#but still used magnus-focused shots/moments

[phynoma]

Oh hi!

I'm Phyn! I write things. I'm not going to get into a bunch of identity stuff, but I'm queer, I'm an adult, and I like writing queer adult stuff. Mostly horror (see: queer) and absurdity (see: the world)

I have degrees in english, theology, and more theology, which just means I have a bunch of experience doing critical thinking and analysis of storytelling, and enough imposter syndrome that I don't know how to put that on a resume.

FANDOMS!

If you're already following me it's probably for Pillars of Eternity, TMA, or LOTR/Silmarillion. I cycle through hyperfixations every few years. It's still TMA/TMAGP right now. You can find my TMAGP sideblog here, where I just collect art.

Other things I like: Fallen London, everything by Pia Foxhall/not_poignant, re:dracula, SILT VERSES, Rivers of London, Murderbot, Critical Role, Saga, Wicked+Divine, anything by Neil Gaiman, I Am in Eskew, norse myths, egyptian myths, jewish myths, the dragonlance books (don't judge me they were foundational), pretty much everything Mike Flanagan makes, and much much more

WRITING!

I'm on ao3 as Phynoma! What do I write? Well. I write in-depth explorations of characters placed in harrowing situations which draw out the very inmost parts of their vulnerabilities and--

Smut. I write smut, okay?

Almost all of these fics are explicit and PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD mind the tags, I am *very* careful with my tagging for good reason!!!!

HERE YA GO, YA FILTHY ANIMALS!

The Magnus Archives:

I mentioned this is my current fixation, right?

an extant form of life: pollen fic! You could say, maybe, that the Consuming AU uses pollen tropes, but I'm counting this as my first-ever pollen fic. Jon/Tim, Jon/Martin, maybe Jon/Tim/Martin, we'll see if Sasha gets thrown in there. Ongoing.

Hey, Jude: A hurt/comfort fic about what happened after Jon shook Jude Perry's hand. Jon & Georgie & the kindness of strangers (not those strangers) Oneshot.

The Consuming AU: My pride and joy. My baby. I started this halfway through listening to TMA the first time and finished the original fic in about two months in time for the Rusty Quill Big Bang of 2023. Canon is basically the same, with the addition of "what if there was a Entity of Hunger, (fear of) Intimacy, and Codependence?" Also Jon is turning into a succubus. Main fic is complete at a little over 100k words. Sometimes I add one-shots to the series.

~Incredible bookbinding done by @bluejayblueskies HERE ~Art of human-looking Rhia (by me) HERE and commission of eldritch angel Rhia by @isbergillustration HERE ~Commission of Naadia by @dcartcorner HERE

Kittens & Kink AU: Fluffy Somewhere Else one-shots. Cat play. Mostly nonsexual kink. Oliver/Jon/Martin. Ongoing, until I get bored of it, basically.

Pillars of Eternity:

The In-Between Series: A series of fics following the relationship of Watcher Mirad and Aloth Corfiser, ten years or so after the events of Deadfire. The world of Eora is ripe for a new cataclysm, and these two elves are trying to finally have the relationship they've been dancing around for two decades. Ongoing, on hiatus as my hyperfixation is elsewhere. I do plan to finish it, though.

Moments: same universe and characters as above, focusing more on events that happen in canon-- ie, during gameplay. Complete.

Faetales:

Mat & Kal: Fae AU: You know how sometimes you keep writing characters and put them through a blender so many times that they just become something completely new? That's this AU. Mateo and Makalo are two ancient fae beings trapped in the human world during the events of The Ice Plague (by not_poignant) who become bound by each others' lives and deaths. They hate each other, they love each other, they're in weird psychosexual sadistic codependency with each other. They're a cat-person and a snake-person. I'm not a furry but I like some of their ideas, okay? Series complete.

See commissioned art of Mat & Kal by @shojoshark HERE

The Silmarillion:

Mistakes Were Made: Imma be real, this is just straight up torture porn. Sauron is punished by Morgoth after the loss of the Silmaril to Beren & Luthien. Basically, I was annoyed by all the fluffy Angbang fics I was reading and wanted to depict them in all their horrifying, codependent glory. Complete.

Cost of Surrender: I read a really good fic about what it took for Mairon to grovel/debase himself to Eonwe to gain his freedom and I took it a bit further. Complete.

Good Omens:

the beautiful and the fitting: pretty sure the title of this is a quote from St. Augustine, too. I almost didn't include this one because I don't even remember what it's about. Fluffy sex times with nonsexual beings, I think. I started writing it because Good Omens is one of my favorite books, but tbh the fandom for the show exhausts me and I don't know if I'll come back to this. Abandoned, probably.

[envihellbender]

Part two of TMP Gerry and Michael? o:

Characters: Michael Shelley, Gerry Keay (The Magnus Protocol / Archives)

Part one

Michael stared at Gerry’s neck from the moment they sat down. They didn’t normally notice things, they knew them, but they didn’t see them. However, right now it was clear as day, a strange grey pattern showing spikes all twisted together like a braid. It was strange, because it looked just like what someone they knew from the Institute used to doodle everywhere… But he wasn’t dead. Michael couldn’t explain how they knew, they just felt him still. But he wasn’t really here, he was distant, he hadn’t shown any interest in Michael and Gerry since they left.

“Have you only ever had the dead speak through you? Never had someone alive?” Michael asked suddenly, throwing Gerry who did a double take and began chewing his thumb anxiously. They felt guilt twist in their gut, perhaps they shouldn’t have been quite so blunt.

“Yep. No one else. Just the dead,” he mumbled, clearly wanting this conversation to be over.

“Because your latest one isn’t from a ghost,” Michael pressed, Gerry hadn’t noticed the new tattoo. It must be recent, so much so they didn’t see it in the mirror that morning. Gerry’s spine stiffened and he stared for a moment. Michael waited patiently, understanding that Gerry needed a moment. It was a rather strange day, Michael thought, he woke up feeling much less floaty and distant, with the other Michaels in his mind actually behaving themselves. That was good, absolutely, it meant he could fully appreciate every single one of Gerry’s freckles, but it was… odd. It was unprecedented. It felt strangely heavy. As if his body had tripled in weight and he could feel the air tightly around his body. And now it seemed Gerry’s situation was different to. Something was wrong.

“My neck,” Gerry said quietly, his hands instinctively touching his throat. “It’s… fuck!” He said suddenly pulling his hand away, he grew pale and his eyes widened as drops of blood appeared on his fingers. Michael reacted quickly, which was something they never did. They grabbed the serviettes and wrapped them around Gerry’s fingers. “It’s sharp. Really sharp. Like… like when I jabbed myself when doing your T shot.” The both of them were silent on edge, neither of them wanted to say it, did they even need to? Michael thought.

“My head… it’s quieter. There’s only- there isn’t one me but it’s like there’s a lot of me all hanging around in a living room and I’m leading the conversation.”

“That’s good! That’s really good,” Gerry said, unable to repress his wide smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is but-” Michael squirmed, they wrapped their arms around themselves. “I’ve been like this most of my life. Ever since the experiments when I was five. And now I’m… Different? It’s good. In some ways. Things are clearer. Easier. But it’s … it’s different. And it doesn’t feel… It’s-”

“Like you’re a drummer who’s been asked to be lead guitar and everyone acts like you’re always the one who shreds?” Gerry suggested with a shrug.

“I- yes. That- yeah that is- that’s a good analogy,” Michael said, eyes focusing on Gerry’s hands which seem to still be bleeding. It wasn’t enough to be worrying, just enough to be strange. “Have your markings- have they… reacted to stimuli before?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Gerry furrowed his light eyebrows as if trying to remember the sensation. “Usually it’s like… temperature. Like it’s warm or cold. Usually there are thoughts alongside it. That was just a prick and the sound of giggling.”

“You don’t think…” Michael began, they swallowed and wrapped their dufflecoat around themselves protectively.

“Our childhood friend from the Institute, the stabby one, is back?” Gerry’s tone was sardonic and a little bitter, mostly he sounded cheerful, happy, as a default. Occasionally a slither of dark humour struck through.

“Friend is a stretch.”

“Maybe he’s dead and this is how he’s letting us know.”

“Hm. No, I don’t- I don’t think so.”

“Well, look,” Gerry sighed and smiled. He leant forward, his eyes bright and optimistic. As was his way, for better or worse. “Right now all he’s giving me is this dangerous albeit slightly sick neck tattoo. So, wait for him to find us?”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Not sure we’ve got an alternative. Besides, GG’s got the security up pretty high.”

“Hm. I’d prefer it if I could keep you safe,” Michael said with their teeth pressed into their bottom lip, their eyes widening with worry. Gerry stared for a moment, he blinked a little rapidly, stunned. Michael supposed they didn’t usually speak so openly about their feelings, they usually couldn’t.

“I- well- I mean- what, move in together?”

“Maybe?”

“I- maybe if one of my paintings sells big, babe,” Gerry joked with half a smile, he was clearly worried about the change in demeanour, and honestly so was Michael.

[solarisrasa]

All I Could Bring Myself to Want is You pt 5

A Malec fic canon divergent from the moment Alec hands the Family Ring back to Maryse Lightwood.

Read it here on Ao3

part four

Awareness came slowly, rolling over Alec like syrup and leaving him feeling sluggish. He pushed himself up, familiar and much missed golden sheets pooling around him, and squinted around the room in the fading light. It took longer than he liked for his mental functions to grasp his surroundings and the time.

  Angel, how long was I asleep?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, blinking rapidly. He could hear the low murmur of Magnus’ voice and decided to make himself slightly more presentable before facing his possibly-maybe-boyfriend.

After a quick trip in the bathroom and a change of clothes, entirely his own this time, he steeled himself and headed to the living room.

Magnus was sitting in his blue chair, head tipped back and phone held to his ear.

“Cat, I will tell you when I think it’s a good time. For right now, let us try to straighten ourselves out.”

Alec paused, then decided he might as well sit down. Magnus would notice him in a second anyways.

“He’s awake now, so I’m going to go. Give my love to my Sweetpea and tell her I’ll visit soon.”

Alec missed Madzie too, but he had no delusions to Catarina’s feelings for him and respected her right as a parent.

“Goodbye Catarina.”

Magnus sat upright, lowering his phone, and looked at Alec with a small smile.

“Sorry. She’s been...concerned. About both of us.”

Alec nodded, “You’re her best friend. I’m surprised she wasn’t angry I was here. Well, not angry enough to show up at least.”

Magnus frowned at him and Alec looked at his folded hands. He felt off-balance again. He was well-rested for the first time in forever, Jace wasn’t with him, and he had no idea where to begin with Magnus.

“Are you hungry?”

Reflexively Alec shook his head. He was hardly ever hungry, too focused on just pushing through each minute to do more than eat for sustenance.

“Well I am. Thai sound alright?”

He smiled a little at the easy way that Magnus worked around him and nodded, “Sure.”

Magnus stood with easy grace, flourishing his hands, “Salad rolls and a green curry still your preference?”

He nodded again, thinking about the flavors of the dish and realizing he was actually a little hungry. Probably a by-product of sleeping for so long.

He sat quietly while Magnus placed their order, talking for an extra minute when the man on the line asked why he’d stopped ordering for so long. Alec couldn’t help but relax a little listening to him talk. With a promise of an extra tip and the usual no questions asked about how he picked up the food he finished the call.

Magnus started making himself a drink, silence settling between them. Alec watched him move, drinking in the sight of him in deep red and brown. He’d missed the flash of rings and the extra movements that made it seem like everything Magnus did was a dance. He didn’t realize how long he’d sat and just watched until Magnus was holding a glass out too him. He took it slowly, smelling it first and raising an eyebrow at the faintly tropical scent.

“It’s a little sweet, I thought you might need something, you seem...tense.” Magnus explained, stepping toward the blue chair.

Alec’s hand shot out, wrapping gently around Magnus’ wrist.

“Will you sit with me?”

Magnus looked at him, his own clear drink in his other hand, and smiled. He stepped and sat with exaggerated movements and arranged himself beside Alec so they could brush against each other if Alec shifted just a little.

“Better?”

Alec leaned toward Magnus so their arms touched and sighed, “Yes.”

Silence fell between them again and Alec took a sip of his drink, approving of the sweet coconut flavor immediately.

“These seem a little more dramatic than your usual style.” Magnus said, tapping a finger to one of the runes on Alec’s cheeks. Immediately he averted his eyes, taking a large drink and playing with his ear cuff, “That was terribly clumsy of me Alexander, I apologize.”

Alec shook his head, “No. Magnus, it’s okay. We’ve agreed to start over but we aren’t actually back at the beginning. I just, I don’t know what to tell you first or what you’ve guessed or know or what’s just me overthinking things I-” He sat his drink on the coffee table and turned to face Magnus properly, “I’m so grateful that you’re willing to try again. I know it’s going to take us a while to figure this, us, out and I am trying not to just dump everything in your lap at once. I want to tell you  everything. Hand on the Sword I will eventually, but for right now it’s probably better if you ask whatever pops into your head otherwise I’ll never say anything.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, “That was rather self-aware of you darling.”

Alec blushed, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I managed to screw up before. I’ve also had a lot of input on those thoughts. Jace and I haven’t back off the bond in nearly a year. Today is the most muted it’s been in ages, and it’s only a little quieter. It’s still not comfortable to talk so much but, I have too.”

Magnus inclined his head, his brown eyes searched Alec’s features for something, “So, these?”

He brushed his knuckles carefully against Alec’s cheek.

“Yeah. One is for mom. I want to talk about that, with you, but not...not tonight. The other is for...everything else. You, Clary, all the parts of me and Jace, everyone we did lose in Alicante and the future that  almost was.”

Magnus nodded, then tapped his own cheek.

“I was already going to bear the one for mom, but someplace private. Then we were called to Alicante to give an account of the changes that had happened at the Institute. I received a lot of uncomfortable attention while we were there and there were, and still are, a lot of misconceptions about what happened between us. After a talk with my dad I decided to wear them where it would be plain to everyone that I was too damaged to consider the things they wanted from me.”

Magnus took his hand, grounding him, “What did they want?”

Alec swallowed. He didn’t want to explain this so early into their tentative reconnection, it laid too many things on the table and yet… He knew he loved Magnus and the Magnus still loved him, whatever else was in their way.

“It’s a common saying, that Nephilim love only once. I don’t know how true it is, it’s hard to quantify, but we aren’t a fickle people. When we really, deeply, love we do it for life. It’s rare to hear of someone losing a lover and finding another, but not so unusual to hear they marry or remarry for political standing. Bloodlines, family, it’s important to us. Usually when someone from a family with good standing loses their lover, or often if they don’t fall in love before a certain time, it’s almost expected that they will make a political or social match. It’s why there wasn’t a lot of question around my proposal to Lydia. She had already lost John and I had never looked twice at anyone.”

Magnus had a carefully neutral expression, listening without comment or judgement but his hold on Alec’s hand had tightened.

“It was well known that you were the only person I’d ever really been with and with you gone and an unclear picture of what happened it was widely assumed I would be entering an  arrangement. Especially after I’d stepped down and with rumors flying about being an outcast in the Downworlder’s eyes. I didn’t know how to stop the assumptions and was in very real danger of losing it if I received another offer when my dad talked to me. Mourning runes are symbolic and to wear them prominently after a loss, especially romantic or familial, implies a lack of desire to move forward, a need for time. We almost never wear any rune on our faces, so-”

Alec broke off, gesturing with his free hand to the stark lines on his cheeks. He reached for his drink again, keeping his left hand in Magnus’, and sipped too give himself something to do.

Magnus sat his own glass down, taking Alec’s hand in both of his and rubbing his thumbs over the back.

“I know you Alexander and I know what it must’ve cost you, to wear your pain like that. I am sorry you felt like you had to, but I am also selfishly glad that you chose to. I can’t speak to how Nephilim love, your people are frighteningly good at keeping such things deeply buried, but I know how I love, how I hope you do and the thought of you trying to force yourself into another match for ‘honor and family’ is unbearable. If you want to keep them, it is your choice, but I hope you know you don’t have too. We didn’t hide the first time and I certainly don’t intend to now. Downworld politics be damned.”

Magnus brought Alec’s hand to his lips and Alec smiled softly. Trust Magnus to see him and to know what he needed to hear.

“I haven’t decided yet. Everything has, well, it’s happened so fast. Again.”

Magnus laughed then and it eased the seriousness that had encased them, “We don’t do things by halves Alexander.”

They smiled at each other and Alec felt the spark of magnetic energy that Magnus always created in him pull at him. He finished his drink and set the glass aside, reaching for Magnus. He smiled and came easily into Alec’s embrace. They paused, noses brushing and just breathed one another in before Alec could take it no longer.

Their last kiss had been painful, a goodbye that Alec had been too weak to resist and Magnus too desperate to savor. This kiss was soft, a relief to the core of each of them and a gentle hello. Magnus’ lips were warm against Alec’s and the lingering stickiness of his coconut drink flavored them as they moved together. Alec sat his large hand on the back of Magnus’ neck, holding him gently as he deepened the kiss.

Magnus relaxed into him, his own hands framing Alec’s face as they pressed against one another. They parted enough to look at one another, neither moving their hands, and Alec had to blink quickly as moisture gathered in his eyes. Magnus’ cat eyes looked back at him, a tear rolling down his cheek and sliding into the crease of his smile.

“Hello Alexander.”

“Hi.”

They moved together for another quick kiss and then parted slowly as Magnus’ phone buzzed. Magnus looked more relaxed and Alec smiled at the sight.  

“Our food is ready. Dining room?”

Alec hummed, “Balcony?”

Magnus pretended to think about it but couldn’t stop the creeping grin and the way he looked at Alec made him warm someplace that had been cold for too long.

“Go, snap us our dinner. I’ll grab the forks, and some water.”

Magnus winked at him and stood, brushing his hand against Alec’s shoulder as he went to the balcony.

  Angels, he’s beautiful.

-

When they finished eating Magnus pulled Alexander through a portal for dessert, the two of them sitting in a gelato shop in Italy. It was easy to fall into gentle conversation, Alexander told him about Izzy and Simon and how exasperating it was to constantly walk into the middle of conversations that he wasn’t sure were private trying to deliver his and Jace’s field reports.

Magnus kept his own topics light, mostly musings about redecorating parts of the loft and updating his closet. They were careful to keep away from more heavy conversation but it didn’t feel stilted or unnatural, just like had both agreed to set it aside for a little while.

The shop was quaint and Alexander spoke Italian beautifully, the result of the Latin he’d grown up speaking as easily as English. Magnus had found that tidbit fun, he’d always assumed Alexander simply had a passion for the language or at least a functional need with how often it cropped up in Shadow world dealings. Instead it seemed that Nephilim were all able to speak it and often used it as a universal language when dealing with Institutes around the world.

“I see that Shadowhunters are almost as secretive as warlocks when it comes to matters of culture.”

Alexander’s brows furrowed as he thought and then he shrugged, “We don’t have a lot of need to share ours. Most of it relates to doing our duty or to personal relationships and well, those typically only involve other Nephilim. We never really talked about this stuff before, I don’t know if there are any traditions I ignored for you?”

Magnus laughed, warmed by the consideration, “Not really. There are some vaguely outlined ideas about formal courting. We are an immortal race you know, we hold onto some pretty outdated things sometimes. It’s not required or expected of any non-warlock, or even a young warlock, to know anything about those. Usually formal courting is only done between two warlocks who intend to bind themselves together, a permanent, or at least  very long, commitment. Otherwise most of our culture is tied to celebrations, our laws, and, of course, markings.”

He hadn’t thought before he rattled off the list, swirling the last of his gelato playfully with his tongue but Alexander went still. He swallowed around the cream in his mouth, ready to apologize when Alexander looked back at him, smiling tightly.

“These more than one kind of mark then?”

Magnus winced, “Yes.” He spoke softly, wanting Alexander to understand, “We leave them on those who mean a great deal to us, those who mark our lives, those we love. Sometimes we leave little things on those we dislike as well, though it’s less common. Here.”

He rolled up his sleeve and let Catarina and Ragnor’s marks show. A soft white symbol and a green bloom on the inside of his forearm, raised just enough to indicate they weren’t tattoos.

“These are marks of lifelong friendship, they signify the bond between the three of us, our promise to stand together and to protect and care for one another through all of time. This-” He shifted up his other sleeve to show a pretty yellow flourish, “is a mark of gratitude and friendship from Tessa. These marks are permanent. Not all of them are and I have borne a great many marker of thanks, of fun, of fleeting friendship, and a few that symbolized my opposition of another. Usually we only wear those in times of deep unrest, a sort of declaration of loyalties and lines in the sand. All but one mark is consensual and painless.”

Alexander reached out and touched just under Catarina’s mark, “I’m glad you have these.”

Magnus watched him as he traced the marks with his eyes, “I’m not the only one of us who bears one.”

Alexander flinched, “Magnus-”

“Why didn’t you let Cat remove it?”

He shook his head but didn’t answer and Magnus frowned.

“She told me she offered to and you refused. I know it hurts you, why did you tell her no?”

“It’s my choice.”

Magnus ignored the warning, pushing, “But why make the choice to keep it?”

“It’s my body-”

“It’s hurting you.”

“I don’t notice it anymore.”

“Let Catarina remove-”

“I don’t want to!” Alexander’s voice cut up sharply and Magnus blinked. Gone was the relaxed man he’d managed to coax out, in his place was a hard mask and tight shoulders. Magnus sighed, he’d let himself believe that everything was fine for a moment too long.

“I’m sorry. It’s...It’s my decision Magnus. I-” Alexander was visibly struggling and something curled tight around Magnus’ lungs.

  If I push him too hard he’s going to leave me again.

The thought rose unprompted and Magnus forced himself to breath around it. He’d been caught up in how well they’d managed to come back together he’d not allowed himself to think in detail about how they’d fallen apart.

He saw the shuttered look in Alexander’s eyes and he could remember with perfect clarity the same expression in the low-light of Maryse’s shop. He could remember the pain in Alexander’s face on the balcony outside his office when Magnus had been too drunk not to lash out.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry too. It’s not my place.”

Alexander nodded slowly even as Magnus clenched his jaw. The gentle music that had been soothing a moment ago danced on his nerves now and he sighed, “We should get back. Jace is going to be back soon.”

Again he got a nod. They cleared their small table in silence and Magnus portaled them back to the loft from just outside the shop.

“I need a shower.” Magnus said, stepping away.

Alexander’s warm hand closed around his forearm and he turned slowly to find him looking determined.

“Magnus, nothing is going to make me walk away from you ever again.”

Magnus blinked, breathing in slowly, “You can’t promise that Alec.”

“I am. I can’t control what might happen to me or what you do, but I am never going to be the one who chooses to leave or who chooses for you again. I just...I need you to know that.”

Magnus wanted so badly to believe it but he knew he wasn’t quite the same as he had been before Edom, he knew they were going to have to address the new power thrumming under his skin. There was also the returned immortality and all the rest they had yet to address both about their year apart and Magnus’ past. Alexander had heard some of the ugliest pieces but certainly not all of them.

“I know you want to make that promise.”

Alexander’s expression tightens and he swallows visibly.

“Magnus…” He looks so lost in that moment and Magnus’ heart aches for them both. His expression shifts to one of familiar determination and Magnus braces himself, Alexander always surprises him and this is no different.

“I want you to look at my memories.”

Magnus stared at him in awe. Alexander knew what he was offering, knew that to share memories was to share every emotion he felt in that moment and that it was a terribly vulnerable thing to do.

“Please Magnus. I-I can’t stomach you not knowing how I feel about you, or not trusting it. If I can show you, it might easier than trying to explain everything and I need you to know how much I love you.” Alexander sounded frantic, his hands raising to frame Magnus’ face, “Please.”

“You don’t have too.”

“I  want to. Please.”

Magnus covered Alexander’s hands with his own, “I will, if you still want me to tomorrow. We’ve had a trying couple of days-”

“I slept almost all of today.”

“For what sounds like the first time in a year? Alexander, trust me, we can do this in a day, maybe two. We have  time.”

At that Alexander seemed to finally relax and Magnus pressed their foreheads together.

“We’re doing remarkably well darling, there’s no need to rush everything. You said it yourself.”

He felt another nod and smiled gently, “Let’s take a step back from trying to get everything in the open right this second. I do actually need to shower but first, how’s Jace?”

The blonde had wiggled his way into Magnus’ heart along with Isabelle and Simon and his connection with Alexander only made Magnus love him a little more. He worked hard not to show it so much, it wouldn’t do for Alexander’s family to realize how strong a hold they had on Magnus, or how hard it was going to be for him to face them. He was in many ways grateful that Jace had come attached in full this time and had been the adult among them for once.

“He’s…” Alexander frowned, “I’ve been getting the usual from him when he see’s Clary, but he feels...scared, but in a good way?”

Magnus shrugged easily, keeping his immediate concern out of his expression, “Well, maybe that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Magnus watched Alexander’s distracted expression go a little vacant as he concentrated on his parabatai. After a long minute he gasped.

“Somethings happened. I don’t know what but he feels overwhelmed and so...it’s good, whatever it is.” Alexander was smiling now but it was edged with concern and Magnus waited for more.

A minute later Alexander’s phone rang and he grabbed it with a grin.

-

“Jace? Right?”

Jace’s heartbeat picked up and he tried not to show Clary how much this was affecting him as he affirmed, tried to keep himself under control as she touched him for the first time in a year.

He’d felt Alec wake up a while ago and it had been a whiplash of emotions from him since. Things had seemed to be going well until a few minutes before Clary had looked at him and he’d been thinking about heading back earlier to check in on what had caused the sudden desperate hopelessness in Alec. It had leveled off into something quieter though and Jace had relaxed. He had committed himself to staying out of their way this evening and had expected turmoil in the bond.

Now he was so glad that he hadn’t bolted to be with Alec at the first sign of trouble, he would have missed this moment entirely.

“I’m sorry, I-” Clary started again, frowning at her own hand on his skin, “I uh, have this memory problem.” She laughed a little and it was both a wonder and a source of sorrow for Jace, “No one knows for sure what happened to me but I’m missing a few things. We might have met somewhere in there because I definitely know you but I don’t remember how?”

Jace gave her a quick grin and watched her pupils dilate, “Well if you don’t remember me very well, you’ll just have to get to know me again.”

He winked and she laughed, a little incredulous, “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly.” He schooled his expression into something mock serious and she laughed again.

“Okay. You’re crazy huh?”

Jace rolled his eyes, reveling in her presence, “I’m not the one who remembers strangers.”

He wanted to take it back as soon as he said it, watching her eyes narrow and her lips purse.

“You know, normally I’d call you a jackass for that but, I almost want to laugh. Who even are you dude?”

Jace laughed this time, a little strained and a lot on edge, “I’m complicated Clary. If you want, I might be able to help you with your memory though? Because, yeah, we knew each other a little. I’d need to make a phone call first?"

Clary looked behind her with a torn expression and Jace hurried to add, “Don’t ditch your exhibition for it, I can wait. Let me trade numbers with you and we can meet up later.”

She gave him a considering look and his traitorous heart jumped, he knew when she was going to say yes by now, “You just want my number, huh?”

He held up his hands, “You got me. Beautiful, talented artists who only sort of remember me are my weakness.”

She held out her hand and he sat his phone in it, watching her tap in her number and text herself.

“I’m going to go back inside, but if you don’t mind a late night, I’d love to catch up after?”

Jace grinned, “I’m a bit nocturnal nowadays.”

She looked at him funny but just smiled, “See you later, familiar Jace.”

“See you soon.”

She didn’t look away from him until she had to turn to go back in the building and he ran a hand through his hair looking around in disbelief before quickly calling Alec.

“ Jace?”

“Alec. She remembered me. She knew my name.”

part six

[unwarlocked]

undefined

“Well, that was an understatement.”

[plus-size-reader]

Leverage

Magnus Bane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2107 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Magnus taking a special interest in you, Clary's human best friend who resembles a lover Magnus had centuries ago

Just a concept I was tossing around. Let me know what you think and If I should work on a mini-series based on this

—————————————————————————————————

“Just stay close and don’t say anything” Jace reminded, leading you and the rest of your party into Hardtail, his eyes focused on the surrounding crowd, constantly scanning for danger.

This whole thing should be easy.

All they had to do was find Magnus and get him to give Clary her memories back. All things considered, it should have been an in and out mission, something they had done a million times before.

...but they could never be too careful.

Especially considering that they had been forced to bring along some dead weight, in the form of you, as extra insurance.

Just in case the Warlock in question tried anything.

“This is a terrible idea” Alec grumbled, the words falling on mostly deaf ears, though by this point, even Clary was wondering if bringing you along had been the right call.

You were insistent, as soon as you found out that you could be of help but you weren’t blind. You knew that you were in over your head, heading into a downworlder bar with a couple of shadowhunters without any real idea what you were doing there.

Under any other circumstances, you would have turned tail and ran in the other direction, but this was for Clary.

If this ‘High Warlock of Brooklyn’ could give Clary her memories back, and help her figure out what their next step was, you were going to do anything you could to make that happen.

“We don’t even know if this will work-” he continued, earning an elbow to the side from Izzy, who knew exactly where he was going with that.

She knew what they should have already figured out, that once you found out why you were here, you were going to freak out for sure. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you found out that you bore a striking resemblance to someone else, long dead.

It wasn’t something you would be prepared to hear, so it would just be better if you could all get through this without you figuring out what you were actually doing here.

You took notice of the strange exchange between the Lightwoods but decided to ignore it.

The two of them were known to bicker, even to someone who had known them for a few short weeks, and you had more important matters at hand.

Like making sure you didn’t accidentally bump into a vampire or something as you made your way into the club.

“Keep your head down, and don’t go too far” Clary whispered, webbing her fingers with your own as you passed through the crowd, your grib unintentionally tightening as the reality of the situation set in.

Clary was built for this, it was in her blood, but you weren’t.

It wasn’t until you showed up to things like this that you realized just how far out of your depth that you were.

“I’m not going anywhere, trust me” you whispered back, focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other more than anything. Before now, you were sure that the correct answer to the question Jace asked you was yes.

Now that you were here though, you weren't so convinced.

You understood that getting Magnus to meet with you was a long shot in the first place, and you couldn't afford to mess it up, but you just weren’t sure why they needed you. Out of everyone here, you were the most out of place.

Anyone looking in on the scene in front of them would have seen just how much you didn’t belong. Not that anyone around you was all that concerned with you so far, all too focused on the music and lights.

As long as you did as you were told and kept your head down, everything would be fine.

All things considered, your job was easy.

You just had to stay out of the way, and hope that Jace and Alec didn’t need you for whatever it was they thought you could be useful for. Which could have been anything and you wouldn’t have known any better.

The Shadowhunters were so secretive, only telling you what they thought you needed to know, and even then, they always tended to leave out the important stuff.

It made working with them very difficult.

Still, you did what you were told and kept your head down, doing your best to blend in until something changed, which didn’t look like it was going to happen at first.

All in all, it looked to be a pretty standard conversation, though you couldn’t hear any of what they were saying from the distance you were at.

Of course, It wasn't until someone shot an arrow into some guy in the background that you realized just how wrong you were. Evidently, there had been an assassin in the crowd the entire time and no one noticed until Alec put him down.

Which, in turn, spooked the reclusive Warlock into nearly diving back into his wormhole.

He got his jewel, but from the looks on Jace and Clary’s faces, they didn’t get nearly as much as they were hoping for. The only thing that kept Magnus in place was the redhead’s grasp on his wrist, which likely wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

Clearly, they needed something else, which was exactly why they brought you.

You had inadvertently become the most important part of this mission just now, and that meant it was your time to shine, even if you didn’t exactly know what your part to play was.

Without missing a beat, Izzy shot over to whisper something in your ear, something that really didn’t seem like it would work. Though, by this point, you weren’t sure that you had any right to question any of the shadowhunters.

After all, you didn’t even know they existed until a couple weeks ago.

You shot Izzy one more questioning glance, just to make sure she was serious about this before she nodded, telling you to continue with the plan. If anything was going to get Magnus to stick around, it was this.

“Magnus, wait!” you called, doing your best to cut through all the noise that Alec’s arrow and subsequent murder had brought on, which worked surprisingly well.

As it would turn out, just because the Shadowhunters had neglected to tell you that you looked like the long lost love of his life didn’t mean that Magnus was going to. Even the sound of your voice was enough to ring alarms in his head.

He hadn’t heard that sound in so long.

Almost immediately, the Warlock spun around on his heels, his attention finding you immediately. It didn’t make sense, and there was no way that he could have explained it but there was no denying the truth.

Not when it was staring him right in the face.

It was you, and it didn’t matter how it had happened, not now. All he cared about in this moment was that you had come back to him, after all these years. . It was incredible, but even with as thrilled as Magnus was, staying here wasn’t safe. If Valentine managed to find him here, that meant that he likely already knew where the others were.

Every second he spent away was another second evil had to prevail.

Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t exactly trust the shadowhunters to tell him the truth. For all he knew, Magnus could have been looking at some glamour of sorts, and they were tricking him.

He was just having a hard time believing what he was looking at. After all this time, it didn't seem right to see you again.

“You always did like places like this” he hummed, that same far away look clouding his vision as had been this entire time.

No one had ever looked at you like that.

He was looking at you like the whole building could come crumbling down around you and it wouldn’t have mattered one bit. Like you had physically put the sun in the sky, and you barely knew who he was.

“I’ll be in touch”

...and with that, he was gone.

Though, the thought of walking away from you a second time was nearly enough to break his heart, he didn’t have a choice.

There would be no opportunity to talk to you if he was dead, besides, if they wanted to get Clary’s memories back, they were going to need his help.

~

“Who was he talking about? Who does Magnus Bane think I am?” you started, already asking all the questions that they should have seen coming but no one bothered to answer them.

They weren’t even sure they were going to need you when they asked you to tag along, and just because you had helped them out a little back there didn’t mean the Shadowhunters owed you anything.

You were still just some mundane.

The only reason you were still here was because of Clary, that and they needed you once Alec realized that they were going to have to meet up with Magnus in the first place.

Someone had to get him to agree to help.

“Don’t worry about it. All that matters is that he agreed to help us” Jace shrugged, ignoring you, which by this point was par for the course.

You were so tired of everyone acting like you weren’t here. .

“Come on. I did you a favor back there, can’t you at least tell me what I did?” you sighed, turning your attention to Izzy and Clary instead, because you already knew the males in your party couldn’t care less about what you’d done.

To them, you might as well not be here and you had come to terms with that. You just wanted to know who he thought you were, that was it.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that big of a deal.

“The last partner Magnus had, she looked a lot like you” she allowed, recalling the photograph she’d seen, which might as well have been you a couple hundred years earlier.

You couldn’t believe it.

All this time, you were masquerading as someone else, someone that you didn’t even know existed, and everyone else knew all along.

It was ridiculous.

Though, before you could inform the surrounding Shadowhunters of just how ridiculous, Jace chimed in just enough to let you know that, even still, it wasn’t really your place to ask questions or have opinions.

“We were hoping to catch him off guard, we needed the upperhand” Jace shrugged, truly not seeing how wrong this whole thing was. Not only did they use you without bothering to tell you what was going on, but they exploited him too.

It wasn’t right.

“You should have told me!” you scoffed, thinking that at the very least someone would have had the decency to fill you in on the plan but it would appear that no one thought about that before now.

Jace didn’t even look all that interested in having this conversation at all.

“I would have helped even if you told me beforehand, you know? It would have just been nice to know what I was walking into” you continued, well aware that you were basically talking to yourself but not caring enough to stop.

You couldn’t be both the mundane they didn’t even care enough to address by name and a member of the team that they used when they needed help.

You could be one or the other, but not both, and certainly not at once.

“Well, now you know. Congratulations! Can we get going now?” Alec called, several paces ahead of all of you by now, and not stopping even still. He didn’t care at all about whatever little moral dilemma you were having.

He was much more interested in getting back to the institute before another assassin got the better of one of you.

“Thanks Alec, I appreciate that” you countered, not bothering to cover up the sarcasm flowing from your lips. If he could talk to you like that, there was no reason you couldn’t give it right back.

The truth was that it didn’t matter what they said or how much they pretended this wasn’t a big deal. What had happened back there with Magnus was a big deal, at least, it was a big deal for you.

After all, you just found out that you looked like some dead chick that was hooking up with one of the most powerful warlock’s of all time.

How was that not supposed to be a big deal?

[captain-sassy-socks]

GABIT INSP 2022 Part IV - Q&A session #3

Amanda started the session by asking us if we had fun the night before (80s party), and YES, WE HAD!!!

She explained the meaning behind her shirt. It was from a company called Androgynous Fox which makes gender-free and gender neutral clothes. She’s not their brand embassador but likes their message and finds it important to support local queer designers.

Another Naked Attraction joke saw the day of light when she said the fabric gently caressed her breasts, especially the right side. [side note: It was quite amazing how often a sexual innuendo came across Amanda's lips. And she didn't even blush... maybe a little bit at times ;-)]

Next, Amanda and Becca auctioned off three forgotten items: the first one I can’t remember, the second one was a pair of Helen Magnus earrings; and the last one a signed poster.

I still don’t know what compelled me to raise my hand and throw an obscene amount of money at them (I blame getting seven hours of sleep instead of less than fours hours the two nights prior), but I’m the proud owner of this poster now. I just have to find a place to hang it.

Finally, we got to the questions, and Amanda wanted to play “Charade”. So we did. She invited every questioner on stage who had to creatively interpret or even dance their question. At times, hilarious situations arose because Amanda couldn’t figure it out and tried a shot in the dark. I can’t shake the feeling Amanda would be hopelessly lost at the party game Taboo.

First of all, we got a request for Amanda and Becky to pose as flight attendants during the safety instructions. “Please fasten your seat belts, make sure your tray table is folded away, and your seat is in an upright position. And always listen to your flight attendant because they only do their job, and their job is safety.”

Next was a question about which character she would like to portray one day - the queen.

Amanda told an anecdote about an actor who forgot his lines and said “bags made for douching” instead of “douchebag”.

Someone asked which character from First Kill she would be, vampire or werewolf. Amanda answered like this.

Let’s assume this is the international sign for werewolf. In the end, she said she’d prefer to be a vampire. (I wonder where that comes from XD)

If she could turn a book into a movie, which would it be. She said Five Little Indians. The novel focuses on five survivors of the Canadian Indian residential school system, struggling with varying degrees of success to rebuild their lives in Vancouver, British Columbia after the end of their time in the residential schools. It also explores the love and strength that can emerge after trauma.

Amanda pointed out that a lot of history books from her schooldays only had a black and white view and were often whitewashed. It’s gotten better now, and Olivia learns so much more. But there’s still a lot to do, and a lot of stories to tell.

She was asked if she had read fanfiction. She admitted she had but not recently. She came across a few Sam/Janet fics, and, once, a fan gave her some saucy fanart of her and Teryl. For a while, she couldn’t look at Teryl without seeing these.

Someone asked if she would ever write her memoirs. Amanda joked it would probably only be a little pamphlet with a lot of pictures which she would turn into podcast later. (side note: our group unanimously decided at lunch that Amanda could read a phone book on her podcast and we would still tune in)

If she were a teacher which subject would she teach - history. Again, there’s so much more to learn and to be preserved before it’s lost forever.

Her favorite GABIT moment - crying / the longest curly wurly stretch for the Guinness World Records / the time at AT 1 when she threw herself on the hood of Becky’s car and rolled over like an action hero; granted the car was parked; nevertheless, Becky almost had a heart attack.

Next question was about books which needs a bit more explanation. You know the superstition if you don’t look someone in the eye when you greet them, you’ll have seven years of bad sex. From ‘would you rather have seven years of bad sex or no sex at all?’, the question went to ‘would you rather read bad books for seven years or no books at all?”

Amanda stated wholeheartedly that she would rather read a bad book than nothing at all. Then she asked the audience and was suprised that only (maybe) half of the attendees raised their hand. “What? So many people wouldn’t read at all?” Since she was looking in my direction, I blurted out, “You can always write.” And she was like, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

Last, was a question about what kind of tv show she would do if she could - cooking show. Someone from the audience reminded her she still owed us her famous Green Goddess Recipe. Amanda promised to post it on her Instagram channel. Well, let’s see.

And that’s it for this very entertaining Q&A session.

[my-writings-and-musings]

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

[bytheangell]

We Take Care of Each Other

Whumptober 2020 prompt: “Please... get it out!”  (Read on AO3)

Alec’s shots haven’t missed their mark all night. He isn’t the type to get overconfident, he knows that’s the exact moment you set yourself up to lose, but he knows when he’s on enough of a roll to push his normal limits, shooting a little faster, aiming a little further out than he usually would in order to cover more of the small team he’s on mission with.

They follow a small number of Shax demons, killing a few as they go but leaving at least one alive in front of them at all times to hopefully lead them back to its nest. They’re getting close, Alec can tell, but something feels off. It’s just a gut instinct, but he’s learned to trust those more often than not so he’s on higher alert than usual as they round the next bend of the abandoned subway tunnel.

He sees the nest first, and so do the other Shadowhunters who set to work swiftly dispatching as many of the demons as they can, as quickly as they can. It’s a delicate process - sometimes Shax demons use their victims to breed, which means there may be people alive down here. There are more of them in the tunnels than they anticipated, given the number they already killed along the way. Alec spots a victim near the back and makes a beeline for her, catching several swipes of the demons’ pincers along his legs in an attempt to stop him. He reaches her and checks for a pulse, heart sinking when he doesn’t find one.

Fuck.

He can hear the cries of the demons behind him, the telltale sounds of the other Shadowhunters taking them down one by one with thin blades chosen specifically to pierce through their hard upper shells. He’s so focused on the nest and his search for other victims that he almost misses the orange glow to his left, along a smaller side tunnel.

The color may be different, the light foreign and threatening, but he recognizes the glow of magic when he sees it.

Of course, he has just enough time to think. If the Shax demons are being controlled by a warlock, he should’ve considered the possibility that the warlock would be with the nest, not necessarily somewhere safe and above ground.

“WARLOCK, WEST SIDE TUNNEL,” he shouts to his team. There’s no time for a subtle warning as he moves to duck out of the way of a narrowed beam of orange magic that just barely misses his shoulder. A moment later, Alec has three arrows knocked in his bow. He pulls the string back and releases them one after the other with practiced precision.

Alec might be fast, but the warlock is faster. With a flick of the warlock’s wrist, Alec’s arrows are suddenly consumed with a faint orange glow, and he watches in horror as they stop moving, flip direction, and shoot back at him under the warlock's control. He dodges the first one and recovers just fast enough to hit the second away, leaving a thin cut down his arm from the action. Between the speed of the first two arrows and his wounds from the Shax demons, however, Alec doesn’t recover in time to stop the third arrow from hitting him.

It pierces straight into his stomach, lodging itself in deep. Alec staggers back, fighting the shock that threatens to take over both his mind and his body. The pain is immediately excruciating - he can see blood coming from the wound much faster than a normal injury, and dimly registers through the pain that it must’ve nicked an artery.

“Sir-” one of the Shadowhunters rushes over to him, catching him under the arm and easing him down to the ground.

“Targets first,” Alec chokes out. “Clear the nest. Warlock--” but a glance to his side shows the warlock disappearing through a portal just as three Shadowhunters descend on them. “Fuck,” Alec breathes. He wants to curl in on himself but the arrow is in the way.

“What should we do?” One of the Shadowhunters asks, voice high and panicked. Alec isn’t in the state of mind to sagely suggest they calm down and think back to the basic medical training they get at the Academy, and instead groans, both at the pain and at the fact that he’s bleeding out in a dirty underground tunnel surrounded by a team of rookies.

“Get it out,” the Shadowhunter still kneeling at his side says. Her hands are shaking but she looks like she’s bracing herself to help despite being terrified for Alec, which is how he knows he must look pretty bad.

“No!” Alec shouts, or at least he tries to shout. The single syllable comes out desperate and rasping. “Arrows… more damage… coming out.” He’s losing blood too fast. It’s all he has the strength left to do to pull the cellphone from his pocket and drop it to the ground with a single word: “Catarina,” before everything goes black.

---

“Are you with me, Alec?”

Alec slowly comes back to consciousness to the sound of Catarina’s voice somewhere above him. He groans.

“Good. I was hoping you didn’t call me here just to die on me,” Cat says, forcing a smile. Alec blinks several times to focus and can see the strain on her face.

“Please, get it out,” Alec begs, the words weak.

Cat shakes her head. “I don’t want to take the arrow out here, but I closed the wound around it to buy us some time. Think you can stay conscious long enough to portal to the Institute?”

Alec nods slowly. “Mag-” he starts, but his words dissolve into a violent coughing fit.

“Already on his way to meet us at the infirmary,” Cat supplies, not needing him to finish the question. “C’mon, let’s make sure you’re still breathing when he gets there.”

A portal opens and Alec is aware of several hands helping to lift him in addition to Catarina’s magic. Alec does remain conscious for the short duration of portal travel, as well as just long enough to be carefully sat down on one of the empty beds before he passes out again.

---

Before Alec opens his eyes again, he feels the weight of Magnus’ hand in his own, the cold press of rings a familiar comfort. Eyes still closed he manages a weak squeeze, one that’s returned immediately with three times the force.

“Alexander?” Magnus’ voice comes in a soft whisper from his left.

Despite his body’s desire to fall back asleep, Alec forces his eyes to blink open, fighting how heavy his eyelids feel. Magnus sits on a chair beside his bed in the infirmary, a half-empty coffee cup on the table next to him.

“Magnus,” Alec manages, then swallows thickly, his throat dry from disuse causing him to cough instead. Magnus snaps his fingers and conjures a glass of water which he wastes no time holding up to Alec’s mouth for him to drink from.

Alec’s pretty sure he can handle holding a glass, but doesn’t fight it, taking several small, slow sips until the dryness goes away. Looking down he sees that he’s shirtless, his abdomen heavily bandaged.

“Should I be jealous that you called Catarina before me?” Magnus asks jokingly, following Alec’s gaze to the wrappings. “She says you’ll make a full recovery after a few days of bed rest.”

Alec sighs, then winces when the up-and-down motion tugs at his injury. “Great. We both know how much I love that.”

Magnus hums. “About as much as I love calls from my best friend in the middle of the night that my husband is bleeding out in an old subway tunnel?”

“Sorry I worried you,” Alec says, giving Magnus’ hand another squeeze.

“Don’t be sorry,” Magnus says, standing now so he can lean over Alec. Magnus places a soft, gentle kiss on Alec’s cheek first, then his temple, and then his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Me too,” Alec says, realizing for the first time that he hadn’t been so certain he would be alright in the moment. That thought tightens something in his chest entirely unrelated to his injuries, and he shifts himself over enough to make it obvious he wants Magnus to lay next to him.

Magnus doesn’t need to be told, though he’s extra careful about sliding in next to Alec without bumping against his side. “No matter how many times you get hurt, it never gets easier to see,” Magnus admits, threading his fingers through Alec’s hair as Alec rests his head on Magnus’ shoulder.

“I know,” Alec agrees. “If it makes you feel better, having you here makes being hurt a lot easier to deal with.”

“It does,” Magnus says. “Though I believe I’m supposed to be the one comforting you right now, and not the other way around.”

Alec smiles despite the constant, gentle throbs of pain. “We take care of each other.”

He doesn’t have to look up at Magnus’ face to tell he’s smiling when he replies, “Always, darling. Always.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 VIII

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, noncon, trauma)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are overwhelmed by your imprisonment.

Note: I wasn’t expecting to get this done today but I did!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You left as you came; in the servants’ cart wearing clothes that weren’t yours. You had a cap over your hair and apron across your front as you huddled down beside the chests with the rest of the royal staff. Your guardian was ever present as he marched in borrowed armor which served as a poor disguise.

You rocked with the roll of the wheels and as the night came, Magnus tore you away from the others and secreted you to the king’s tent. He was silent, perturbed, but as demanding as ever. You woke early to resume your place among the servants and carry on the final leg of the journey back to the capital. To you, it was no homecoming, rather the closing of the prison gates behind you.

It was night when you neared the palace, the walls rose up around you, a looming sentinel of your fate. The cart jolted to a halt behind the train and you waited for the others to hop off before you slunked out the end. As your feet met the ground, you were seized and dragged away from the storm of bodies suddenly looking for tasks.

Magnus’ heavy boots stomped through the dirt and his armor jostled loudly as he led you from the procession. He directed you towards the south end of the palace as he kept his chin down, his hand squeezing painfully on your arm.

“No chances this time,” he growled, “King’s given permission that I break your leg myself if you run again.”

“How kind a master he is.” You sneered.

“I could do it now and say you did try, bitch,” he wrenched open a door and forced you through ahead of him. “What I could do to you…” He shoved you so that you stumbled against the opposite wall and the door slammed behind him. Only the flicker of the torch hung feet away lit the space. “I wonder what intrigues the king so.” He caught you as you turned around, his hand on your skirts. “I wouldn’t mind a taste of the royal delight.”

“Get off of me,” you pushed against his mailed chest. “The king would do more than slap your snout, you dog.”

“Or perhaps he would tire of a used toy,” Magnus cupped your ass through your skirts, “If there was anything left to play with.”

You grabbed at his belt and your hand settled on the pommel of his sword. His gauntlet closed over your hand and his other shot up to your neck. 

“I’d like you to try,” he dared you, “I doubt you could even lift the blade.”

He pushed your hand away and parted from you gruffly. He cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back. He nodded down the corridor and waited. Slowly, you stepped away from the wall and began down the stone floor.

“I’ll take enough pleasure in hearing your pathetic mewls as he takes you again,” he chortled, “And imagine how you should weep if it were me.”

You were silent. You were afraid, truly, and revolted. You didn’t dare to look at the beastly guard and instead watched his shadow ahead of you as you neared the winding staircase. You ascended ahead of him and his hand strayed to your skirts but just as swiftly retracted. When you reached the top he ushered you on to the king’s chambers.

“He wants you ready for him. He must greet his people.” Magnus declared. “Perhaps I might help loosen you up.”

“You’re repulsive,” you shuddered as his hand settled on the door handle. “You truly think he would not castrate you for the act.”

“You are no wife, no queen,” he opened the door and let it open, “Only a whore.” He grabbed your shoulder and forced you inside, quickly following and slamming the door. He crossed his arms over his mailed chest. “I must take your garb so you do not stray again.”

“You’ve been ordered to or you--”

“I’ll rip it off myself,” he stepped forward and you shied away. “What I should do after the trouble you’ve caused.”

You edge away from him and gulped. You averted your eyes as you removed your cap and untied your apron. You threw them at his feet and kicked away your slippers, your stocks slid down your legs and added to the heap. 

As you strained to unlace the dress, he huffed and pulled you to him. He spun you and tore the laces loose and forced the fabric down your arms. He continued to undress you gruffly, your shift shredded by his touch and his hand lingered before he finally collected the rest. You covered yourself and stumbled away from him.

You turned as he snickered and hugged the bundle of clothing. His grey eyes glimmered with malice.

“How brave you are until you are naked,” he taunted, “If you... require me, I will be without, wench. Waiting, watching.”

Your nostrils flared as you quickly retreated to the sofa and shielded yourself with a pillow. “You will remain without, sir.” You hissed. “Keep watch, doggy.”

His grin fell and he scowled before he turned away. He left you but the fear didn’t. You quaked as you sat and waited. For the guard to lose his restraint or the king to retire for the night. Neither was welcome.

🐍

When the door opened, you were still unprepared for the king, but it wasn’t him. Two servants streamed in without acknowledging you and went through to the bath chamber with pails of steaming water. You watched them silently as they filled the tub over several trips, the slosh of water and their footfalls the only noise. When they finished, they were gone just as soon. 

Moments later, Loki appeared. Hal accompanied him and kept his eyes to the floor as your nudity shamed him. You sat, stony and dazed, as the king was undressed by his attendant. He said nothing as he drank from the bottle of wine directly and ordered the boy away. The door closed and ended your trance.

You looked over as Loki wore only his undershorts and grabbed the bottle by the neck. His skin still bore the marks of competition and his face the lines of his agitation. He didn’t look at you as he neared the bedchamber.

“Mouse,” he beckoned you with a finger.

He strode through the door and you stood cautiously. You listened to his lithe steps and took your own wary ones across the room. As you entered the bed chamber, you heard the clunk of glass on stone, and followed it to the bath chamber. The bottle of wine sat on the flat brim of the tub as Loki rolled his shorts down and stepped into the steaming pool of water. He lowered himself with a sigh and stretched his arms around the lip.

“Come. You smell of the road.” He bid as he closed his eyes.

You took a breath and neared the other end of the tub. You lifted your leg over the side and dipped into the water carefully. The basin was large enough for at least four body’s, a round crater carved in marble. He took another swig and the bottle made another thick thump off the stone.

“Closer,” he demanded as he stirred his fingers in the water.

You stared at him, hesitant. His silence was disconcerting. The man loved his own voice and his monologues were much preferable to nothing. He was mad still; he would be for some time. You knew, by his relationship with his brother, that he would hold a grudge.

You pushed yourself away from the side of the tub and waded through the water on your knees. His eyes opened and focused on you. As you neared him, you were suddenly plunged beneath as his hand snaked around the back of your neck. Your mouth and nose filled with water as you struggled against him and he turned to hold you under. He pulled you back up only as you were certain you would drown.

You coughed and sputtered as the water erupted from your lungs. He kept hold of you as he angled you against the wall of the tub and pinned you there. You blinked in terror as his green eyes stabbed you like daggers.

“You realise I hold your life in my hand?” he slithered, “That I would have you killed for your disobedience if you were any other. That I will if your use does expire.”

You nodded frantically as he leaned in, his nose close to yours as you smelled the wine on his breath. “I do, your majesty,” you croaked.

“You will not have another chance, mouse,” his hand slid around to your throat, “You are not the only woman with a cunt.”

You pressed your hands to the bottom of the tub as you stared back at him. He moved his knee between yours and slowly parted your legs. His hand went to your chin and he held you against the tub as he lowered his head. His lips tickled your neck and you shivered as the water swirled around you. You cried out as he sank his teeth into your skin and began to suck. You squirmed as the pressure built to unbearable. He pulled away with a pop and admired his mark.

“Remember who you belong to. Who has given you your life.” He snarled as his thighs pushed against yours as he slid against you. His member pressed to your folds as your legs hung over his. “I have given you purpose.”

He reached between your bodies and rubbed his tip along your cunt. You trembled as he found your entrance and poked, teasing you as he drew away several times, marveling at your reaction as you bit your quivering lip. Finally, he prodded you more firmly and slipped in an inch at a time. Your legs tensed around him and he crushed you against the tub as he impaled you. He kept himself at his limit as he shuddered.

“Do you still ache, mouse?” He squeezed your chin as his other hand fondled your chest. “You do fit me well.”

You let out a whimpered as your defiance threatened to break. You clenched your jaw as he thrust and your entire body jerked. You reached up and grasped the brim of the tub as you body slid against the marble. He rocked into you slowly as his breath mounted. He tweaked your nipple as his grip threatened to crush your jaw.

He sped up as he folded your body against the tub, your legs splayed around him as he rutted into you. He grunted loudly as his eyes never left yours. He watched the play of pleasure and pain across your face as he fucked you harder each time you murmured. 

You slapped your hand against his shoulder as you felt the singular pang. That rise which would send you over the edge of sanity. Your fingers curled against him and you hugged him with your thighs as your lips parted in ecstasy. Your eyes rolled back as you came and he slapped you harshly before clasping your chin again.

“Look at me,” he growled. “Don’t look away.”

You whined through bared teeth as the waves flowed through you. You twitched wildly as he was egged on by your reluctant orgasm. He grabbed the tub behind you and clung to it as he moved even closer. You were trapped between him and the marble, painfully so. He poked his thumb into your mouth and his hot breath washed over you as he pressed his forehead to yours.

He spasmed but did not slow. You felt him spill inside of you as he let out angry snarls. He only stopped as his body recoiled at the overstimulation and he buried himself to his hilt. He exhaled slowly and wrapped an arm around you as he turned to sit against the tub. He held you in his lap as his heart raced and he framed your chin in his hands as he made you sit up.

“Show me why I should keep you, mouse,” he tilted his hips and you whined. He trailed a hand down your arm and grasped your hip. “Go on and fuck me, whore.”

Your lashes fluttered and you bit back your anger. The wine, his wrath, his pride; it was a dangerous mix and you knew it was not the time to test it. You moaned as you rocked and he gasped at the friction. He began to harden again and you felt him grow inside of you.

“Mmmm,” he purred as kneaded your ass, “Faster…” you sped up as his other hand tickled your back, “That’s it, pet. Obey your master.”

🐍

Your night wore on by the king’s hand. When you thought he would sleep, he riled again and by the morning, you were tender and worn. You were tired, drained of all strength, all resistance as you body overrode your mind. As Loki used it against you.

You didn’t move as he finally parted and dressed in the early dawn. He uttered some cloying words about his inevitable return but you could only lay paralysed across the sheets. You feared he had broken you entirely. It was enough to use your body but you felt your wits scattered beside you. There was safety in his desire; not only from his own cruelty but the man on the other side of the doors. Loki was evil, but the lesser of many.

He left and you did not move. You were plummeted into a black sleep, so deep and void that it felt as death. You did not wake as the sun reached its peak or even as it began its descent. You woke only when you were disturbed by the touch of your tormentor. As Loki moved between your legs, uncaring of your fatigue, and again made his will your own.

Time blurred as glimpses of the morning were shrouded by the deepest dusks. Your hours were marked by hollow sleep, pierced only by the unrelenting hand of the king, and the mindless sustenance of your body. You were a puppet and you had no choice by to let him dangle you from his string.

It wasn’t until you felt a different touch and saw a different face that life seemed to call to you. That you recalled where you were and who you were. Birger, the silver-haired man with the face of a crow, sat on the edge of the bed as he moved your head and felt along your chest. You looked at him dopily and took his hand. You squeezed.

“She is senseless, your majesty. She has no physical malady but her mind…” He untangled his hand from your and pulled the covers up to your chin. “I would never question your deeds but she must rest. She must be nurtured unless you prefer a husk.”

You giggled. You couldn’t quite grasp his words but as another voice rose, you choked and lashed out. The blanket fell away as you cried out.

“Nurtured?” The king echoed. “And what would you recommend particularly?”

Your arm was caught and folded over your chest. Birger replaced the cover over you and hushed you as he rubbed your cheek. “Be calm, girl.” He drew away and you listened to a subtle rustle. “I will treat her today with a sedative and you will leave her be.”

“And tomorrow?” The king asked as the clink of glass sounded beside you and you felt a slender rim against your lips.

“Just a little, dear,” Birger tipped the vial and the glossy tincture coated your tongue. “Well, your majesty,” the man stood straight and you closed your eyes. The bitter taste turned sweet as your sight began to darken again. “You might offer her more than your own company. You might do more than play with her like some toy.”

The voices mingled as you sank down again, floating on a breeze that carried leaves and the smell of pollen. The void was gone and you were free, running in the fields toward the sunlight.

🐍

You felt a soft stroke along the back of your head. The song of birds filled your ears and your lashes slowly lifted as your vision cleared. You were clothed in a crisp nightgown, the blankets rolled beneath your arms as your chest rose and fell. You finger twitched and you groaned. A hand closed around yours.

“You’re awake,” the familiar voice sang, “Hey, it’s me.”

You turned your head back and forth as you grumbled and blinked away the fog. You focused on the figure beside you. Gilla wore a yellow dress as she sat on a stool and cradled your hand. She smiled back at you.

“Gilla?” You rasped. “What’s--”

You coughed and she let go of you. She reached for a crystal glass and held it out. “You should drink something.”

“How did--” You looked around. You were still in the king’s chambers though they were markedly brighter as the curtains had been drawn and the windows were open to let in the air. You tried to push yourself up and fell back heavily.

“Shhh,” she grabbed your arm as she balanced the cup in her other hand and helped you sit up. 

She handed you the water and pulled another pillow behind you to prop you up. You took the glass and drank deeply, more thirsty with each gulp. You handed it back shakily and glanced around furtively. “Where is he?”

“Who?” She asked, “Oh, the king?”

“I…” you twined your fingers together, “Yes. Where is he?”

“He is at council.” She said. “He said he would return to check on you after he finished.”

You were confused. You couldn’t recall how you’d woken thus. “I don’t understand. What’s happening? Why are you here?”

“The king said you missed me and you were sick.” She pouted. “I missed you. I thought… I thought you were dead. And because of me.”

You sighed and a sudden surge of anger went through you. You grimaced and pulled your hands apart.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-- I never--” She reached for your hand, “I was foolish. Selfish. And you saved me.”

You looked at her. You wanted to smile but couldn’t. You shrugged. “It cannot be undone.”

“You… seem well off now. If not a little weakened.” She looked around the chamber. “A king’s favour--”

“Favour?” You recoiled. “Are you that shallow? This is no favour. This is prison!”

“But… he has clothed you, fed you, and kept you from the dungeons--”

“Is that what he says? He may have plucked me from a cell but he did throw me down there first.” You hissed. “Gilla, you don’t know. You can’t.”

“I don’t know. You’re right. How could I? It was a king’s man who came to me to tell me you were alive. Barely. And that you needed me. Your own uncle still thinks you dead, if not imprisoned and fated to be so.”

“What do you think this is? Do you think I am the king’s amour? Hmm?” You spat and the effort made you dizzy. “I am nothing but a whore. He made me that! I did not want it.”

She hung her head and shook it. “He did say you might be delirious.”

“You--” you gathered your strength and threw the blankets aside. You turned your leg over the edge and she gasped. You faced her and scowled. “You think he would ever tell the truth!? To you? A peasant?”

“You are still a peasant too,” she countered. “Please, I did only come here to see you well and the king, he has made sure to keep you well.”

“No, he has put me in such a state. Do you not understand? I live a nightmare every day.” You stood and stumbled as she rose in a fright. You nudged her aside and unsteadily made your way to the window. “I will never run through the city square again or play in the tall wheat before the harvest. I will only ever be his and when he disposes of me, I doubt I will be alive.”

She was silent as you leaned heavily on the sill. You did not look at her, you could not. You gazed out at the palace wall and beyond. Why had the king bothered at all? You were better to him as you were; weak and oblivious. Better for you that you had remained such.

You flinched as you heard the doors through the next chamber and Gilla moved behind you. “Your majesty,” she said meekly as you heard the footsteps pass over the threshold of the bedchamber.

“Is she...well?” The king asked.

“I am awake so you might ask me,” you sneered as you did not move. “I am not.”

He exhaled deeply. Your eyes clouded with tears as you watched the clouds. There was a new bite in the air. Summer was ending.

“Gilla, might you excuse us for a moment?” Loki asked. You scoffed, he was not one to ask of anyone.

“Your majesty,” she allowed and you listened to her slippers on the stone before the door closed between the receiving chamber and the bedchamber.

“You are angry.” He said.

“What does it matter to you?” You spun sharply and stumbled. He caught you as before your knees met the floor.

“You are weak,” he led you to the bed and sat you down. You shoved him away. “You should not be up.”

“You did this to me,” you huffed. “Why did you not leave me as I was?”

He looked down his nose and crossed his arms. “You were close to madness. I kept you from that.”

“You would drive me to it.” You snapped. “Why bring her here? Why have your physician feed me sour oils? As you said, I am not the only woman with a cunt.”

He sniffed and his brows drew together as a line formed between them. He stared at you and slowly his lips curled. “I brought her so that you might realise what I could do to her if you continue to behave thus.” He warned. “And I did see to you so that I might have a toy worth playing with.”

You scoffed and grasped your knees to keep from slumping over. Despite your anger, you couldn’t help the disuse of your body which had you so drained.

“I see. A torture more cruel has never been known,” you mulled. “Well, you can send her away. She is no friend of mine. Not anymore.”

“You would toss her away for your self-pity?” He wondered. “You would spurn all courtesy I allow you and for what?”

“Courtesy?” You snickered darkly, “I have nothing. You have allowed me nothing and I will not allow you to wave bait before me and snatch it away.” You clutched the nightgown in your fists, “Have you not done enough?”

He considered you. His cheek twitched and his jaw clenched. Slowly, he approached you and bent to look you in your eyes. “Your majesty,” he corrected, “You do forget yourself.”

You squinted at him and repeated those venomous words; “your majesty.”

Loki smirked and touched your cheek. His green eyes fell down your body and he shoved you so that you fell onto your back. You closed your eyes and braced for him. He laughed and retreated. You opened your eyes and watched him back away.

“You will gird yourself or I will have that girl lashed.” He warned, “Or perhaps I shall give her to my guard. He does like the innocent ones.” You lifted your head and struggled to sit up. You watched him as he neared the door. “You care for her still. It is obvious. Let us keep that in mind going forward.”

His grabbed the door handle and twisted. You seethed as he peered over his shoulder at you.

“You’re awful.” You uttered.

“Oh, I know,” he said and pushed open the door, “You might keep watch on her,” he called to Gilla, “She is still very sickened and your company would do her well.”

You listened to him go and Gilla appeared in his stead. You laid back on the bed and turned your back to her. 

“Do be quiet and let me rest.” You muttered.

[smileforsmilez]

TFA Underground City AU Part 5 (Decepticons)

Megatron

- The warlord couldn’t comprehend how such a meager little Autobot could best him, HIM- in battle. There was no way any Autobot could’ve known about his blind spot. Unless this little Prime was the next Magnus-to-be but not even Ultra Magnus knew of his blind spot. He wasn’t familiar with the fighting style either. It was a mixture of that repulsive Autobot training and something more. He’s fascinated by the masked Prime even more by it.

- He tries spying on them but he was found out sooner than expected, by the scout no less. He swore those blue optics zeroed on his spy cam the moment he entered the room.

- He has a certain fascination towards the Tunnels Mechs, stories of them only grow rarer by the era and he’s seen the Tunnels Mechs aided both Decepticon and Autobot at rare moments. Moments such as a pair of mechs catching Starscream from falling, an arm pulling the Autobot Medic out of firing range, so on and so forth. His respect stems from such events and Shockwave’s personal recount when he was allowed through one of the tunnels just once to get out of a collapsing building. They might’ve been foolish to allow outsiders through their tunnels but they had reason for it. Would anyone have stopped them from keeping their planet alive?

- He wonders where were they now and what happened to them to simply be erased from history. He’s wondered before if Cybertron could survive without both the All Spark and the Tunnels Mechs.

Starscream

- He doesn’t care too much about those tunnel dwellers but like any other sensible Decepticon he has some level of respect for their efforts, the Autobots would truly be fools if they had rid of them.

- A mech he knew long ago was a Sea Jack. Kind fellow, dead fellow.

- He hadn’t expected whatever relation he had with Skyfire would save him after he was gone. Certainly not in the form of two Sea Jacks saving his aft after his wing was shot off. “ We owed him.” Was all they had said before disappearing again.

- He never told anyone what he knew of Sea Jacks or any Tunnels Mech. Personally, “ It’s our secret, Star”

Lugnut

- He had once thought of them as cowards for not taking up arms to fight the war. Strika had been the one to tell him what they were truly doing and after Megatron unofficially approving of their efforts, he has some respect for them.

- He had killed an Ice Mech once and unfortunately injured dozens more, he had mistaken the slightly larger civilian frames for a regular Autobot’s. He didn’t know, he truly didn’t until a frost covered pickaxe came flying at his biggest optic. The injury made his new optic itch still, unable to integrate properly into his frame.

- He’d been more careful with badgeless mechs since.

- The Autobot Prime had removed his badge some time before the Elite Guard showed up so he’s not sure how to react to that.

Blitzwing

- He doesn’t know anyone who was a Tunnels Mech. The stories seemed rather a bit far fetched in his opinion. It was rather absurd to think mechs could be living beneath Cybertron.

- It became more plausible when the Prime broke out of his ice so smoothly. Of course he knew the ice doesn’t kill mechs. But the way he moved showed a familiarity to the cold substance. Each hack with that axe was precise, he knew exactly where to hit to shatter an entire chunk with one hit.

- The hummel proved insecticons were real so why not Tunnels Mechs.

Blackarachnia

- She’s never heard of these tunnel dwellers before joining the Decepticons. She didn’t get why these bots were respected or special in any way. It’s not like only they knew how to run the cores and temperatures on Cybertron....oh shit, they are the only who knew.

- Is the planet going to die? Can they be replaced? Autobot society is so screwed up.

- Can they be recreated? Apparently not. There were too many details and specifications to be able to recreate anything like them. Word has it that they fled the planet after some sort of event during her academy years. She recalled how upset Optimus had been one cycle, he wasn’t even talking anymore. She brushed off the memory, like he’d actually know anything about the Tunnels Mechs.

- Giving up on the Tunnels Mech stories mostly due to how vague they were, she focused on her own goals.

- She’ll have to decide something one day when she sees Optimus again.

Shockwave

- His time as a senator had been one of the reasons he was still standing. It had given him the chance to meet the fabled Tunnels Mechs.

- They had foolishly allowed him passage and he sought to make note of the routes and use them for the Decepticon cause. “ Cybertron’s chaging.” His guide had told him as he walked down the passage. He waited for anything else but was met with silence. The silence was broken once again by a humm, soon joined by several voices as they sang in Whisper, the rhythm of their work as they moved reminded him when he had visited Megatron in the mines all those years ago. “ Goodbye, Senator.” The guide mutters before leaving.

- When he returned to infiltrate the Autobots the sight of the sealed tunnels devastated him. Every single entry was completely sealed. He tried opening one at Rodion but was greeted with a mountain of dead frames just rusting there, they were trying to escape.

- The discovery was broadcasted throughout the Decepticon network, caught on by a few Tunnels Mechs who were secretly among them and spread to every known Tunnels Mech network until it reached the Tunnels Mechs travelling at the edges of the universe and back to the ones on Cybertron.

The news of what happened to the Tunnels Mechs were intercepted by a rather hated enemy to all of Cybertron. They wanted to use this opportunity to invade Cybertron now that the primary system protecting its core has been eradicated.

[bluejayblueskies]

ludus

n. playful or uncommitted love; love that is focused on flirtation, infatuation, and laughter 

Words: 2.0k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Gerry Keay, Jonathan Sims & Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Gerry Keay, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Additional Tags: AU - University, AU - Everyone Lives/No One Dies, Fluff and Humor, Drinking, Alcohol, Queerplatonic Partnership, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character

Summary:

Gerry generally doesn’t frequent pubs like this one, where the wooden table in front of him is sticky enough that his glass pulls slightly against his grip as he lifts it before it unsticks with a wet ripping noise. The pub is a small, dirty thing, aptly named The Rusty Bucket, and apparently, it’s the venue for trivia night every Thursday, of which Jon and his friends are regulars.

Gerry’s never met Jon’s friends. But he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Read on Ao3

Or, read below (more content warnings below the cut):

cw: - implied drug use - teasing - assumption that an aro character is allo (corrected and apologized for)

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Gerry’s never really been one for drinking. For one, he thinks beer is gross (and that a much better use for wheat and yeast is bread, which he very much enjoys and happens to be quite skilled at making), and for two, he’s never quite been able to shake that ingrained notion that drinking is always a precursor to something else.

 Sometimes, that something else is simply being drunk. Sometimes, it’s to loosen up, to make time with friends that much lighter and freer. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes, it’s buying a stranger a drink and punching your number into their phone with fingers made unsteady by liquor. Sometimes, it’s wine on a date, with lips stained a deep red and cheeks flushed only in part due to the alcohol.

 Sometimes, it’s more. And Gerry doesn’t like taking risks that he doesn’t have to. So he generally doesn’t frequent pubs like this one, where the wooden table in front of him is sticky enough that his glass pulls slightly against his grip as he lifts it before it unsticks with a wet ripping noise.

 Gross.

 “You don’t have to come,” Jon had said for what had to have been the fifteenth time, even as they’d caught sight of the pub that sat just a few blocks from campus. It was a small, dirty thing, aptly named The Rusty Bucket, and apparently, it was the venue for trivia night every Thursday, of which Jon and his friends were regulars.

 Right. Jon’s friends. It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault that Gerry had yet to meet everyone else who’d left a mark on Jon’s life (though if asked, Gerry would insist that it was his, probably; he wasn’t known for being overly social). It was just different walks of life, different cobblestone paths that happened to intersect in a five-foot-four skinny Pakistani man with wire-rimmed glasses and a perpetual line between his eyes that fell just as easily into a smile as it did a scowl. But now that he had the chance, he found that he wanted to meet them. Maybe it was because Jon had seemed so excited, in his own way, to introduce them to Gerry. Or maybe it was just because Gerry wanted to get to know every part of Jon, to peel back every layer of the man who had wriggled underneath his skin and refused to budge no matter how hard Gerry tried.

 Jon’s friends were one such layer, painted in lovely sunset hues that cast fondness and exasperation across Jon’s face in equal measure whenever he spoke of them. So Gerry wanted to meet them.

 Hell, maybe he’d like them. Jon liked them. And that was one hell of a stamp of approval.

 “I know,” Gerry said. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

 And the look Jon gave him at that—something profoundly grateful and even more profoundly enamored—shot through Gerry like liquid cocaine. Though if Gertrude ever asks, Gerry certainly has no such metric to know what that would feel like.

 Jon’s presence next to him in the booth is a grounding one, even as Gerry feels himself getting lost in the conversation ebbing and swelling around him like white-crested waves on a sandy shore, like he’s a seashell that’s only kept from washing away by a deft hand that snatches it from the sand and holds it close. Most of the ebb and swell seems to be coming from Tim and Sasha, who bicker like they’ve been married for years but who, according to Jon, have already passed through their will-they-won’t-they stage and have settled quite firmly on won’t-they.

 “Sasha’s aro too,” Jon had said, almost too-casually, as he put away a plate he’d been drying. “And Tim’s ace. A- a bit different than me, though, with regards to…”

 Jon made a vague motion with his hand that Gerry recognized as his sex hand wave, and the giggle that slipped from him unbidden earned him a sharp glare.

 “Sorry, sorry,” Gerry said, his eyes still twinkling with mirth. Then, because he couldn’t quite help himself: “Are you just- just collecting aspec friends? Or is it some sort of magnetic pull? Because I’d like to know if I’m a trophy friend or a hapless victim of your non-sexual magnetism.”

 The wet sponge Jon threw at him was certainly warranted. It did nothing to wipe the smile from Gerry’s face.

 So there’s Tim and Sasha, carrying ninety-five percent of the conversational weight. Martin sits tucked away in a corner, his hands closed around a glass of cola and his mouth curled into a small smile as he watches Tim and Sasha bicker.

 (“I don’t drink,” Martin had explained quickly when Gerry’s eyes had found his glass the first time, throwing the words between them like some sort of barricade. Like it was any of Gerry’s business what Martin did or didn’t drink.

 It certainly made Gerry’s virgin piña colada a lot less humiliating, though it did nothing to diminish the curling embarrassment he’d felt upon ordering it. So Gerry tipped his head toward his own drink and said, “Me either. Virgin in more ways than one.”

 Which was probably not the right thing to say. Oh well.

 Martin’s face had gone cherry red, and the laugh that escaped his lips seemed to take him entirely by surprise. “Oh,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. “I- congratulations?”

 It certainly wasn’t the most awkward exchange Gerry had ever had. But it was up there.

 Gerry took a small sip of his drink and decided that he quite liked Martin Blackwood.)

 Gerry sets his drink back down with a grimace and says, quiet enough that only Jon will hear him, “When is the trivia bit meant to start? I’m dying to put my near-encyclopedic knowledge of 20th-century prose to use.”

 “Need I remind you,” Jon says without taking his eyes away from Tim and Sasha, “that we are both English majors?”

 Gerry knocks his knee against Jon’s under the table. “Guess we’ll just have to see who remembers Dr. Nimeiri’s class better then.”

 Jon groans. “I thought we agreed to never speak about that again.”

 Gerry gives Jon his best shit-eating grin. “And forget the place where we met and our lives were forever changed? Oh, I would never.”

 “One,” Jon says, holding up a finger and finally turning to face Gerry. “One B, Gerry. And it was that fucking class.”

 “Jon, nobody got an A in that class. Nobody. I barely passed.”

 “Yes, well—”

 Gerry raises an eyebrow. Jon’s mouth snaps shut and dips into what Gerry could only describe as a pout. After a moment, where Jon clearly recalls every other version of this conversation they’ve had and the myriad of insensitive things that Jon has said in quick succession, Jon finally sighs and says, “Fine. Trivia’s in thirty minutes, I believe.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Oh, there’s no need to look so smug.”

 It’s about halfway between then and trivia when the conversation finally, inevitably, and quite unfortunately lands squarely on Gerry’s leather-clad shoulders.  

 “So,” Tim says, leaning his elbows on the liquor-sticky table and flashing Gerry a conspiratorial grin. “I think it’s high past time we hear all the sordid details of how Jon managed to convince you to give him the time of day.”

 “Hey,” Jon snaps, giving Tim an impressive glare that bounces harmlessly off Tim’s million-dollar smile.

 “Not much to tell,” Gerry says with a shrug. “Switched majors, took a shitty class, and got a very critical peer review on my first draft paper. Had quite an illuminating conversation with said peer reviewer after class that day, actually. Can’t imagine how that evolved into getting coffee.”

 “You asked me,” Jon says in a sullen voice, looking very much like he’d like to melt into the woodgrains of the seatback behind him.

 “That I did,” Gerry concedes. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for angry red pen and put-upon posh accents.”

 “For the last time, it is not put upon!”

 Tim’s laughter makes Jon’s lips fold into a pout, and Gerry presses his knee firmly against Jon’s underneath the table. He feels Jon melt against him, just a bit, like a bristling cat brought back to itself by a gentle hand between its ears.

 “So, then,” Sasha asks, pushing into Tim’s space as she leans closer to them with an inquisitive glint to her eyes. “Are you two dating?”

 “Sasha!” Martin squeaks, his eyes wide as saucers as he looks at her like she’d just suggested they all strip down to their socks or something. If Gerry weren’t so used to the question—albeit not directed at him and Jon before—he might have had a similar expression on his face.

 “What?” Sasha says defensively, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a question! And a perfectly innocent one at that!”

 “Nothing with you is ever perfectly innocent,” Tim mutters under his breath, which earns him an elbow in the ribs.

 Gerry sighs in something close to resignation. He’d been expecting the question, really; Gerry hated the idea of his identity being spread behind his back like some sort of rumor, so he’d asked Jon to keep it private until he got the chance to disclose it himself. It had gotten a bit more complicated when they’d become queerplatonic partners but only because apparently Jon had a chronic inability to do anything halfway, and that included his relationships. Needless to say, Jon had admitted several hours before they’d arrived at the pub that his friends were all convinced that they were dating and that Jon couldn’t figure out how to correct them without explaining their situation in full.

 So, then. Gerry’s never been the biggest fan of speaking openly about his romantic preferences—or lack thereof, he supposes—but then Jon’s hand is brushing against his arm, the touch feather-light yet grounding all the same, and Gerry finds that the weight on his chest is all but gone.

 “No,” Gerry says. The word doesn’t burn on the way out like he feared it would. “Er. Not romantically, at least.”

 It’s less awkward than he thought it might be—putting the threads that run from Jon’s hands to his into words, skirting around textbook definitions for a bit before finally just biting the bullet and rattling them off rapid-fire, even though he hates how impersonal it all sounds and would much rather focus on how he feels when he sees Jon across the quad or how Jon’s fingers feel against his scalp when he brushes his hair or how Jon snores ever so slightly when he sleeps.

 In the end, Tim just makes some joke about friendship premium subscription, Sasha sheepishly apologizes for having made assumptions, and the conversation is blissfully cut short by the announcement that trivia will be starting in two minutes.

 Gerry’s hand finds Jon’s under the table and squeezes it tightly, just once. A silent thank you. The best I love you that Gerry can think to give right now. Jon’s shoulder knocks against Gerry’s in response, and Gerry thinks, just for a moment, about how fucking lucky he is.

 They end up losing trivia night—1967 is the correct date, Jon kept insisting, even when Tim finally pulled the book up on his phone and informed Jon that he was, in fact, off by a year and was therefore wrong—to Jon’s utter dismay and distress. But the sentiment still stands.

 And when Tim grins at Gerry and says, See you soon!, and Sasha follows up with, Next Thursday for trivia?, and Martin pitches in with a quiet, It was very nice to meet you, Gerry, Gerry doesn’t hate the warm, fuzzy feeling that spreads through him at the knowledge that Jon’s friends like him.

 Two cobblestone paths merge into one, the rocks threading together as easily as Jon’s fingers with Gerry’s, and the road ahead looks like nothing but wide-open sky and glittering stars.

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Lost Book of the White Countdown Event - Emotions

Wistful Future

(Read on Ao3)

The sun was setting over the spires of New York, casting rich orange light onto the city below. Alec sat on the rooftop of the Institute, winding down after a long, heated training session. On the street below, leaves fluttered about as the cool, crisp wind blew around.

“Phew, that was the best training session I’ve had in ages,” Jace said from beside him, stretching his arms above his head. Alec shot him a fond exasperated smile.

“‘Course you’d say that,” he muttered, more tired than anything else.

Jace grinned at him. “I see being a father is taking its toll on you.”

“I slept two hours last night,” Alec admitted with a chaste smile. “It’s difficult but he’s worth it. Max.”

“Must be nice, having a family,” Jace mused, sounding wistful. “I wonder what Clary would think about having kids. I mean, we’ll have to get married first, obviously, otherwise Jocelyn will have my head.”

Jace laughed, but Alec turned his face away at those words. He must’ve noticed, because the laughter died away and he asked,

“Hey, you okay?”

Alec bit his lip consideringly, then blurted out, “I asked Magnus to marry me.”

Jace was silent a moment, then asked, “What did he say?”

A small smile appeared on Alec’s face. “He said yes, of course. But… he wants to wait until the law is changed.”

Jace frowned. “What? What does the law have to do with this?”

“If Magnus and I get married, the Clave won’t recognise the marriage as legal,” Alec explained. “I won’t be allowed to bear the runes. Even if we get married, I’ll still be a bachelor in the eyes of the close.” Alec rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t blame Magnus, of course. He just wants the best. It’s just… changing the law will take a while.”

“You want to be the one to change it, don’t you?” Jace put it forward so simply, as if it were just another mundane task, as if it wasn’t the law they were talking about.

“Of course,” Alec said. “I’ve wanted to change it since our vacation, when I realised that the law wasn’t built to protect people like Magnus. We as Shadowhunters are meant to protect, but if that protection doesn’t extend to everyone in this world, then there’s no point in it.”

Jace clapped him on the back. “I’ll help you whatever way I can.”

Alec smiled at him. “I knew you would.”

“So what’s the plan? Are you going to stage a revolt?” Jace asked, leaning towards Alec.

Alec’s eyes widened. “No! No revolt!”

“Then you‘ll infiltrate the Clave’s ranks and pull the stupid law apart?”

Alec blinked. “Something like that.”

Jace grinned. “Great. You’re next in line for Head of Institute anyway. You can-“

“No,” Alec said. “As a Head, I can only suggest new laws. The ones capable of changing them are the Council, Consul and the Inquisitor. Consul, I could try after Jia’s term is over. Inquisitor is out of the question - they don’t really have a term, and Dad’s doing well so I doubt they’d replace him anytime soon. Until then, I’ll have to focus on getting a seat on the Council.”

Jace blinked, astonished. “You’ve got all this planned out, don’t you?”

Alec smiled and nodded, his face turned up to the open sky. “I just want to get married to him the way he wants, no matter how long it will take. He’s- I just love him so much, you know?”

Jace shot him a smile. “I know. And Alec?”

“What?”

“I better be your suggenes.”

“Of course.” Alec grinned at him. “Can you keep it quiet for now, though? It’s not official yet, and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

Jace shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be able to tell them someday, though. Right?”

“Right.” Alec nodded, and they settled into a comfortable silence.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Catarina commented.

She was sitting across from Magnus in the living room, her skin a lighter blue than usual and somewhat blurry around the edge - hardly surprising, considering that she was just a projection in the living room. Physically, Catarina was still at that Godforsaken Academy, where the mundanes, Simon included, were to face Ascension in two weeks.

“Just thinking,” Magnus said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. His other hand was curled around Max, his and Alec’s newfound baby, who was fast asleep in Magnus’s lap.

Catarina frowned. “Please you’re thinking good things. You have a baby now. You can’t do any crazy stuff now-“

“First of all, I wasn’t planning on doing any crazy stuff,” Magnus protested. “Secondly, I was thinking of something else entirely. It’s just-“ Magnus bit his lip, then blurted out, “Alec asked me to marry him.”

Catarina’s eyes grew very wide and she nearly dropped her teacup. “What did you say?!”

“Yes, obviously, but…” Magnus hesitated, then continued, “I told him I wanted to wait for the law to change. I don’t want the Clave to see him as lesser because he’s married to me, and because their law doesn’t recognise our marriage as real. I just don’t want his life to be difficult because of me.”

Magnus’s voice went very low towards the end, and he heard Catarina sigh.

“Magnus,” she said softly, and he couldn’t help but look at her. Catarina was smiling at him, her teacup dangling between two fingers. “It doesn’t look to me like you’re making his life difficult. It’s the contrary, in fact. Everytime I’ve seen you both together, you looked so happy. Like it was enough just to be at each other’s side.”

“It is,” Magnus said. “It is more than enough. I’d gladly die by his side, if I could. But… I do want to marry him.”

And then, very quietly, he added, “No one’s ever asked me to marry them before.”

“He sure is something, huh?” Catarina said, resting her chin on top of her palm, having discarded her teacup somewhere. “I’m happy for you, Magnus. Really, I am. I hope that damn law gets changed soon.”

Magnus smiled at her. “Me too, Cat. Me too.”

“I’m telling you now,” Catarina said seriously, leaning forward. “I’m your best woman. Don’t let anyone else claim that spot.”

“Don’t you worry,” Magnus said with a grin. “I won’t.”

Catarina smiled, but something must’ve happened on her end because she looked away for a brief moment, then turned back to Magnus and said with a sigh,

“I have to go. Some stupid Shadowhunter decided to hurl a mace into the wall in the middle of the night. They’re calling me for damage repair.”

Magnus frowned at that. “Make the walls fuschia while you’re at it.”

Catarina shot him a wry smile. “Fashionable and makes a Shadowhunter mad. You’re really rubbing off on me.”

Magnus grinned. “I have that effect on people.” He blew her a kiss and waved his fingers at her. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

Catarina waved back, and in the blink of an eye, faded away.

Magnus opened the main door to the apartment and wasn’t surprised to see Alec standing outside, his hand outstretched halfway towards the doorknob.

“Hey,” Alec said, smiling brightly at the sight of him, his eyes lighting up ever so beautifully.

“You’re here early,” Magnus said, leaning against the open door.

Alec shrugged. “Mom let me off today so I could be with Max. Speaking of which, where is he?”

Alec looked over his shoulder, looking for Max, but Magnus stopped him.

“He’s fast asleep,” he said. “Has been for over an hour. I don’t think he’ll wake up for a while.”

“Oh,” Alec said, and his shoulders relaxed. “Okay then.”

He stepped into the house, walking past Magnus, and dumped his bag of weapons in one corner. Magnus watched as Alec took off his gear jacket, hanging it up on a hook in the wall. He walked to him and put his arms around Alec’s waist, nuzzling his face into Alec’s neck.

“Did you have dinner?” Magnus asked.

“Not yet,” Alec said, turning his head into Magnus’s and giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. “I was thinking we could eat together.”

“Of course,” Magnus said with a wide smile. “Whatever you want.”

After a quick dinner of Italian, during which Magnus insisted on lighting candles as they ate simply because he was in a romantic mood, they curled up on the couch, some random movie playing on TV.

“I told Jace about our unofficial engagement,” Alec said, fiddling with one of the buttons on Magnus’s shirt. Magnus looked at him - he was resting his head against Magnus’s shoulder - and said,

“And I told Catarina.” He grinned. “She was very happy to hear the news.”

“So was Jace,” Alec added with a wistful smile. “I keep thinking about it, you know. What I’ll be like, to get married.”

“So do I,” Magnus admitted. “I personally want a three tiered cake with two mini figurines of us on top.”

Alec laughed. “That sounds nice. Maybe we could have one of those big chocolate fountains, too?”

They went back and forth like this for a while, talking about their plausible marriage in hushed tones, their hands intertwined between them. Magnus couldn’t help but remember a time when his life was much different, when his heart was slowly closing to the world no matter how much he didn’t want it to. Until Alec stepped in and stopped that, sending a flood of emotions into his heart, the good and the bad - happiness, want, love, heartbreak, peace, sorrow, and someday, grief. But for now, Magnus pushed away the thoughts of the inevitable grief that would find him, and focused on Alec - Alec here, Alec now, the warmth of his body against Magnus’s as they talked on the couch, his sweet voice tethering him to the mortal world.

Later, when it was late into the night and they were lying together in bed, Alec with his head on Magnus’s chest and arms around each other, Alec asked,

“Where do you want to get married?”

Even as sleep dragged him down, Magnus knew exactly was his answer was.

“The beach,” he said. “My first home was near one. The sound of waves, no matter where, reminds of that place.” He smiled into the dark. “It would be nice to hear the waves and think of something else for a change.”

[purplebass]

Holograms

This is something new that I’ve written for @lucieblckthorn 💜 I know there are some good TLH/TDA time travel one shots out there, but I also wanted to write mine, so here it is. 

Ship/Characters: TLH gang, Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn, Mina Carstairs Rating: T Prompt: Kit, Ty and Mina find themselves in 1903 and meet the TLH gang

“Jamie? Matthew? Thomas?”

Christopher’s voice echoed through the stairs that led to the laboratory in the basement. James and Matthew were at the Institute, and they run downstairs to check on him once they heard him call for their help.

“Are you okay, Kit?” James asked, looking around the room that used to be Henry’s lab once upon a time. Relief filled him when he realized that there wasn’t anything on fire. “I thought you were hurt.”

Christopher shrugged and adjusted his glasses. His hand left a black mark on his cheek but he didn’t seem to care. “I’m good, thanks for asking. Don’t you notice something wrong?”

“It seems all in order to me,” Matthew commented with a smirk. “Considering that there are no broken chairs or tables or glass on the floor. That’s a new achievement for you, Kit.”

“Christopher is right, though,” James interjected, moving closer to the furthest wall in the room. “Someone has been through the portal.”

Both heads turned and examined the area James had just pointed out. “It’s true, Jamie. The portal has been activated. Was there an Enclave meeting or something that you know of?” Christopher wondered as he untied his protective jacket that he only used when he was in the lab.

“My parents are here. I’ve just seen papa, so I doubt it.”

“Then who could have…?” Matthew began, but then something caught his eyes in the portal. “By the angel, who is that?”

James and Christopher were as speechless as Matthew when a little girl who could have been around two strutted into the laboratory.

“James! It’s a baby!” Christopher said.

“We can see that,” Matthew remarked. “The problem is, who is she and what is she doing here?”

James ignored the two and walked to the little girl trying not to scare her. “Are you lost, little one?”

The girl was petite and had deep dark brown eyes and dark hair. She didn’t say anything, she just put her finger in her mouth and clutched on the teddy bear she was carrying.

“I think we should cross the portal and take her back,” Matthew offered.

“What? No. We can’t do that! What if we go somewhere and we can’t go back?” Kit said.

“Christopher is right. What if we cross the portal and it closes on us and we’re the ones who are stuck?” James noticed, trying to take the kid’s hand. The little girl gripped her hand around James’ really hard, then she looked up at him with adoration as if he was the most beautiful thing on Earth. “Oh, she trusts me,” he added.

“James, she seems to have a thing for you.”

“Gross,” Christopher commented.

Matthew glared at Kit and rolled his eyes. “My comment didn’t have a double meaning.”

“This is not the time to argue. Shall we take her to Lucie before I ask my parents how we should handle this?”

“I think it’s a great idea.”

James, Christopher and Matthew found Lucie in the training room with Cordelia.

“Do you want something, James?” Lucie asked as she tried to duck because Cordelia was aiming her sword at her.

“We have a guest,” Matthew said, but neither Cordelia nor Lucie stopped their practice fight to look at who the guest was.

“Would you please not ignore us, Luce?” James shouted to get her attention. The little girl held on his hand with such strength he thought she might not be human.

Lucie and her parabatai halted their movements and grabbed a towel from a bench nearby to wipe the sweat off their faces. It was Lucie who noticed the baby. “By the angel, Jamie!!! Where did you steal a child? Do you know that kidnapping a mundane is punishable by law?”

“Calm down, Lu,” James reprimanded his sister, who usually imagined the most creative scenarios when it came to their lives. “We did not kidnap this kid. We found her in the lab in the basement.”

“She’s adorable,” Cordelia commented, crossing the room to get closer to her. She lowered to her height so that they were at the same eye level. “What is your name, baby?”

Everyone in the training room waited for the girl to say something, anything. “Mi-mi, Na-na, Mi-mi,” the baby girl replied.

“She’s just blabbering nonsense,” Matthew concluded.

“Maybe she’s just shy, don’t you think?” Lucie noted, crossing her arms on her chest expectantly.

Matthew was about to reply to Lucie when two people barged inside of the training room and closed the door behind them. They hadn’t realized they weren’t alone.

“I told you to get that Magnus Bane to help us,” the blond guy said.

“He was having a vacation with his husband! And you know that we can’t use the damn portal just like that. We can’t do like that time we tried to revive…” said the second guy, who had a mop of black hair which reminded the people present in the room of somebody else.

“Who the heck are you?” asked the one with golden hair. He had a set of deep blue eyes, but that wasn’t the trait that Matthew, Christopher, Cordelia, Lucie and James noticed first.

Matthew advanced towards them. “What is that expression? Heck? What does it mean?”

“Math, that’s not the problem here,” James interjected. “Who are you?”

The two guys exchanged a glance and whispered something in each other’s ears before speaking. “Look, dude, you are in no position to ask the questions here. And why are you dressed as if you were in the Victorian era or something?”

“Edwardian, we’re in the Edwardian era,” Lucie corrected him.

“Are you kidding, right?” The guy with black hair wondered in astonishment, then tugged on the other guy’s jacked and pointed at the little girl next to James. “Your sister is here!”

“What the flying -! How did you come here, kiddo?” he said, running towards the baby girl and hugging her. She hugged him back but she still wouldn’t leave James’ hand. The teenager glared at James, but James grinned smugly at him.

“Now you’re going to tell us who you are, okay? And why are you here.”

“Speaking of, where are we? I mean, which year is this?” the other one asked.

They all seemed confused as they gazed at each other. “Could they be from the future?” Christopher wondered out loud. “It’s not impossible, you know? Uncle Henry and Magnus Bane created the portals, what if the shadowhunters who come after us shall create even greater things?”

Some of them nodded in agreement.

“Do you also know Magnus Bane?” Blond guy asked.

“He’s one of our allies and one of my parents’ old friends,” James explained. “Speaking of…”

The door of the training room opened to reveal James’ father William, who was holding some papers in his hand. He looked at the young girls and boys scattered around the wide space with skepticism, tilting his head when he focused on the strangers.

“I heard someone run and came to check. Is someone hurt?”

“We’re fine, mister Herondale. Thank you for your concern,” Cordelia offered.

“You’re William Herondale?” The blonde guy guessed.

Will examined the young boy from head to toe, frowning at his weird clothes. “That would be me.”

Blond guy turned to black-haired guy as if he had just remembered that he had something on the stove and had forgotten to turn it off. “It’s him, Ty. Him! What the heck, wait till I tell my-“

“I guess you’ve come here through the portal, haven’t you?” Will stopped their exchange.

“Yeah? We come from 2015. We activated it because we wanted to go back to a specific moment in the past because the book we’ve stolen from Magnus Bane’s house said so- “blond guy put a hand on Ty’s mouth.

“Would you shut up, Ty! He doesn’t need to know all of these things! And he’s the director of the London Institute, he will call the Clave and we’ll go to jail and we’ll lose our marks.”

“Stop being dramatic, Kit! Ugh!”

“Kit and Ty, huh? Shadowhunters from the future thanks to a portal. Interesting,” Will commented with a grin. “Shall we make an agreement? I’ll help you go back to 2015 or something – does the world live until then? Amazing! – but you have to promise me that you won’t do it again.”

“But my sister –“ Ty said, but stopped abruptly. His whole features darkened. Kit patted his shoulder and they looked at each other. A look of understanding and affection.

“Dude, we agree, uhm, William Herondale,” Kit said, offering his hand to him. “Agree handshake?”

“What? Ha, okay, Kit,” he agreed, and he and Kit shook hands. “Alright. I think I should call Magnus now, because what do I know about going back to the future, huh?”

Their moment was broken by a: “by the angel!” uttered by Cordelia, which made everyone turn towards her. “You’ll cut yourself, dear,” she told the baby, who was gripping her hands on Cortana’s handle but she still couldn’t hold it properly since she was not strong enough. They were sitting on a bench. “Cortana isn’t rejecting her,” she added, awed by the fact that her sword was not pushing the child away.

“Maybe because she is a child?” Lucie offered, but Cordelia shrugged.

Will stared at the little child with dark hair and dark brown eyes and smiled. He had just thought that the baby reminded him of someone, but he wouldn’t say out loud nor he would ask Kit and Ty whether his suspicion was true. He could hinder the future of these kids or he may just delude himself that she was… “It’s time to go, kids. Come with me. I’ll take the baby if you like.”

Kit and Ty agreed and they left the training room with Will holding the baby in his arms.

“Wait until I tell them,” Kit said to Ty, and at that, Will grinned again.

A few hours later, after Magnus Bane had come and blamed Will for not letting him sleep his beauty sleep since he was still adjusting to the London time zone, he was able to create an enchantment that would bring Kit, Ty and the little baby girl to their time.

“I don’t know if it will work, but it doesn’t hurt to try. I’m actually enthralled by this!”

“You just like that the future you are able to cast such magic,” Kit commented, at which Magnus glared at him.

“If the guys from the future are all so conceited and direct, I don’t know if I want to live forever.”

“Trust me, you do,” Kit winked, and Magnus had no idea of what he was talking about.

As Kit and Ty and the girl were about to cross the portal to hopefully get to their future, Tessa arrived to the basement.

“Will, bach, you’re here.”

“Tessa,” the guy named Kit murmured. Will shot him a glance and smiled like a fool, which made Kit uneasy.

“It’s time for you to go back or to go forward as you please,” Will urged them. “Your parents may be worried for you.”

“My parents are dead,” Ty said. “But his parents…”

Kit elbowed Ty. “Yes, yes, I agree. They’ll be super worried because me and my sister have disappeared. We better go. Ty?”

Ty rolled his eyes and grabbed Kit’s hand, then they turned one last time and crossed the portal and they were gone.

“Do you think they’ve made it?” Will asked Magnus.

Magnus shrugged, unbothered. “I guess only time will tell. By the way, I’m suing you for all the time you’ve made me lose all of these years, William.”

“Let’s say we believe you, Magnus,” Will smirked, then Magnus started climbing the stairs to leave the basement.

He and Tessa were alone now, and she was confused. “Who were those people?”

Will took her hands in his and he kissed both palms. “Just people from the future.”

“Just people from the future? I wonder who they were and why they ended up here,” Tessa said, squeezing her husband’s hand and leading him towards the stairs so they could leave.

Will smirked but tried not to appear too excited because of the recent events. “I wonder that too, but we shall never know. Ugh, I’m hungry, Tess. Aren’t you?”

“That’s why I went to look for you. Dinner has been ready for ages, Will.”

“You should have eaten without me. You shouldn’t starve because your silly husband is dealing with dudes from the future,” he said with a jovial tone.

Tessa’s face contorted in confusion again. “Dude… what?”

“I heard those fellas say it. No idea what it means.”

“Then you shouldn’t say it, Will. What if it’s a bad word?” Tessa admonished him with a smile, not entirely convinced that was a bad word in the future.

“I doubt it or I’m going through that portal to scold those two.”

[infernalrevenge]

Ten Minutes

Fandom: Choices - Foreign Affairs

Pairing: F!Blaine Hayes x M!MC (Magnus Quezon)

Rating: G

Summary: Blaine makes Magnus take a nap.

Notes: I mostly posted this because I almost never see F!Blaine content, much less with a male MC (if ever at all) so I made my own food.

----------

Magnus' eyes focused on the hardwood table he was leaning on, though his vision blurred as his eyelids started to droop. Come on, stay awake! Blaine's saying something oh god, you have to listen! Her words swam in his ears -- something about sin taxes and effectivity and more research. God, his head felt so heavy. Waiting until the last minute to study for a quiz he knew was coming up was a bad idea.

I've clearly learned nothing from undergrad.

"Hey, Rutherland," a muddy voice cut through his drowsy haze. Magnus shot his head up, trying to focus on the girl sitting across from him. "Rough night?" she added, a playful edge to her voice.

"Sort of," he sighed, shaking his head as if to snap himself out of his state, "But it's nothing to be concerned about."

"It is my concern if my project partner's gonna turn zombie on me mid-discussion," she raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, his skin paler than usual. The sudden intrusion into his space caused Magnus to yelp a bit in surprise, immediately covering his mouth -- half out of shock at the noise he just made, and half to keep it down. He didn't want them to get kicked out of the library.

"Did you even sleep at all last night?" Blaine asked incredulously, like she couldn't believe Mr. Perfect Pants actually put off a good night's rest.

"I'm fine!" he retorted, straightening up as best as he could in his seat.

"You're clearly not."

"I am," he fought, his voice softer this time.

"Then what did I say earlier about what to research on?"

"Uh... Sin tax, right?"

"That was like ten minutes ago, we're on the contributions of the Paladian Empire now." Blaine sighed, sitting back down on her chair.

God, he had been repeating the same thing in his head in hopes of making it seem like he was paying attention. "Sorry sorry, I just... I'll listen, I promise."

Blaine was clearly unconvinced -- she seemed almost... worried. Magnus squinted his eyes at her, as if trying to get a better look. Was he hallucinating the concern etched on her face? "I swear you look like you're gonna come for my brain any minute now," she teased again, hoping to ease the Rutherlandian's worries, and to avert attention from her.

"No no, I'm awake, I really--"

"Take a nap."

Magnus looked up at her, blinking in disbelief. "What?"

"Take a nap, Rutherland. You can't work running on zero hours of sleep."

Well, that sounded tempting, but...

"Look it's fine, I can catch up on sleep after we--" he tried to get a word in, but she cut him off.

"You'll work better if you do it now."

"I said I'm fine, can we just--"

"Magnus."

Wait, did she just call him by his name? She actually knew his name! This was enough to stop him in his tracks, his attention on her instead of whatever flimsy argument was about to come out of his mouth.

"Just take a nap. Ten minutes tops and we can get back to talking."

The suggestion alone made his eyelids feel heavier than before -- suddenly using his sweater as a pillow didn't seem so bad.

"I'm sure ten minutes without seeing my gorgeous face wouldn't be that big of a travesty, right?" she teased again, a chuckle escaping.

The young man couldn't help a soft snort, shaking his head. He sighed, briefly closing his eyes before looking back at Blaine.

"Ten minutes, okay? Then we can get back to work."

"Ten minutes."

Magnus took a peek around to see if the librarian was anywhere near, though seeing as he and Blaine were on the other side of the floor hidden between rows of bookshelves, he wouldn't rouse too much suspicion. Not like there was a rule that students weren't allowed to sleep in the building, though it was "heavily discouraged".

Still, he wanted to keep up some appearances, so he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to him, resting his head gently on it as he tried to wriggle into a position he was comfortable in. It didn't take long before Blaine was greeted by the sight of a sleeping Magnus, mouth slightly open as his shoulders slowly rose and fell with each deep breath he took. She glanced over at her phone to check the time.

Ten minutes.

She might as well try to do some work anyway. She went over the list of debate topics they had yet to research and alternated between saving articles and keeping an eye on the boy in front of her. It was a good thing he didn't snore in deep sleep. She couldn't help but think how peaceful he looked like this -- definitely less tense than he usually seemed around her.

It was a pity, really. She almost felt bad for him, knowing exactly how it felt to have the weight of the country's future on your shoulders. She knew she wasn't obligated to do anything her parents wanted her to do -- it's exactly why she always rebelled from them as much as she could -- but still, the pressure never really goes away.

Poor guy just never had a chance to lighten the load.

Blaine glanced at her phone again for the time -- eleven minutes had past. She was going to wake him up, she really was, but... He really looked like he could use the time to rest up still.

Besides, he looked kind of cute when he's all relaxed and not glaring at her half the time. Even if he was just a few seconds away from drooling on his sweater. Reminder: Take a picture of this moment as blackmail material.

"Ten more minutes won't be so bad," she muttered to herself. Ten more minutes of peace -- for the both of them.

.

.

.

("You better delete that photo, Blaine."

"You can pry it from my cold dead hands, Rutherland.")

[ellewritesathing]

(Un)Requited  -  I.L. III

Summary: Isaac Lahey had gone through many twists and turns in his life, but none of them compared to the whiplash he got when you asked him to tutor you. With a few weeks until the end of the semester and the big dance coming up, he’s hoping to figure out a way to ask you to go with him before it’s too late.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 3

Word-count: 3.1k+

A/N: i really need to work on updating this fic but i’ve finally figured out more or less what to do with this story line so hopefully my updates will be a bit more regular!!

Whenever Isaac thought he was getting better at functioning around you, you always found a way to prove him wrong. 

It had been a week since you developed the Get The Girl game plan, and he’d been spending a lot of time with you ever since. Isaac had left notes and corrections on your algebra homework that made you smile, figured out the kind of jokes that made you laugh, and had gone to your house a few times to study together (and only once had any actual studying been done). Magnus still hated him, but he was slowly but surely winning over Max and the rest of your family. 

You even sat in the stands whenever he had lacrosse practice and committed his schedule to memory - when Isaac knew full-well that you knew nothing about lacrosse. 

Things were looking up. At this rate, Isaac might actually have the courage to ask you out and have the tiniest, most microscopic chance of you saying yes. 

And then the weekend came and you took him to the mall to buy some new clothes and get a haircut. 

It was nothing too serious - Isaac had even said something that made you laugh over lunch - but now he was sitting in the salon chair and you were running your hands through his hair while the two of you waited for the hairdresser. 

Isaac knew it was an absent-minded gesture while you thought of what to do with him, but he couldn’t help the way it made him feel. He was surprised you couldn’t hear how his heart beat out of his chest every time you started combing through a new section, almost as surprised that you hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to a word you said. 

“So what do you think?” you asked, dropping your hands on the top of Isaac’s shoulders (sadly). The touch still made him malfunction, but it was easier now that your hands were still and your eyes were focused on his in the mirror.

“I, uh- I think that sounds like a good idea,” Isaac said, trying to look like he’d been listening. He’d meant to, honestly, but it was literally impossible for him to focus around you.

Two social steps forward and about a billion back.

“Really? I thought you’d hate bleaching it,” you said. 

Isaac’s heart nearly exploded. “Bleach?” 

“And a mohawk.” 

“Oh, you’re messing with me for zoning out,” Isaac said. Though he would have been perfectly content to have a bleach blonde mohawk if it made you happy, he pretended to be cooler than he actually was by nodding at your reflection in the mirror. “I see how it is.” 

“It was too good an opportunity to pass up,” you laughed, lifting your hands back to his hair. “What I was thinking is a little shorter on the sides but keeping the top as it is. It would break my heart if we cut off your curls.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Isaac said, too softly to be a part of his cool guy routine. Your teasing smile faded into something a bit more genuine. “Sounds good. For real this time.”

Before you had the chance to answer, the hairstylist came over and started occupying your time. As happy as it made Isaac to hear you laughing and talking with them, an ugly pang of jealousy shot through him. 

Derek had explained to Isaac when he turned that sometimes he’d feel emotions that weren’t necessarily his own. Those emotions were why anchors were so important, because otherwise Isaac would drift in a sea of emotions and they’d eventually consume him. At the time, Derek was talking about anger, but Isaac knew this had to be a part of it, too. 

Isaac just wanted you to be happy, he didn’t care who it was with or if it had anything to do with him. 

He spent the better part of the appointment trying to convince himself that he wasn’t a jealous bastard that didn’t deserve the time of day, and by the time his blowdry was done, he was back to his normal semi-functional self. 

You beamed at his hair as he stood up and ruffled it slightly, only to be laughed at by the hairstylist. Isaac couldn’t hear very well over his heart beating so loudly and with his ears recovering from the force of the hairdryer, but he could have sworn the hairstylist said something about you two being a cute couple on your way out. 

Isaac didn’t have time to dwell on the comment, though, because soon enough you were dragging him into stores he’d never been to and picking out things for him to try on. 

It was awkward at first. Isaac had lost the ability to talk to you as well as the ability to make a decision. The result was a clumsy collection of clothing and a very awkward moment before Isaac closed the changing room door with you on the other side. 

After a brief pep talk, Isaac started trying on the clothes. They weren’t bad, they just weren’t what he would normally wear. He hadn’t exactly made it easy to shop for him what with his inability to speak but he still couldn’t help feeling out of place in the stuff you’d picked out. 

When he came out, you were sitting on a bench, leaning your head against the wall and scrolling through something on your phone. You brightened up when you saw him and his heart melted, but he shook his head and placed the clothes on the return counter. 

“You didn’t like any of it?” you asked as you got to your feet. 

Isaac shook his head and sighed. “Nah, it’s not that it’s just … I haven’t really worn anything that wasn’t Camden’s first.” He blinked a few times. Where did that come from? There was no way you wouldn’t realize he was a loser now. 

“Oh,” you said quietly, dropping your gaze to your shoes. “I should have-” You looked back up at Isaac and gave him a smile. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, I’d go anywhere with you,” Isaac said before he could stop himself. He made a mental note to ask Erica to slap some sense into him when he got home.

Instead of groaning and calling him cheesy, you laughed and looped your arm around his. “Come on. I’ll buy you some ice cream on our way out.” 

The ice cream had sent shivers up your spine so, somewhere between the store and parking lot, Isaac had given you his jacket. You wore it as you drove him home, and Isaac couldn’t help but think how much better it looked on you than it did on him. 

Isaac tried to think of an excuse to not get out of the car once it was parked outside the loft, but he came up empty. He was about to thank you for the ride and the attempted shopping trip when you started talking. 

“It’s Erica, isn’t it?” you asked, staring through the windshield at where Erica was harassing Derek at the entrance to the building. She was having the time of her life and Derek looked ready to drink. 

Isaac let out a laugh. He wondered if she wanted money or if she was just having fun giving Derek a migraine. “Yeah, that’s her.” 

You bit your lip as you stared out the windshield. After a moment, you turned to look at Isaac with a somewhat indecipherable look on your face. “I think she’ll say yes.” 

“Wait, what?” Isaac asked. He had no idea what you thought Erica would say yes to, or how you got there from asking for her name. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you needed to cut your hair or change anything to get her attention,” you said, still not making any sense. “When you ask her to the dance, I think she’ll say yes.” Isaac tried very hard not to frown at you, but it probably wasn’t working because you kept talking before he could say anything. “You’re a really great guy, Isaac. If she doesn’t see that then she’s crazy.” 

“Right,” Isaac said slowly. It was the only thing he could think of to say. He had no idea how to untangle the mess he’d gotten himself into or how to explain to you that he and Erica were the farthest thing from romantic prospects. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” you said with a smile. “I’ll see you after practice on Monday?” 

“Yeah, sure. See you.”

Isaac got out of the car, feeling dazed and confused, and waved at you as you disappeared down the street. How had he gone from feeling like he had a shot with you this morning to asking Erica to the dance? 

---

“No way,” Erica said, not looking up from the nail she was painting. 

She’d refused to stop painting them, even though the smell of the open bottle made everyone in the loft feel nauseous. Today, she’d picked out a metallic shade called Black and Blue - no doubt because anyone who got close enough to see the color would be left black and blue. 

Isaac attempted to come closer but stopped when Erica slid the bottle closer to him. “Come on, I never ask you to do anything!��� 

“Oh, please. You ask me to do crap for you all the time.”

“Name one other time.” 

“Two hours ago you asked to copy my English homework because, and I quote ‘it’s a Crime and Punishment that I have to read this,’” Erica said. She looked up at him with a sly smile. “And you say you’re not witty.” 

It didn’t take a genius to see that Erica had won that angle of the argument, so Isaac changed tactics. “What if I cover for you next Thursday so you can go to that concert Derek said you’d only go to once he was dead?” 

Erica hummed and looked back down at her nails. She touched up her left ring finger before looking back up at Isaac, knowing that he’d use that time to think up several other options to offer her when she said no. “Is it really that important to you that this girl knows I’d never in a million years date you?” 

“Not how I’d phrase it, but yeah,” Isaac said. He slid into the seat across from Erica and carefully placed the lid over the bottle. 

Erica looked at him for a hard moment and then sighed. “Fine. Then I’ll find a reason to talk to her and tell her you’re not my type.” 

Isaac leaned over the table and kissed her cheek before racing out of the room to ensure he didn’t end up black and blue. “You’re the best, Erica. Have fun at the concert!” 

“Concert?” Derek asked, catching Isaac’s arm as he ran past him. 

“Definitely not,” Isaac said with a grin. He leaned in and kissed Derek’s cheek for good measure. The poor man was so off-guard that Isaac shook out of his grip without using any supernatural influences. 

---

Isaac had come up with a plan. It wasn’t a very good one, but it was the only one he had. He’d go to practice and try to be the best player on the field to impress you, and then when you guys were sitting on the bleachers and he went through his homework, he’d explain this whole scheme to you. Hopefully, the speech he’d prepared would be eloquent and he wouldn’t just throw up words all over you, but that was a risk he had to take. 

The ‘being the best player’ part kind of failed because, aside from all his issues, Isaac was very distracted by a chemo-signal in the air: nervousness. It was everywhere, but particularly near the bench and bleachers. 

He tried to put the first failure aside as he showered and changed into a shirt he thought you’d like. Instead, he went over his speech once more in his head to make sure it sounded halfway decent. 

Hey, so I know this is really weird but I need to come clean: I’ve had a crush on you ever since our brothers first dumped us on each other when we were kids. I’ve never wanted to ask Erica to the dance; I’ve only ever wanted to go with you but I never thought I had a chance with you so I lied. It was stupid, but I can’t change that now and I guess what I’m trying to say is … will you go to the dance with me?

Isaac groaned and hit his head against his locker. The speech was awful, but if he didn’t tell you the truth then he was pretty sure he was going to combust. 

He was still trying to psych himself up to talk to you when he walked back over to the bleachers and heard you laughing. Then he picked the chemo-signal up again. You were nervous. 

And you were talking to Stiles Stilinski. 

That ugly feeling of jealousy shot through him again, and Isaac worked to convince himself he was overreacting as he made his way over. 

“Hey, guys,” Isaac said evenly. He smiled at you and shot Stiles a very deliberate look. “What’s up?”

“Stiles was just telling me this story about one of your away games. Did you really fall off the bleachers right before the match and sprain your ankle?” you asked, mouth pulled up in an amused smile. It wasn’t malicious but it felt different than the one you usually gave him. 

“Uh, yeah. I guess I did,” Isaac said stiffly. “Back in freshman year. Did Stiles tell you about the time he drove his Jeep through the other team’s equipment and forced us to forfeit?” 

You whipped your head around to laugh at Stiles. Again, not maliciously. Just different. This time it was more like you and Stiles had a secret that Isaac didn’t know about. “No way, seriously?”

“Seriously. But in my defense, Scott was distracting me,” Stiles said, not sounding very defensive. He had a surprisingly easy smile on his face that made Isaac want to punch him. “But, uh, speaking of Scott, I should probably get going before he starts asking strangers for rides and becomes a seven o’clock special.” 

You laughed again and gave him a matching easy smile. “Can’t have that, can we?” 

“Definitely not,” Stiles said. His eyes flicked over to Isaac for a second before turning his attention back to you. “So I’ll see you on Friday?”

“Yeah, looking forward to it,” you said. Stiles started heading down the bleachers and you let out a small sigh before gathering up your stuff. He looked at you over his shoulder and you waved at him. 

It was amazing how such small movements made Isaac feel sick to his stomach; a smile here, a laugh there, and now a wave. 

Isaac adjusted his backpack and tried not to look as jealous as he felt. “So what’s on Friday?” 

“Oh, uh-” You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear and shrugged. There was a strange kind of nervousness rolling off you. “Stiles asked if I wanted to go to the dance with him so I suggested we do a trial run before then.” 

“Like a date?” 

“Yeah, like a date,” you said. Your expression was funny; it looked like you were trying to figure something out how Isaac felt about it, but Isaac didn’t know why his feelings would matter. “What do you think of that?” 

Isaac thought that everything made sense now. You’d never been interested in sports, and yet you came to every one of his lacrosse games and had the entire practice schedule memorized. Like an idiot, Isaac had thought all your questions meant you had taken an interest in him. 

Clearly, he wasn’t that far off. You still weren’t interested in lacrosse, you were just interested in Stiles. 

The same Stiles who hated him, made fun of him, and kept him from joining Scott’s pack for the longest time. Everything Isaac did, Stiles found a way to do better - despite being mind-numbingly human.

Stiles had a particular charm that Isaac couldn’t stand but everyone else seemed to love. He was witty, and kind, and some might say he was even good looking. And Isaac thought, most of all, that after going out with a guy like Stiles, there was no way you would ever want to go out with him.

“I think that’s great,” Isaac said with a tight smile. His heart was beating out of his chest and if you were like him, you would have known he was lying. 

But you were human - you didn’t know. 

Still, you frowned. Either Isaac said something wrong or you felt conflicted about something. The frown was only there for a second before you replaced it with a smile only slightly different to the one you usually wore, closer to the nervous one you’d given him when you asked him to tutor you. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” Isaac lied again. If there was one thing his time with you had made Isaac realize, it was that having a place in your life - even a place as a friend with unrequited feelings - was better than no place at all, and he wasn’t going to screw that all up by telling you how he felt. He took a deep breath. “But, uh, do you mind if we talk about this some other time? Derek texted when I was in the locker room and he needs my help with something at the loft.” 

You blinked a few times, trying to piece together the quick change in pace. “Oh, uh, do you want me to drive you?” 

Your pained expression almost made Isaac spill his guts right there. He couldn’t risk spending any more time with you. “No, he’s coming to pick me up.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, eyebrows knitting together as you looked at him, despite the smile on your face. 

“Yeah, sure. Not like those problems are going to solve themselves, right?” Isaac asked. He did his best to give you a reassuring smile. 

Your smile faltered for a second, but then it was back on your face and covering up any other thoughts. “Right.” 

Isaac left pretty quickly after that, with one thought clear in his mind: Out of everyone in the entire school to go out with, why did you have to pick Stiles Fucking Stilinski?

Tagged: @lettherebelovex​  @britty443​  @ietts  @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane​

[earthstellar]

It’s Deaf Awareness Week, so I’m posting my hearing disabled Drift fan fiction in full below the cut! 

I am still fundraising for my hearing aids, so if you like the story and would like to donate, you can do so at my Ko-Fi or via PayPal. 

You can also see my post on Chirolinguistics and Sign Language in Transformers media here! 

Auditory Error by Capricorn_Stellium - Word Count: 2733

Summary: 

The Lost Light visits a marketplace on a newly identified planet in the hopes of restocking on a few crucial supplies.

Unfortunately, things go less than well, and Drift is hit with some sort of energy disruptor-- Which results in processor damage.

Once everyone is back on board and clear of the fight, Ratchet and First Aid get to work attempting to assess Drift post-injury in a MedBay that is suddenly far, far too noisy.

"Stay where you are. Don't move! First Aid, get over here, get on his left side."

It was Ratchet's voice, or at least, he thought it was.

Drift was in the MedBay, so evidently they'd made it back to the Lost Light.

He quickly tried to assess himself: No missing limbs, so that's nice. Doesn't seem to be much frame damage, no evidence of blaster shots or blade damage anywhere across his armour that he could see.

Not that he could see much, as Ratchet was aggressively trying to get him to lay his helm back down flat against the medical berth.

"He's awake. Aid, titrate the sedative, I don't want him dizzy but keep it level so he's not running around." Ratchet moved to the side of the berth from where he had been standing so far, somewhere behind his helm, but it was odd. His voice seemed to come from all directions at once, and it was disorienting.

"Drift, can you focus on me? You were hit in the helm by one of the marketplace traders; Turns out Rodimus was wrong about the locals being friendly, because of course he was. Nobody else is hurt, so don't even try getting up! I don't know what they hit you with, some kind of focused disruptor of some kind. We're running additional scans to try to figure it out, but stay down for now. You aren't restrained, no painkillers. Just a mild physical sedative in the event you woke up swinging. I'm too old to keep having to fight my patients, you know."

It was bizarre; He felt totally fine. He could hear that Ratchet was speaking, but the words were... Missing, here and there. All of the sounds in the room were equally as loud, completely drowning each other out. It was overwhelming and disorienting.

He'd been in the MedBay enough times both as a patient and just waiting for Ratchet to get off shift that he was well aware it shouldn't sound like this. It was as if every piece of machinery was at maximum volume and surely Ratchet was whispering, but why would he be whispering? Was there something else going on? Was Ratchet's vocaliser damaged somehow? Why would Ratchet lie about the situation, unless it was serious?

Ratchet noticed Drift's increasingly heavy frown; He looked fairly alert, but confused. Running another quick diagnostic scan, nothing new was coming up. Drift had been concussed, he'd already known about that. The more extensive diagnostic panel wouldn't be complete for another minute or two.

"Aid, I told you to moderate--" First Aid interrupted by holding up what was the needle end of a clearly disconnected fuel line drip.

"He's not being sedated actively at all anymore, Ratchet. It should work it's way out of his systems soon, low level dose should remain for the next three to five hours but not significantly enough to produce a frame relaxing effect. Intensive scan is just about ready, give it a moment. We'll figure it out."

Ratchet huffed. He was proud of his star apprentice, but it was irritating to get blatant reassurance from a junior doctor.

Not that First Aid was wrong to comment; It was hard to administer emergency care to your own conjunx. In other circumstances, it would never be allowed at all, but the Lost Light was a perpetual mess. A good mess, most of the time. But still not quite as organised as some might prefer-- A fact that Ultra Magnus never let anyone forget.

Speaking of Magnus, the paperwork for this would be a nightmare, but Ratchet had other concerns on his mind.

Drift raised a servo to his faceplate, careful not to lift his helm lest Ratchet come after him again. "I... feel okay, I think. But I never had a concussion that made everything sound so... I don't know. Things sound wrong all of a sudden."

Ratchet and First Aid looked at each other from across their respective sides of the medical berth. Aid pulled out a data pad and began taking notes once Ratchet nodded in the affirmative to proceed.

"What do you mean? Can you describe what you're feeling?"

Drift ex-vented. "Physically, totally fine. Not even a headache, really. Everything else seems okay, but it's like... Everything is at the same volume, and is coming from everywhere all the time. I can hardly make out what you and Aid are saying, every other word is gone, it's easier for me to focus on the vague sort of rhythm of the noises you're making rather than what you're actually talking about. Like the words are messed up and lost in the sounds of everything else. But, I don't know. It's like everything is a flood of noise, except for speech, I guess? Keep talking to me, I'll figure it out."

It was Ratchet's turn to frown. "Hmm." He backed up a little from the side of the berth. "Drift, can you shutter your optics for a second? I won't touch you, but I want you to listen as best you can, okay?" Drift nodded, wondering what Ratchet was up to.

Closing his optics felt awful; It made the noises seem even louder and more all-encompassing, somehow. Hopefully this wouldn't take long. He was glad Ratchet had kept him on the berth; It was a dizzying sensation. Like the noise was giving him vertigo.

"I'm going to snap my digits in different areas and at different distances from your helm. I want you to tell me where you hear the sound in relation to yourself, so for example, upper left from your point of view, or lower right, or straight ahead. Okay?"

Drift nodded, hoping he'd heard the instructions correctly. It was suddenly much harder to fill the gaps in Ratchet's speech when he couldn't watch his faceplate while he was speaking.

The exam went on for a while until finally Ratchet snapped his digits for the last time to Drift's righthand side, but Drift stated the sound was coming from straight ahead and slightly above his helm.

"Maybe a little to the right?" He could hear Ratchet ex-vent, but from where, he couldn't tell. "Nope. Open your optics, Drift. Sorry to say you didn't exactly pass that test." He turned to face First Aid, who had apparently been following along and taking quite a few notes.

Turns out both of them were stood exactly where they were when the exam had started. Weird. To Drift, it had seemed like their intermittent words were floating around him while his optics had been shuttered. Had they moved at all, the entire time?

The noise of all the medical machinery was getting awful. How were Ratchet and Aid okay with it?

Then he realised they probably couldn't hear it. Somehow...

Ratchet's voice knocked him out of the state of distress he was rapidly falling into the more he tried to think about all the noise. "Aid, note a general lack of directional hearing. No loss of hearing overall, his audials are registering sound as usual, but..."

First Aid looked up from the data pad. "But the way his processor is interpreting the sounds he's hearing is wrong."

"Correct. It's processor damage. Damn."

Drift had missed what was probably a very important word, there. "Sorry, what kind of damage?"

Ratchet, to his credit, only looked upset for a very brief moment. But Drift could tell; He could always tell with his Ratty. And that look was never good.

"Sorry, Drift. We shouldn't talk about you like you aren't here, anyway; It's a bad habit medics can develop."

That got a small smile out of Drift. "Since when are you worried about bad medic habits? You routinely throw wrenches at your patients."

"Hey, that's usually only Whirl. And Rodimus. And..." Ratchet took one of Drift's servos into his own. "Fine, you have a point, but this is serious. We need to run more tests. And by more, I mean you're going to be in here for a while."

Drift nodded, not wanting to speak himself lest it break his intense concentration on Ratchet's intake. It definitely seemed like trying to follow Ratchet's faceplate movements made it easier to guess what words he was missing.

The words he could no longer hear. For some reason.

It was only years of experience performing various mindfulness meditations that prevented Drift's anxiety from escalating.

First Aid walked towards the foot of the medical berth to be more fully in Drift's line of sight before addressing him.

And he proceeded to say something that Drift totally missed, because First Aid's battle mask made it impossible to read his faceplates in the way that he could with Ratchet.

"Uh... I don't want to interrupt? But two things: Aid, can you retract your mask?" Both First Aid and Ratchet stiffened immediately.

"I'm so sorry--" "Drift, if you can't understand us, just say so and we can--"

And it was too much noise.

Instinctively, his servos flew up to cover his audials, which hadn't helped as much as he had hoped it might.

"Stop! Stop, I'm sorry, it's okay. Don't worry about it. But the second thing, is that it's way, way too much in here. The noise, I mean. It's a lot."

Ratchet gently grabbed Drift's wrists, getting closer in the process.

"The scan we were running has finished by now. Aid, turn off everything we're not currently using, let's see if it makes a difference in the ambient noise level. Go ahead and start interpreting the results, construct a summary, you know what to do."

As First Aid got started as directed, looking somewhat upset that he hadn't thought to retract his battle mask earlier, Ratchet moved in even closer to speak directly into Drift's audial.

On the other side of Drift's helm, he cupped a servo over the opposite audial to help block out the surrounding noise and force Drift's processor to focus on the most immediate input: His voice. "I'm sorry. I'll try to make this as easy on you as I possibly can, okay? We're not hearing things the way you are, so we'll have to figure this out as we go. But that's fine; You're okay... You will be okay."

Vision obscured by Ratchet's shoulder armour while intensely trying to focus on his voice, suddenly, it hit Drift.

He could hear, but he couldn't hear. Not really.

A thousand scenarios flooded him at once, each one more terrifying than the last.

Being in a battle, unable to tell where bullets were coming from. Hearing a ship-wide alarm go off, and being incapacitated by the noise, unable to react otherwise. Unable to help. Unable to protect Ratchet. Never being able to parse anyone's speech, always missing words, never having all the information.

Going to a racetrack and being disoriented by the hum of all the wheels and engines at high speed, causing an accident. Anywhere noisy, anyone talking. Anywhere sound exists, it would be too much or not enough and never in-between.

He couldn't fight effectively. He wouldn't able to communicate effectively, not if he constantly misheard every single thing. The stress just from the MedBay noise was horrendous; What about in the middle of a conflict, or the command deck, or even someplace like Swerve's? Totally unbearable.

He would go right back to being isolated. He would be a problem for others. A burden, an annoyance.

What if this wasn't fixable?

He gasped like he had been choking, causing Ratchet to startle and pull back. "Ratchet! Ratchet, Ratty, what if-- What if you can't fix me?"

And he knew that look.

He felt Ratchet's arm move slightly somewhere behind him, and First Aid swiftly and silently left; He would finish looking over the results in his own office space. Ratchet had probably flashed some kind of medic secret code hand signal or something.

Or maybe it was just awkward to watch your mentor's partner start crying in your shared workplace. It was probably that, and the thought would have made Drift laugh if he didn't suddenly have a terrible headache.

Ratchet made the most of his wide set medical frame type, and completely wrapped Drift in a hug.

It helped. Everything seemed like too much right now, but this, he could never possibly get enough of.

Fluid had pooled behind his optics; Some started to trickle down in small streams. Ratchet wiped some of it away gently.

"Drift, I'm not going to lie. I already know what those scan results are going to say; There's nothing wrong with you, aside from whatever is going wrong with your processor. And I'm going to be honest, because you know I don't lie when it comes to my diagnostics... If I'm right about the nature of your processor damage, it's most likely not something that can be repaired."

Even though on some level he figured that might be the case, it felt like Ratchet had jammed the Great Sword through his spark.

Before he had the chance to completely break down, Ratchet carefully grabbed the sides of Drift's helm, gently rubbing soft swirls in his faceplate and ensuring Drift didn't just fold in on himself and completely collapse.

He wanted Drift to be able to understand; Keeping his helm up like this would help Drift read his faceplate, too.

"I know. It's not good news. But we can work with it. You can work with it. We'll figure it out. If we don't have the supplies we need to make whatever assistive device we might have to come up with, we'll find a way to get them, or make them. You have me, Perceptor, Brainstorm, a whole ship full of people who can and will help you. Okay?"

Drift wanted to nod, he really did, but the tears welling up in his optics had blurred his vision, and the thought of being unable to see clearly while being unable to hear clearly was so completely distressing to him that he simply threw his arms around Ratchet's neck strut and let himself cry it out.

Not for long, and not very hard; He found that the sound of his own crying was odd and grating to his audials, both muted and sharper than it should have been.

While he could stifle his tears, he couldn't stop his upset and frustration from seeping out through his EM field.

Ratchet's armour plating shivered a bit, before he met Drift's EM field with his own and wrapped him in another hug, spark to spark.

A surge of love, care, devotion- Ratchet's EM field helped soothe Drift's headache, and slowly, he calmed down. His vents evened out, the sound of the fans rattling no longer another sound adding to his distress.

"Sorry, Ratty. I just, this is... really bad."

"Yeah, it is. But we'll figure it out."

Drift's voice fell to almost a whisper. He couldn't fully hear himself speak, although he felt his vocaliser warm up. "There's this weird dissonance, like everything is too loud and too quiet all at once. Like all the small noises are massive and I can't hear anything I actually want to listen to. It reminds me of coming down from a syk hit, when my sensory data would get a little messed up."

Ratchet stilled, then tightened his hold on Drift. He was careful to speak directly into Drift's audial. "Rung is here too, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

He pulled back just enough to kiss Drift's faceplate, where the tears had left stains. Drift stared at his intake; He wasn't sure if it was to return the kiss, or if it was an attempt to try to follow along with his words.

"How about this: While Aid finishes up the report on your scan results, we can lay down in our hab suite and hopefully it'll be quiet enough there for you to get some real rest. I can give you a painkiller before we head out; Nothing heavy-duty, but sensory sensitivity can be unpleasant and I want you to actually recharge if you think you can. I can call Velocity in to handle my other patients for the evening."

He hadn't been this tired earlier, but he definitely was now. Drift nodded, leaning his helm up a bit to return Ratchet's kiss.

"Yeah, that sounds good."