clears her throat. “You know, I kept my place in Brooklyn, because my exchange was only for a year and a half and it’s hard to find something that nice. I mean, it’s nothing fancy, it only has one bedroom. But one of you can sleep on the couch. If you’d like.”

Magnus looks at Catarina, who plays with her hands nervously. “Are you saying we could stay at your place in New York?” 

“Well, yeah, but, don’t expect too much of it. It’s nothing like you’re used to here in the palace, but if you want to, you could. I can send a message to my landlord, saying I met you guys at university here, and you need a place to stay while doing research in America. Luke is great, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all.” Catarina looks at him expectantly. 

Magnus flings himself into her arms. “Cat, that’s perfect! That’s exactly the kind of mundane, normal experience I’m looking for!” He kisses her cheek and turns around.

“Ragnor, pack your bags. We’re going to America!”

Chapter 2: The mundane life of two ordinary exchange students

Even when flying first class, the journey from Edom to New York is long and tiring. After layovers in Singapore and Amsterdam, they finally find themselves at John F. Kennedy International Airport. Magnus feels the excitement of being here buzzing under his skin like magic. 

Ragnor, however, doesn’t feel as energetic after having travelled for about thirty hours. Unlike Magnus, he appears to not be able to sleep on a plane. He drags himself and his suitcase after Magnus. 

Packing had turned out to be another fight between him, his father and Raphael. They had insisted on preparing a full set of royal baggage, but Magnus had insisted they wouldn’t need all of that in New York. Of course, he hadn’t exactly told his father about their plan to stay at Catarina’s one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Instead, he told them they would get a suite at the Waldorf Astoria, and they would love to go shopping for more clothes. 

His insistence that a suitcase and a backpack was therefore enough, was only accepted if he, in turn, took a staggering amount of “pocket cash” and a credit card with him. Knowing this was the closest he’d get to getting his way, Magnus accepted. He planned to spend as little of the money as he possibly could, fully committed to the idea of living the next 90 days as a normal guy for the first time in his life.

Plenty of pocket cash did make it easy to grab a taxi to Catarina’s place. After stacking their suitcases in the minivan, he gave the driver the note where she had scribbled the address on for them. It takes them about 45 minutes to get there and Magnus doesn’t know where to look. He’s never been allowed travel, not even to join his father on formal state visits. Asmodeus had always said that was a privilege he would have access to once he was married, and that hadn’t really worked out for him so far. 

Edom City was in no way comparable to New York. He immediately understood what songs meant by concrete jungle. It was December and snow was falling from the sky. Magnus had never seen snow in real life before. The average temperature in Edom was 30 degrees Celsius -86 degrees Fahrenheit, he looked that up before they left- year-round. 

With an excited grin on his face he turns to Ragnor, who looks tired and grumpy. 

“There’s snow. I forgot all about how much I hated the bloody stuff,” he mumbles.

Magnus punches him playfully. “Oh come now, look at it! It can’t be that bad. It’s so beautiful.” 

The rest of the trip he dreamily stares out of the window, thinking of all the mundane ways he could meet someone normal and fall in love.

---

As soon as Magnus steps out of the taxi he understands why Ragnor was so bothered by the mere sight of snow. He has never been this cold in his life and they are most definitely not prepared for it.

As Ragnor pays the cab driver, Magnus turns and looks at their new neighborhood. They have stopped at a small parking lot between two old looking buildings looming over them. There’s a lot of reddish bricks and a lot of doors, and it takes them longer than they are willing to admit to find the right doorbell.

“Hey, you must be Cat’s friends!” A tall man in a police uniform with dark skin and a neatly groomed beard says as he opens the door. Behind him a hallway appears, all brown tiles and aged wallpaper.

“And you must be Mr. Garroway!” Magnus says, holding out his hand. “I’m Magnus, and that’s Ragnor.” he points to where Ragnor is shivering next to their suitcases. 

“Please, come on in!” Luke motions. They drag their things up the stone steps and he closes the door behind them. 

Magnus clears his throat. “We are most grateful you’re allowing us to stay in Catarina’s apartment for three months,” he says, consciously trying to make a great first impression.

“No problem at all. Cat’s pretty much the perfect tenant and since she’s vouching for you guys, I’m sure we’ll get along fine. And before I forget, Mr. Garroway is my old man! Please call me Luke,” he says with an easy smile. 

Magnus grins back, he likes this guy already. They move themselves and their suitcases further into the hallway. There’s a white door, and a wooden staircase going up. 

“This door here, that’s me. Don’t hesitate to knock when you need anything.” He glances at his watch. “I really hate to be rude, but I have to get into work soon. So if you’ll follow me I’ll show you to the apartment.” Luke gestures to the staircase next to his front door. 

Luke points his hand in the direction of narrow stairs. “You’re gonna have to haul those up here.” He points to their luggage. “This place is kind of old. I don’t think the people that built this all those years ago thought things through properly. I mean, they had furniture back then too, right?”

They smile politely and Luke turns to go ahead of them, scaling the stairs and opening the door. Magnus is glad he and Ragnor have spent years having daily staff fighting practice because there’s no way he would’ve made it in one piece otherwise.

Magnus walks through the door and steps into the room that’s on his left. It’s an open space, a small living area with a couch and a tv, next to a 4-person dining table separating it from a small kitchen. Straight ahead there he sees two doors, presumably leading to the bedroom and bathroom. Everything seems about as big as his en suite palace bathroom and while he feels a little bad about it, he couldn’t be more excited. It’s as utterly normal as he had imagined.

Luke’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “So, Cat said she met you guys at school on the island? And you’re here to do research?”

“...Yes. Yes, we are ordinary students. Here to do research. At the university.” Magnus nods with a big grin on his face. He can hear Ragnor snorting behind him, and swings his arm backward in the hopes to swat his arm. 

“Mr. Garrowa-” Magnus starts, cut short by Luke’s raised eyebrows and unimpressed look.

“My apologies. Luke, we do not know cold winters where we are from, so I’m afraid we are a bit underdressed for the weather we found ourselves in. But we are poor students. Where can we buy winter clothes for our limited budget?”

Luke smiles at them. “Yeah, I remember those times when I was at the police academy. There are some stores at the mall. Two stops on the subway, you can’t miss it.”

Magnus rubs his hands together. “Perfect, we will look into that later.” 

Ragnor, who had walked himself over to the radiator in the kitchen, rolls his eyes at him.

“I really have to go now, or I’ll be late. But you know what? I bet you guys don’t have any plans for today after travelling for so long. I’m pretty sure I still have some old winter coats that you could use while you’re here. If you’d like? They’re nothing special, but it’ll save you some money on something you’re not gonna bring home with you anyway.” Luke looks at them for an answer.

Magnus feels a pang of guilt because he’s lying through his teeth and this man is offering him -a prince!- handouts out of the kindness of his heart. But this is what he wanted, right? To be treated like a normal student, and look like one?

He smiles. “Thank you, Luke, that is very kind of you. We would like to take you up on your offer.”

---

The next morning they step out in the coats that Luke brought over. Since Luke is taller and broader than both of them, they are noticeably on the bigger side.

Ragnor huffs. “We look ridiculous. Let’s go buy new ones.” 

“We will do no such thing! We cannot insult Luke like that. It was very generous of him to offer this and we will wear them,” Magnus says and twirls. “Plus, look at how normal these make us look! It’s amazing!”

Ragnor rolls his eyes -again- and shivers. “Well, I hate it. And I’m cold. Let’s find that subway station,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

They walk through the little park in between the buildings in the direction they were told to go. In the middle of the park are a couple of benches, where three elderly people are seated, holding small cardboard cups. A small Yorkshire terrier in a coat hops through the snow around the bench.

Magnus elbows Ragnor excitedly. “Look! Real Americans!” He whispers, as they walk towards the trio.

“Good morning, my neighbours!” Magnus beams.

“Hey! You must be the boys from Indonesia!” the man says and raises his coffee cup to them.

“How do you know it’s them? You can’t just assume these things. That’s rude,” one of the women interjects. She looks quite distinguished in her big, fluffy fake fur coat. Her hair is dyed a dark reddish brown, and she wears it in an impeccable updo. 

“We sure are though. And we are very happy to be here!” Magnus can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.

“Well, we’re very happy to meet you two. You look like good kids,” the last lady nods. She is of Asian descent, but thankfully doesn’t look like she could be from Edom. She wears a much more practical green coat with a big red scarf. Her hair is grey with lighter streaks, tied together in a low ponytail, but the sparkle in her eyes makes her look younger.

“Where are my manners?” The man says, who is grey and balding, and has to put in some effort to stand up and greet them. “I’m Hodge, or so they say. These ladies here are my good friends Imogen and Jia,” he nods, as he clutches his cane.

Magnus moves to shake all of their hands and sternly looks at Ragnor, who begrudgingly takes one of his hands out of his pocket and greets the elderly trio as well.

“Just so you boys know,” Imogen starts, as she puts the little dog in her lap, “We’re the eyes and ears of the neighborhood. So if you need gossip, we’re your source,” she whispers loudly.

Magnus doesn’t really know why he would need gossip, but he wants to befriend his new neighbors either way. “That’s good to know. If you’ll excuse us, we must get going again. We’re trying to find the subway station.”

“Oh! You’re headed in the right direction. If you walk straight through the park, and…” Jia rattles off the same directions as Luke had given them, but they listen and thank her anyway.

The directions turn out to be accurate, and two stops later, they step out at a mall. Magnus has to drag Ragnor away from all the high-end boutiques, determined to find this store called Target, that Luke had recommended to them.

Ragnor walks through the aisles under harsh fluorescent lighting, between racks and tables of clothing. He stops and rubs the fabric of a sweater between his fingers and looks disappointed. Sighing, he looks at Magnus. “Tell me, why are we doing this again?”

“Because we’re ordinary exchange students, we cannot wear designer clothes or no one will believe us. Now pick some things and try them on,” Magnus says as he picks up a few basic t-shirts to wear under the button-downs and hoodies he tossed in his basket. 

They get themselves into fitting rooms next to each other as they shrug their own clothes off, and try the new ones on. They’re all hit or miss and nothing in between, but Magnus has never enjoyed anything more in his life. Most of his clothes are custom made traditional pieces. And as he grew older, his father organised for high-end designers to put on private shows at the palace. Magnus would be allowed to pick whatever he wanted, and they would tailor it for him right away. He has never tried on normal clothes before, in a store. And even if they don’t fit his body as well as his clothes in Edom, he’s happy with the result.

He slides the curtain open and steps out in a colorful button-down, dark wash slim fit jeans and a casual blazer. He spins in front of Ragnor, arm stretched out to the side.

Ragnor leans against the wall of his fitting room with his arms folded across his chest and gently smiles at Magnus. “Let’s go out tonight and celebrate your freedom,” he says, as he rubs his upper arms. “Maybe, if we drink enough, we could even forget about how cold we are.”

“Wonderful idea, my friend!” Magnus smirks as he turns to the mirror, quite pleased with himself. Maybe it won’t be that hard to find himself a date in America after all.

---

Walking into the first bar they find, Magnus straightens his new shirt, and looks around the place. He’s feeling good. Instead of his topknot, he had chosen to style his hair in a mohawk, taking full advantage of his father not being here to disapprove of it. 

In the middle of the bar is a small dance floor with flashing lights, with people awkwardly trying to move to the beat. Along the sides, groups of guys and girls with a lot of beer are making valiant efforts for their discussions to compete with the music. Ragnor leans in to Magnus. “Let’s go to the bar, I need a drink.” 

They walk down towards the far end of the bar, sit down on stools and order two whiskeys. It isn’t long until a girl comes up to Magnus and drapes herself over the bar in front of him. She’s stunning, she has long dark curls and is wearing an all leather ensemble.

“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs. “Are you gonna buy me a drink?”

Magnus looks at Ragnor, who shrugs as a reply. Why not, he thinks. If this works out, the only thing he has to lose is Camille.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want,” he smiles, and his smile falters a bit when she proceeds to run her finger over the price list and orders the most expensive cocktail on the menu. How, does she know he’s a prince? But maybe she just really likes this particular drink, he tells himself. Maybe it only looked like she was picking the most expensive drink on purpose?

“So how did you pretty boys get here?” she asks.

“Well, we just flew in yesterday. We’re students-” Magnus starts.

The woman in leather looks disappointed. “So, like, you didn’t drive here?”

Ragnor snorts, “No, you don’t exactly need a car in Brooklyn.” 

“Oh, well, too bad you really are cute. But I’m just not into men unless he drives a BMW,” she says and walks away with her cocktail. 

And just like that, Magnus is done. He throws back his whiskey in one go, tells Ragnor to pay the bartender and he’s out the door. Ragnor catches up with him outside and squeezes his shoulder.

They go to the next bar, and another one after that, and another one after that. Men, women, none of his admirers looked the same - but all of them wanted something similarly shallow. And Magnus is not looking for a quick hookup. Neither is Ragnor, who had mumbled something about missing Cat after his third drink. The ones that didn’t immediately express their interest in sex seemed completely crazy, and claimed things like the ability to talk to dead historical figures as long as they stared into a candle hard enough.

Right now they’re sitting in a booth at a cozy gay bar, and while he loves the interior and the general atmosphere, he’s not loving this new situation they find themselves in. Ragnor is slumped next to him, staring at his beer, while Magnus tries to listen to a handsome man with auburn hair and blue eyes who spotted him early on and immediately came up to introduce himself as Eddie. And then some. 

“...You know right now I’m just working on the videos, but really, I want to star in the videos, you know, become a singer, you know, pop, and some rock, just write my own songs, and produce my own songs. And then I’m gonna try and be an actor, because people keep telling me how talented I am, what a natural I am, and stuff like that. Like movies, of course, like Oscar-worthy dramas, because everyone says I have so much range, and my ability to make people cry with my performance like, all the time. So then, I’m gonna write my own stories, and direct my own stories, and produce the movies I’m doing...” 

Magnus is trying to pay attention, he swears, but he can’t get a single word in. The words wash over him like a waterfall and combined with the alcohol and the temperature of the room, he’s starting to feel a bit tired. Suddenly he’s back when Ragnor drops his head against his shoulder and he fears his friend is falling asleep, too.

It did seem to finally shut the auburn-haired man up, and Magnus decides to take advantage of that. “Eddie, I’m so sorry, it was nice meeting you but I’m gonna have to get my friend home now.” 

Before Eddie can get another word in, Magnus wraps his arm around Ragnor and maneuvers him right out of the place.

Outside, the fresh air rejuvenates them and they stroll towards Cat’s place.

“Is it my imagination or does everyone in New York have a severe emotional problem?” Magnus wonders out loud.

Ragnor huffs, “I worship the devil? No man has ever satisfied me, you’re cute, do you want to give it a try? I’m only into the group thing?” he summarizes the awful pick-up lines they heard over the course of the night. “If this is what normal people are like I’m not gonna last these next 88 days here!”

In the distance they see a small figure in a fluffy coat approaching, walking an excitable small dog on a leash. 

“Miss Imogen!” Magnus greets her politely.

She looks a bit startled at first, until she notices who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, the boys from Indonesia! I didn’t see you there, I was minding my steps because little Church always bounces around my feet! You have to be careful not to fall at my age, you see,” she says, feeding Church a treat once he sits down calmly.

“What are you boys up to tonight?” she asks.

“We were hoping to- ” Magnus doesn’t embarrass easily, but he isn’t sure how to talk about this to a little old grandma.”-where eh, where in New York would you go to, to find some nice people?

Miss Imogen does seem to catch on right away, though. “Well, you’ve got to go out and look, son! They won’t just fall on your lap!” her eyes gleam mischievously. 

“We’ve been to a lot of bars in Brooklyn tonight,” Ragnor sighs.

“Well that’s where you messed up, son, you can’t go to a bar to find a nice date!” she swats at Ragnor’s arm. 

“You’ve got to go to nice places, quiet places! Like, at a library, or a church. Or, you boys are students, right? Maybe your school hosts nice events. Speaking of events, this place where I’m going tonight - the Rainbow Rally. There’ll be some nice, good youth like yourselves there. It’s a fundraiser for those poor gay kids that get kicked out by their parents. Our local community center does a lot for all kinds of kids. Yes, yes, all good people there,” she nods.

Magnus looks at Ragnor with an excited expression. 

Ragnor shrugs, and sighs, “Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

---

The Rainbow Rally festivities had already started once they found their way to The Max Community Center. They step into the room that is unsurprisingly decorated with rainbow colored banners and balloons. The place is packed, but they spot two seats and quickly sit down on two empty plastic chairs. 

“My poor butt hurts already,” Ragnor hisses at him. Magnus decides to ignore him.

Up on stage, six girls who all looked in their twenties perform a dance routine to a 90s medley. They all wear black pants with a top in their own color. A girl with long dark hair in red, a girl with dark skin and curly hair in yellow, a pale redhead in green, an Asian girl in blue, a blond haired girl in purple and finally a brown haired girl in orange. They look like they have a lot of fun up there and have obviously put a lot of effort in.

As the medley comes to an end, the group takes their final pose and the audience gives them a standing ovation. Clearly, these girls are popular.

Ragnor claps, leans towards Magnus and mumbles, “Apparently these women are the best that Brooklyn has to offer. Pick one, and let’s go home.” 

Magnus snorts. “Patience, my friend. That’s not how this works. Besides, this evening is for a cause we should support. We’re staying.”

The audience sits back down again as the girls move out of their final pose, wave to the crowd, and hug each other. The girls wearing blue and purple have a little moment together, giving each other a quick kiss before putting their arms around each other, smiling brightly. 

A man wearing a blue suit and a ridiculous Mad Hatter-style top hat walks onto the stage holding a microphone. 

“Everyone, what a performance by our own dance troupe, Rainbow Power! They are some of the best volunteers we have: Isabelle, Maia, Helen, Aline, Rebecca and last but most definitely not least, my lovely daughter Clarissa!” 

The redhead’s embarrassed “Dad!” got picked up by the microphone enough to make the audience laugh. “Give it up one more time for our girls!” 

The audience claps and cheers enthusiastically as girls walk off the stage waving, leaving Mr. Mad Hatter standing there by himself. Not for long, as behind him a bespectacled young man fusses with microphones and other equipment, as a blond man tries to fix the wires.

The man in the top hat brings the mic back to his mouth. “I have a special treat for you today. She’s six years old and has the voice of an angel. No, scratch that, she is a literal angel. She can be a little bit shy, and she’s a bit nervous about performing tonight. So guys, gals and nonbinary pals, let us gently welcome little Madzie, and Simon Lewis who will accompany her on piano!”

The audience tones the volume of their clapping down considerably, as a little girl with braided pigtails, a little sparkly pink skirt and a little jean jacket walks up on stage. She’s holding the hand of the guy with glasses who set up the equipment, and he has to bend a little to accommodate her.

He sits down behind his electric piano, and little Madzie steps up onto a stool next to him. She stands in front of the mic and they hear her breathing a bit, before Simon asks her softly if she’s ready with a kind smile. She turns her head and nods.

Simon gently plays the intro to the song that Magnus doesn’t directly recognize until Madzie sings the first few lines, 

I believe the children are the future / teach them well and let them lead the way / show them all the beauty they possess inside. 

She starts off a bit insecure, but gets more confident with every line. Magnus is a big old softie and feels tears coming up. To his side he sees Ragnor looking touched as well. Everything about the performance is adorable.

For a six-year-old, Madzie’s closing notes are surprisingly clear and steady. Forgetting about being gentle, the audience gives another standing ovation. Madzie looks to the floor and shuffles her feet, but Simon takes her hand and together they walk to the middle of the stage and bow to the people. Madzie giggles.

The man in the top hat walks back on stage and whispers something in the ear of the young man. He laughs and pats him on the back and walks off the stage. 

“Put your hands together for our little Madzie here, who lives with her Nana here a block away. They sometimes struggle to make ends meet. But, she’s been coming to The Max for two years now and as you can hear, those free music lessons we’re able to provide -thanks to your generous donations- are paying off!”

The audience applauds, and Madzie is still holding the man’s hand and shyly looking down to her feet. 

“Hosting free classes and activities for our less privileged kids isn’t the only thing we do here at The Max. And that is what we are here for tonight. And as the founder and CEO of Morgenstern NetTech Innovators I am proud and honored to be the main sponsor of this event. However, this event would not have been a success without the main organizer of tonight’s festivities. Please come on up here, Mr. Alexander Lightwood!” 

The crowd immediately starts cheering like he has announced the most famous of celebrities, and Magnus is intrigued. He sees Madzie immediately letting go of Morgenstern’s hand and bolts across the stage to launch herself at a tall male figure, who picks her up and puts her on his hip, holding on to her with one arm.

As the man walks towards the microphone, Magnus’ feels his surroundings slowing down like he’s in a movie. This guy walks like a model, with dark hair and stubble that looks intentional, wearing grey trousers and a light pink dress shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows. How are his forearms gorgeous? As a finishing touch, he wears a tie with cartoon clouds and rainbows. 

He shakes the host’s hand, smiles to the audience and subtly tries to wave to someone, before speaking. “Thank you Valentine, for that introduction, and for doing a great job at hosting this evening so far. And of course, thank you to my friend Madzie here for treating us to that beautiful song.”

The audience applauds again, and the guy shares a smile with the girl on his arm, as she wraps her little arms around his neck. Magnus can feel himself melting.

“Madzie’s song makes a great point. The children are our future, and it is up for us to provide them the best possible start. For some children, this isn’t a given. And for kids and teens who discover that they’re gay or trans, for example… They face even more difficulties. Sometimes they get kicked out of their own homes. As a gay man myself, I’m sad to say that I know what that is like.” 

The audience is very quiet, as he clears his throat to carry on.

“That is why we’ve organized this evening. I’m proud to announce that we, as The Max, are working together with the Trevor Project to provide a safe space for all LGTBQ youth. We’re planning to run special workshops where these youth, regardless of background and orientation, can meet up with each other and share experiences. Or talk to one of our trained volunteers. We want to provide other emergency resources as well, and education to family members.”

He pauses and looks around the room. “As you can see, our volunteers are passing through the aisles with donation baskets. So please, give all you can. Now… We’re happy to get the kind of money that jingles, but we’d rather get the kind that folds,” he adds, with a youthful grin.

The baskets are passing through the rows and the chatter of people fills the room. One of them makes its way into Magnus’, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off the man on stage, who’s still holding the little girl. They seem to have a conversation away from the microphone, while she plays with his rainbow tie.

Ragnor clears his throat and holds up a bunch of 50 dollar bills folded together, that he still had on him after the shopping trip. “You wanted to donate something, right? We only have bills of 50 so it’s gonna be pretty generous I reckon-” 

Magnus mindlessly grabs the entire stack and puts it in the basket and hands it off. He can feel Ragnor’s astonishment, but he doesn’t care - this man on stage is perfect and he wants him. In every possible way.

The chatter dies down as the volunteers carry the baskets onto the stage.

Mr. Perfect moves towards the microphone again. “Thank you so much. Without you -our audience- this evening would not have been a success. And we still have some amazing performances for you, so I’m going to hand this microphone back to Valentine!”  

Under loud applause he smiles, bows gently, and walks off the stage. The volunteers carrying the baskets follow him. 

Magnus whimpers and elbows Ragnor repeatedly in his side. 

“Ouch, knock it off! What the hell was that for?” he whispers angrily while rubbing his hand over his ribcage.

“I think I’m in love,” Magnus whispers back, his eyes following this Alexander Lightwood.

Ragnor rolls his eyes. While Magnus is mentally planning his coronation alongside this beautiful man who’s apparently great with children because of course he’s perfect like that, he wonders if after this trip Ragnor’s eyes will be stuck spinning around in his sockets.

“-not able to donate money, maybe you can donate some of your time. At The Max we’re always looking for new volunteers! You’ll be able to make a real difference in the lives of our children. At the exit our staff will answer all of your questions and they’re ready to sign you right up!” Valentine gestures towards the exit, before announcing the next act.

Magnus stops listening after the call for new volunteers. He slowly turns his head towards Ragnor with the biggest grin on his face. “My friend, I just got the best idea!”

“No. Oh no. Definitely not!”

Chapter 3: Bane, Magnus Bane

“I hate you.” 

“Don’t be silly Ragnor, you love me.” Magnus says, as he looks into an old mirror on the wall. They’ve been given a stack of polos with the community center’s logo on it, with the apology that most common sizes are sadly out. 

Magnus snagged what was apparently the only small adult sized shirt out of the pile, because when he turns he sees Ragnor in a shirt several sizes too big. It hangs on Ragnor’s lean frame, the overall droopy look not helped by his expression. He looks annoyed, frustrated, overall done and everything in between.

“Come on now, just… French tuck it into your jeans. It’ll help.” Magnus suggests. He looks back at the mirror. His own shirt is probably a bit too snug, but if anything, it makes it cling to all the right places. He’s here on a mission, after all.

“Why can’t I wear the smaller size? Your shoulders are broader than mine.” 

“Because I’m the prince, and technically, you’re my servant. Plus, I’m here to woo a certain someone.” 

Ragnor shrugs his zip-up hoodie over his shirt and walks up to Magnus. He puts his hands on his shoulders and sighs.

“Magnus, I’m going to be honest with you. I love you and you’re my best friend, but this is by far the worst idea you have ever had.” he says, while looking straight at him.

Magnus wants to look away, but Ragnor demands eye contact.

“What do you think will happen? That within 87 days, the pretty boy will fall in love with you, and he won’t be upset when he finds out you’ve neglected to tell him that he’s expected to rule a country? And aside from that, you don’t actually know the guy! Sure, he made an impression up on that stage and honestly, it’s quite unfair how handsome he is, but you don’t know him. Hell, he might as well be in a relationship already.” 

Magnus knows he’s right and it stings. The fear of having to go back to Edom and marry Camille feels like a heavy weight that’s crushing his chest. He looks at Ragnor and fights the urge to cry.

He tries to find his voice, and what he says comes out sounding a lot more vulnerable than he intended. “Please… I-I can’t just-I got this feeling when I saw him. Like… You just know,  you know? I have to try, Ragnor. I have to.” 

He’s thankful Ragnor knows him so well. 

“OK. I really don’t agree with this, but I get it. Let’s see what we can do.” 

---

They step out of the staff room they were allowed to change in, and one of the girls who performed as part of the dance group is waiting for them. 

“Sorry again guys, the new shirts should be coming in soon and we’ll get you better fitting ones.” she apologizes, as she takes the shirts back from Ragnor and puts them back on a shelf.

“So, like I said, I’m Maia. I’m one of the volunteer team managers. I’m here a couple of days a week when school allows it, so, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other!” she claps her hands together and flashes them a friendly smile. “When I’m not here, there’s Clary, and Aline helps out when she has time. They’ll stop before the end of your shift so you’ll get to meet them today. Just so you know who to go to when you have questions.”

Magnus likes this energetic woman, she looks strong and mature despite her youthful face.

“What are you majoring in?” Magnus asks as she leads them to where they’ll be working.

“Marine biology, at Columbia.” she looks proud, and rightfully so. Magnus is impressed, and whistles between his teeth.

“I know,” she laughs, “I worked so hard to get in. I didn’t have a great home situation, I barely graduated high school and I didn’t even apply to any colleges. But then I found this center, I made some great friends and they got me to a better place. I started out taking classes at a local community college and ended up transferring to Columbia.”

She stops in front of cleaning supplies, and grabs hold of the wooden handle of the mop, and rolls the bucket forward. 

“You know, people think that we’re exaggerating when we tell our volunteers you're changing lives by helping us out. But it’s true, and I am proof of that. So thank you guys, and welcome to the family,” she smiles, and looks at Magnus as she rolls the cleaning supplies towards him. 

“So to start, we like to mop the floor every morning. You know how to mop, right?” she asks, looking at Magnus. He has never even touched a mop before in his life, but how hard could it be, really? So he nods, and she takes Ragnor to another room, who shoots Magnus one last look of disdain.

Mopping the floor turns out to be more work than he thought, but, after getting some help from a blond guy who introduced himself as Andrew Underhill in the small café attached to the center, he finds a good rhythm.

To make the chore more fun, he hums his favorite songs and adds some subtle dance moves. He hasn’t seen anyone other than Maia and Andrew, and they’re busy. Plus, the entrance of the building is just spacious enough, it’s honestly begging to be danced in.

Caught up in his smooth moves, he apparently stopped paying any attention to his surroundings because he dances right into someone, who then grabs his arms to steady him. Magnus spins around to apologize when his breath catches.

It’s him, and dammit, he is even more stunning up close. His eyes are intense and a shade of hazel he has never seen before. He’s tall, and broad-shouldered, and still looks amazing in a suit. His hair is a dark shade of brown and fluffy, like he’s been running his hands through it. Magnus knows he has never felt this kind of instant attraction to someone before.

And, if he’s not mistaken, he sees appreciation in Alexander Lightwood’s eyes, as he catches him running them over his body. Silently he thanks the heavens for this ridiculously tight shirt, because it looks like it’s working. He smirks at Alexander, who flushes a bit pink as he finds himself caught.

Magnus pulls himself together quickly. “I’m so sorry for bumping into you, but above all, good morning. I believe we haven’t been formally introduced?” he says as smooth as he can manage in front of this beautiful man, and holds out his hand.

“I’m Alexander. Lightwood. Well, Alec, really,” he says with a genuine, lopsided smile. “I own the center, together with my mother. I haven’t seen you around before, are you one of our new volunteers?” 

“Yes! Your speech during the Rainbow Rally was more than inspiring, I just had to sign myself up!” Magnus flashes him a broad smile. They seem to realize at the same that they’re still holding hands, and they awkwardly let go at once.

“That’s eh, that’s great to hear, we do amazing work here and your time is appreciated,” Alec smiles adorably shy. “I didn’t catch your name though?”

“Oh, my name is Magnus,” he says, cocking his head.

“Just Magnus?”

“Yes?” 

“You don’t have a last name?”

Well, shit. He actually doesn't have one. He certainly can’t tell Alexander that it’s not just Magnus, but His Royal Highness Asmodeus Magnus III, Prince of Edom - but no one had asked him for a normal last name, until now. His mind goes blank and he fears his charming expression has now turned into ‘deer caught in headlights’, as his eyes shoot across the room. They land on a couple of framed Batman comics hanging on the wall.

“...Bane?” he blurts out, immediately regretting his choice. Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up, probably because he’s making it sound like he’s asking him a question.

 “Yes, Bane. Magnus Bane.” he nods, because there’s no way he can take it back now without making the situation worse. 

Alec doesn’t look convinced, as he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure, I know what my own last name is,” he says jokingly. His heart beats fast and he feels his cheeks heating up, this time it’s not because of his brand new crush standing in front of him, but because he fears he has no choice but to double down. “I know it sounds weird in English, but it’s actually quite common where I’m from.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of your name, I-” Alec immediately rushes out with a concerned expression. 

“It’s quite alright, darling,” he says. He hates to admit it, but Ragnor was right: he already feels awful lying to this man’s face, and this was only the first time. But he himself decided to make this very normal bed, and he’s stubborn if nothing else, so now he’ll lie in it. 

Alec gives him a soft smile. “Well, I better get going, I have a meeting to prepare for.”

“Yes, of course. Hopefully we’ll get the chance to talk again. On a professional level,” Magnus says.

Alec rubs his hands together. “I- It was nice meeting you,” he says, still smiling, and turns to leave.

“Oh, Alexander!” Magnus calls out after he’s a few steps away. He turns back around again and looks at him questioningly.

“I have recently been placed in charge of garbage disposal, so… If you have anything that requires disposal, don’t be afraid to call on me. I’ll come take it out most urgently,” he says.

“That’s… Good to know.” Alec says, with an expression between confusion and laughter.

“When you think of garbage, think of Magnus!” he exclaims with the biggest grin he can muster.

Alexander nods, now visibly trying to hold back his laughter, and turns around again to walk towards the offices.

“...Oh, you fucking dumbass.” Magnus whispers to himself, and watches him walk away. He turns to the wall and thumps his head against it. The only thing going for him right now is that Ragnor wasn’t here to witness this exchange.

---

The rest of the week goes by quietly. He and Ragnor volunteer a shift every day, much to Ragnor’s annoyance. Most days he manages to greet Alec, but he hasn’t gotten the opportunity to really talk to him. Yet he is crushing harder and harder on this captivating man with every smile they exchange.

In the meanwhile, he has started to befriend the volunteer coordinators, Maia and Clary. They’re both still in college, which nearly made Magnus blow his cover as a fake student. He’s also getting along well with Andrew, who manages the café, even though he’s very flirty - even for Magnus’ taste.

It’s the weekend, and Magnus has taken up a volunteering shift by himself, letting Ragnor sleep back at the apartment. Although he’s sure he’s secretly planning to video chat with Cat while Magnus is out, which makes him happier than he thought it would. 

There’s a lot of kids running around this Saturday, as most classes are held during the weekend, and Magnus spots little Madzie from the rally. He had a coffee in the morning with Clary, who hosts several painting classes today. And also he met her boyfriend Jace, who introduced himself as being in charge of the boxing and judo programs. Jace also turned out to be Alexander’s brother, even though they look nothing alike. 

Magnus is helping Andrew out and having a pretty good time. He’s wiping down the counter as Alec walks in, and even in a plain black sweater he looks unfairly good. He’s trying to think of an excuse to go and talk to him, until he sees him sitting down at a table where a sharp -yet boring- dressed Desi looking man had been sitting for a while. The guy smiles, stands up to lean over the table to grab Alec’s chin and kisses him.

Magnus knows he doesn’t have any right to, but he feels like someone kicked him in the stomach. Of course this perfect man isn’t single, what was he thinking? He takes some deep breaths to gather himself and turns to Andrew.

“So… That’s Alexander’s... boyfriend?” he asks, and while he tries to go for casual he knows he’s probably failing. Spectacularly.

Andrew grimaces. “Yup. They’ve been together for a while now. He’s such a douchebag.” 

Magnus turns his head in shock. “Who, Alexander?!” 

“No, what the hell, of course not,” Andrew scoffs as he finishes polishing a tea glass. “He’s a literal angel. Too good for this world, especially with what he’s been through. We’ve been friends since college, he got me this job and everything after this thing that happened with my ex Lorenzo…” Andrew trails off for a bit.  “Doesn't matter. I meant Raj.”

Andrew throws the dishcloth over his shoulder and moves closer to him to mimic Magnus’ pose, leaning on the counter with his elbows. They try to look at the couple as subtle as they can.

“So… what’s the deal with Raj then?” Magnus asks quietly.

“Look. Some details are important to the story, but they’re just not my place to tell you. So this is gonna be vague on purpose.” Andrew looks down at his hands and plays with the watch on his wrist. “Alec met Raj when he was in a bad place. Really bad. He was so vulnerable and Raj… He just swooped in and didn’t take no for an answer, I guess? I don’t think Raj ever takes no for an answer. He always gets what he wants,” he scoffs. “And…”

Magnus looks at him questioningly. 

“And he’s why Alec went through a time where he hardly spent time with his friends anymore, me included.” The blond man has now taken his watch from his wrist and fidgets with the strap. 

“Raj, he gets jealous a lot. Like, I’m gay too, and therefore I’m obviously trying to get into Alec’s pants. Or so he said. Don’t get me wrong, Alec is definitely the most handsome man I have ever seen but like… He’s my friend. I don’t see him like that, at all. You know what I mean?” 

“I do. I’m bi, and I’ve had to deal with this kind of stuff too,” Magnus sighs. “Like because you’re not straight, you’re automatically attracted to anyone you talk to.”

“Right? That’s exactly what I mean. I’m sorry, man. No one deserves that kind of shit, especially not based on their sexuality.” He puts his hand on Magnus’ shoulder and gives him a kind smile.

“Anyway, Alec was so broken and I think at some point, he was glad that Raj was making decisions for him because he was so burned out. About two years ago, his brother and sister, his other two best friends and I, we held some kind of intervention. Told him things were not OK the way they were. And he listened. He got himself some therapy and now he’s smiling again. This past year has been really good for him.” 

“So, they must be pretty serious, if they’re still together,” Magnus says.

“I know Raj is. I mean, as serious as you can be about someone you really only want as a trophy husband. But Alec… I don’t know. Of course he cares for him, but I feel like he stays with him out of obligation. It’s hard to break up with someone after being together for a few years. But they don’t live together, like, Alec still lives with his siblings. Every conversation where Raj or Maryse brings up moving in together or getting married… He’s tense immediately, laughs everything off and changes the topic at lightspeed. So if you ask me, he’s not happy and this thing,” he gestures in their general direction, “Is not gonna last. But he won’t talk about it. At least, not to me.”

Magnus feels bad about how hopeful hearing all this gossip makes him, so he tries to ask something less loaded. “Maryse?”

“Maryse Trueblood, his mom, she’s the one he owns this place with. She’s on vacation now somewhere in the Caribbean but she’ll be back next week. Strong, passionate, and honest to God terrifying when she’s angry. But really sweet when you’re on her good side,” Andrew drags the dishcloth from his shoulder and slaps it against the counter. “So that’s that. If anyone brings it up, remember - act surprised, you know nothing.” 

“It’ll be like brand new information,” Magnus nods.

“Exactly. And Magnus?” 

“Yeah?”

“If you’re looking for a date, I’m single, you know,” Andrew winks and walks to the back.

Magnus laughs and shakes his head.

---

After his shift, Magnus bundles up again and walks home. It hasn’t snowed for the last two days, so the sidewalks are still mostly clear.

Everything Andrew had told him is dancing through his mind. He feels awful for being excited about his crush allegedly being unhappy in his current relationship, and picturing himself as the knight in shining armor who’s going to save him and live happily ever after as kings of Edom.

But what is he going to do, sabotage a relationship? Seduce Alexander and have him cheat on his boyfriend? No, he has been cheated on himself, he won’t make someone else go through that kind of pain. No matter how awful they allegedly are.

And who says Andrew is even right? He might as well be seeing what he wants to see because he wanted his friend back.

But if Alexander is unhappy… It can’t hurt to befriend him and be painfully charming, right? What does he have to lose? His worst-case scenario is having to go back to Edom and marry Camille. Plus, Magnus did always like a challenge… But how is he going to grab Alec’s attention?

“You’re thinking so loud, it’s making my head hurt, son.” 

Magnus jumps a little at the sudden interruption from his stream of thoughts, until he sees a familiar old man sitting on a bench by himself.

He smiles and bows his head a little. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hodge.”

“Come, sit. Tell old Hodge what’s wrong. No, wait,” he points his finger at Magnus and squints at him. “Let me guess, it’s girl trouble.”

Magnus sits down next to him and fumbles with his gloves. “...Kinda?”

Hodge nods. “Ah, I see. Boy trouble. Basically the same thing, right?” 

Magnus chortles. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is.” 

“Tell me about it, and we’ll fix it, son.”

“So, I’m trying to gain the attention of a certain young man, but…” Magnus starts.

“And you’re sure he isn’t heterosexual?” Hodge interrupts.

“Oh yes, very sure,” Magnus says.

“Is this an American boy?” 

“I don’t know? I think so?” Magnus has no idea what that has to do with anything.

“You see, son, when you’re trying to attract the attention of a nice American boy or girl, you gotta get in well with their parents! This is a common misconception, it’s got nothing to do with you or what you look like. If you get in good with the folks, you get in good with your sweetheart.” Hodge finishes.

Magnus looks at him. He’s not convinced, and it must show on his face.

“I ain’t lying!” Hodge sounds a little insulted.

“Well, in that case, thank you for your wisdom.” Magnus stands up again and continues his walk home.

---

Hodge’s advice in the back of his head, he finds himself behind the café counter with Andrew next Wednesday. And while he likes Maia and Clary -or Helen and Aline, who he spent time with in between their dance classes last Sunday- he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about this with anyone else.

Not that he tells Andrew about his ulterior motives with Alexander, of course.

The central theme of this week had been the return of Maryse Trueblood. Andrew’s description had been pretty accurate. While mopping the floor, he had heard her talk on the phone with a delivery company who hadn’t held up their end of the deal. None of her rant was directed at him, but he felt put in his place all the same.

And save from an introduction and some greetings, he wasn’t actually able to “get in good” with Maryse at all. In fact, a compliment about her beautiful latest collection Burberry trench coat had only resulted in an expression of which he wasn’t even sure what it had meant to convey. But whatever it was, it wasn’t pleased. 

The return of Maryse did make him wonder about Alexander’s father. The fact that he was Lightwood and his mother Trueblood, he assumed his parents had gone through a divorce. To avoid awkward conversations, he figured he should subtly ask Andrew.

It’s a Wednesday morning, and they’re cleaning everything the elderly yoga class has left behind after their post-workout tea party.

“Hey Andrew?” 

“Yes, Magnus? Are you finally gonna ask me out?” he grins.

“No, not exactly,” Magnus rolls his eyes. “I was just wondering, is Maryse divorced?”

 Andrew’s flirty expression immediately drops to an uncomfortable one. “Why do you ask?” 

Magnus feels glad he didn’t ask Alexander or Maryse in person if this is Andrew’s reaction. He clears his throat. “Well, everyone talks about Alexander’s mother and brother and sister but I’ve never heard anyone talk about his father.” 

“There’s a reason for that, and I don’t feel comfortable discussing the details of that, either. But yeah, Maryse and his father Robert did get a divorce about ten years ago, and a few years after the divorce he died. It’s still a loaded topic for everyone so… It’s probably best if you don’t bring it up yourself. If one of them wants to tell you at some point, they will.” Andrew concludes and moves to put the coffee cups away.

“Hi guys!” Magnus’ day suddenly gets brighter when Alexander walks past and waves at them. Andrew just waves back.

“Hi!” he replies, a little too dreamily.

His mood dampens when he sees him walking outside where Raj is waiting in his car, smoking out of the window. It’s a very nice sports car. Raj flicks the cigarette on the sidewalk as Alec walks around the car and gets into the passenger seat. Magnus can’t help but sigh a little as he watches them drive off.

“So Raj drives a really nice car,” he states.

“Yeah, he likes to brag,” Andrew scoffs.

“He must work hard if he can afford a car like that.” 

Andrew barks out a laugh full of disdain. “What, prince Raj, work? You’ve got to be kidding me. He lives off his parents’ money. You went to the Rainbow Rally, right? You remember the guy hosting, with the goofy top hat?”

“I do,” Magnus says, biting on his bottom lip.

“That was Valentine Morgenstern, he’s Clary’s dad and one of the main sponsors of The Max. Anyway, he and his company developed that 4D-breaking-the-speed-barrier type internet, or whatever it’s called. Raj’s parents were wealthy before they invested in its development, but when that took off... “ he shakes his head. “They’re rich as royalty now. Raj technically works for them, but trust me, he hasn’t worked a single day in his life.” 

The first thought that pops into Magnus’ mind is thinking that him being a wealthy prince shouldn’t be much of a dealbreaker for Alexander if he’s ok with this - and immediately kicking himself for it.

“He’s a cheap bastard though, when it concerns others,” Andrew continues, always happy to rant about Raj. “The other night after the Rainbow Rally, when Alexander had sorted out the donations he found out someone put like a whole bundle of 50 dollar bills in. Raj took credit for it, and that was a big fat lie,” he scoffs. “He hates Alec working at The Max, he thinks he’s naive and wasting his talent on something as dumb as a community center. Our friends privately agree with me, that he'd never donate anything, let alone that much. So I’m not making this up because I hate the guy.” 

Magnus stills. He knows Andrew isn’t making it up, because it sounds exactly like the stack of money Ragnor handed him that night.

Andrew seemingly takes his silence as encouragement to keep on talking. “Like I said, Raj always gets what -or who- he wants. And he buys him the most extravagant shit. How are guys like us gonna ever compete with that, right?”

His tone is joking, but Magnus… He could. It wouldn’t even be a competition. Raj’s parents might be rich as proverbial royalty, but Magnus? He’s a literal royal. If he can’t follow Hodge’s advice and get in good with the folks, it wouldn’t hurt to try and buy him something extraordinary. Anonymously. 

Right?

---

Alec has stretched his legs out on their L-shaped couch, finally reading that book that everyone has been talking about. He’s been so busy with work, and Raj had demanded a lot of attention, so he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Izzy is dancing around the living room with exaggerated moves to the 90s medley she performed to during the fundraiser. He admires her. Often he wonders how someone can be both a technological genius and a social butterfly that knows how to move. He smiles fondly at her but shakes his head when she gestures at him to join her.

He’s not as shy as he used to be, but it takes effort for him to do the things that his job requires him to do - networking, finding new sponsors, public speaking. However he’s well aware of what he was like when he was younger, and has finally managed to be proud of himself and who he is becoming.

Flipping the page, he hears the doorbell as a background noise. 

“I’ll get it!” Izzy yells and turns the music down, but still dances her way to the front door.

“Special… -ightwood?” is all he manages to overhear.

“Sure, where do I sign?” Whatever it is, Izzy sounds excited.

He hears the door close and Izzy walks back into the living room with a small, but expensive-looking gift bag. She all but throws herself down on the couch next to him, reaches into the bag and takes out a luxuriously wrapped box.

Alec laughs, this is something that would only happen to Izzy. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know, something for you,” she grins and she wiggles her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Alec says, surprised.

“Yeah, this guy was at the front door with like, security people. They said it was a special delivery for Mr. Alexander Lightwood,” she says.

Alec has no idea what this is about. Raj occasionally buys him expensive gaudy things. But he never gives them in private, because there’s no one to watch him flaunt his wealth - let alone having it delivered to his house when he won’t be there to brag about it.

While he feels a bit wary, his curiosity ends up winning.

“Well, do you mind if I open it, then?” he snatches the box from her hands and sticks out his tongue, like the mature older brother he is.

His hands feel too big for the delicate bows that hold the box together, but after some fumbling he manages to open the box. It reveals a beautiful classic Rolex watch with a moonphase mechanism. He is stunned.

Izzy whistles between her teeth. “Wow, this is the first thing Raj has bought you where he actually had your tastes in mind.”

Alec feels bad, but it’s another reason why he doubts it was Raj who sent the watch. He clears his throat and tries to find his voice. “Did it come with a card or anything?” 

Picking the bag off the floor, Izzy rummages through the wrapping paper and finds a card. Her eyes widen comically as she reads out loud: “From an Admirer - NOT RAJ.”

She jumps up and slaps Alec’s arm. “Somebody has been messing around!”

“I am not, you know me better than that! And I don’t even know anyone with this kind of money, other than Raj. Or the Morgensterns,” Alec says, insulted that his baby sister would think that of him.

Izzy puts her hands in her sides and says, “I don’t care how much a man admires you, but no one gets anyone a gift like that unless they think they have a chance to get with you.” 

Alec runs his fingers along the gold framing the face of the watch. Someone admires him. Enough to get him a watch that must have cost at least 20.000 dollars. And they did it anonymously. 

But that someone also knows he has a boyfriend. Because he made sure that Alec knows it wasn’t a gift from said boyfriend. Is this a test to see if he’s faithful? From Raj? Maybe it’s a crude joke, trying to trick him into thinking someone cares about him. 

“...Do you think it’s a real Rolex?” he asks Izzy with a small voice.

She seems to sense his inner turmoil and calms down to sit close to him. He lets her take the box, and looks at her while she inspects it.

“It has to be.” 

He takes the box back and takes the watch from it. Izzy leans against him and puts her head on his shoulder.

“Are you gonna tell me what goes on in your head, or am I going to tell you?” she asks.

Alec sighs. Izzy can read him like an open book, in all capital letters. Where some people say it’s best not to push people and let them come to you in their own time, Izzy bulldozes right over his defenses and speaks her mind. Because otherwise he’d never talk, she says.

And she’s probably right. Secretly he’s glad when she decides to put into words what she thinks he’s thinking, because that way he doesn’t have to himself. It makes it easier. 

So he says, “Go ahead.” 

“I think that you’re not happy with your life right now. I think you don’t love Raj in the sense that you want to marry him and raise a family. I think you stay with him because you feel like you owe him after what happened. Honestly, I think that you’re still thinking you don’t deserve to be loved at all.”

Alec swallows thickly, and doesn’t try to stop her from saying the things he’s been trying too hard to keep down inside.

“And I think that by receiving this watch that has clearly been bought with you -and only you- in mind, you once again realize Raj doesn’t love you for you, he only loves you as an accessory for him. And it’s suffocating you.”

Alec lets out a shaky breath.

“I think you might be right,” he whispers.

---

It’s been another week and New York has been spared more snowfall. This has significantly improved Ragnor’s mood, although Magnus suspects that his early morning video chat sessions with Catarina have something to do with that as well.

Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, and it amuses him to no end. Especially since Ragnor seems under the impression that he’s being very subtle about it.

What Ragnor hasn’t been subtle about however, is his disapproval of the anonymous Rolex delivery. In fact, he has been very vocal about what an awful idea he thinks it was.

Today they have been placed on sanitation duty and they’re cleaning the windows of the lobby on the inside. Outside, Alexander is walking up to the building, accompanied by two women he’s never seen before. He sees Magnus and waves at him with that shy smile that makes his knees go weak.

“Ragnor, there he is. And I’m going to talk to him.” 

“Good!” Ragnor tosses his cloth in a bucket. “Tell him you sent him that 25,000 dollar watch, then he can fall into your arms and we can leave this godforsaken place.”  

“No, I cannot do that,” Magnus says indignantly.

“Well, do something!” 

“Don’t worry, I do have a plan,” he says.

Ragnor throws his signature eye roll. “What are you gonna do, mop your way into his heart? 

The comment rubs Magnus the wrong way. “That, my friend, is not fair.” 

“What’s not fair is me doing manual labor.” Ragor grumbles and stares down at his hands. “I am badly in need of a manicure.”

Magnus barks out a laugh. “Oh listen to you, I am badly in need of a manicure,” he mocks. “People will think you’re the pampered prince, not me.” 

Ragnor turns to him and it looks like he’s debating on punching his arm, or come up with a spectacular rebuttal - but he does neither.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow. “Were you going to say something?”

Ragnor visibly gives up, picks up his cloth again and goes back to cleaning windows.

---

While putting back the window cleaning equipment in the supply closet, he spots Alexander and the two women at the café. He excuses himself to Maia for a bit as he shrugs off the zip-up hoodie to leave him in that snug fitting polo. Confidently he walks in the direction of the café, when he sees Andrew joining them.

It turns out he doesn’t even need to think of an excuse, because Andrew notices him and waves him over. He feels butterflies in his stomach when he comes close to the table and sees Alexander wearing his new watch. It looks amazing on his wrist, just like he imagined it would.

“Guys, this is my new friend Magnus!” Andrew introduces him to the table. “He’s from Indonesia and started volunteering here a few weeks ago.” 

“We’ve met,” Alexander smiles. “Please, take a seat.” 

Magnus grabs a chair from another table and sits at the head. 

The brown-haired girl next to him sticks out her hand, “Good to meet you Magnus, I’m Becky!” She has a contagious smile and bright dark eyes and has a very friendly, approachable energy to her.

She leans her shoulder into the blond woman next to her, who looks very calm and put together. “This is my wife,” she says.

The blond woman smiles and holds out her hand as well. “Lydia, nice to meet you,” she says. Her blue eyes are sharp, like they’re not about to miss anything that’s going on.

“So, Andrew says you’re from Indonesia, what brings you to New York? And The Max?” Lydia asks.

Magnus figured out a while ago it’s easier to just go with people mistakenly thinking he’s Indonesian. He feels like it makes it less likely for anyone to recognize him, even though the odds of someone recognizing the crown prince of a small Southeast Asian island nation are already pretty slim.

“I’m a student, my friend and I are here for our research. And at the Rainbow Rally, Alexander here inspired us so, that we figured we might as well take the opportunity to gain this valuable experience and do some good,” Magnus says. He can feel himself smiling dreamily at Alec, who returns a smile and looks a bit flustered at the praise.

Lydia cuts in with what feels like a rude awakening. “That’s nice, what university do you go to?”

“...The University of-of the United States,” Magnus blurts out.

Becky looks at him with a confused expression. “I’ve never heard of that.”

Magnus finds his most awkward smile again and shrugs. “It is a very small private university. We do not even have our own basketball team.” 

Andrew jumps in at that. “Oh, we have an extra ticket for the Knicks game this weekend, wanna come?” 

Magnus finds Alexander’s eyes who smiles at him again, with a soft nod and an expression that he feels says why not join us? 

“Yes,” Magnus breathes out.

“Great!” Becky claps her hands together excitedly. “It’s a triple date!” 

It’s a what now?! 

“It’ll be Becky and Lydia, me and Raj, and you can be Underhill’s date,” Alec says.

Andrew grins at him and lifts his eyebrows.

Oh, Magnus thinks. 

That took an unexpected turn.

Chapter 4: Learning to walk, run, climb and dance

Magnus has no idea what normal people wear to a sporting event. On top of that, basketball is pretty much a nonexistent sport in Edom. But he has seen movies, and from his limited research, people seem to wear shirts with team logos on it. Since he’s supposed to be a foreign student on a budget, he feels like he can’t go and buy one.

Instead, he dresses like he imagines a normal, casual date to be like. He picks a floral blue button down, and leaves a few unbuttoned at the top. He tucks his shirt into slim fit jeans and lets his feet slide into his boots. He didn’t bring any jewelry, so this’ll have to do. While he usually wears a topknot when volunteering, for this day out he feels like he could pull off a mohawk along with some sparkly black eyeliner.

Ragnor still thinks he’s dumb as fuck for voluntarily leaving the apartment in this weather, but Magnus doesn’t care. It might be a triple date, but it’s still a date. He can show off his good side and if nothing else, experience some more normal real life things, like going to a sports event with friends.

They had agreed to meet each other outside of Madison Square Garden. Magnus has no intention of making a bad impression by showing up late, but when he arrives he is surprised to find Becky and Lydia already standing there.  

It is nice getting to know two of Alec’s best friends, to learn about their hobbies and work. Becky talks about how she and Alec were only out to each other for the majority of their teenage years, being the only queer kids at their school. They end up talking about how Alexander had introduced Becky and Lydia during their college years, and how it had been love at first sight. And the time he went shopping for engagement rings with Lydia, and helped her set up the surprise proposal. Magnus didn’t think he could be even more taken by this man if he tried.

Soon after they are joined by Andrew, and the conversation shifts to excitement about the game, and how good their seats supposedly are. Becky and Andrew are throwing player names around like it’s a competition, and Lydia leans towards Magnus and confides in him that she has absolutely no interest whatsoever in basketball, but makes an effort because her wife loves it.

 Ten minutes later they are joined by Raj and Alec. Raj holds his hand stiffly around Alec’s waist, who in turn has his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He smiles when he sees his friends and that’s their cue to head into the venue.

Magnus calmly follows the group, who seem to know exactly where they need to go. He notices that five minutes ago the conversation involved everyone, and it is now dominated by Raj. Who is apparently responsible for these great tickets, because of his amazing connections. He catches Andrew’s eyes, who in turn makes a strangling motion with his hands. Magnus snorts.

They find their section and row and Magnus walks in after Lydia, Becky and Andrew. On his other side he finds Raj, and Alec and his long legs get the seat next to the staircase.

He realizes that he has never actually talked to Raj before. And now that he’s sitting next to him, he doesn’t know what to say. He realizes he’s probably biased anyway, now that Andrew found in him an outlet for all his Raj-related complaints. 

The game begins. Magnus sits back, and lets his eyes roam over the circus before him. The action on the court, real cheerleaders on the side, the enthusiastic fans in the stands. He rubs his hands over his upper legs.

“Wearing jeans must be a new experience for you.” Raj says.

Magnus doesn’t know how fast to turn his head to the man in disbelief.

Alec looks very uncomfortable and before Magnus can say anything, he looks at Magnus. “Are you able to follow the game?” he asks with an apologetic smile.

“Yes, I’m able to follow the game quite well,” Magnus gives Alec a polite nod back. He feels Andrew patting his knee in support.

“So what game do you play in the Philippines, Indonesia, wherever the hell you’re from? Chase the monkey?” Raj laughs at his own pathetic excuse for a joke, eyes not leaving the court.

Magnus sighs deep, forcing himself to not take the bait. “No, we mostly play football. I believe you call it soccer.”

“Soccer,” Raj scoffs. “Yeah, that’s a real funny sport, real manly. How y’all bounce that ball off your heads. I’m sorry, but that’s just not a real sport. I don’t watch any sport where men are afraid to use their hands.” 

At this point Magnus fears that regardless of what he says, Raj will mock it. He’s never had to encounter anything like this - he’s the sole heir to the throne of a wealthy island paradise. People usually bend over backwards to accommodate him.

He guesses it looks like Andrew might have been right about this guy after all. But right now, he’s had enough and figures he could use a nice long walk to the restrooms. “Will you excuse me for a moment, please…” 

Alec’s expression is hurt and looks like he’s about to say something, but Magnus purposely avoids his eyes as he gets up and shuffles out of the row. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Andrew calls after him.

“No, I’ll be able to find the restrooms by myself, don’t worry,” he smiles without meaning it and walks up the stairs out of the arena.

---

There’s an impressive line, even for the men’s room. But Magnus doesn’t mind. It gives him the opportunity to calm down a little, and above all, do some people watching. There’s elderly people in jerseys, parents with young children on their shoulders, adorable teenage couples walking hand in hand. 

He sees a concessions vendor walking past him with a tray of goods, their eyes met and he nods kindly at him as he walks past. A few seconds later he hears a man screaming.

“Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness! It is YOU!” the vendor exclaims. “I cannot believe it!” 

“Oh!” He falls to his knees and takes his Knicks cap from his head, and holds his hands out to him like he’s his savior. “Greetings, Your Highness!”, after which he starts bowing rapidly, his hands over his heart. 

Magnus panics and he feels his entire face flushing. 

This man knows who he is. 

The entire line to the men’s restroom has stopped and is staring at the scene unfolding in front of them, that must look odd even for New York standards. He leans towards the man and reaches his hands out to him. “Please sir, please stop bowing,” he urges with a fake smile. He looks around him, but thankfully doesn’t recognize anyone standing around.

The vendor grabs his hands and looks up at him and his eyes are full of wonder. “I am a loyal citizen of Edom!” he says loudly, seemingly unaware of the scene he’s making.

“Yes, but you’re going to spill your beverages,” Magnus keeps urging. “Please sir, please stand up.”

The vendor’s mouth falls open. “This is the greatest day of my life,” he says, and based on his expression, Magnus believes him. He feels bad to disappoint his loyal subject, but he can’t be found out. 

“Yes, it was very nice meeting you too. Please excuse me!” he puts up his widest smile and smoothly walks himself out of the line and back into the corridor, towards the entrance of where their row was located.

He sees Alexander and Andrew walking towards him, probably worried because he was taking so long. He takes a deep breath and gives them a small wave, letting them know he’s OK.

“Please! Please!” The pleads get louder and he hears someone running behind him. 

He turns around and is immediately face to face with the vendor from before. He has a co-worker with him now, who is holding a phone. “May I just have my picture taken with you?” he pleads. Magnus shrugs uncomfortably and the guy moves to stand next to him. 

The vendor, in his excitement, wraps his arm around Magnus, takes off his cap again and places it over his heart. They pose, Magnus forces a smile that’s too toothy, and his coworker snaps a few quick pictures. 

The guy turns to face him again and beams, “I will cherish this experience for the rest of my life.” 

Trying to make the situation seem more natural Magnus offers him a handshake, but instead he bows, and makes sure to connect his forehead to Magnus’ hand. 

“The rest of my life,” he seems to pledge, and repeats the motion. After him, the photographer walks up to him and mimics the forehead-to-hand bow. 

Giddy like a pair of starstruck teens the two walk away, leaving Magnus alone with Alexander and Andrew, who look gobsmacked. They look between themselves and back at Magnus with open mouths, so he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and smiles weakly at them gesturing to the entrance to the arena.

But they don’t move an inch. Alexander is the first one to find his voice. “...Who was that?” 

“Oh, just… A man I met in the restroom.” he nods with an awkward smile, and decides to just walk back to his seat, eventually followed by his friends.

---

Magnus doesn’t see Alexander around The Max for the next couple of days after the game. Somehow he’s glad, hoping he’ll have forgotten about the whole picture-with-a-random-stranger thing next time they see each other. When he does see him again it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and he’s sitting in the café at a table near the window. 

With Raj.

Magnus is mopping a corner of the café where some mothers and unruly toddlers had previously had lunch, with the remnants of said lunch smeared across the tables and floor. Ragnor laughed at him when Maia asked him to clean it, while he got to help her out with some paperwork.

He doesn’t mind though, because from where he’s cleaning he can overhear Raj and Alec.

“Babe, why don’t you quit this job?” Raj asks him.

“Because I love it here,” Alec says defensively. “Mom and I made this place into what it is today.”

“Yeah, but everything runs smoothly now, right? You’re my man, and my man doesn’t have to work. I’ll take care of you. I’ll get you everything you want.” 

Alexander’s shoulders are hunched and he’s making himself look a lot smaller than he is, while his hands are in front of him as Raj holds onto them.

“What can I get you?” Raj asks.

Magnus can hear a tired smile in Alec’s voice as he says, “Nothing, Raj, I’m fine.” 

Raj doesn’t seem to take no for an answer. “I’ll get you some… Coffee?” 

That gets a more genuine smile out of Alec. “Sure. Coffee is good,” he tells him.

“Be right back.” Raj says, as he gets up from the table. 

Magnus takes this opportunity to mop his way over to Alec, but pretends he doesn’t notice him.

“Hey, Magnus!” Alec says, and Magnus turns to see him smiling at him from where he’s leaning on the table. “Did you have a good time at the game?”

“Yes I did, thank you very much for inviting me,” Magnus smiles.

“Sit down, take a break for me,” Alec gestures to the chair Raj had been sitting in, and Magnus doesn’t have to think twice.

Alec stares at his hands, and lightly pinches the skin between his thumb and his index finder.

He swallows. “I- I wanted to apologize for Raj’s behavior at the game. I can’t believe the things he said to you, they were extremely offensive. Even for him. He can be quite obnoxious,” he says quietly, looking up at Magnus through his long lashes.

Magnus is captivated by his eyes. He’s never met anyone before whose eyes seemed to take the concept of mirror to the soul so literally. So he shrugs. “I’m sure he cannot help it.”

Alexander gives him a soft, lopsided smile. “You know, you’re a very unusual guy. I’ve never seen anyone mop the floor with so much pride as you put into it.” 

Magnus chuckles. “Well, you know what they say… He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”

The expression in Alec’s eyes is wondrous, and Magnus wants nothing more than to lean across the table and kiss him. But he can’t, so instead he clarifies, “That was not mine, that was Nietzsche.” 

“See!” Alec says with unexpected passion, laying his hand over Magnus’, “That’s exactly what I mean. Most of our volunteers don’t go around mopping floors while quoting Nietzsche,” he laughs.

Magnus smiles back, but before he gets a chance to reply, he hears Maia scream.

He twists in his seat to look at what’s going on, and he sees a wild eyed young man with a knife in the middle of the café.

Ragnor has stepped in front of Maia, who is visibly shaking.

“How could you do this to me? You said you would love me forever!” he slurs, clearly under the influence of something. The café has gotten so silent, you could hear a pin drop.

Still, he spins around, holding his knife out in front of him. “Everybody shut the fuck up!” 

“Jordan, please, don’t do this,” Maia sobs.

“Well, I have to now!” He stumbles towards her, swaying on his feet. “This is all your fault!”

Magnus feels like he has to do something. So he’s going to do what he has been training for all these years. He twists the wooden handle off the mop he was still holding on to, trying to meet Ragnor’s eyes. When they do, he quietly gestures towards the handle and Ragnor blinks fast, twice. Magnus knows he’s catching on.

“Excuse me for a moment, Alexander,” he whispers, but continues to look at Jordan’s back.

He gets up and holds the handle of the mop in front of him. Jordan hears his footsteps as he swings around, and stumbles a bit to the side, still swinging the knife around. He looks confused.

“Please, it would be wise of you to put the knife down,” Magnus says gently.

Jordan stumbles some more. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Stay out of this,” he shouts, making unsteady stabbing motions.

“Please refrain from using profanities in the presence of these people.” Magnus continues in a voice much calmer than he feels. “This is my last warning. Put the knife down or I will be forced to thrash you.”

“Fuck you!” is all Jordan manages to sputter out, before Magnus grabs his stick and with some swift hits he works him to the ground. Ragnor immediately rushes in to step on his wrist and takes the knife from him, while Magnus keeps him on the ground. 

A collective sigh of relief sounds through the seating area. Maia falls into Andrew’s arms and cries as he strokes her back.

---

Jordan, who turned out to be Maia’s ex-boyfriend turned stalker, is swiftly dealt with by the authorities. A replacement is called for Maia, who was immediately taken home by Alexander. He must have stayed with her, because Magnus doesn’t see him return to the center.

Surprisingly enough, Maryse ended up calling him and Ragnor to her office to personally thank them. She shared a bit about how after their break-up Jordan had stopped by The Max before, but never armed and under the influence. 

Maryse asks them if they are available upcoming Saturday evening, and if they would like to help her out with a private matter. Magnus immediately says yes for obvious reasons, which greatly upsets Ragnor.

And that’s how they find themselves standing outside in the cold in front of a nice place in the Upper East Side, as waiting staff for a small party Maryse was hosting. She asks Ragnor to stay by the door to welcome people in and take their coats, as she touches Magnus’ shoulder and asks him if he would like a tour of the place.

Desperate to impress, he follows her around and listens attentively. The best part of this tour are the pictures of young Alexander with what must be his three siblings. 

Maryse looks at Magnus. “You know, I grew up with a single mother and a few siblings in a house not much bigger than this floor. And look where I am today,” While she makes it sound like an accomplishment she is proud of, she looks sad. She runs her finger along the picture of a little boy, sitting on the floor, reading a comic book. “I just wish the circumstances would have been a little different.” 

“You have a beautiful home and family, ma’am,” Magnus smiles.

“Please, call me Maryse,” She breathes out and stands tall again, and smiles back at him. “And thank you. Maybe one day, with hard work, you can have a place like this of your own.”

Magnus thinks of Edom, of their palace, their family mansion up in the mountains, their private beach resort, their many properties around the world but says, “That would be something.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Maryse’s smile is kind and genuine. He figures she means well. “Come, I’ll show you the bar.” 

Maryse explains his duties for the evening, which seem to boil down to keeping everyone’s glasses full. Ragnor walks around with a tray full of champagne glasses while trying to sneak himself a glass when he thinks no one is watching. 

Magnus fidgets with his black bowtie that’s part of the outfit and is glad he went with the topknot rather than the mohawk. He looks around the room and sees people he recognizes from the Rainbow Rally. 

He sees Valentine dancing with a woman who looks exactly like an older version of Clary. Clary and Jace are talking to that guy with glasses who played piano for little Madzie, who in turn has his arm around a beautiful girl with dark hair in a ponytail and a red dress. He recognizes her from the pictures and deduces that she must be Alec’s sister. Mentally he takes a note that he should try and talk to her tonight, as he has never seen her around The Max.

Andrew doesn’t seem to have much interest in anything other than trying to distract Magnus, hanging on a barstool. And Magnus likes the guy, but after several glasses of champagne literally everything that rolls out of his mouth is flirty and suggestive.

Luke walks up to him, looking very sharp. He has had them over for dinner several times now and they get along great. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, I thought you had a night shift at the police station?” he says.

“No, not tonight. Can I have some champagne?” He leans on the other side of the bar and nods at Andrew. Magnus hands him a glass.

“So, you’re friends with the family?” Magnus asks.

Luke looks a bit flustered. “Eh, yeah. Yeah. Maryse and I are... Old friends.”

Magnus sees Maryse across the room sneaking glances at him and Luke and he snorts. 

“Sure you are. I think your old friend wants your attention,” he winks, as he hands Luke another glass of champagne. Magnus watches him walk over to her, hand her the glass, and they clink. They’re giving each other meaningful looks and soft smiles, and it’s the sweetest thing.

He gets rudely interrupted by Raj, who appears in front of him and nods a greeting and gestures something that Magnus interprets as I would like a glass of champagne, please. He hadn’t seen them come in. He lets his eyes dance across the room as he fills a glass and spots Alexander with his siblings and their partners.

He has his head thrown back in laughter while his brother is bent over clutching his stomach and Magnus feels the butterflies come to life again. He realizes he has never seen Alec look so young and carefree.

Raj audibly clears his throat, and says “As I was saying..” and Magnus has to force himself to pay attention. “I can appreciate how you handled that guy with the knife the other day. I would have helped you out myself except, well, I had a cup of coffee in my hands. You know?”

Of course he gets what Raj is saying and he wishes he could wipe that smug expression off his face. Instead, he forces a tight lipped smile and nods.

“I bet you learned all that by fighting lions and tigers in the jungle and shit,” Raj says, sipping champagne.

There are in fact no lions or tigers in Edom, but Magnus doesn’t want to put any effort into correcting him. He’ll just have to go with whatever this conversation is gonna throw at him. “Yes, where I’m from, we have to be quite aggressive sometimes.”

Raj puts his elbow on the bar and points at him. “I’m all for that,” he says. “Especially in a relationship. You know,” he turns his gaze to Alec, who is still talking animatedly to his siblings. “They may not admit it, but these quiet types, they all want their man to… Take charge. Tell ‘em what to do.” His expression is predatory as he throws back the rest of his champagne and walks away, taking a new drink with him. 

It makes Magnus feel very uncomfortable, but before he can do anything, Valentine and his wife Jocelyn walk up to him for a drink and start a conversation. They’re a nice couple who are impressed with his disarming of Jordan and ask all about how he’s liking New York so far.

Suddenly they’re joined by Maryse, who grabs on to Jocelyn and smiles brightly at Magnus. “Make sure everyone’s got their glass kept full, I have a very special announcement to make,” she says and speeds off again. 

Jocelyn shrugs at Magnus. “Well, in that case, don’t mind if I do!” she says as she holds out her empty flute for a refill.

Magnus spots Ragnor going around the room with a tray, and suddenly everyone is looking at Maryse. She stands up the few steps that lead into the dining area, so she can overlook the room. She has the biggest smile on her face, clutching a full glass of champagne. Everyone -even her children- look puzzled. 

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” she lets her voice carry through the room easily and the chatter dies down. “Raj, please join me,” she says. He walks the three steps and stands next to her. Someone has turned the music down and it’s impossible to make out what song is playing.

“My dear friends and family. It’s wonderful to see you all this evening and I hope you all feel welcome in my home. But I have just heard some news that makes me the happiest woman in the world. And I cannot wait to share this with you!” she continues. “As you all know, Raj and Alec have been going together for quite some time. So I’m pleased to announce that just a few moments ago, Raj has popped the big question-” 

A chorus of oh! buzzes through the room. Magnus eyes are focused on Alec, whose demeanor has changed completely from mere minutes ago. He looks tense. 

“-and Alec has happily accepted!” Maryse holds out her glass in his direction. “So, as it turns out, this has become an engagement party!” 

Clary and Alexander’s sister cover their mouths with their hands immediately and their eyes have gone comically wide, while his brother has paled like someone punched him in the gut. And Alec looks absolutely fuming.

“To our grooms!” Maryse and Raj hold up their glasses and most of the guests say it back to them. 

Valentine Morgenstern, who is apparently terrible at reading body language, steps up to Alexander and pats him on the back. “Congratulations, man! I am so happy that you guys are finally tying the knot.” 

“Enough.” 

Alec doesn’t even look at Valentine and with his long legs he charges up the small steps in one go. He grabs Raj by the upper arm and grits something through his teeth and drags him out of the room through the dining area. 

The exchange has flipped the mood of the guests and everyone looks very uncomfortable. Someone decided to combat the awkward situation by turning up the music again.

He has got to find Alec. Magnus slips away from the bar, to the hallway and stops outside the door that leads into the kitchen. He stands still before turning the corner and he hears Alec’s voice, and decides to listen before making his presence known.

“Next time you and my mother get together to plan my life, I wish you’d let me in on it!” Alec barks out.

“But baby-” 

“Don’t touch me! You know what? There will never be a next time.” 

“But it’s our engagement party!” Raj says sweetly.

“No, it isn’t. We’re done. Get the fuck out of my life.” 

He hears the back door slam shut, and soft footsteps walking back to the dining area. 

After a few seconds Magnus peeks around the corner, glides through the kitchen and into the garden. He sees Alec sitting on a swing set, his long legs stretched out in front of him, surrounded by snow.

As he realizes he’s still holding on to a bottle of champagne, he walks up to him and offers it.

“No thanks, I’m really not in the mood to celebrate,” Alec says with a small voice.

“Who says you can only drink champagne to celebrate? It’s still alcohol,” Magnus suggests carefully.

Alec snorts and takes the bottle from him, and Magnus considers walking back inside to give him some space. “Wait,” Alec says, “Sit down. Keep me company. If you’d like.” 

Magnus smiles and walks to the other swing. He’s used to sitting with immaculate posture, which is hard on this thing that’s not a chair. Alec laughs at him.

“If we’re gonna be friends, you need to loosen up a bit,” he says.

“Oh, I can be loose,” Magnus slumps against the swing in the most exaggerated way. It gets him one of those lopsided smiles from Alexander, although it looks sadder than his usual. Despite that he says, “Much better.” 

He just wants to hold this man in his arms and tell him everything is going to be OK. “Are you alright?” is what Magnus asks instead.

Alec immediately sits up straighter and goes from sad to angry again. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. But I’m not going to let myself get pressured into marriage by Raj, or my mother, or anybody.”

Magnus thinks of his father and Camille. “I understand completely. Where I’m from, arranged marriages are very common. But I don’t think anyone should get married out of obligation.”

“You’re right! And how would I even consider marrying a guy like Raj. There’s a reason we never moved in together, you know.” He runs his hands that look red from the cold through his hair. “He just made me so furious back there. Guess this was just the push I needed to end things. I never should have let it get this far.” 

Magnus doesn’t know what to say. He’d love to hear everything he has to say about the topic, but now is not the time. So they sit, in a comfortable silence.

After a minute Alec softly asks, “Do you think I overreacted?”

Magnus considers his answer. “I think that someone’s first reaction is usually the correct one.”

A pair of watery hazel eyes stare at him. “You know, you’re very easy to talk to,” Alec whispers between them. “I feel like I could tell you anything.”

Magnus leans towards Alec and they stare at each other. It’s so cold, but he doesn’t care. He wants to drown in the swirling sea of browns, greens and blues that are this beautiful man’s eyes.

They are both startled when the kitchen door opens and Andrew leans out. “Oh, there you are. Hey Magnus, we need some more champagne over here,” he purrs.

“I’ll be right there.” Magnus rubs his hands over his arms. “I almost forgot I wasn’t here to party,” he smiles down at Alec apologetically and walks to the door, leaving Alec behind.

“Magnus?” he says just loud enough to hear. Magnus turns around. 

“Thank you for listening to me. I appreciate it.” 

“Any time, Alexander. Any time.” 

Just as he turns around, Alec calls for his attention again. Magnus wonders what’s left to say.

“Be careful. I think Underhill likes you,” he says with a faint smirk. Magnus raises both eyebrows and shrugs.

It’s not Andrew I'm interested in, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. 

---

A few weeks later and he can’t get Ragnor out of bed anymore. His phone is in his hands as per usual, so he must have fallen asleep calling or texting Cat again. He probably didn’t get much sleep at all.

“Ragnor, get up! We’ll be late for our shift,” he calls out. “I’ve been doing so well with Alexander and the rest of The Max, you can’t ruin this for me.”

Ragnor sits up straight on his pull-out sofa bed. “I am sick of this. I am sick of living like a peasant and I am sick of having like a twelve hour time difference from home. I miss my life back home and I miss having my favorite things!” 

Magnus isn’t impressed. “Are you done now? You’re sick of this and miss home? Fine, go do something fun for yourself, find something that reminds you of Edom. But you are going to volunteer your shift today!”

With a constant stream of complaints, Ragnor makes his way out of bed, takes a shower, and grabs an apple. “I’m so glad we only have one month left to go in this dump.” 

It feels like a slap in Magnus' face. Ragnor immediately seems to realize he shouldn’t have said that.

“I thought you understood. Forget it,” Magnus mumbles and barges out of the house.

---

His hurt over Ragnor’s comment and panic over having just one month left in New York fade as soon as Alexander walks up to him and asks him if he’d like to have coffee.

“I’d love that,” he says, as his heart does a little jump.

So they pick up a cup at Andrew’s, who looks a tiny bit jealous. It’s February now, and it’s a lovely cold but sunny day. They sit outside on a bench sipping their drinks.

Alec often talks about his relationship with Raj and how it has affected him. His very public engagement/break-up had an aftermath that kept hurting him over and over. Maryse had been very upset and insisted on several mediating sessions trying to get them back together. That angered Alec’s fiercely protective siblings and had led to a lot of shouting matches after closing time.

It turns out that Andrew hadn’t embellished any of his stories about Raj. Alec had indeed felt trapped and unhappy for years, not allowed to make any of his own decisions and feeling like his opinions didn’t matter.

“I think I stayed with him because people expected me to. You’ve seen my mom’s attempts at mending the relationship,” he starts and sighs. “You know what, I am so sorry. You must be tired of hearing about all my problems with Raj.”

Magnus touches his hand lightly. “No, not at all. It’s important to talk about these things. It sounds like you haven’t been talking at all for years.”

“Still, I feel like I owe you something to make up for it. How would you feel about dinner?” he asks, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean… I can invite Becky and Lydia too. And- Underhill, if you’d like?”

Magnus’ heart is beating out of his chest. “...Or we could have dinner together,” he says.

Alexander doesn't look at him. “You wouldn’t mind, just the two of us?”

“No. In fact, I’d love that.” Magnus smiles. To lighten the mood, he adds, “We can’t have dinner at my house, though. It’s very small and my roommate is Ragnor.” 

Alec laughs. “We can’t have dinner at my house either. My brother and sister have never heard of this concept called privacy,” he says with emphasis on the last word. “It’s OK though,” He hesitates. “We can go to a restaurant. It’ll be my treat, don’t worry. I’d love to take you out.” 

Magnus grins. “So, is that what it is? A date?” 

“If- If you’d like?” Alec looks at him with insecure eyes.

“Yeah. I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight.”

And so they sit together with matching smiles, until they get called back in to work.

---

“Oh my God, Ragnor, you are not going to believe it! I’m going on a date ton-” he’s dumbfounded as he looks through the living room. He finds Ragnor sitting in a pile of shopping bags.

“What the hell happened here?” he demands.

“You told me I should do something nice for myself. Because I’m homesick.” Ragnor looks at him from the pull-out sofa like a dog that has been caught while destroying a pillow in the middle of the living room.

“But what is all this?!” he points at the bags of what may be every single luxury brand sold in New York.

“I bought myself some nice things. And then I saw some things that I thought would look great on you. And Cat,” Ragnor admits. “Actually, a lot of this is for her.”

Magnus is astonished. “So is there any cash left at all?” 

Ragnor grimaces. “Yeah, there’s like, about 2000 dollars left? But it’s OK. I have a plan.”

Magnus eyes widen. That’s definitely not OK, but he has about a month left before he has to face the music. “I could strangle you right now. And just so we’re clear, I am not fine with any of this.” He frowns. “But there’s nothing we can do now. And I don’t want to. I have a date to get ready for and I don’t want anything to mess my chances with Alexander.”

“Oh, I bought you this amazing waistcoat, it’s in a black bag somewhere-” Ragnor pipes up.

“No! I’m supposed to be a poor man!” Magnus huffs and storms into the bedroom. He looks at his wardrobe and selects his favorite shirt and his tightest pair of jeans. He puts effort into his hair and make up. 

Downstairs, the doorbell rings. He can’t let Alexander see his living room in its current state. One last look in the mirror and he knows it’ll have to do. He grabs the remaining 2000 dollars and stuffs it in a paper bag The Max café uses to put pastries to-go in.

“Clean this mess up, put the bags in the bedroom or something,” he points at Ragnor. “And don’t wait up for me!” he yells at Ragnor before closing the door behind him and rushing down the narrow stairs.

He opens the front door. As soon as Alec sees him, he smiles wide and his eyes shine. 

“Let’s go,” he says.

And Magnus feels the butterflies in his stomach multiplying once more.

Chapter 5: First dates, shared plates and motorcades

Magnus had never met anyone who made him open up so effortlessly, and he knew Alexander might feel the same. They stroll through the city as Alec walks them to the place he had in mind. “We’re almost there,” he says. 

Magnus sees a homeless couple with a dog, huddled together on the side of the road. He takes the pastry bag with 2000 dollars out of his winter coat and gives it to the woman. She smiles faintly. 

“What did you give them?” Alec asks curiously.

Magnus flourishes his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, just some change we had lying around.” And leaves it at that.

They stop in front of the place Alec had in mind. He looks a bit uncomfortable and starts rambling. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but, I really like this place and they have just about everything and the atmosphere is great, and I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager, I hope you don’t mind-” 

Magnus looks at the sign saying Taki’s Diner and doesn’t get why Alec looks so conflicted.

“It’s- I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get out of this for as little money as possible, or that you’re not worth a nicer restaurant, or-”

Magnus holds his finger in front of Alec’s lips. He feels his warm breath stutter and tries to not let that distract him. “Alexander, it’s fine. If you love this place, I’ll love it too.”

That seems to calm his nerves, because he walks forward and holds the door open for him. Most tables are filled and 50s music sounds from the jukebox. To Magnus, it looks just like a scene from a movie he’d never thought he would get to experience in real life. They pick a booth in the corner for themselves, and Magnus lets Alec order for him. 

It turns out to be a bit of everything: fries, pizza, nachos. There’s bottomless sodas and Magnus knows he’s going to miss everything about this back in Edom.

Alec apologizes again for talking about Raj so often. He tells him it’s OK, but that Alec is obviously not. 

Alec plays with a french fry. “So, I’ve never told you -or anyone- the full story. And before you say I don’t have to… I know. But I want to. Just let me talk.” 

Magnus closes his mouth again, because he was about to assure him he didn’t have to. He grabs his diet cherry cola and swirls it around the massive cup. “Whatever you want to tell me, I will listen,” he smiles. Alec flushes.

“So, this is a difficult story for me to tell. And it still hurts like hell,” he clears his throat. 

“So, during my last year of high school I accidentally came out to my family over Christmas break. We always went to this fancy resort to ski and that year I met a guy my age. Before him I did know I was gay, I told Becky at 13 that I thought I liked guys. But since I never had a real crush before I still told myself that I maybe wasn’t. That I just hadn’t met the right girl yet.”

“But I met this guy from Colorado and I was blown away. He was out and proud and immediately took interest in me, and it was amazing. Izzy noticed right away that we were more than friends, and she lied to our parents for me when we wanted to sneak off to make out. It was great until a few days later when my dad walked in on us. And looking back, it was pretty innocent - all clothes were on and we never went any further than kissing. I was 17 and so inexperienced, having a guy interested in me like that was more than enough.”

“So my dad finds us. He kicks the guy out and I’m grounded for the rest of the trip so I could think about what I did and what I wanted to do with my life. My mom brought me food and sat with me sometimes. I wasn’t allowed to see my siblings.” Alec swallows thickly.

“Anyway, during the trip home you could cut the tension with a knife. And the proverbial bomb just exploded as soon as we came home and closed the front door. My baby brother Max was 6 at the time, Izzy and Jace were like 14 or 15. Basically it was everyone versus my dad. Max started crying and I took him to his room and we cried together. Poor kid had no idea what was going on, they had told him I got sick during our skiing trip.” he runs his hand over his face.

“Apparently my mom and Izzy had figured out I was gay years before and they were just waiting for me to feel comfortable enough to tell them. But my dad… He hadn’t realized and refused to accept it. He kicked me out after Max fell asleep. I disappeared for a few days and it was the worst thing I had ever gone through at the time. When I showed up at Becky’s after those few days on the streets, I found out my mom chose me and my parents were getting a divorce. And soon my dad moved to Los Angeles.”

He pauses and takes a sip of his drink. His other hand is on the table and not wanting to interrupt but still showing his support, Magnus squeezes it. Alec flashes him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but doesn’t pull back his hand.

“So my dad moves to LA. He gets visitation during the holidays. Not for me obviously, he made it clear he didn’t want me as his son anymore. Jace and Izzy were old enough to refuse to go see him. Max didn’t have a choice because he was still so young. I think he felt guilty about going to see him, like he was betraying us, even though we told him we understood.”

“Despite my parents’ divorce, my last half year of high school was actually pretty great. I decided to not give a fuck and be out. Becky and I have been friends since kindergarten and came out to each other at 13 and just stayed in the closet together. So my coming out gave her the courage to do so too. Her mom Elaine, she was so accepting of her, and me. We were the only out kids in our year, but we had each other. We went to prom together. It was amazing,” he smiles faintly.

“So, fast forward. My dad had spent years planning my career for me, and I had already gotten into Harvard on a scholarship. Since I didn’t know what I wanted, I went to business school anyway and graduated early with honors. I got myself a good job at an accountancy firm, owned by Raj's family. Raj was one of my seniors. I knew he liked me, but I wasn’t interested. Life was pretty good at the time. Jace and Izzy got into NYU, and Max was gonna turn 13 that summer. He told me he didn’t want to spend the entire summer with dad in LA, he wanted to hang out with us because he was big enough now and-” 

His voice breaks. He takes a few deep breaths and forces the tears back. Magnus keeps stroking his hand on the table in what he hopes are soothing circles.

“We told him that dad had already made plans for this summer, and that next year we would arrange for him to spend a part of the summer with us. He was OK with that. So he went. And two weeks before his 13th birthday… He and my dad got in a car crash and-” 

A lone tear runs across his cheek now and he has a tight grip on Magnus’ hand now. With his other hand he rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes out and looks back up, getting himself under control again.

“Sorry about that. They were both gone on impact. I don’t remember a lot from the weeks after that. I know I spent a lot of it in bed. I don’t remember the funeral. All I remember is that the day I tried to go back to work I was so fed up with everything, I quit on the spot. After that, Raj started pursuing me, I guess. And I don’t even remember saying yes to him? It just kind of happened. It’s pathetic, I know,” he chuckles.

His laugh is laced with self-deprecation and he avoids looking Magnus in the eye. 

“I have felt this... guilt for years. If I wouldn’t have been gay, my parents wouldn’t have gotten a divorce and my brother would still be alive,” his voice sounds raspy.

“Hey, you know that’s not true,” Magnus says softly. “You went through something traumatic. That changes people. It’s OK.” He caresses Alec’s knuckles. “Besides, you’ve been doing really well in taking back charge of your own life again.” 

“I guess I have been.” Alec gives him a watery smile. 

There’s a soothing silence for a bit where they stare at their joined hands.

“You know, it feels better than I thought, telling someone. Telling you. It feels… Freeing.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” Trying to lighten the mood a bit, Magnus raises his glass. “To freedom.” 

He looks up to Magnus through his long lashes and smiles. Magnus’ heart sings. Before either of them can say anything, they’re startled by loud knocking on the window. It’s the homeless couple from before, and they’re waving and yelling thank yous, before walking off again.

Apparently the interruption was exactly what Alexander needed. He laughs with an astonished expression. “You have the most amazing effect on people!” 

Magnus shrugs, uncharacteristically shy. “No, I really don’t,” he says.

“You do! I mean, look at what just happened. And that guy at the basketball game? People love you.” Alexander stares at him, with those intense hazel eyes of his. Magnus feels his layers of armor being stripped away.

“I bet where you’re from, people just... Throw themselves at your feet,” he says, not breaking eye contact.

Magnus feels his heart beating in his throat and knows he shouldn’t answer, but his curiosity wins out. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you have this inner glow. Like you’re above everything mundane. It’s almost…” he pauses to think. “Regal?” 

Magnus barks out an awkward laugh and doesn’t respond. If Alec only knew.

“So what did you do back in Edom?” Alec asks.

“Asides from research,” Magnus thinks for a bit and settles with something close to the truth. “I was in the family business.”

Alexander cocks his head a little. “And what’s what?” he asks, genuinely interested.

Magnus raises his eyebrows and takes a big gulp of his drink to buy himself some time. Well, apparently 'close enough to the truth' is going out the window again. He decides to go with the most common profession in Edom. “Eh, goat herding.”

Alexander chuckles and looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yes! Does this surprise you?” Magnus asks. He realizes he’s testing Alexander a little, to see if anything would change if his family business wasn’t exactly glamorous.

“I don’t mean to offend in any way but it’s just...” Alec pauses. “You seem so educated, so proper, so... Distinguished? I guess I didn’t expect that from someone who looks after goats all day.” 

Magnus can’t look directly at him while the white lies flow out of his mouth. “Well, the goats really do take care of themselves most of the time, which leaves a man with a lot of time to read.” 

Alexander seems to believe him, and in the back of his mind he feels Ragnor giving him a face that says I told you so. But the soft look Alec gives him makes him shake the feeling.

Should he tell this wonderful man that he’s been a prince all this time?

Taki’s has cleared out for the most part by now, and the lighting is softer. Someone has been going through Elvis’ greatest hits on the jukebox for the last 15 minutes. Before Magnus can blurt out his secrets, a server walks by and brings their bill in a leather booklet. 

Magnus moves his hand towards it, but before he can, Alexander moves his hand over it and slides it towards himself. “Please, let me. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I don’t want to take advantage of you, Alexander,” Magnus says, meaning it in more ways than Alec could know. 

“You’re not,” Alexander says, with a determined expression. “I knew you weren’t well off when I asked you out on a date. I don’t care about money. I care about you.”

And in that moment Magnus knows for sure that this beautiful, honest man is everything he was looking for. As if on cue Can’t Help Falling in Love With You starts playing. Magnus takes a deep breath as he slides out of the booth, stands up and extends his hand. “Care to dance?”

Alexander looks wildly unsure, but places his hand in his anyway. Magnus walks him over to the small, empty dance floor in front of the jukebox. 

Magnus turns to face him and runs his hands up his chest, to end up resting over his shoulders. Alec’s breath hitches, and he tentatively places his hands on Magnus’ hips. Together they softly sway to the music, cheeks resting against each other.

“I’ve never danced with another man before,” Alexander’s breathy whisper tickles his ear.

Magnus pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Alec’s eyes flick from his eyes to his lips, back to his eyes. “I think so.” 

Magnus feels himself drowning in those hazel eyes, and before he knows it, their lips touch. Once, twice. He rests their foreheads together and feels Alec’s arms moving around his waist to pull him closer, and he lets him all too willingly.

He closes his eyes and feels his heart explode and knees buckle as their lips meet again. Just as he thinks his brain is catching up to what’s happening, he feels Alec’s teeth passionately grazing his lower lip. And who is Magnus to deny him anything? As their kiss deepens he gets lost, and never wants to find his way back.

---

Magnus is ready to go, waiting around Alec’s office while he’s typing up one last email. He’s standing in front of a wall that holds, among his diplomas and children’s drawings, a lot of photos of people and places. Most of the pictures are older, and they make him smile. 

He recognizes a picture with his siblings he saw at Maryse’s house, where Max was still with them. Alec and Andrew at a concert. Young Alec with his siblings and Becky, Simon and Clary at a theme park. Alec with Madzie, who is holding up an ice cream cone that’s way too big for such a little girl. 17-year-old Alec and Becky with matching corsages at what must have been their senior prom.

One picture in particular makes him coo. Alec looks up, probably wondering what is going on, and smiles when he sees what Magnus is looking at. It’s a picture of him with Becky and Lydia on their wedding day. The brides are both wearing dresses and Magnus isn’t surprised to see that Alec looks stunning in a tux. They look like they can’t contain their smiles because of how happy they are.

“You mentioned you’ve been best friends with Becky since you were kids, but how did you meet Lydia?” Magnus asks. 

Alexander laughs and runs a hand through his messy brown hair. “Lydia is my best friend from college. We met during our first class and we just hit it off. She lived with her grandparents in Florida before Harvard, so I asked her if she wanted to spend some time in New York during summer. She did, and of course my mom had to throw a party for me surviving freshman year, and Becky and her family were invited…” he pauses with a smile on his face. “So I introduced them and I swear I literally saw sparks flying. Two years later Lydia proposed and the summer after that, they got married.”

“That’s beautiful,” Magnus says softly. 

“I know,” Alec flashes him one of his lopsided smiles. “I’m so happy for them. It’s the kind of fairy tale romance most people can only dream of,” he adds quietly, looking at Magnus.

They smile shyly at each other and look away. Magnus wonders if Alec feels what he feels as he stares at his shoes, feeling like a teenager.

The sound of high heels walking down the hall comes closer, and Maryse walks into Alec’s office holding a large bouquet. 

“Alec, can I talk to you for a bit?” she says. 

Her tone of voice makes it clear it wasn’t so much a question as it was a request for Magnus to leave the room. So he puts back the wedding picture, smiles at Alec and says, “I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby. Nice to see you again, Maryse,” he smiles, despite not getting much of an acknowledgement. 

As he walks down the hallway, he hears Alec asking her what she wants. And he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he can’t say he feels bad about it either, so waits at a distance where he can  just overhear their conversation.

“Just look at these!” he hears Maryse say. “And they smell great too. Raj must be spending a fortune on all of those flowers.” 

“And you are free to put them in your office along with the other ones, I still don’t care,” Alec says calmly.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To a museum,” Alec’s deep voice travels easily, even though his tone is softer now. “With Magnus.”

Maryse must be making a face, because next thing he hears him say is a mildly irritated “What?”

“You’ve said it yourself, Alec, he’s a goat herder!” 

“So what if he is? If I’m OK with that, you should be too. He’s a good, honest man, who obviously knows the value of hard work.” 

He hears Maryse’s heels click on the tiles. “Why don’t you just make up with Raj? He dresses real nice, and his family is doing well for themselves,” her tone, despite the message, is kind.

“Mom, not this again.” 

“I just don’t want you to struggle the way I had to, growing up,” she says, quiet and vulnerable. 

“I’ll be fine, mom. Don’t worry about me.” Magnus hears him give her a kiss, followed by footsteps.

Magnus drapes himself across the wall casually, fidgeting with the chipping polish on the nails of his left hand. 

“Hey,” Alec says softly as he stops in front of him. He puts his hand on his upper arm and kisses his cheek. Magnus' stomach swoops like he’s on a rollercoaster. “Let’s go.” 

Magnus follows him out of The Max. After Alec’s story, he noticed something he hadn’t thought about before. And since he’s not going to bring up that he overheard the conversation with his mom, he might as well ask. He fixes his scarf as the cold air hits him and says, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but the center, is it named after your brother?” 

“Yes, it is. Don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but there are these Batman comics, framed up on the wall in the lobby?” Alec asks.

“As a matter of fact, I have noticed those before,” Magnus says. Every time he walks past them, he feels as if they’re judging him for telling people his last name is Bane.

“They were Max’s, he loved comic books in general. When he was a kid he had his own superhero identity - The Max,” Alec recounts, with a broad smile on his face. “We all went along with it, he was so cute. Anyway, after the divorce my mom needed a new project in her life, so she took over a community center. And after he passed away, she did rename it. I think it was Izzy’s idea.”

Magnus smiles. “Whoever it was, it was a great idea.”

They take the subway to the museum. As they walk the last bit, the back of his hand brushes Alec’s and he wants nothing more than to hold his hand. Instead he asks, “So what museum have you picked out for us?” 

Alexander’s cheeks turn a little pink and he looks at the trees they’re passing. “I picked this one place that currently has a large exhibit on island nations in the Asia-Pacific.”

Magnus cocks his head, because he feels like that’s not all he wanted to say.

“I mean, it’s where you’re from, and I want to learn more about it,” he says, wringing his hands together like he’s nervous.

Magnus melts a little, it makes him feel brave enough to grab his hand. Alec blushes and grins down at him like he’s been given something amazing.

The exhibit is impressive. They walk through Polynesia and Micronesia, and Magnus loves it. He’s never been to any of these islands, but he has met some of their presidents and monarchs during official state visits to Edom. He tells Alec stories as if he wasn’t part of the formalities, or as if he’s learned about them by reading.

They stroll past Indonesia when he feels Alec tugging on his hand. “Look, Edom! 

Magnus smiles and looks at the ceremonial garb up on mannequins. There’s also vases, and decorative plates, and several ornate staffs used for their traditional martial arts style he knows so well. It’s weird to see these things that are so normal to him put up in a display.

“Tell me everything, what’s it like?” he asks, and Magnus is charmed by the genuine interest in his voice.

“Oh, you would love it there. It’s the most beautiful place on earth. The people are so friendly,” he looks at Alec. “And you? They would treat you like a king,” he adds cheekily.

Alec scrunches his nose and gives him a soft chuckle. They walk another few steps, before Magnus sees three familiar faces on the wall staring back at him. He suddenly feels nauseous and he feels sweat breaking out of every pore. It’s an official portrait of the royal family of Edom. His father is standing in the lavishly decorated room that exists for the sole purpose of taking these kinds of pictures in. His mother is on his right arm, and Magnus is standing on his left.

He’s sure that this particular photo is almost ten years old, but he has barely changed. And even if he’s wearing an extravagant tunic and his hair looks different, it’s unmistakably him.

Magnus drags Alec around the corner and kisses him passionately. 

Alec breaks it off after a few seconds. “Magnus, people are gonna see us-”

“Let them see,” Magnus says and kisses him again. “What do you say we get out of here?”

Alec looks confused, “Now?”

“Yes,” Magnus stresses, “Now.” 

---

Alec seemed surprised by the sudden change of plans, but went with it anyway. They ended up at a small burger place he loved, and Magnus insisted on trying Alec’s favorite. He had to admit, it was pretty good. A few beers later and pleasantly buzzed Alec insisted on walking Magnus home.

“Well, here we are.” Alec says, looking at their intertwined hands.

Magnus considers his options for a bit. He doesn’t want to take things to the next level yet, but he also isn’t ready for this date to be over. “Do you want to come up?” he asks hesitantly.

Alec’s eyes widen, his expression hesitant.

“No, no!” Magnus says, “Not like that. Just a drink. Remember, I live with Ragnor.” 

“Yeah, OK.” Alec releases a relieved breath. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Magnus smiles at him and walks up to the front door and opens it, and walks ahead of Alec up the narrow staircase.

“I’ll have to apologize for the mess, it’s not a very big place. And Ragnor has been extra grumpy lately because he’s homesick and-” he stops, noticing a note stuck to his front door.

It’s from Ragnor. Saying his parents are here. And they have taken him to their royal suite at the Waldorf Astoria. 

Magnus pulls the note from the door, crumples it up and sticks it in his pocket. He swallows thickly. What is he gonna do?

“Magnus? What’s wrong?” Alec asks, standing right behind him.

“Nothing, it’s just…” he turns around to face him. “There has been an incident? With the- the plumbing? We’re- we’re not allowed to go inside.” 

“Oh, well, we can go to my place,” Alec says. “I don’t live far, if you don’t mind my siblings.”

“That’s perfect, I’d love to.” Magnus smiles faintly, his heart beating fast in panic. He gives Alec a peck on his lips, and they walk down. 

He needs to get Alec home, and without coming across as blunt, say good night. And then he needs to get to the Waldorf Astoria as soon as possible before his father causes damage beyond repair. A thousand thoughts run through his mind and he doesn’t know what to say, which seems to worry Alec.

“Are you OK Magnus? I can help you out with fixing the apartment if that's what has gotten you this quiet.”

“I’m fine, it’ll be fine,” he tries to assure him. “So, your siblings will be home? What’s it like living with them?” 

And Alec talks. Magnus forces himself to pay some attention, but he can’t. Why are his parents here? How did they find Cat’s apartment? He still has time, they can’t tear him away from his normal life yet. More panic washes over him and he blinks fast to stop the tears. He gets ripped from his thoughts when Alec speaks.

“We’re here,” he smiles. Magnus smiles back and walks through the door. Magnus lets Alec take his coat and they walk into the living room.

“Mom?!” Alec sounds very surprised.

“Alec!” she waltzes over to him and rubs his arms. “And Magnus! So good to see you, my boy,” she says, as she embraces him. 

Magnus is glad Alec doesn’t think he’s rude for thinking this is weird, because their eyes meet over her shoulder with the same bewildered expression. 

“What are you doing here, mom?” Alexander asks.

“What? Do I need an excuse to visit my wonderful son and his new beau?” she smiles broadly. “I have to make a quick phone call though. Now don’t you go anywhere. Make us a cup of tea, so we can catch up!” 

She steps out and closes the door behind her. Alec still looks confused but walks towards the kitchen anyway. Magnus follows him.

“What was that all about?” he asks. 

Alec fills the kettle up under the tap. “I have absolutely no idea.” 

“Especially since this afternoon she tried to talk you into making up with your ex instead of going out with-” Magnus jolts, realizing he shouldn’t have overheard that conversation. 

A pained rather than offended expression crosses Alec’s face. “You heard that?” he asks.

“I apologize, I know I shouldn’t have.” Magnus apologizes. He checks his watch, he really should get to Ragnor as soon as possible.

Alec puts the kettle on and leans against the kitchen counter. “No, it’s OK. My mother was out of line, she is the one that should apologize.”

They hear a door open and close in the living room, and Alec turns to walk back in, so Magnus follows him. It’s Maryse, who greets them with open arms again, gesturing them towards the L-shaped couch. 

“I’m so sorry, but I really have to get going, Maryse,” Magnus says.

Maryse dismisses his comment with a flourish. “Nonsense, you can stay for a cup of tea, right?”

So they sit next to each other, awkwardly, like two teens instead of the late twenty-somethings they are. Maryse sits with them, looking ecstatic. “How was the museum, boys?”

“It was very nice, mom,” Alec says, a bit awkward.

“And did you go out for dinner?” she continues.

“Yes, we went for a burger?” Magnus isn’t sure why Alec makes it sound like a question, but he’s certainly not comfortable answering anything right now.

“Alec! You should treat your man better!” Maryse says exasperatedly. “Why don’t you make reservations at the River Café?” 

“I-” Alec opens and closes his mouth like a confused fish. 

Something beeps in the kitchen and Maryse jumps up. “Don’t you go anywhere, I’ll be right back, with tea!” 

Alec lets out a breath and turns to Magnus. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he whispers loudly, eyes wide.

Magnus decides he has to take the opportunity. “Me neither, darling. But I must leave.” 

“Is something wrong? Is it because of my mother? Because I’m so sorry about that,” Alec asks.

“I promise I will tell you when the time is right, but right now, I have to go, I’m sorry. Please excuse my leaving to your mother.” He gives Alec a chaste kiss on the lips and lingers a little, running his fingers along his strong jawline, wondering if it’s the last time he’ll be able to do that.

With a weak smile he rushes out the door before Maryse comes back.

---

Magnus sprints towards the main road as soon as he’s on the street. While the weather had been nice during the day, a steady drizzle now comes down from the sky. He hails a cab to the Waldorf Astoria. As they drive up to the hotel he notices that the flag of Edom is flying alongside the American one and his heart rate picks up even more - his father really is here. He pays the driver and doesn’t wait for change.

He barges through the hotel and wonders how he hasn’t been stopped yet looking the way he does when he sees himself in the elevator mirror. Ill fitting clothes, sweaty and his hair is a mess because of the rain. If his father sees him like this he’ll never let him out of his sight again for the rest of his life, he thinks.

He knocks on the door and holds his breath. When it opens, he’s face to face with Ragnor. Ragnor looks relieved and wraps him in a hug. “Oh thank god you’re here. Don’t worry, your parents are out.” 

“How did this happen?” Magnus hisses. He walks into the suite and closes the door.

Ragnor looks at him sheepishly. “After I went on that shopping spree and spent all our cash, I may have sent a request for 1 million dollar…?” 

"You did what?!" Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose. “I could strangle you right now but that won’t get us any further.” He paces for a bit. 

“Magnus, no offense but you’re a mess, your father will strangle you if he sees you like this. Go fix yourself up before they get back. I’ll find you some appropriate attire.” Ragnor points towards the bathroom.

After a quick shower he jumps into a much more traditional combo of an embroidered purple tunic and slacks. He grabs his eyeliner and applies it in a subtle fashion. Ragnor helps him attach crown-like jewelry to his top knot. 

Magnus stops to think. “Wait, you said my parents were out. Where did they go?” he asks.

Ragnor pulls back his hands immediately. “They, eh…”

“What?” 

“Well, they, they-” Ragnor sputters.

“Spit it out!” Magnus bites, now worried about what he’ll say.

“They went to Alexander’s place, the one that he shares with his siblings,” Ragnor admits.

“What?! Why would they do that?” Magnus yells.

“Because Maryse called them, saying they could find you there.” Ragnor looks guilty, but Magnus is back in panic mode.

“We have to go!” he says, running out of the bathroom. “We have to go right now.” 

Ragnor knows better than to go against him, because he’s right on his heels and they grab their coats and they’re back on their way to Alexander’s place in Brooklyn.

---

It doesn’t take them as long as Magnus feared it would. They storm out of the taxi running towards the right apartment. In the distance he sees a man walking that reminds him of Alec but with slouched shoulders, but other than that guy, the streets are surprisingly empty.

They find their way up and on their way through the hallway, they’re greeted with the sounds of a fairly heated argument.

“Asmodeus! Apologize to Ms Trueblood!” an exasperated voice that sounds like his mother is audible through the door. Magnus stops while his hand is already on the doorknob, and looks at Ragnor with a question in his eyes. Ragnor looks equally unsure of what’s going on.

“I will do no such thing!” his father’s voice booms. “This woman is beneath me and so is her son.” 

“Well, I don’t give a damn who you are!” Maryse says loudly, in the harshest tone Magnus has ever heard her use, “But if you say one more word about my son I will personally kick your royal ass out of this apartment! There isn’t enough money in the world to buy my son off!”

“Nonsense” Asmodeus scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous statement he’s ever heard. Ragnor nods that this would be a good time to enter the room.

They step into the living room and are greeted with looks of surprise, their argument forgotten. Queen Raniya lets out a sigh of relief and rushes to Magnus at once.

She cups his face and looks at him. “Are you alright, my boy?” 

“Yes, mother, I’m fine,” he chokes out while she kisses his forehead, after which she smothers him in a hug. He has missed his mother more than he realized, and relaxes in her arms.

After she releases him, Magnus looks around the crowded living room. Isabelle is holding onto Maryse’s arms, as if she’s trying to physically restrain her mother from launching herself at his father. She’s looking at Magnus with an expression that’s both hurt and awed, while Maryse tries to look composed but seems ready to combust.

She’s facing his father, who looks every bit the untouchable King of Edom he is. Magnus can read the disdain on his face, he doesn’t like standing in this peasant’s house one bit. He is surrounded by servants who look very uncomfortable, and Raphael is half a step in front of him and looks ready to break up a fist fight.

Raniya still holds on to his hands, and he feels Ragnor’s hand on his shoulder as he realizes that one person in particular is missing.

“Where is Alexander?” he asks.

“Your daddy here just drove him off!” Maryse spits out, eyes shooting daggers at Asmodeus.

Magnus fears the answer to what he’s about to ask next. He takes his hands from his mother and walks over to face his father.

“What did you say to him?”

“That is none of your business. We shall return to Edom at once,” Asmodeus says coldly.

“I will not leave without Alexander. I need to talk to him,” Magnus says, stubborn, determined to not let his father win their staring contest. He will refuse to break this time.

After a moment, his mother softly breaks the silence. “So you do care for him?”

A smile creeps on to Magnus’ face, just thinking of the man that stole his heart without even trying. He breaks eye contact with his father to look at his mother. “Yes. Mama… I think I love him.” 

Queen Raniya walks up to him and places her hands on his shoulders. “Then go after him,” she says with a soft smile.

Magnus returns her smile, thankful for his mother’s blessing.

“Magnus! I forbid it!” Asmodeus barks, while gripping his son’s upper arm.

Raniya slaps his hand away. “Oh, shut it, Asmodeus, our boy is in love,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

Magnus doesn’t know where his mother’s sudden support comes from and has never heard her go against his father, but he has no time to think about that right now. He is grateful for the distraction she provided and sprints out of the house. He realizes that the slumped figure he saw walking away coming up to the house must have been Alexander, so he runs in that direction. He can’t be far.

He spots Alexander as he’s about to walk down the stairs leading into a subway station. He calls out his name, but if he hears him, he’s choosing to ignore him. 

So he runs after him down the stairs, into the station, through the gates and down another flight of stairs that lead to the platforms. He keeps calling his name, and Alec keeps walking.

Magnus spots him making a sharp turn to the right and slipping into a waiting subway train as he’s a few steps away from the platform. The doors are about to close but he’ll be damned if he loses Alexander like this. So he forces the train doors open and squeezes into the train. 

The doors close behind him and he’s met with annoyed glares from fellow passengers.

He spots Alexander walking down the train, so he goes after him, mumbling excuses to people he passes. 

When he sees Alexander still, because he can’t walk any further, he stops at a distance.

“Alexander, please,” he begs.

Finally Alec turns around to face him, straightens his shoulders to make himself look as tall as he can be and steps towards him. Magnus is afraid he might punch him in the face - and if he does, he wouldn’t blame him. He probably deserves it.

Alexander doesn’t punch him, but his beautiful eyes are on fire as he pushes something towards Magnus. “When exactly were you planning on telling me?” he sounds as upset as hurt.

Magnus scrambles to look at what he shoved at him and his heart is pounding. It’s a crumpled up 100 Edom rupiah bill and he doesn’t know what to say.

Alexander found out he’s a prince because his face is on a banknote.

“I never meant to hurt you,” is the weak excuse he manages to articulate.

“Well, at least I solved the mystery of who sent me that Rolex!” Alec snaps. “You know, I never wanted any of that.” His fists are trembling by his side. “And I don’t want you.”

Magnus feels the eyes of their fellow passengers burning on his back. He wishes there was a better place to discuss this, but he’s going to have to roll with the punches. He needs to make Alexander understand why he did what he did.

“Alexander,” he begs. 

Alec raises his voice, “Look, just leave me alone!”

Magnus refuses to give up. “Alexander, please!” he swallows thickly. “I love you.” 

“Then what about the woman you’re going to marry?” he bites.

Fuck. Magnus lets out a pained laugh. “She’s someone my father arranged for me to marry, I don’t love her! Why do you think I came to America?”

“Your father told me,” Alec says darkly, “To sow your royal oats. To have some casual fun while you still can.”

“Oh no, Alexander,” Magnus says, “I came to America to lead a normal life for the first time. And then I found you. I- I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

“So why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me you were a -” Alec seems to have trouble forcing out the word. “A prince.” 

“Because I wanted you to love me for who I am,” Magnus feels tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m still the same person I’ve been all this time,” Magnus says desperately, “Should it matter that I’m a prince?”

A look of guilt flashes across Alec’s face as he looks down to his shoes. “It shouldn’t, but I -”

“Then tell me you didn’t care for me when you thought I was a goat herder,” Magnus interrupts, “And I promise I’ll never bother you again.” 

Alexander sighs deep as he rolls his eyes, but stays silent. Magnus is afraid to speak.

“It just wouldn’t work out,” he starts after a moment, “We’re too different. I am a burned out accountant who works at a Brooklyn community center and you’re royalty, for God’s sake!”

Magnus doesn’t want to hear any of those kinds of arguments. “Do you want me to renounce my throne? Because I will. If you’ll give me another chance, I swear to the Gods, I will.” 

Alec stands with his arms crossed, looking torn.

Magnus feels like he has nothing left to lose, so he spreads out his arms, and starts loudly, “From this moment on, I will no longer be the pri-” before Alec interrupts him.

“Magnus, no. I can’t let you do that. That’s not fair to you or your country.” 

“I do not care about my crown, I care about you,” he takes a step towards Alec and goes for broke. He knows they’ve only just met, but he wants to be with this man, forever. 

“Marry me, Alexander?” 

Alexander’s eyes widen and he gasps softly. He doesn’t answer.

“Go on pretty boy, take a chance!” a random passenger yells, followed by cheers of encouragement from others. 

Magnus feels sick.

The train rolls into the next station.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Alexander says hoarsely. “Goodbye, Magnus.” 

He barges out of the wagon and leaves Magnus behind. He wants to go after him again, but he can’t. His legs won’t move and he can’t breathe.

And Alexander disappears from his view as the doors close and the train comes into motion again.

---

His mother won’t speak to his father anymore, after the latter was unwilling to compromise on anything. Now they’re leaving. Magnus and Ragnor share one of the cars of the motorcade that takes the royal family back to the airport. 

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” Ragnor says softly.

Magnus can only choke out another silent sob in response.

Chapter 6: The End

The royal temple is decorated with the traditional wedding colors of Edom. Blue drapes and banners and fresh flowers brighten up the place, and Magnus feels miserable. He’s wearing a blue batik shirt with a high collar and heavy gold embrodings. His pants are solid navy and his feet are bare - this is a temple, after all.

His topknot is pulled together so tight that it hurts his scalp, but it has to, because his hair can’t look out of place in any of his wedding photos.

He feels empty. Crushed. He thought he felt empty during the courtship ritual, but that was nothing. The same important people are probably seated in the temple. It must look like a joyous occasion for them.

Asmodeus and Raniya are seated in thrones on the side of the dais. His parents started speaking to each other again two days after they came back from New York. Now they are holding hands on their shared armrest while they look pleased and proud of him.

It only makes him feel more heartbroken.

The sound of soft gamelan music that slowly swells indicates that the wedding ceremony is about to begin. He looks at the priestess, who gestures that he should turn around now.

And so he does. He faces the crowd and sees the bridal dancers with their big feathery fans covering Camille. The first two dancers hold sticks, and they sternly tap the end on the floor to signal the others. They take calm, confident steps to the rhythm of the music as they begin to move their fans. 

The first two move away, to dance ahead of the bridal party. 

Magnus closes his eyes.

When he opens them, two more dancers have moved away from the bride. 

He breathes. He can do this.

The party stops in front of the dais Magnus stands on. 

Who is he kidding, he can’t do this! He wishes he could run away. He doesn’t, because he knows he won’t get far and will only make a fool out of himself and bring international shame to his family.

The dancers shake their fans, so that the bells attached to them chime, a sign that they have reached the end of the aisle. A gong sounds, and one by one the dancers remove their fan to reveal his bride.

Magnus can’t deal with the idea of being eye to eye with Camille, seeing her smug expression, knowing she got her way. But he knows he can’t look away. He squares his shoulders and prepares himself as layer by layer gets peeled away to reveal…

“Alexander?” he whispers.

He turns around and looks at his parents wide eyed to get some kind of confirmation. His father has a private smile on his face and his mother nods with gleaming eyes. Maryse and Luke have joined them without Magnus realizing, and they stand next to his parents’ throne with big smiles on their faces.

So he looks back to Alec, who stands at the foot of the dais, in the same traditional dress as Magnus - except his heavy golden embroidery is set on cream colored batik instead of blue. He shrugs with a shy smile that’s a bit goofy and crooked and genuine and just so him.

So Magnus does the only logical thing he could do in this situation.

He rushes down the dais, grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss that is in no way appropriate for a traditional temple ceremony. Alec doesn’t seem to care either, because he kisses him back just as fiercely.

Someone clears their throat loudly over the buzzing of the guests. Magnus pulls back and then they’re just smiling at each other. He feels like his heart might explode 

 “Your Highness,” Raphael says, “Better save that part for after the ceremony.” 

Magnus nods at him with a grin he can’t wipe off his face anymore. He lets out a short breath and pulls himself together. He hops back on the dais to resume his position and holds out his hand for his groom to take.

Alec slides his hand into his, and stands next to him. They step forward and kneel.

The high priestess starts chanting the ancient words, to which the other priests and priestesses chant their reply. And Magnus feels like he’s on top of the world.

---

After the ceremony they’re guided out of the temple back into the bright sun, to an open carriage drawn by four white horses. The people of Edom City are waving flags and cheering for them as they’re being taken back to the palace.

They never stop holding each other’s hand, as they wave to the crowds with their other hand.

Alexander looks a bit overwhelmed, as he leans into Magnus. 

“Would you really have given all of this up, just for me?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

“Of course!” Magnus responds, “We could still give it all up now, if you’d prefer.”

Alexander looks at him pensively. His hazel eyes sparkle as much as the golden thread in his shirt and Magnus falls in love all over again. A smile breaks his thoughtful expression.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m good. Besides, you already promised me they’d treat me like a king here,” he adds, grinning mischievously. 

“As they should,” Magnus says, lifting up their joined hands to kiss Alexander’s knuckles.

They’re quiet for a bit.

“What did we just do?” Alexander breathes out as they ride through the palace gates.

“I think we just got married,” Magnus says, still wondering if this is a dream he’ll eventually have to wake up from. “And you’re the prince consort of Edom now.”

Alexander slowly shakes his head with an incredulous expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted on the subway,” Alec says, still clutching Magnus’ hand.

“I’m sorry for lying by omission about being a prince,” Magnus apologizes in return.

The carriage comes to a smooth halt. They have a few moments before they’re expected to make a grand entrance at their own party, and they plan to take this moment together.

Shouldn’t they have talked this through before getting married? Alec swallows thickly as he rests his forehead against Magnus’ and holds on to his hands even tighter. As if he heard Magnus’ thoughts, he speaks. “For some reason I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life,” he whispers.

“Me neither,” Magnus says as he caresses his cheek with his thumb. He leans forward, and kisses his husband softly.

“Come on you guys, you’ll have time for all of that later!” Lydia calls out from the doorway, where she’s standing with Becky and Andrew. “Besides, half of New York is in here getting impatient. They want to congratulate the happy couple!”

Magnus barks out a laugh and looks at their faces.

“What?” Alec grins, “Did you seriously think Jace and Izzy and the rest would miss my wedding?”

“Well then, let’s go,” he replies. “We have to start the rest of our lives together with the biggest party Edom has ever seen.” 

Alec’s smile is brighter than the sun, and Magnus just knows he has found his happily ever after.