#do you think magnus just stares at it whenever he comes over

[wishchip106]

first thing you see once you enter the mansion:

Charles just has to remind everyone about his 50+ year long situationship 😒

[adamnablelittledevil]

Reacting to The Vampire Lestat - Part VII (with maybe big spoilers and quotes?)

Let's keep this funny little tradition one more time as this book comes to an end. :)

Okay, so the whole story about Akasha and Enkil was cool, but didn't have to take like a hundred pages? It got exhausting after some time.

Didn't care about Marius's, though.

Tbh, I don't like Marius.

My ranking of characters so far: Armand > Lestat > Gabrielle > Nicki > Marius.

Louis and the others didn't have enough book time for me to form an opinion.

Armand mention! Still collecting those like Pokemons while my babygirl doesn't return from the war.

Btw, I still miss Armand. Armand, COME BACK, THE KIDS MISS YOU!

I think it's funny how Lestat always has the need to low-key compare the beauty or his feelings for each character whenever he meets someone new lmao.

Armand takes the prize of The Vampire Lestat's beauty pageant, though. Lestat literally mentioned his beauty every single time he saw him (and even when he didn't). Like, I wish I was making that up. He talked about Armand's beauty even more often that he cried lmao.

Lestat's issues/trauma with his father, Magnus, God and religion run so deep I don't even think he fully realizes the depth of them.

And that's the reason he's so obsessed with Marius to me?

He's always asking him for permission, apologizing, trying to please him, make him proud, one minute with him and he was already talking like they were intimate friends, I'm like????

He literally just became a child all over again.

Lestat de Lioncourt, I am once again begging you to go to therapy because Marius can't help you with your issues.

And you have A LOT of issues, so DO IT, please.

Marius: Lestat, no. Lestat: Lestat, YES!!!

Like, you guys don't get it, the idea, THE I D E A!!!!!!! IT WAS STRONGER THAN HIM!!!!!!!!!

In his defense, I believe that might've been the case. Lestat is chaotic and breaks the rules by nature, but the whole thing with Akasha and Enkil is kind of hard to tell and I believe he could've been controlled by them or maybe a natural force/pull. Idk.

Btw, the idea of playing the violin was smart.

If only in all these years somebody had the brain to think about this musical instrument lol.

This whole moment with Akasha felt like I was watching something so explicit lmao.

The "make them in love" part was sweet. I hope we can get that on the show. Preferably talking to/about Louis.

“Impossible was that I was leaving Marius and this island right now. ‘You needn’t come down with me,’ I said, taking the valise from him. I was trying not to sound bitter and crestfallen. After all, I had caused this. 'I would rather not weep in front of others. Leave me here.’” This is a child on their first day of kindergarten being bitter and too proud to admit lol. I can see him so clearly, pouting and all.

“I had what I wanted, what I had always wanted. I had them. And I could now and then forget Gabrielle and forget Nicki, and even forget Marius and the blank staring face of Akasha, or the icy touch of her hand or the heat of her blood.” OH?

Thinking thoughts.

Thinking SO MANY thoughts.

I'm not sure you guys understand, actually.

I'm (not) fine.

Not only Lestat and Armand are potentially two BPD Scorpios, but NEURODIVERGENT too. Jfc. This would actually explain the chaos so much tbh.

This moment between them feels kind of weird and random, though? Like, I know that they can fight ugly, but I feel like I'm missing something with these accusations? Because the last time they saw each other they were in a good place?

I hope when I read Interview With the Vampire I'll find an answer for why Armand was pissed at him again?

Because, no, I don't think just "waiting for Lestat's love" is a good one. But... Whatever.

That's the only part of the book that has me feeling like maybe I'm missing something and should've started in the right order. But it's like this one thing at the end and didn't affect my comprehension of the book as whole, so I'll wait. It's just, like, this feels random and I'm confused???? But okay, I'm used to their insane dynamic now lol. We'll all live.

Ok, but what the actual hell is happening?

Is Lestat just insane or is Armand mind-controlling him or something lol

Oh?

Okay...

He basically said “I thought I was delusional. But if that were the case, Armand wouldn’t be the person I’d see. I was so weak, but managed to overpower him. But memory plays its tricks, so maybe I did imagine him. But I also knew he was there.”... Like, WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING???????

Either way... OUCH! And I don't know what would hurt more.

Him being all alone and imagining/hallucinating ARMAND of all people.

Or Amand being there because, idk, as insane as they are and even Armand on his “villain era” I guess that might be better than being completely alone? Since loneliness is his chronic and biggest fear? Idk. Maybe I'm going just as insane as these vampires.

Like, obviously, if that's true those aren't sweet moments and they still emotionally hurt each other (and themselves in the process), but that's some level of care in a messed-up sick in the head vampire way?

Idk. I guess I'm just insane like they are.

"'Love me and the blood is yours,' he said. 'This blood that I have never given to another.' I felt his lips against my face. 'I can't deceive you,' I answered. 'I can't love you. What are you to me that I should love you? A dead thing that hungers for the power and the passion of others? The embodiment of thirst itself?' And in a moment of incalculable power, it was I who struck him and knocked him backwards and off the roof. Absolutely weightless he was, his figure dissolving into the gray night. But who was defeated? Who fell down and down again through the soft tree branches to the earth where he belonged? Back to the rags and filth beneath the old house. Who lay finally in the rubble, with hands and face against the cool soil? Yet memory plays its tricks. Maybe I imagined it, his last invitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the months passed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking those old Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that it was a lie I'd spoken to him, that I did love him. I did." OH?

Seriously...

WHAT THE HELL IS THEIR PROBLEM WHAT THE HELL IS THIS??

I would like to see Anne talking about whatever Lestat and Armand have going on because how do you even begin to explain it...

Like what was that crazy individual thinking when she wrote them?

I need to know.

I'm so stressed.

Immortality if dumbass vampires knew how to use their words:

These are literally fictional characters and they're ruining my life.

Season 3 can be so insufferable omg.

Btw, I LOVE the concept of one character hurting another and "winning a fight", when in reality they're just pretending and the two are actually losing. This is so intriguing. Congratulations, you're both idiots! Here, you won a tissue!

OH???????

IS THAT STILL HAPPENING?

WAIT.

WAIT MORE!

IS THAT THE OTHER THING?

“Lestat de Lioncourt In the year of his Resurrection 1984” HE’S SO UNSERIOUS EXTRA AND RIDICULOUS LMAO.

NOT HIM CALLING MUSIC VIDEOS VIDEO FILMS LMAO.

OMG IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?

LOUIS??????????? IS THAT YOU?????

Or maybe Gabrielle since he kept saying how he hadn't heard from her since their farewell but wanted to etc etc.

Or Marius.

Or Armand, but that's less likely?

Or Akasha because I know there's a certain moment coming, but I don't know if it's on TVL or QOTD...

...Or like a secret sixth thing.

But I hope it's Louis, I want to meet him so bad!

If that’s another dream/delusion/hallucination/piece of his imagination istfg!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m so invested, this CANNOT be for nothing!!!!!

fr Lestat describing people and stuff is somehow gayer than loving men, lmao.

Btw, is that really sooooo dramatic or does Lestat need to turn everything into a spectacle? Like, why does this feel like a big Hollywood movie scene?

“‘There’ll be time after,’ I answered. 'Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Nothing is going to happen. You’ll see.’” Can Anne Rice stop with the "five minutes before disaster" lines, please? Bruh is NOT subtle. Like AT ALL.

“And I had always loved him, hadn’t I, no matter what happened, and how strong could love grow if you had eternity to nourish it, and it took only these few moments in time to renew its momentum, its heat?” I NEED THIS TO BE SAID OUT LOUD ON THE SHOW SO BAD OMG???!!!!!!!!!!

I hope Sam Reid has been practicing this in front of a mirror since he was 14 just like he must've done it with the book's opening.

“‘Whatever happens, it will be worth it,’ I said. 'That is, if you and I, and Gabrielle, and Armand… and Marius are together even for a short while, it will be worth it. Suppose Pandora chooses to show herself. And Mael. And God only knows how many others. What if all the old ones come. It will be worth it, Louis. As for the rest, I don’t care.’” As I said before, this sounds like those dramatic child movies where a kid does the most over-the-top and probably dangerous thing ever just to get the attention of their relatives and bring their dysfunctional family together...

Maybe, deep down, Lestat is just a simple little boy who still wants a big family lol. It's not even just about having a father figure anymore, he wants big house full of people to love and hug. :((((

Or maybe he is just bored and wants chaos, lol.

Or both.

“I bowed my head. I laughed. I slipped my hands into the pockets of my pants the way mortal men did in this day and age, and I walked on through the grass.” Louis just made Lestat get shy like a teenage girl and I didn't know that was possible. Gotta respect him for that.

NOT LOUIS SAYING VIDEO FILMS TOO LMAO YOU’RE SO OLD AND LAME????

“Lestat, you think you understand,” this is literally them btw

Btw, now that I know New Orleans is "Armand's territory", maybe those interactions with Lestat were real? I need to check to see if there's info about the dates and if it adds up.

Lestat's concert lasting 3 hours. What a dream. Just some hard-working artist that really cares about his fans. Wow. Can musicians all over the world follow his example, please?

I'm glad he's having fun.

He's having WAY TOO MUCH FUN exposing himself like that lol.

Okay, so I think this rockstar thing made him even happier than the books or theater and that's cute.

I get him because the two best days of my life happened when I went to my favorite concerts.

“This little war of mine would put all those I loved in danger.” Congratulations for stating the absolute obvious, Lestat!

GABRIELLE!!!!!!!

Gabrielle is so done with her manchild of a son lol.

She has never been wrong, though.

Lestat, I love you, but you're exhausting.

I totally get Gabrielle wanting to run to the mountains, jungles, live among animals and not see another person again for so long. You're too high-energy and your parent is tired, Lestat.

Btw, their dynamic can be so funny, I hope the show explore that on season 3.

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT ENDED LIKE THAT??????

I knew it would be a cliffhanger, but OMG???

Anywaysssss, that's a wrap on The Vampire Lestat. Mission finally accomplished! That was really fun, wohoo! x :) ^^

[instaspacenoodles]

A Touch Between Warriors (Magnu Kenki x GN!Reader) [Part 2]

Pairing: Magnu Kenki x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 2987 Words Warning: NSFW Content⛔ Summary: It has been a few sparring sessions after that fateful day and both you and Maguu Kenki have been skirting around the elephant in the room. However, it takes you by surprise when Maguu gives you the chance to learn more about him and the mystery surrounding the puppet. And in turn, teach him about human desire.s

“Do you have any questions for me” 

 His question came out of the blue, something you didn’t expect after finishing the latest spar. Normally, after fighting, Maguu would immediately explain what you did wrong during battle -’You should have dodged instead of taking the blow’ he would sign or ‘You need to strengthen your defensive stance’ as he shows you the right stance to take. Though, he would also take the time to praise you for what you did right, which always caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach. 

Recently, the automaton has become… strangely reserved at times. It was hard to ignore when he would suddenly stop signing mid-sentence sometimes - almost like he was unsure - before continuing like nothing had happened, or the way his hands would hesitate before touching you. You even caught him staring at his hands numerous times as if puzzled by something. It was a strange situation.

“Where did this come from Maguu?” You stared at him, confusion clear on your features as you turned to face the approaching puppet. 

“The last time we had a conversation outside of training, you answered my questions about the human vessel. You had… enlightened me. It is only fair that I shall answer any that you have about me to further your understanding about my being.” 

Ah that's right.

Last… time.

Embarrassment burned through your veins as the memories from last time flashed through your mind. The ghost of his firm yet gentle touch still haunts your body - sending pleasurable chills down your spine every time it crosses your mind. You felt ashamed to admit that it felt good and… that you craved more. You didn’t even answer any of his questions, yet it seemed that the puppet came to a conclusion all on his own. It was better to leave what the conclusion was to your imagination. 

However, you did have many questions you wanted to ask him. The whole mystery behind the puppet, his maker, his abilities - it was something that often comes to mind whenever you think of Maguu Kenki. If you could get some answers to these questions, maybe you could learn to understand the puppet better. Perhaps even deepen the weird relationship between you two.

“Hmm, I guess I have some questions I have been wondering for a while.” Your eyes glanced over the puppet’s body as you approached him until your gaze settled on his helmet, “To start off, do you have a face under that helmet, Maguu?”

“Yes.” He gestured simply. 

“Wait really?!” You paused, looking at him in surprise as he tilted his head. It was as if he was surprised by your shock, “I can barely see your face, how do you even see what that thing on? Unless you use the eyes on your spooky Oni mask to see.” 

You squint as you try to see Maguu’s face through the talisman and dark shadows but alas it was covered by the helmet. You try to think back to a time where you did see Maguu’s face, either while having a conversation or in the heat of battle - yet all your memories came to a blank. You had no clue what he looked like underneath and it made you even more curious. 

“Warrior, I was created with powerful sight. The helmet and the talisman I wear does not hinder it, as you can see from our battles. I just have no reason to remove it.” 

“So it is removable! So- uh- could you maybe take off your helmet? I would like to see your true face… if you’re okay with that.” You asked, looking up at him curiously. 

“Very well, as you wish.” 

His puppet hands trailed up to where his helmet rests and you held your breath in anticipation. Maguu slowly lifted the armor from his head and pulled it off in one smooth movement - white hair pooling over his shoulders. You carefully reached to lift up the talisman and- what in the name of the Raiden Shogun!?

 Your jaw nearly touched the floor as you gazed at his true face. His eyes were a piercing blue - cold and intense like the ice he wields. Two streaks of red markings started from the bottom of his eyes and trail down his pale colored face - the look similar to that of an oni’s. You silently thanked whoever created him for giving him such a beautiful face because damn it had you weak in the knees. 

“I hope my appearance doesn’t startle you.” He signed carefully, like he was…nervous.

“You- I- It's the complete opposite! I just wasn’t expecting this.” You raise your other hand, hesitating for a brief moment, before you reach up to caress his face. You swiped your thumb across the surface - It was cool to the touch, but also had a similar texture to skin. 

“My form was modeled after the appearance of a famou oni who was the first master of the sword art I use.”

“A famou oni…” You echoed softly as your hands continued to explore his face, a soft mechanical sound left the puppet, “The oni influence I can tell by the mask and these markings, but I would have never guessed that you were inspired by a first generation swordmaster.” 

“The master’s name was Iwakura Michihiro, famed for his Tengu Sweeper technique.”

“Iwakura…like the Iwakura sword art, yeah? No wonder your sword art was so familiar, those Nobushi bastards used it. It’s a shame though; the Iwakura art has fallen from grace nowadays. But I do have another question for you, Maguu. I was wondering how can you wield the elements? You don’t have a vision right?” 

“No. I do not have what your mortals call a Vision. Instead, I can control the elements due to the talisman that I wear” 

You blinked in surprise. Normally Vision holders, elemental monsters, and the Nobushi (which is a special situation) could wield the elements. Maguu is a puppet but he gets his power from… a slip of paper? You wonder if it's similar to the charms that the Narukami Shrine maidens use.

“Huh? How does that work?”

“This talisman is the product of a mystic art from the Kamura Clan. With their art, you’re able to create seals that can infuse your weapon with elemental energy. However, the tailsmen I have is more advanced than their normal seals which grants me greater power over the elements and allows me to wield two - Cryo and Anemo.”

As he signed, you brought your focus once more to the ragged talisman that hung from his forehead. The brush strokes were somewhat clear on the paper despite being decades old, but it was written in a script that you could not understand. You couldn’t believe a simple piece of paper could grant something so much power yet it is the very source of his elemental abilities. 

“Can you tell me how you use it? Like do you have to think about using it or channel something? ” You asked as you lifted the talisman up once more, eyes gleaming with curiosity as you looked at the back of paper. 

“I-” He pauses, a few mechanical sounds leaving him which make your eyes shift over to him in concern. His eyes were glued to yours before they quickly glanced away, “It has become second nature to me, however I will try to explain to the best of my abilities-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” You interrupt him, your thoughts and concerns from the past few weeks spilling from your lips, “Maguu, what’s been going on with you? You’ve been acting strange lately, almost like your… upset or something. Did I do something wrong?” 

“I do not understand how I feel. I have previously thought that I do not have the ability to feel the way that humans do since I was not created that way.” His hands paused, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say next.  “However, ever since that day you taught me about the human vessel, I have been plagued with… emotions I have no prior experience in dealing with.”

“Emotions…”

“Yes, emotions that only occur in your presence. Similar to longing, but not quite. I often find myself lost on this subject with no answer in sight.” 

As you process his words, you suddenly understand his situation. It wasn’t possible for a puppet to become so sentient, yet here he was experiencing human feelings and desires. A voice whispers from the back of your mind, encouraging you to take advantage of the opportunity in front of you. You could explain to him no- show him how powerful the feeling of desire and emotions could be. 

“I think I know the problem. What you’re experiencing is called desire. There are different kinds of desire that humans feel such as the desire for needs and wants,” You let your voice drop to a whisper,”  But I think I know which one you’re feeling... the desire for me. So, I guess, I’ll have to teach you more about the human body.” 

“…I see.” He signed slowly. 

You smiled at him as he agreed, excitement coursing through your veins, “Do what you did to me that day and test your desires - maybe you can figure your answer that way” 

“I see, you want me to pleasure you once more. As you wish, Warrior.” 

The world spun and suddenly your body was pushed against the huge Oni Mask that materialized behind you. One of his hands rested heavily on your shoulder while the other was positioned above your head - perfectly pinning you against the wooden surface. You could only glance up at the puppet with a small gasp falling from your lips. Maguu’s blue eyes wandered down your body carefully before glancing back up to catch your glaze. Those intense eyes seem to stare directly into you, exploring the depths of your being as if you’re the only thing that he wanted to understand. You broke the stare, eyes quickly looking away as heat creeped up your neck. 

The hand on your shoulder pulls away and it's suddenly on your chin, gently pulling your attention and your eyes back to his. Butterflies that were lightly fluttering were now fully swarming in your chest. 

“Please, keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay” You whispered, nodding wide-eyed at his command. 

The puppet made a light noise in response - a noise you knew meant that he was satisfied at your answer. A gentle breeze blows near your body and the anemo element condenses next to you in a flash of light. In the corner of your eye, the anemo Maguu phantom appeared floating by your left side. 

This… This was new. 

“Phantoms?” You gasp in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

The Anemo phantom cages you in, pressing against your body. The winds licking at your skin made goosebumps appear all over your arms and legs. A shiver runs down your spine as your sex starts to tingle. You swallowed heavily at how helpless you felt - stuck between a puppet and his elemental phantom. 

“It would be most efficient to make use of them to ‘test my desires’ as you instructed.” 

Maguu moves to gently grab your wrists with one hand and you let him pin your arms over your head in one smooth motion. You can tell he was being gentle with you - just like he was that fateful day. His eyes were studying your face for any reactions as if he was hoping to understand what you were feeling. His firm hands were switched with ghostly chilly ones - ones that were cold as ice. You could see it from the corner of your eye as the air had grown colder. You knew that the cryo phantom had materialized as well. 

“I feel something, but I need to experiment more,” He stopped to sign his thoughts , “Let me continue my actions.”

Like before, the puppet let his hands wander over your body, but this time they were joined with the sensations of cryo and anemo hands. You watch him intensely as he explores your body with his hands and his eyes. His huge hands found home on your waist where they rested there heavily. His thumbs rubbed circles into the area, slow and steady. His eyes watched that movement carefully. 

A moan escapes your lips as the anemo phantom caresses your side, slipping its fingers underneath the fabric of your shirt to touch your warm skin. The feeling of anemo spread throughout the exposed area, like a powerful gust of wind hitting all the right places. Heat pooled downwards in your body, flooding your veins with the tingle of pleasure as your legs started to tremble. The anemo phantom’s fingers continued to dance their way up your body. It only stopped when it found what it was looking for - the nipples on your chest. 

“Your body is trembling, is this to your satisfaction? Is this reaction the desire you feel for me?” He slowly sighs before continuing the motion. All you could do was whisper a quick yes - voice shaky. 

Meanwhile, with its free hand, the cryo phantom had begun to trail it down your back side. The coldness was welcoming against the burning sensation of arousal. His fingers lightly ran across the dips in your back, tracing muscles that tense under its touch. It felt like absolute heaven and you longed for more. His fingers soon stopped at the spot on your lower back, icy digits dragging deliciously across the area in random motions. It causes another shiver to wreck your body. 

The sensations were nearly overwhelming. Your body squirming, voice whimpering against their greedy touch. You couldn’t stop your back from arching against the rough surface of the oni mask. You were forced to endure all of it from every angle. The core inside of you was burning, yearning to be stimulated, and you definitely felt some kind of wetness down there. Maguu was absolutely driving you crazy.  

“Fuck! Nggh.. Maguu… ” You moan loudly, your logical mind growing fuzzy and overtaken by the cloud of arousal. 

Maguu’s eyes snapped back to yours - quick like lightning. His blue eyes catch the pleading expression upon your face. It was the way your eyes keep squeezing shut, the way your eyebrows shoot up at every swipe of fingers across your hot skin, and the way your lips kept singing those sweet, moaning melodies; He wanted to memorize it all. It all made Maguu better understand the emotions he was experiencing. His desire to please you, pleasure you, do whatever he could for the warrior that wormed their way into his mechanical heart. 

“I understand, I shall continue just like before.”

The touches of the cryo and anemo phantoms retreated for a brief moment and you had a chance to just breathe. Your hands fell back down to your side to rest on your heaving chest as you sucked in breath after breath - heart beating in your ears. Then, just like before, he slid his hands underneath your clothes. His touch gilded downwards until he found your sensitive sex, absolutely slick and twitching. Your body started moving to the rhythm he set. 

However, the phantoms weren’t done yet.

Their hands pulled down your pants together, exposing your lower area to the cool air. The Anemo hand began massaging your thigh, running its breezy hand over the skin which caused your legs to quiver in pleasure. The gentle winds aided in stimulating you further until you had no choice but to surrender to your lust. The Cryo phantom instead turned its focus back on your upper body. It's chilly hand brushing over your stomach and waist - the temperature changes making your body more sensitive. Your back arched into their skillful hands and your eyes fluttered shut.You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan at the combination of their touches. .

“Maguu..faster please!” The beg slipped from your mouth as your mind continued to further be clouded with desire, “It’s so good.” 

Maguu Kenki continued to massage your sensitive area, playing with it with more confidence than before. With every flick of his hand, it caused you to squirm in pleasure and your sounds to grow louder. Your heart was beating like a drum in your ears. 

Heat pulled more and more into your lower body. The familiar tightening in your core becomes known as you get closer and closer to the edge. The Anemo phantom and the Cryo phantom’s pressure have gotten more intense and Maguu’s speed has increased. You were starting to lose the rhythm that was set as your body chased after the incoming orgasm. 

Pleads drip from your mouth, your breathless moans growing louder and louder in volume. At this point, it wouldn’t be a surprise if someone heard you.

Though, Maguu Kenki sensed your desperation and who was he to deny his warrior. The puppet added more pressure and with one last firm touch - you finally spilled all over his hands. The orgasm hit you like a truck and knocked the breath out of you. You barely stood there, knees shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you. It was good, it was intense, and it made you feel like a million mora. 

Your body twitched in Maguu’s grasp. The phantoms pulled back yet again and in a blink of an eye - disappeared just as quickly as they appeared. Now it was just you and the puppet that had made you cum once again. 

“That..was..” You looked up to the puppet’s handsome face, clearly pleased, “That was perfect Manguu, I enjoyed that so much.”

The puppet nodded and signed with its dirty hand, "I too enjoyed this experience, you have done well. I believe I now have an understanding of this kind of desire. It’s the desire to pleasure you…"

"The desire for you, my warrior."

[erimeows]

yoo I was wondering if I could request something with tfa optimus having a crush on a reader who’s like,, a bot higher up in command if that makes sense? maybe they’re an accomplished warrior/well known commander or something? I don’t have a preference for hcs/scenarios or w/e so it’s completely your choice!

Hey! Sounds like a great request, here’s some headcanons my friend:

As soon as I read this, I was like oh my God, Ultra Magnus’s kid. Imagine he had y/n with whoever you want, not really concerned with that, but yeah.

You’re the same age as Optimus, but you were always very sheltered due to Ultra Magnus wanting to keep you protected from his enemies, so you received private training to join the Elite Guatd and were very well guarded from the public until then after Ultra Magnus’s carrier died in battle.

Optimus never gets the chance to interact with you much, but he’s seen you a lot considering that Ultra Magnus actually trusts you. You’re a beautiful, strong-looking femme with bright optics and a (f/c) and white paint-job. Usually, you’re with Ultra Magnus or with Sentinel Prime and his squad, but something he notices about you is that you’re very... Kind and casual.

He figures it’s something about having been raised by someone so formal and stiff that you’ve developed such an easygoing personality, but you do get rather serious when it’s appropriate. You’re intelligent, an amazing strategist, and brilliant in combat- he can’t help but admire you when he sees you around Ultra Magnus during his academy training.

What starts as interest and admiration turns into adoration and respect when Elita-One has her accident. You object in court when Sentinel pins the blame on him, and though Ultra Magnus quickly tells you to stand down, he appreciates the gesture.

There had always been a tension between the two of you that he couldn’t explain, his feelings aside. Any time he went to stare at you, you were already looking at him, your gaze intense. Any time he would walk by you, you seem to touch him somehow- a servo on his shoulder, digits brushing past his back, shoulder bumping into his- something. He isn’t sure if it’s accidental or not.

You don’t really see each other after that court hearing though- you join the Elite Guard and become a Prime alongside Sentinel, whose guts you hate, and he becomes a space bridge technician. His interest fades for a bit once he crashes on earth and starts his battle against the Decepticons there with his team, but he can’t help thinking of you every once in a while and blushing whenever one of the other bots mentions your name in passing. He finds himself missing having you around sometimes, even if you didn’t get to interact much. 

Even when Sentinel and the Elite Guard show up on earth, you don’t come with them, occupied with business matters back on Cybertron. 

After the attack on Ultra Magnus, as pissed off as Sentinel Prime is about it and as much as Sentinel Prime tries to appeal the decision in court, you’re appointed the new Magnus. The final battle with the Decepticons happens, and Optimus- for the first time in a long time- returns to Cybertron to give you back your father’s hammer, which Sentinel had tried to take from you behind your back, only for Ratchet to go to Cybertron, take it, and bring it back to him.

He enters your quarters and finds you working on preparations for Ultra Magnus’s and Prowl’s funerals, as Ultra Magnus’s injuries were too great for him to survive and Prowl had sacrificed himself in the final battle. Optimus was just grateful that you were making sure both were given a proper service even though you had so many other things to be juggling as the new Magnus.

It was late, so you were alone working since you didn’t like having guards around you, and he had come by himself.

He apologizes for having kept the hammer for so long and offers it back, only for you to tell him that it’s better suited to him anyways- you wouldn’t use it, it brings back too many memories of your father who you’re still grieving and you have your own weapons that you’re already accustomed to. After that, he finds himself watching you work, utterly captivated by how much you’ve matured in what felt like such a short amount of time. 

He’s unsure of what to do and doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, so he turns to leave, only for you to tell him to sit down at your work table- you say you have some high quality oil you’ve been dying to share with somebot, and Sentinel just doesn’t make the cut, Jazz is still on earth, etc.

Optimus agrees and sits down across from you, both of you with your own container of oil. The two of you are restrained and handle your drinks well, so neither of you overdo it, and all the oil does is relax the mood. After a few moments of silence, you finally come out with it.

“I think you’ve done well despite everything you’ve been through. How would you feel about becoming the commander of the Elite Guard?”

He’s baffled, obviously. How was he to go from being shunned for Elita’s accident to commander of the Elite Guard? How would Cybertron react? “What about Sentinel?”

“My father always had a soft spot for him, so I won’t kick him to the streets, but I don’t want him having such a huge responsibility. I’m thinking about giving him a position as my guard.”

You’d never liked having guards around, but it was a fair idea. Ultra Magnus would’ve preferred you had one, and the one time he was unguarded, Shockwave took advantage. 

“Do you think I’m ready for such a huge responsibility more than Sentinel Prime?”

“I consider us equals,” You admit. Optimus is taken aback by it, but finds himself reflecting; maybe he’s a bit too relaxed from all the drinks, but maybe he’s also become more aware of just how short life is and how much more honest he needs to be with himself and others due to the recent events. 

So, he decides to tell you the truth. “If you consider us equals, then... I’d like to tell you something important. Honestly.”

“Go on.”

“You’ve always been above me, so I haven’t felt it appropriate- even now, it feels questionable, but I feel like you need to know, and life is so short... I’ve always been fond of you, (y/n).”

“I’m fond of you, too, Optimus.”

“No, I mean... I’ve developed feelings for you, over the stellar cycles. Ever since we were in training.”

You don’t even hesitate, LMAO. You just lean across the table and push everything to the side so you can grab him by his shoulders and slam his lips against yours. 

Apparently, he wasn’t imagining the tension after all-

[silkling]

And here is the next installment of my Falsely Accused AU! I hope everyone likes it.

Falsely Accused: The Discovery

Ultra Magnus was not often a mech of regrets. He couldn’t afford to be. He led a planet. If he regretted too many of his decisions, it would lead to indecision and uncertainty that might cripple him. He had more than just his own pride riding on his shoulders. He had the lives of every Autobot, be it civilian or soldier, weighing him down even more harshly. So no, the Magnus did not often allow himself to regret. But as he stared at the painfully familiar helmet on his desk, he felt the unfamiliar emotion settle heavy in his spark, alongside guilt so strong it almost choked him.

He did not regret often. The few times he did, it was usually because he had made a very severe mistake.

This time, it had been no different.

———

Ultra Magnus sighed as he set aside Jazz’s report, scrubbing a servo down his face. The loss of their informant was blow indeed, but he was mostly relieved that his subordinate had escaped Lockdown unharmed. The bounty hunter was a formidable foe, and for all of Jazz’s skill, the rogue cyber-ninja had managed to offline many mechs both stronger and older than the young bot. Quite frankly, Jazz was lucky to be alive. It was with relief that he signed off on the report, setting the data pad it was on aside to be collected and filed later.

Next, he picked up the data pad that contained this quartex’s reports from Trypticon. The first few were routine inventory reports. Nothing about them sparked much interest. Another was a report on an altercation a Decepticon prisoner had had with a guard. Not surprising, though it was a shame the ‘Con had been offlined in the attempt to subdue him. It was the final report on the data pad that made him pause. It was a medical report from the medic stationed at Trypticon, about the small two-wheeler who had killed Yoketron. The former cyber-ninja had gotten caught in a fight between two other prisoners, and guards had assumed he had been one of the instigators and thus subdued him aptly. It was only after other prisoners had spoken up and the security tapes had been observed to discover the start of the fight that the truth had been revealed. But that wasn’t what the medic raised concerns over in the report. No, they wrote that they believed something was wrong with the young mech’s optics. They’d attempted to treat him, but when they’d gone to remove the visor in an attempt to repair wound to the young bot’s face, he had shifted away. The medic had been unable to convince the mech to let him treat him properly before it had been time to return him to his cell. Magnus paused, his brows furrowing. That was certainly odd. Though, he couldn’t bring himself to be too invested. He simply signed off on the reports and set the data pad aside.

It was hard for him to care much about the mechling who had offlined his oldest friend. He had known Yoketron since before he’d been Magnus. It had felt like a stab to the spark to learn that the Ninja Master had fallen. When he had learned it was Yoketron’s own student, the hot flash of betrayal had only fueled his rage. It had only grown when the report came in that the youngling had also stolen the protoforms. Given all the information and evidence, Ultra Magnus had not had much hesitation when it had come to stripping the youngling of his badge and casting him from the ranks of the Autobots. He’d had even less hesitation in sending him to Trypticon. He may not be a Decepticon, but a traitor of his caliber deserved no other fate. As such, the Magnus could not dredge up concern for the two-wheeler’s odd behavior. He was likely just being anti-social, as reports from the guards suggested him to be. Medics were notoriously soft-sparked, so the Magnus took that particular report with a grain of salt.

His comm. unit buzzed with an incoming call, and the Magnus accepted it. Few mechs had access to his personal comm. link. Only his friends and those on his personal team. Sure enough, Jazz’s voice came over his audials. “Ultra Magnus, sir. You got a minute? I gotta talk with you. It’s about my last mission. It’s…it’s real important, sir.”

“Jazz. Is it about your report? I finished reading it, everything seemed to be in order.”

“It’s…not about the report sir. It’s about somethin’ else that happened while I was on Lockdown’s ship. I didn’t put it in my report. I thought it was more important that I tell you first.”

That was certainly odd. Jazz was not one to ignore protocol, so why would he withhold information from his report? The young ninja was a reasonable bot, with a good helm on his shoulders. A clever youngling. Ultra Magnus didn’t think he’d keep information from the report unless it truly was important to discuss it first.

“Very well. You may come meet me in my office.”

He did not have to wait long. The youngling arrived quickly, and Magnus sent the command for the door to lock behind him. Jazz took the seat in front of his desk, and there was a deeply troubled look on his faceplates even past the visor. He was quiet for a moment, and Magnus was about to prompt him to speak, before he looked up to meet his leader’s gaze.

“Master Yoketron’s last student….did he ever graduate, sir?”

Ultra Magnus startled, a severe frown twisting his lips. “Jazz-“

But the youngling actually cut him off. “Just humor me for a mo’, sir. Please. I promise I’m goin’ somewhere with this.” he said, sounding desperate.

Magnus forced himself to stop and think. He frowned, processor turning over the question. He had always allowed Yoketron to manage the Cyber-Ninja Corps as he saw fit. He had never seen it as his place to infringe on his friend’s domain, so he had kept himself out of his business.

“I do not know.” he said carefully. “Jazz, what does this have to do with your mission?”

Jazz looked away, still looking so troubled. “I’m gettin’ there, sir.” he said. “Just bare with me, please.” He looked back at his leader. “See, I’m pretty sure he didn’t graduate. Master Yoketron only ever took one student at a time, and whenever his student completed their training and graduated, he’d host a formal celebration. It was an event open only to former students, so that the graduated cyber-ninja could meet and forge bonds with their newest brother. Cause all the cyber-ninja saw each other as brothers in arms, see. There ain’t too many of us, so whenever a new one joins the ranks it’s a big deal.” he explained. “I was Master Yoketron’s student before….well, before him.” Ultra Magnus knew who he meant. Though he didn’t know where Jazz was going with this. “I remember my ceremony. But I never attended the ceremony of another. Which meant he didn’t actually complete his trainin’.”

Now, Magnus was starting to get a bad feeling. He frowned, looking his subordinate in the optic. “Jazz. I do not understand what this has to do with your mission.”

Jazz shot him a rueful, bitter grin. Magnus was startled by the uncharacteristic expression. “I don’t think that a bot who hadn’t finished their trainin’ would have what it takes to defeat and offline Master Yoketron, steal the protoforms, and hide them so well that none of our top agents could find them. I don’t think he’d have the means to send them off planet either. He wouldn’t have had the time or resources.” Jazz met his gaze head on. “I don’t think he would have been able to do what he was convicted of.” his voice was soft as he spoke. “But I think there is someone who could do all that and who has the resources for it. An ungraduated cyber-ninja couldn’t,” Here, he reached into his subspace. Magnus’s bad feeling grew worse. “But a graduated, disgraced and exiled cyber-ninja probably could.”

And Jazz put Yoketron’s helmet on the desk in front of Ultra Magnus.

Magnus’s systems briefly stalled, and his spark felt like it froze in his chest. He lifted his gaze from his old friend’s helmet to meet Jazz’s visor.

“Yoketron’s student didn’t offline him, sir. Lockdown did.”

———

After that, Jazz had left the office. He had been called away by another duty, and Ultra Magnus had been left behind with new information, an old friend’s helmet, and regret settling heavy and hard in his tanks. His processor warred with itself, one half desperate for Jazz to be wrong, but the other knowing his was right. It was true.

An ungraduated student would not have the skill to kill his Master. Nor would he have the ability or resources to steal the protoforms. There was also the corrupted security feed, which Magnus had never insisted on de-corrupting. If he had, would it have shown Lockown’s presence at the Dojo that day as well? Even the youngling’s presence at the scene could be explained. As Yoketron’s student, the Dojo would have been his residence at the time. If he hadn’t been there at the time of the attack, then he would have returned to see the Dojo’s ruins…and his Master’s corpse. His discovery at the scene could easily be explained as little more than unfortunate timing. Which meant…

Which meant Ultra Magnus had sentenced an innocent youngling to a fate typically reserved only for the most dangerous prisoners of war and for traitors.

He saw the report from Trypticon out of the corner of his optics, and dread settled in his spark. He had had convicted a youngling of a crime he had didn’t commit, and he had spent mega-cycles paying for it. He had sentenced a youngling for a crime he didn’t commit, and he was still paying for it.

Oh Primus, what had he done?

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! I absolutely loved the feelings for the young liaison team kids, may I request some more of those please? With Megs, Roddy and Drift? (Maybe Cyclonus, if you don't mind as well?) thank you very much!

I love how so many asks want the bots to more or less adopt children who adopt them in turn, because that kind of softness is what our bots DESERVE. Rodimus, Drift (and Rung!) have their post here, the original is here, and below I'll have dear Megs and Cyclonus getting their dad vibes.

Megatron

·When the liaison program was decided upon, his presence on the ship had required some... additional precautions be taken, in order to convince the humans that any visitors to the Lost Light would be safe. Said measures had consisted mostly of him being warned repeatedly, both in and out of official correspondence, that he was to never be alone with the humans. Doing so or taking any other actions that made the humans feel even moderately unsafe would result in swift punishment. He'd understood every bit of the security measures, annoying as they were repetitive, and endeavored to follow them. Seeing young members of a species he'd attempted to exterminate wasn't something he wanted to seek out anyway. Thus, he'd been quite purposefully unavailable when the group came onboard.

·Massive as the ship is, however, he'd been unable to elude the liaisons forever. On one fateful day he'd encountered all of them by chance, and thankfully there had been other bots around to ensure Ultra Magnus wouldn't throw him in the brig for breaking any promises. The humans had looked just as surprised as he had to see the former Decepticon leader staring down at them. To their credit though, and his shock, they hadn't fled screaming in an instant. Rather, they'd cautiously approached him as a unit. The boldness had been so unexpected he'd actually felt quite like fleeing himself once they'd started asking questions. With the other Autobots around he'd been forced to stand his ground, and thankfully the humans hadn't been nearly as aggressive as he'd been expecting, keeping most of their questions in the realm of polite but naive curiosity. Perhaps the Fools Energon was simply getting in his head, but he'd walked away from the encounter believing it to have been... pleasant.

·At the next chance meeting, made possible by everyone on the ship relaxing his restrictions, he's admittedly a little happy to see the liaisons. It happens in Swerve's bar, and they're actually able to converse with minimal oversight. The opportunity to get to know humans in depth is one he explores with caution though. Despite his current goal of righting past wrongs, he can't simply undo what he attempted to carry out on this species, as friendly as the young humans are to him. Knowing that fact is what makes him ache despite the pleasant conversation. They talk of their dreams, and ask him about innocent things in return, with particular fascination for his size and strength. Such bright and vivid souls, that he was once utterly indifferent to... How many brilliant lives like them did he snuff out without a care?

·Yet he keeps talking to the little ones whenever the opportunity presents itself. They might be some of the first beings to speak so casually to him in eons, and once they start asking about politics... Well, he can't resist sharing the beliefs he'd once thought too optimistic. As always, each liaison proves a spirited debate expert, despite being small enough to fit comfortably in his palm. Ignoring the rules, they often end up doing just that, though it's more for convenience as he doesn't want them to strain themselves shouting to be heard. Inevitably the restrictions on him loosen to the point he actually begins sitting with them gathered across his massive frame like birds on an oversized but comfortable tree, and through them he gets little samples of earth life in the form of stories and videos on their communication devices.

·It's the happiest he's ever been, and that's probably why he inevitably caves to his self loathing, the joy these little ones bring him forcing back memories of his many crimes against their kind. Even seeing them is a right he shouldn't feel so entitled to. For their sake, he decides to avoid them going forward, to protect them from himself and his legacy in addition to the weight of his conscience. Of course, the liaisons very quickly notice that they aren't seeing him around and one day decide to seek out answers. To his surprise, he fails to simply explain himself through a gentle lie when they eventually find him, as if their faces compel him to speak truthfully. He breaks and reminds them of what he is and what he's done, and that staying away is for their own good, especially considering he can hardly be trusted. As always, they surprise him.

·In total agreement, they all reassure him of a few things. First is that they're all well aware of who he is and what he's done. Second is that they knew that when they decided to approach him, and that his efforts to redeem himself have not gone unnoticed, which is why they've bonded with him as they have. They made the choice to get to know him, and while they can't speak for the many factors of the Cybertronian conflict beyond their understanding, they are allowed to decide they like who he is here and now. Had he a less hardened spark, their words would have made him weep. Instead, he quietly thanks them and promises to think on what they've said. In the end, he honors their decision by returning to the locations they expect him, and they continue as they did before. This time, however, he's more than just gentle while they clamber over him. He's protective as only a bot of his size can be to beings he truly appreciates as his found family.

Cyclonus

·The emotion he felt upon learning of the incoming liaisons was best summarized as "mild curiosity" at best. Not that he looked down upon the incoming crewmembers, but he just didn't think them worthy of much fuss, and only intended to learn enough to effectively avoid them going forward. A not so subtle warning not to intimidate them with his appearance cemented the emotion. On the day of their arrival, he met the whole group quite by chance during their introductory tour, and to his chagrin each one was fascinated by him in particular. Unable to even tell them apart at first, he'd been somewhat placated by their curiosity for things his own kind often overlooks. For the sake of cultural preservation, he decides that answering their questions won't be too much of a burden if done from time to time.

·Now reasonably well settled amongst the crew, he doesn't find it too hard to handle the socialization with multiple humans at once, though admittedly he's a little concerned when he learns of their age. Allowing what are essentially slow developing protoforms to explore on an alien vessel seems... irresponsible. Yet their youth does explain their energy, especially as they ask him many questions about topics he enjoys speaking of, starting with his accent leading to a grand recounting of Tetrahexian history. Unlike so many bots, they gladly listen to him go on about the glory days. Their little eyes go wide as he recounts technological wonders long gone. Had he less control it would have brought a smile to his face, especially when he lets slip his knowledge of the Old Cybertronian language and soon has a whole group begging to learn it.

·While he's hardly gone soft, he does allow the humans a touch more... freedom, in how they interact with him compared to others. They even enjoy the privilege of resting atop his shoulders or in his arms, though that's purely to save his back the strain of constantly bending down to their height. Any bot that says otherwise is swiftly reminded of his combat prowess. He begins to learn each human's unique personality and quirks in time, especially how some are better with history and others excelled at language. Learning bits about their own culture was surprisingly interesting as well, with pictures and videos of long gone human civilizations proving that some of Earth's occupants had decent aesthetic taste.

·Without knowing it, he more or less avoided discussing his own past with the little group, gently steering the conversation each time it ventured too close to the personal. The reason became blindly apparent when they learned of his former affiliation and the crimes he'd committed while sworn to it. Though not present for the revelation, he's certain of their reaction being one of fear and disgust, and immediately withdraws from the crew to hole himself up. Emotions too powerful to stifle force him to isolate for the sake of what remains of his pride. Not even knowing how exactly the humans found out, he's not particularly inclined to discover the manner, as the damage has been done. Admittedly, he was foolish to assume it wouldn't happen sooner.... Regardless, he knows he can never face them again.

·Unbeknownst to him, the revelation was a mistake, and one not met with any particular judgement. The liaisons were only concerned when he failed to appear at standard places of meeting, and as a unit agreed to check up on the bot they'd all come to admire. It had taken all of them knocking to get a coherent response through the door, and Cyclonus had cursed himself for being unable to simply tell them to leave, his spark indeed proving too soft at the sight of them all together. When he'd allowed the group inside, the last thing he'd been expecting was a coordinated embrace between the lot of them, but that had proven to be their tactic straight away. It had proven cunning and effective. A plurality of reasons for his shame had melted in the face of open hearted acceptance, with the entire group promising that who he had been mattered little compared to who he was now. To prevent a humiliating display of tears he'd accepted their assurance without fuss, but had indeed been convinced by the sheer strength of their conviction to continue meeting them for their little talks. Despite himself, he'd actually smiled the first time reuniting with them afterwards, his demeanor growing warmer in their presence from then on as he promised to himself no harm would ever befall them. They had accepted him, and he would do the same in return. Nothing in his past had ever compared to the treasure of simply knowing them.

[staysaneathome]

This Was Not A Dare, Reigen

Jon glares at each of the— the suspects traitors in front of him, tape recorder clutched tight in one hand.

Martin, wringing his hands uselessly, eyes wide and beseeching. Tim, fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to go white and returning his gaze with a death stare of his own. Sasha, arms folded to form a barrier between Jon and herself, expression a perfect mask of concern. Reigen, radiating disappointment in every one of his gestures and quips. Elias, eyes weary, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Some intervention this is turning out to be.

Jon wants to scream. Wants to reach out and shake someone, anyone, until they admit he’s making sense and it’s the rest of the world that’s gone mad.

Every single one of them (except Martin) could’ve killed Gertrude. He knows he has no proof that they did, but he has no proof that they didn’t either, can’t they see that? If they don’t want him to suspect them, it should be easy for them to actually give him proof of their innocence (like Martin did), instead of just repeating platitudes of “you know this isn’t acceptable adult behavior, Jon” and “you’re better than this, Jon”.

Who cares about knowing better or acceptable behavior when it’s your very life on the line? He’s half tempted to throttle the con artist, see how dignified or adult he is when he’s the one with a murderer on his tail!

…Not that Jon is a murderer. It’s just the principle of the thing, is all.

“Jon,” Elias says, tone soothing in all the ways he doesn’t want it to be. “This is absurd. This goes far beyond an unhealthy work environment. I’ll admit it’s partly my fault for letting it get this bad, I should have intervened earlier.”

Reigen cuts in with a hand gesture that is as effusive as it is dismissive. “That doesn’t make his behavior okay, Bouchard-san. It may be bad here, but Jon chose to follow me, Tim and Sasha, and yell at Martin, rather than going to the police or paying a detective, like Herlock Sholmes or something.”

Jon sputters. “Wh- It’s Sherlock Holmes, not—and he’s fictional!”

Reigen blinks sleepily, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jon all but shouts, rapidly reconsidering his stance on braining the sardonic little git with his tape recorder. “Don’t you even—an-and you’re deflecting again! Just like with your ridiculous ‘haunted gun’ nonsense!”

“I’m not!” Reigen says, clearly deflecting. “I’ve seen this kind of thing loads of times as the number one psychic. When a weapon kills lots of people over 100 years, the bad energy gets bigger and bigger until the gun grows an evil spirit and is hungry—”

“I refuse to believe Gertrude Robinson was murdered by a sentient blunderbuss!!”

“Be that as it may,” Elias interrupts, shooting them both a stern frown. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about, Jon. Given how badly it’s affected your work ethic, I will be taking direct action to ensure it does not continue.”

Jon can feel his shoulders hunch almost against his will, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of whatever punishment is about to be unjustly inflicted on him.

Only Martin looks half as worried as he feels, glancing between him and Elias nervously. By contrast, Tim looks downright triumphant, smirk nasty and vindictive. Sasha’s somewhere between those two, not openly celebrating his soon-to-be-downfall, but not acting like she’d lift a finger on his behalf either, though he’s unsure why that feels like it should surprise him. She’s always been as neutral as Switzerland.

Reigen, oddly enough, has more in common with Martin than with Tim. He’s staring at Elias like he’s waiting for a bit of news he knows he won’t like.

Jon thinks he’d appreciate that more if he wasn’t about to be unfairly lambasted simply for trying to stop a murderer and bring justice for an old woman who probably died frightened and alone. Much like Jon probably will once he’s been hobbled by whatever Elias is about to say next.

“Such as by restricting access to the archives from members of the public who are ultimately doing you more harm than good.”

…Wait.

What?

“What?!” Tim, Martin, and Sasha echo.

Reigen glances between them all, blinking in confusion.

Jon shares the sentiment entirely. His punishment is…for someone else to be removed from the archives? Someone he doesn’t employ or even like that much, no less?

He must have misheard, surely.

Though maybe not, given how Tim looks aghast, glancing between Elias and Reigen. “Okay, no, Reigen’s clearly not the problem here—”

“I’m very sorry, Tim, but Jon has made several remarks about the disruptive nature of Mr. Arataka’s presence in the archives.” Elias sighs. “From the arguments like the one we just witnessed to the nonsensical purchases of oddities inspired by his presence, such as Duolingo subscriptions,” Meaningful glare at Jon who resists the urge to clutch his phone guiltily, “That are now billed on the Archives’ expenses, it unfortunately seems as though he is dragging down productivity for all of you as an active stressor.”

“But we’re much better equipped to take statements from people who don’t speak English because of that!” Martin protests, stepping forward. “Isn’t it an advantage to have a more, more international perspective for our work?”

“One positive in a sea of negatives does not an advantage make.” Elias says, sounding infuriatingly like he’s misquoting something. “And really Martin, how realistic is it that this would help in more than a few isolated cases? I expected better from you.”

Martin’s face crumples, and his shoulders hunch, making himself smaller.

Jon finds his own mouth opening to—what? Say something? What would he even say?

Luckily, Sasha intervenes before he can dig his own grave further. “That’s as may be, but he’s a wonder for morale. He and Jon are funny, not anything serious, and I don’t think we’d have come to you about Jon‘s behavior unless he encouraged us to—”

“Which only fits into the delusion where Jon feels an outsider is rallying his subordinates against him, which is not good for his paranoid outlook.” Elias replies calmly. “And it’s never a healthy work environment when one employee feels the others are making them the butt of a joke.”

“I’d say that’s not as bad as when the boss feels he has the right to violate everyone’s privacy whenever he wants to just ’cause he’s feeling sad!” Tim growls.

Elias begins to answer, before Reigen finally speaks up.

“Sorry,” The con artist says carefully. “But you are…«I know this one…» banning me from the Archives? Yes?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes.” Elias says, grudgingly

“Why?” Reigen challenges, eyes hard and searching. “What have I, personally, done that’s wrong here? What behavior do I need to correct?”

There’s a moment of silence. The whirring of the tape recorder sounds uncomfortably loud.

“Mr. Arataka, are you currently under the employ of the Magnus Institute?” Elias asks, brow furrowed.

“Ah, no, no, but—”

“Are you looking to become employed by the Institute at this point in time, as a prospective member of the Archival Staff?” He fires off rapidly.

“Su-Sorry, but if you could just go a little slower—”

“Then I am afraid that unless you’re looking to fill out an employment contract or a Statement form, we cannot help you, Mr. Arataka.” Elias spreads his hands wide. “We are an academic institution, a place of research and learning. The Institute cannot allow for social dalliances on company time, especially not when those visits are negatively contributing to the work environment and the wellbeing of our staff.”

Tim throws up his hands, “I-I cannot believe this!”

Reigen’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment.

“Arataka is my…what do you call it? First name?” He says, at last. “Using it in this context is…inappropriate. Please call me Reigen, if you would, Bouchard-san.”

“Of course. My mistake, Mr. Reigen.” Elias does have the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Though, regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises within the next twenty minutes, or I will be forced to call security.”

Reigen nods, jerkily, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Jon almost wants to call out to the fraud as he turns to go, grab him by the shoulder, pick another argument, something. He knows he should be happy, be glad that this thorn in his side will finally stop bothering him, but instead he just feels—befuddled. Off-kilter.

What happened to the man who once spent three hours arguing for the “spiritual effectiveness” of entirely performative and useless rituals, saying that ensuring his clients left his office fooled and contented was better than actually uncovering genuine supernatural forces and learning all there was to know about them? Why is he going so-so easily now, when he’s made Jon fight tooth and nail in every debate he’s had with the so-called psychic?

At the door, the con man pauses.

“Bouchard-san. You said I could come back if I had a statement to give?”

Elias shifts in his seat, looking bemused. “W-well, yes. That is a service we do provide. Of course, the statement would have to be genuine, and verifiable as such before we let you back into the Archives.”

“We don’t even do that for most of the rubbish we do take,” Tim mutters under his breath, and though Jon is glad he’s not the one being shot a quelling look, he does have to agree.

The con man turns back.

He’s got that smirk on his face that immediately puts Jon’s hackles up on instinct, prepared to argue against whatever inane point he’s come up with now to defend his phony psychic title.

“Gotcha.” Reigen says, far too cheerfully. «Ja ne.»

Then he strolls out of the office, as cool as a cucumber.

Jon could even swear he hears him whistling as he makes his way down the stairs.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I’d do him.” Sasha pipes up, unhelpfully.

“Sasha!” Martin hisses, scandalized. “D-don’t you have a, a—”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that.” She remarks, far too blasé for someone in a newly committed relationship. “Tom’s heard about him too, and he agreed he’s just our type.”

“And I’m not?” Tim jokes, but there’s a hard edge to it that Jon’s found himself increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Sasha shrugs with a mischievous little smile, as if that mattered very little to her.

Elias coughs. “Right. Well. Whatever your relations to Mr. Reigen are, please try to limit them to outside the workplace in future.”

The rest of the intervention is surprisingly subdued. Elias gives Jon access to the footage from the cameras in the rest of the Institute, and Tim bodychecks him on the way out of the office, muttering about how nice it must be to never face any consequences for his actions. Sasha follows, the way she won’t meet his eyes a condemnation in its own right.

Even Martin doesn’t say anything to him, just bites his lip and hurries past back down to the Archives. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t.

Even as he settles in to watch and rewatch the CCTV records of Gertrude’s last week alive, Jon can’t shake the ridiculous feeling of foreboding that’s dogged him since Reigen left.

Most of him wants to say it comes from the fact that despite the fact that Reigen has not appeared in any of the camera records for the Magnus Institute before he started his term as Head Archivist in 2016, isn’t banning him from the Archives just letting the con man run around London with impunity, with no way for Jon to ascertain his movements or motives? That instead of solving a problem, Elias has just given a potential murderer free reign to escape?

But a small part of Jon, one that never could deny the sensation of being watched, that is frozen in second-hand terror whenever he reads a Statement, knows, Knows that it this stems more from the idea that the fraud will actually accomplish what Elias has unwittingly challenged him to do.

The illogical but pervasive surety that he will do so.

Jon’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Reigen Arataka will vanish entirely, another unfortunate victim become an unsolved mystery.

Or that he’ll come back, and bring whatever he’s managed to unearth on his insane quest with him.

[imherongraystairstrash]

De-age Will Part II

I just realized I’m incapable of writing normal-sized fics ✌️

Part 1

(I just realized how weird the word “part” is lol)

...

Henry was walking past when he heard Charlotte’s voice speaking softly. He poked his head into the room and saw that she was reading a storybook, little Will pressed to the side of her body yawning tiredly and rubbing his eyes with his small fists. Henry leaned against the door and watched as Charlotte smiled while she read, not able to help keeping the same smile from spreading across his. 

Her voice was vibrant and fluctuating in tone as different characters spoke. Her eyes widened when she put extra empathizes on a word and whenever she turned a page, she would plant a kiss on Will’s forehead or cheek. She would also periodically rub his back or stroke his cheek, which never failed to make Will nuzzle closer to her, enough so that he rested his tiny fists on her abdomen. 

Henry’s heart yearned for Charlotte, so much so that each day he seemed to love her more and more. His Lottie. She may not love him the same way, but being able to call her his wife, to wake up every morning next to her, was the greatest blessing he could receive.

As he watched her reading to Will, it struck him how much he wanted a child. One with Charlotte. They had Jem, Jessamine, Will, Sophie and Thomas, but a baby would be different. A little child they could hold at night a fuss over and teach all sorts of things, like how to walk and talk. Henry knew, however he could never ask that of Charlotte, for she did not feel the same, and perhaps she didn’t share the same feelings over a child… Or, maybe she didn’t wish to bear his child. They could always adopt, but that would still require a certain level of affection towards each other, affection Charlotte didn’t hold for him. It would be easy for Charlotte to file for a divorce, if she wanted one, however, it got more complex once there was a child in the middle.

So, Henry just watched as Will’s eyes slowly closed and soon he was asleep against Charlotte’s shoulder. She kissed his forehead and gently tucked him into bed before following Henry out the door.

Henry cast a final look at little Will before closing the door behind him. 

Charlotte’s smile remained on her lips the entire walk back to their room. 

Henry wanted to put his arm around her, to hold her close as they walked through the empty institute halls. But, he loved her too dearly to ever do such a thing as make her uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and Charlotte looked up.

“You were wonderful with Will.” he said, blushing.

She blushed too as she replied. “I didn’t know how much I adored children until I had to take care of one.”

“I feel the same way.”

She glanced up at him, surprised. He looked down at her, tilting his head to the side.

Charlotte turned a dark shade of crimson as she spoke again.

“Do you wish to have a ch—” she cleared her throat. “A child?”

Now it was Henry’s turn to blush. “I guess I would, if you want one too.”

Charlotte looked up at him in wonder. “You would want a child?”

“A child with you, Lottie, would be a blessing.”

She turned her head in an attempt to hide her smile, but Henry already saw it.

“Likewise.” She whispered.

They reached their room and Henry opened the door to let her in. As she walked inside, Henry couldn’t help but think that sometimes, it felt as though Charlotte truly loved him.

She turned on her heels. “Do you want to try tonight?” she asked quietly.

“Try what?” Henry asked.

“To…Oh, never mind.” She said, clearly embarrassed.

“What is it Lottie?” Henry said, eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “What did you want to try?”

Charlotte looked at him, took a deep breath and spoke quickly: “To conceive a child.”

Henry was appalled and must have looked it, too, for Charlotte appeared to be horrified.

“Henry, no, I was—”

Henry crossed to the room and held her small hands in his. 

“Of course. Of course I want to.” He whispered. 

Charlotte looked up at him in wonder, a piece of hair escaping from where it was tied back. Henry took out the pins that held it into place. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders, framing her lovely face.

“You’re beautiful.” Henry whispered. “Lovely Lottie, my angel from heaven.” 

Her lips pressed against his and for a moment, they seemed to forget. Forget that they thought the other didn’t love them, because that moment, and what was to follow, was nothing short of glorious.

… 

The next morning, Jem woke up to find a pair of dark blue eyes hovering over him. He yelled. Will put his small hands on Jem’s face and stared intently into his face. 

“Good morning, Will.” Jem said gruffly.

Will giggled and put his arms around Jem’s neck. Jem’s head fell back on his pillows and he closed his eyes, still very tired from tossing and turning all night, worried for his parabatai and the fading rune. It’s not that Jem needed the bond; Will would always be his other half, as though, before they came into this world, their souls made a pact that they would keep a part of the other, so that they would have find each other again in the mess of the earth, to give back what belonged to the other. But, Jem couldn’t imagine never getting to see Will as an adolescent ever again. Will was still Will, but Jem couldn’t lay beside him at night and speak of his worries. His Will was like his twin brother, not a little child. 

Jem sighed. This was too strange. He put an arm around Will and let him rest on his collarbone until Charlotte came inside.

“Oh, there he is, that little minx. He got away from me.”

Jem sat up and held Will out to Charlotte, but Will didn’t seem to want to be parted from Jem just yet, and made a fuss over the whole exchange until he was back in Jem’s arms.

“He’s much more spoiled, as a baby.” Jem said, regarding Will, who was smiling wide and embracing Jem furiously. For a toddler, he had a surprising strong grip.

“Yes, well.” Charlotte said. “I suggest you get dressed, Jem darling. Ragnor has agreed to come.”

“He has?” Jem asked, appalled.

“Yes, though he made it very clear that his schedule was busy and that he couldn’t stay for long.”

“In that case…Will,” he said, turning to the boy.  “Why don’t you go with Charlotte? I’ll be right down.” 

Will looked sad, but acquiesced, stretching his hands out to Charlotte. She took him in her arms.

“We’ll be downstairs.” She said, closing the door behind her.

Jem sighed and slowly got out of his pajamas and dressed in day’s clothes, trying (and failing) to not think too hard about Will. 

…

What entailed after Ragnor arrived at the Institute was simple. He deemed that Will would be fine and that the spell was temporary. Should Will not be back to normal in three days time, they could message Magnus Bane, who was not nearly as busy as Ragnor was.

“You’d think he’s the emperor.” Sophie said to Jem, “With how busy he is all the time.”

“I really wish he would just say he doesn’t enjoy our company.” Jem said. “It would require so much less effort.”

“I suppose he is being diplomatic.” Sophie said with a shrug. Will ran up to her and hugged her legs. “Oh,” Sophie said to Will. “What do you want, then?”

He put his fist up and Sophie held her hand out. Will dropped a piece of yarn into her palm and ran away.

“Why does he keep giving me these things?” Sophie asked, holding the yarn out in front of her.

Jem shrugged. 

…

Charlotte cursed in her head. Why is it that everybody feels the urge to pay the institute a visit when it’s the least convenient to her? 

“Mr. Lightwood!” She said pleasantly, as he came in. “What a surprise to see you here; we weren’t expecting you.”

“Let us skip the pleasantries, Charlotte, I have business to discuss with your husband and yourself.”

He walked past her and strode to the direction of the institute study.

…

Jem watched as Charlotte and Mr. Lightwood walked up the stairs and Sophie sped away to fetch Henry. Will was standing next to him and Jem didn’t know whether to hide him, or just pretend like it was normal to have a small replica of Will at his side. He decided that the latter might lead to questions he couldn’t answer, so he nudged Will towards the direction of the kitchen, where hopefully Agatha would keep an eye on him. 

Jem then watched as Gabriel strode over to him and, when he came to a stop, Jem couldn’t help but notice a bruise on Gabriel’s cheekbone. He must have been staring because Gabriel scowled and cleared his throat just as he was going to inquire about it. 

“Where’s the other idiot to your duo, then?” Gabriel asked. 

“He’s…out.” Said Jem.

“Out?”

“Yes, he’s having an…erm…episode?”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Gabriel dryly.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret, Gabriel.” Said Jem, darkly.

Gabriel side-eyed him. “What are you going to do? What with your debilitating sickness, I would assume—”

Miniature Will, like his older counterpart, seemed to know the exact worst timing to appear.

He ran at Gabriel and hit his leg with a spoon. Gabriel’s face softened but then quickly hardened into a grimace. Jem couldn’t help but wonder if Gabriel was fond of children and was trying to hide it.

“Who is this brat?” He spat. “By the Angel, the poor child looks like Herondale. How unfortunate for him.”

Jem stopped breathing as Gabriel took a closer look.

“Actually, he looks exactly like Herondale. The resemblance is quite uncanny.” Gabriel stopped and then a delighted smile stretched across his face. “Wait a moment. Is this Herondale’s bastard?”

“No!” Jem said, picking up Will—who was still attacking Gabriel with his spoon— and shoving him behind a door. Jem knew Gabriel wasn’t going to be so easily fooled by the Cartwright story so he improvised the best he could. “He’s Will’s cousin. His…sister brought him here.”

“His cousin?”

“Yes. And as a matter a fact, he is very territorial and doesn’t like meeting new people, so I suggest you leave.” 

Gabriel scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “His sister brought him here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, how I pity that sister.” Gabriel said. “Imagine Herondale being your brother. And the poor fool who marries her. What if the children look like William? Oh Lord, now that would be a curse.” Gabriel shuddered. 

Jem was about to say something when Benedict Lightwood and Charlotte came back.

“Get in the carriage.” Benedict snapped at his son. “We’re leaving.”

Gabriel’s shoulders hunched ever so slightly as he trailed behind his father without so much as a wave goodbye to Jem. Hopefully, Gabriel was too preoccupied with his life to further inquire about this the next time they met.

Just as the Lightwoods were leaving, Will (somehow) managed to open the door and began chasing after them. Charlotte had barely managed to grab the collar of his shirt to keep him from running off. 

Benedict Lightwood must have heard the commotion and turned around. Jem tried to move in front of Will in an attempt to cover him up, but Benedict had already seen.

“Why is it that every time I come here, there’s more children? You’d think they’d created a cloning machine and activate it every time they realize their current children are failures.” He grumbled to himself.

Once he walked out, Thomas shut the heavy door closed with an air of finality and, everybody’s ramrod straight backs, relaxed.

Charlotte whirled around to face Will. “You better turn back into your old self again before you get us into any more trouble, do you understand me, young man?”

Will blinked at her. 

Charlotte sighed and turned around, perhaps too stressed to deal with this problem at the moment. Henry walked in and Charlotte pointed to Will.

“Jem, why don’t you take Will to the park or something. Benedict came in to give Henry and I a lot of work to do and it should take all morning.”

Jem nodded and held his finger out for Will to grab. The smaller boy gleefully wrapped his hand around his parabatai’s index finger. 

…

Will’s eyes darkened. “Duck.” he spat out.

Jem looked at the ducks that were standing idly by the pond. “Will, they’re not going to do anything.”

Will still looked mutinous. 

Jem sighed. Why couldn’t Will be like normal children, who could stare at ducks for hours on end? Better question yet: How is it that Will’s hatred for ducks ran so deep that even as a child, he despised them?

“Come here, Will. How about we sit down?” Jem crossed his legs and Will followed suit.

Jem had brought a biscuit for Will, and gave it to him while he stared out at the landscape in front of them. 

Jem sensed that there was something strange in the atmosphere, and it wasn’t London’s normal, filthy, city air. It was like the calm before the storm; something was brewing and it was about to explode. 

Before Jem could order further, a duck suddenly came from behind them and quacked before Jem could stop it. Will screamed and ran away, which caused the duck to chase after him. 

“Why do these sort of things always happen to me?” Jem grumbled, chasing after Will and the duck.

.....

Tagging some people who enjoyed the last part:

@autumnangel20 @heronstairs2014 @hitheresomeoneusingthus @itsdaughterofthemoon @carstairstessa @minaxcarstairs 

[janekfan]

Dismiss

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016568

This was all Jon’s fault.

He should have known; he’d just brought about an apocalypse for christ’s sake! Of course it was too soon! Of course Martin would be upset at finding him rifling in the dark like an addict. What if there was something worse hiding away in another one and there he was, walking in on Jon pawing through the box for a goddamn snack?

But after the panic and questions and shouting at a sky that only looked on silent and steady, the shakiness was back. The ache. The draw that came from knowing they were here and whispering to him, beckoning to him, promising to ease the hurt building up in his bones as the Eye continued to take and take and take when the well had long since run dry.

And now Martin was alone. Holed up in the bedroom, their(?) bedroom, and it was Jon’s fault. He was alone again and it was because he was too selfish to think beyond feeding the monster he’d become. All because he couldn’t wait, couldn’t give him even a moment to try and forget about Jon’s dietary needs and the pain they caused. There was no way it was easy on Martin, knowing that Jon required.

This.

Worse still was the disappointment, the devastation rolling over him like the rain laden clouds of a storm as he backed away, anguished betrayal pooling in his eyes, even as Jon reached for him, excuses pouring over his lips like ink from a pen.

The mug in his hand seemed like such a paltry offering. Martin deserved infinitely more than this and Jon would never be up for the task if he kept relying on his more monstrous half. Like his resolve, his hold on the ceramic tightened. If Martin wanted him to hold off, or, or prove that he was better than his thirst for fear, then he would give that to him.

Anything for him.

“M’Martin?” He called through the door rather than knock, holding his breath while the decision to let him in or not was made. He couldn’t help but count the seconds, forty seven, a small eternity. Jon fought the impulse to apologize again, Martin said he did that far too much, likely thought he didn’t truly mean it because he never seemed to fix his mistakes. Patience. Wait.

It was not his forte.

“Come in.” Good lord, Martin sounded so tired and when Jon stepped into the room he could see him curled up on the bed facing away from him, the slope of his shoulders defeated. The desire to express remorse all but choked him and he swallowed it down with difficulty. It wouldn’t be for Martin anyway, not really, just another selfish attempt to assuage his own guilt.

“I’m. I brought tea?” Another step closer, watching Martin sit up slowly, elbow rising up as he swiped at his eyes. “O’of course it, it could never hope to m’measure up to yours. I’m afraid I’I’ve never been a deft hand.” He was babbling, rounding the frame so fast that liquid splashed over his fingers. “Mm. B’but here? It’s warm?”

“Thank you, Jon.” It shouldn’t have mattered but the lack of an endearment he’d become so used to was like a blow. Still, he accepted the tea, taking a measured sip before setting it aside and glancing up with red rimmed eyes.

“I. I wasn’t thinking.” To prevent himself reaching for more, Jon plucked at the bottom hem of his, of Martin’s jumper, picking and pulling at the stray threads.

“I was. Surprised, I guess? That you could even look at--” He shook his head, “it’s not important.” And while Jon didn’t agree considering how insensitive he’d been, he welcomed Martin’s arms around him.

“Can’t it wait, Jon?”

Caught.

As he tried to steal away up the stairs with his prize, all too aware of the inherent chicanery.

All too aware of the exasperation in Martin’s voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Exasperation with him.

“I can’t exactly...avoid you in here.” He gestured absently to the small space of the cabin made smaller by fear of leaving and they both knew well there was no way Martin wouldn’t be able to hear him. It physically hurt to replace the yellowed paper back into its watermarked manila folder.

“S’sorry Martin. Of course it can wait.” But it was worse for having held it in his hands, for having been so close and the Eye was railing at him now, shouting in his mind for his denial and dizzying him with its volume. Instead Jon settled for stumbling over to the couch to burrow into Martin’s warmth, sighing when he draped a heavy arm across his aching shoulders and dropped a kiss into his messy hair. Beneath his ear Martin’s pulse beat loud, nearly drowning out the yammering want and sluggish and thick, Jon responded in a sleepy hum to Martin’s questions, sinking into a doze when he began to pet through his tangled curls.

Without a dose of second hand fear it only became worse, to the point where his scars screamed out whenever he moved, breathed, and Jon found himself losing large tracts of time even when he wasn’t sleeping. The inside of his skull was stuffed full of candy floss and digging through any of it for a spare thought was far beyond his ken.

Martin didn’t leave anymore.

For very good reason, but Jon couldn’t find a moment alone to, to, to.

Eat.

Even old and stale they would provide a reprieve.

“Martin.” His own voice sounded as though he were hearing it through the walls of a submarine, muffled and strained, and he wasn’t totally certain of his volume. “I. I need to read. To read a statement.”

Please.

The disbelief knitting Martin’s brow almost made him want to cry. It. He’d waited so long. Tried to sneak, be out of the way, to ask.

“The world just ended!” Martin avoided saying just who ended it but it was there in the set of his mouth and Jon winced irrationally at the volume; he wasn’t being yelled at, just about. “And you want to read a bloody statement now?” Incredulous, and at his tone, Jon folded himself into a small origami shape on his spot on the sofa, sharp at all his corners and hopefully harder to hit.

“No! I mean, I--”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was soft now, imploring. "Did you forget what caused this in the first place?" Oh, but he knew the answer to this question. It was good to know.

“M’me?” When Martin sighed, the disappointment captured in it stung.

“Yeah, I mean, no. It’s not your fault you were tricked into reading--look, I just think it’d be better if we waited. At least until we have a plan?” That made sense and he said so, words tripping up in a jumble on his tongue. “Jon, are you alright?”

No. He was hurting and upset and couldn't decide which was the greater ache.

“Yes. Just tired.”

“I’m ready for a kip after the staring contest I had with the sky earlier.” That would be nice. Martin was warm and soft and it didn’t all hurt so much when he was asleep.

His scars pulsed with a feverish ache, twisting, burning, smoldering embers in a body crying out for relief, thoughts disconnected, disoriented, disjointed, knotted up past, present.

He hated this. Hated himself, hated how nothing made sense anymore, all a vast landscape of, boiling, melted wax running together in a kaleidoscope of color.

Martin must hate what he is, hate that he ruined the world and want him to know it. Maybe once he’d learned to be more careful, more thoughtful Martin would let him have one. That's all, he just had to be patient. He still held him, kissed him, loved him, this was just a, a lesson. That's all. When he told him the right answers, when he figured them out, he’d be allowed to read and fill the emptiness eating him away from inside out.

He’d rather Martin than a statement any day.

Just a bit longer.

“Jon.” Martin left him in bed this equivalent to morning in hopes it would stave off whatever he’d come down with but enough was enough. “You can’t spend all day sleeping, love. We need to figure this out.” You can’t ignore what you’ve done and leave me to clean up your mess. Uncharitable, the thought came out of nowhere and Martin was thankful he’d kept his frustration to himself. He knew it wasn’t his fault. Breaking it down to blame wouldn’t help anybody, least of all the entire world. Magnus was old and he’d taken the time to plan this, manipulating them all into place, and asking Jon to carry the whole weight of that wasn’t fair. Fading in and out, thick and syrupy, Jon’s unsteady voice rose from the mountain of quilts.

“Nnn...n’feeling...very well.” He looked dreadful, flushed and fevered, and not for the first time Martin wondered if this was a leftover side effect of the ritual. “S’so cold…” Taking pity, Martin curled around his too thin and shivering frame where Jon panted harshly into his neck, the brush of overheated air humid at his throat.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“Hur’s.” Worry flooded Martin’s chest, constricting and tight. There were no doctors here, no ambulance he could call on.

“Where?”

“Ss…” With difficulty he flexed his burned hand.

“Scars?”

“Ah.”

“Alright, I’m here.” Gently Martin ran a light hand along the seam of his spine in the hope it brought Jon some measure of comfort if nothing else.

Idiot.

It took him too long to put the pieces together. How big did a neon sign have to be before he could read it?

Selfish. Foolish. Stupid. And the one paying dearly for it was Jon.

“You need to come awake for me, love.” He’d already heaved him up once only for him to swoon and this time he bullied him to his feet where he stood swaying dangerously but Martin needed him to be awake, to get his blood moving and stay that way.

“Mma’tin…” agonized, breathless, what had he said earlier? About hurting, his scars? God, Martin, you just watched him fall apart in front of you and did nothing. Worse than nothing. “Sstop…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” For so much, for not listening, for thinking ever that Jon would keep seeking out statements for anything other than necessity. “You’re doing so well, so, so well.” To think he nigh accused him of wanting to Know and nothing else; childish and angry. “But you need to wake up, you need to be able to listen.”

“Am...am.” Marble mouthed, dark lashes like strokes of ink fluttered, obscured the unnatural green glow always seeking. “Lis…” he broke off into a low, shaky moan, curling into himself, trying to sink to the floor, and Martin wanted to cry, worried that if he left him alone for even a moment he wouldn’t be able to wake him again. So he swept him into his arms instead, heart shattering when Jon bit off a sharp sob as his palm ghosted over the gap in his ribs, sore and sensitive and even so, he turned his face into Martin’s chest, twisted trembling fingers into wash-worn wool with a keening whine. He'd hurt him, accused him, berated him.

And Jon still turned to him as though he were the sun.

“Shh, soon now.” Shallow and short, Jon’s chest hitched as he pressed his fever hot forehead hard into his shoulder and swallowed with a wet click.

“Mmah…” around another convulsive swallow and it was barely warning enough to get him over the sink where he coughed up the tea Martin forced into him earlier. Strung tight and painfully wound, Jon exhaled in relief when Martin let him slide boneless down the cabinetry to the floor, cheek pillowed on the cool painted wood. Lifting his chin, Martin brushed back sweat soaked curls, pressed a promise into fiery skin.

“I’m going to fix this.” As quick as he could Martin ran to the closet and grabbed the whole box, returning to find Jon sprawled out on his back, limbs twisted and loose where he fell. “Oh, Jon.” There was no time to make him comfortable, not when for all Martin knew he was dying because he’d refused to see what was right in front of him, what Jon had been trying to tell him. Because it meant that Jon truly wasn’t human and clearly part of Martin wanted to ignore that.

And now.

“Jon, darling, please.” In his lap, listless deadweight, face turned unconsciously toward the statements. “Open your eyes, Jon, which ones haven’t you read?” Martin clawed through the folders, skimming titles, trying to remember if he’d heard any snippets, but no. He didn’t like listening to them, didn’t want to hear the horrors of others. If he’d stayed with him would he have been able to stop Magnus’ plan? “Jon!” Listing numbers, names, until the floor around them was tiled in paper. Hitching him higher, Martin kissed his pulsepoint when his head lolled, slow and sluggish. “Jon.” Which one?

“Mmm...”

“This one?” He read the first sentence, shuddering already at the chill running up his spine. “Jon?” Another paragraph and uncoordinated, his arm struck out, reaching blindly. “Okay, alright. Are you listening?” The tiniest nod, Martin wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but began to read, steady as he could, sick with himself when the tremors eased and tight, spasming muscles unspooled under his worried hand. When the tears came he had to force himself to keep on, beside himself that he couldn’t comfort him. With the great gasping breaths of a man half drowned, Jon swung his arms around Martin’s neck when the strength came back to his arms as it all drew to a close.

“Th’thank you.” Damp spread over his skin, his words tinged with desperate relief. “M’sorry, m’s’sorry.”

“For what?” He clutched him back, the sound of paper crumpling in his fist sharp in his ears and punctuated by Jon’s frantic apologies, his uneasy gratefulness.

“Th’thank you, Martin, thank y’you. Won’ a’a’ask again.”

“Jon.”

“Can wait.” The quake in his voice was shivery and small and devastation pooled in Martin’ stomach.

It sounded too much as though--

“Oh darling, oh no, no. I.” He had to pause, to swallow the tangle of emotion clotting up his throat and gathered him closer. “I didn’t understand. That’s all. I would. Jon.” Gently he shifted him to get a look at his tear streaked and exhausted face, swiping at his own eyes before cupping his cheek and drawing his thumb over the too-prominent bone there. “Never, I would never h’hurt, or punish--I didn’t know. I didn’t listen.” The first statement’s reprieve was wearing thin and Martin settled Jon against his chest where he laid still, head resting on his shoulder as he reached for another envelope.

The light never changed, no matter the time, but it was softer now. Here.

Pastel behind his eyelids as if swimming through a twilight consciousness into the soft sensations of waking. The knit strands of Martin’s cardigan threaded between his tangled fingers and he shifted closer, so warm, the fever chills he’d suffered for days a thing of the not too distant past. Jon wanted to collect this feeling, this safety, bottle it up for when Martin finally figured out that the only thing he knew how to do was take. Holding his breath, he tried to stay in this moment and absorb the feeling of Martin’s body pressed against his own, slotted perfectly together like a pair of puzzle pieces, the heat generated beneath the quilt comforting, intoxicating.

Even though Jon could tell you more than most that stealing scraps of affection never amounted to enough.

Soft kisses rained over his skin, over every scar, because he’d been unable to cry quietly enough to leave Martin undisturbed. He pulled away, scrubbed his face with the heel of his scarred hands.

“Sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” And he wanted to believe him, that he could have this even with what he was. That he wouldn’t ruin Martin like he’d already ruined so much. “Come here, love.” Patient. Martin was so patient with him even when the uncertainty had to show in his face. “It’s alright.” And Jon dove back in, hands not so much brushing against each other as colliding when he reached for more, more, more, taking, taking, taking. Hiccuping with sobs, burrowing close, closer, the closest he could be, where Martin’s kiss was a soft promise pressed between them, told to his mouth rather than his ear but a message of love and protection and tenderness all the same. Tears he forgot he’d been crying were thumbed gently away, so carefully it was as though Martin worried he would break under the weight of his touch.

Sated, the Beholding a murmur lost in the rhythm of Martin’s heart, Jon allowed himself to be lost, to let someone else, someone he loved and who loved him in return, carry it all just for a little while.

“How’re you feeling?” He approached with a cup of tea, inadequate though it was for an apology, passing it off to Jon’s eager, steady hands. His color was better, the flush faded, and he’d stopped moving like there were needles wedged in every joint.

“Much better, thank you, Martin.” Whyever would he thank him? But here he was, eyes closed in appreciation of the first sip, patting the cushion next to him in open invitation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” After a beat of silence Jon set aside the mug and folded his hands in his lap.

“I thought you knew.” His fingers flexed and Jon forced himself to look Martin in the eye. “I thought it was what you, what you wanted.” And the confusion in his expression, that he had possibly miscalculated, was painful. But isn’t that what he’d learned time and time again? Tim, Basira, Melanie, Daisy, even Martin himself! That when he made mistakes, made wrong choices, when he’d done something they didn’t approve of he’d been yelled at, ridiculed, threatened, terrified, hurt, abandoned. He laughed, a bitter, deprecating huff. "I did end the world after all. You've a right to be upset."

“Wha--no! Jon, no! If I’d--” speechless, that Jon just accepted so easily being hurt this way, accepted that Martin, even accidentally, wanted to see him punished for his part in bringing about Magnus’ plan.

“When I, I asked. I. It made you so angry.”

"Jon. No matter how angry I am, I never want to hurt you or punish you. That’s not okay."

"But--"

“I should have never made you feel--” He grit his teeth, calmed his voice. There was no part of him that wanted Jon to interpret his anger at himself as anger pointed towards him. “Please, if I do this again. Please, love.” For a moment Jon looked like he wanted to argue and Martin tugged him into an embrace, overjoyed when it was returned, his response muffled in his jumper.

“Alright.”

[themagicmistress]

He finds her in a back alley dumpster, head down, fur matted in ugly, spotted clumps that speak of long, hungry months and too few meals.

When Magnus fishes out a piece of jerky from his front pocket, she doesn’t even growl at him. Instead, her tail wags lightly, shifting the dust around behind her.

“Hey, buddy,” he mutters, approaching slow. “What’re you doing all alone out here?”

There’s a flash of tooth that has him retracting his fingers, and the jerky is scarfed down as she tears into it, messy. Her muzzle is grey, he notes, the fur around her scruff shot through with thin lines of silver. She sniffs after finishing and then growls when he reaches his hand out.

Magnus freezes. “Hey,” he starts, “it’s okay. I’m alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.” She gives him dubious eyes, pupils big and black, cautious in a way that hurts his soul. “Really,” he promises.

She leans her wet doggy nose forward and sniffs the palm of his hand, leaning her head down and giving him permission to scratch the back of her ears.

Well, he’d always wanted a dog, right? Magnus still wanted a dog, in fact. It’d been ages since he’d gotten to take care of one. Since he’s woken up to paws on his chest, a tail bouncing against his legs. It’d been a long time. Maybe too long.

She doesn’t resist when he picks her up and brings her to the vet either.

The first thing she does when Magnus brings her home is bound across his home. He runs in after her. “Julia!” he calls out, half-laughing despite himself. “I’ve got a surprise! Make sure the studio is closed.” God, he hopes he closed it before leaving.

He rushes into the kitchen to find her with an armful of German Shepherd, hands awkwardly wrapped around fur and a pattern of muddy pawprints up the side of her skirt. Julia turns to him, eyes alight, a delighted little grin dancing across her face. Her fingers are stained with wood polish and the sunlight makes her deep brown skin glow through the kitchen window.

“Is this delightful little lady the surprise?” Julia coos to her, and the dog in her arms licks the side of her face, flat pink tongue leaving a streak of saliva behind. She laughs in bright peals. “Hi, honey, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“You don’t mind?” Magnus edges awkwardly. “Ah, I’m sorry, I know I didn’t ask and this is your home too.” He falters and doesn’t continue. He doesn’t want to bring her back.

Given the mock-offended look she gives him, his girlfriend doesn’t either.

“This cutie? Absolutely not,” Julia clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Mine now. But maybe yours for a couple seconds. Can you take her? My fingers are sticky and I don’t want to get anymore polish in her fur.”

“Oh! Yeah, here,” Magnus helps the no-longer stray to the ground.

He finally manages to tear his eyes away from Julia and sees a row of wooden bows on the kitchen counter, carefully propped up on long planks as to not get any polish on the table. Reality doesn’t quite come crashing down, because the rebellion is an ever-present weight in the back of his mind, but his chest tightens at the reminder.

Their new dog sniffs slightly at his side. “Just trying to bulk up for the final push against Kalen,” Julia says, turning to wash her hands in the sink. “I have about thirty more in the studio. What do you think?”

Magnus plucks one of the strings. It twangs under his fingers. “Jules?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s gonna be able to fire these?” He says unsurely. “I mean, the workmanship is excellent, and they look great, but…”

Julia frowns at them, tapping at one near the end of the counter to check for tackiness before holding it up. Careful, she pulls back the string and her biceps flex as it draws back with ease. Magnus gulps. Her eyes dance, mischievous and knowing as she puts it back down before she draws a breath.

“Yeah,” Julia grimaces at the row of bows, “I see what you mean. I’ll re-string them a bit later. Forget about work for now, did you have a name in mind for her?”

The dog jumps up onto his legs, paws on his pants and Magnus reaches down a fond hand to scratch between her ears. “I was thinking,” he hesitates, “what do you think about ‘Star?’”

It’s not quite right. It doesn’t feel wrong, but it’s just shy of the goalpost, like biting into banana bread without chocolate chips in it: not bad, but weird. Julia still nods, face warming as she looks at the new addition to their home.

“I like it.”

~

He’ll find them together on their off-days, few and far between, Star curled in Julia’s lap as she takes the time to read one of those detective novels she loves, but never has the chance to look at.

Star will look at her with pleading eyes whenever his girlfriend strays too far to the door, leash dragging after her. Star follows her around the house too, so much that they’ve had to install another, gated door in the entrance to the workshop because she’ll try to wander in if they’ve forgotten to close it behind them. During strategic meetings for the rebellion, Magnus will look around the planning room and Star will be around Julia’s legs because everyone they know is at the meeting too and they can’t leave her home alone.

The revolution is no place for a dog. It’s no place to have a life either, but then, he plans to do something about that.

It’s apparent to both of them who the favourite is. “Who’s the best girl in the whole wide world?” Julia says to Star, a goopy grinning mess on her feet in their bed.

“Love you,” Magnus says: to Star, to Julia. To whatever gave him a home, a better future on the horizon, a family he loves, and a ring with a wooden rose carved on top, tucked away in the second drawer of their bedside table.

She shifts closer to him, a warm weight at his side.

Julia pulls his chin to her and plants a kiss on his lips, warm and soft. Then, she pulls back and Magnus blinks, dazed but happy.

“Say that again,” She tells him, eyebrow quirked. “But this time, don’t make it sound like a goodbye, alright?” 

Magnus grins, a little sheepish. “I love you, Jules.”

A pleased grin spreads across her face. “I love you too.”

The week after Governor Kalen goes down, they take some time off to go to the park, toss around a ball. Magnus actually brought five balls, because he keeps throwing them a little too enthusiastically and they go bouncing outside the gates of the park.

“No, girl,” Julia giggles as Star jumps up onto her pants, “bring it back to Magnus, okay? Oh, alright, fine.” She seems to begrudgingly add another stick to her pile.

A guy nearby grumbles about the lack of sticks in the park and Magnus raises his voice. “Hey, Jules? Didja know they’ve been calling me ‘hero of the people?’” Magnus watches him pale and proceed to fuck off with no small amount of petty satisfaction.

“Yeah, babe! I know!”

“Isn’t that a great name!”

“I like ‘Maggie’ better!” Jules yells back and throws a stick. Magnus gets knocked over as a ball of fur collides hard with him and when he manages to push himself up, she’s laughing so hard her hands are wrapped around her stomach and her face is red.

“Just stand there,” Magnus shouts back, grinning too, “see if I care. Our dog loves me more than you and I’m pretty sure she just gave me a concussion!”

Julia throws another stick and they have learned nothing from their mistakes because this time Magnus really does get a concussion.

~

He finds her across the bridge that once connected to the Craftsmens’ Corridor, snout between her paws, fur coated in dust so thick she looks like a grey dog instead of a brown and black one. Magnus searches for Julia, upturns every outcropping of Raven’s Roost just in case there’s some chance she might have made it out, that she might have survived. Then, he does the same for Kalen, but for very different reasons. When he can’t find either of them, Magnus cries into Star’s fur.

He sets up a camp on the outside of town, just a little tent, something to put a roof over Star’s head. Magnus sleeps with her at his side and he is always cold, with the damp forest grass soaking through the thin layer between him and the ground, the clothes on his back that do nothing to warm his fingers, and each breath calcifying in his lungs like liquid nitrogen. Star becomes the only warm thing about him.

The first day after he sets up camp, Magnus wakes up to find her gone.

“Star?” he calls out, instantly alert. “Star?” Magnus bounds out of the tent, having slept in his clothes, and yells out to the forest. “Star? Girl, are you out there?” He searches, half-blind and panicked, not realizing where his feet are taking him until he’s there.

She’s at the edge of the cliff again, staring hopefully out over the two posts where a bridge once connected to his home. There is no bridge anymore. There’s no Craftsmens’ Corridor and instead there lies the open ocean, stretching in front of him for endless miles.

He walks to her side in a daze, a dream-like state. The horizon’s wrong, he thinks. From Hammer and Tongs, he could see the ocean, breathtaking and unending. Here, the other stone outcroppings lay scattered and empty to his right, marring his fantasy that for just a second, he’s home again.

“C’mon, Star,” Magnus mutters. She doesn’t move or look at him, just staring out over the water. He can’t find it in himself to tear her away, so he doesn’t. They sit there together until the sun goes down.

The next day, he wakes to find Star gone again.

Magnus keeps going there with her, leaving only to find them food. He goes to the cliffside in his dreams until there is no difference between his waking hours and sleeping hours. He always wakes up, disappointed that his wife’s never in them.

Eventually, he has to drag himself away. Star needs food, actual dog food and that takes money. 

At first, he leaves her with the Burringters, a family with a little girl that shrieks in delight at the sight of Star. They’re some of the last stragglers on their way out of town.

“Make sure she has her ball when she’s feeling nippy,” Magnus tells Mrs. Burringter and places a ratty green ball in her hand with long tooth marks gouged into its sides. “Sometimes she forgets how much she weighs, so just— be aware. Of that.”

“Of course,” the halfling woman says, hair done up into a high ponytail, belly swelled with many months of pregnancy. “Where’re you looking to find work?”

“Oh, uh, Birchmore.”

She nods. “I think Greg’s got a cousin up there if you needed help finding something to do. He’s got a little business importing leathers.”

Magnus blinks at the bit of unexpected generosity. “I’m good, thanks. Nice of you to offer, but I’m alright by myself for now.”

Mrs. Burrington eyes him and all of a sudden he’s small again, being stared down by his mother and he almost thinks she’s going to lick her finger and wipe off a bit of dust from his cheek. “You know, if you need something, we’re always here.”

“That’s—”

“Not just us,” She puts a hand to her chest. “Anyone from Raven’s Roost, Magnus. Any of us.”

Magnus isn’t sure what to say. He settles for, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The sun rises and sets on the ocean and the two of them are there to watch it every time. Or, almost every time. Eventually, people leave Raven’s Roost and he can’t leave Star alone by herself so he brings her with him when he needs to find work, to buy food and essentials.

A part of him thinks Star needs to grieve, to take that time before moving on with him. Another knows that isn’t the reason he stays. 

She’s all he has left of her.

One day Magnus wakes up and Star hasn’t gone, and there is nothing warm about her presence at all. Her paws are on his chest, eyes closed and he knew she wasn’t a young dog, but somehow he’d still managed to miss the rapidly greying hair of her muzzle, the way she dragged her feet back to the tent.

Or maybe Star hadn’t died of old age. Maybe it had just been a broken heart.

He buries her beside Julia’s empty grave, makes her a wooden marker with simple lettering. She loved and was loved, he scrawls across it and the writing is crooked, far too messy for what she’d deserved, but it’s the best he can do.

The next day, Magnus packs up his bag and his tent, hefts his ax over his shoulder, and leaves the sea behind. A part of him already misses it and still, he knows it’s not the town he misses. 

Magnus doesn’t turn back when he leaves Raven’s Roost for the last time.

He knows he’ll see them again.

~

Link to A03 version here.

[pronouncingitwang]

jon, melanie, and georgie friendship | 1.5K words | basically just. how jon finds out melanie’s bi | for the @jonsimsbipride prompt “solidarity”

“Martin? Are you still there?” Georgie calls from the couch at a volume that makes Jon wince.

Martin’s fallen asleep on the loveseat, his face smushed into the arm of the chair as he snores. For the last few minutes, Jon has been looking at the rise and fall of his chest with something resembling awe. Even a year after the world began again, Jon finds it difficult to believe that they’re safe, that he can just watch Martin without needing to watch over him.

“Pretty sure those are his snores I’m hearing right now,” says Melanie, and Georgie whispers a quick apology.

Recovery has been hard, but being roommates with the Qing-Barkers helps, at least sometimes. Georgie described their shared living situation as “living in group therapy” on more than one occasion, which is true on hard days. Melanie described it as “being back in uni again, but mostly in a good way?” which is true on better days. Martin maintains that it’s worth it for The Admiral and Melanie’s service dog, Mothman, alone, which is true on every day.

Today is a good day. There’s been a lot of laughter, from when Georgie and Melanie had met him and Martin at the airport to telling them honeymoon stories over dinner to now, when they’re all lying around doing nothing, and jet lag has rendered Jon too tired to drag himself to bed.

“Come and cuddle with us instead, Jon,” Melanie stage-whispers from beside Georgie. After checking that Martin is comfortable one more time, Jon agrees.

Melanie is snuggled under a blanket with a pink, purple, and blue yarn mix. Martin had gifted the blanket to Georgie for her birthday, even though Jon, I swear everyone gives their friends pride stuff when they don’t know what else to get them; are you sure it’s not obvious that I didn’t have a better idea? It's warm and soft, and by now, practically a household staple.

Jon sits down on the couch and, after checking that she’s okay with it, rests his cheek against Melanie’s shoulder. At first contact, Melanie lets out a small noise of surprise. “You shaved,” she says. “Georgie, you’re supposed to tell me about major life changes like this! How stupid does he look?”

Georgie hums. “Not too bad. I’d say… no more stupid than usual?”

“Damn,” Melanie says. “Why the smooth face, Jon?”

Georgie opens her mouth, but stops herself to let Jon explain.

“Oh,” he shrugs, “I just tend to shave whenever I have to deal with airport security. Less likely to be stopped for suspected terrorism and all.”

“Ah.” Melanie clicks her tongue. “Makes sense. Sucks, though.” She shifts, resting her head on top of Jon’s. “I guess it’s a good thing that Big Heathrow”—Georgie giggles from the other side of the couch—“doesn’t know how the apocalypse came about, then.”

Jon laughs. The part of his mind that wonders if going along with this particular joke about the apocalypse is a sign of developing emotional distance or just a coping mechanism perks its ears up, but he ignores it. “No, I’d imagine the Daily Mail would have a field day with that one.”

“I wonder how they’d spin your evil boss’s involvement,” Georgie, who steadfastly refuses to use Elias’s name, muses. “Innocent bystander? Secret lover?”

Melanie makes a retching sound, which Jon makes back at her. Melanie repeats it at a slightly higher pitch. This continues for at least a minute, before they lapse back into laughter. It really is like uni again.

“Hey, Jon,” Georgie ventures after a spot of silence, mischief coloring her voice, “Kiss, marry, kill: Big Heathrow, Daily Mail, evil boss.”

“Georgina.” It’s difficult to have a staring contest with Georgie’s body pillow in the way, but Jon manages to aim his glare right at the space between Georgie’s eyes. Georgie doesn’t back down, just smiles sweetly and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, Jonathan?”

“Fine,” he sighs, resting his head back down onto Melanie’s shoulder. “Fine. Kill Elias again. Marry… marry Heathrow? I think it would have a tolerable personality. Which leaves…” he sighs again, “kissing the Daily Mail. Christ.”

“Bad choice,” Melanie says. “They’re basically the definition of kiss and tell. Imagine the scandal!”

“Alright, fine.” Jon says, not awake enough to debate but curious enough to challenge. “Same options. What would you pick?”

“Easy,” Melanie says. “First, obviously, I’m stabbing Elias to death. Second, I’m pretty sure Heathrow sells toothpaste, so it would be the least unpleasant to kiss. Third, and most importantly, I’m going to use my marriage to the Daily Mail to edit the articles it publishes and slowly radicalize the old white women of the UK.”

Georgie gives a few snaps of approval, and even Jon has to admit she has some points.

“There aren’t many situations where I’d divorce you willingly, Melanie,” Georgie says, “but if it was for this, I would understand.”

Melanie laughs. “I appreciate your support, babe. Your turn.”

Georgie deliberates for a while, then winces. “Sorry, Melanie. I’m going to have to go with Jon on this one.”

“Ha!” Jon says.

“I just don’t think I could deal with being married to the Daily Mail.”

“Cowards, both of you!” Melanie exclaims loudly, but is quickly shushed by both Jon and Georgie with a “Martin!” She continues in a quieter voice, “And before you say anything, Georgie, I know that’s not actually possible for you, but I’m sticking by my words.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe this. The heartbreak. The betrayal. From my own wife, and right after she said she would willingly divorce me…”

“Stop taking my words out of context!”

“Can’t, my new spouse Mx. Mail is a bad influence”(—“Which is exactly why it's better to marry Heathrow instead,” Georgie interjects—)“but at least it’d side with me against Jon.”

Jon grins. “It’s the biromanticism, Melanie. It gives me and Georgie the same taste.”

At this, Melanie sputters. “Nuh-uh. No way. Absolutely no way. Your bad choices are the results of your own bad opinions. Don’t bring me into it.”

Melanie continues to speak, but Jon is no longer listening. He feels, suddenly, like he’s missing something important. “What?” he asks, causing Melanie to pause. “How have I brought you into it?”

“Well… you said being bi makes you choose the worse option,” Melanie says, which just confuses Jon more. Then, “Wait, Jon, you do know I’m bisexual, right?”

Ah. That would do it.

“Not… not quite.”

“Oh my god,” Georgie says. “Seriously?”

“You—I’ve only ever heard you call yourself gay!” Jon cries, giving Melanie and Georgie the chance to shush him with “Martin!”

Melanie shakes her head mournfully. “I’ve been your friend—okay, not quite that, but I’ve known you—for years!”

“I was trying to save the world during most of those years!”

“You also had spooky all-knowing powers,” Georgie adds.

Jon feels his leg begin to bounce. “Well, yes, but I was actively trying not to use them on people. Checking someone’s sexuality would be a gross violation of—”

“It’s okay, Jon,” Melanie says soothingly, “I know you wouldn’t do that.” There is quiet for a few seconds as Jon takes a few deep breaths. Then, Melanie says in a wryer tone, “Jon. One of my sets of prosthetic eyes is literally the bi pride flag. I know I don’t wear it that often, but…”

“I’ve only seen it once, in bad lighting, and… I don't know, I thought maybe you were just being supportive!”

“Oh my god,” Georgie says again, her voice muffled by the pillow she’s buried her face in. Jon feels like burying his face into a pillow himself.

“This is awful,” Jon groans.

“Stop being biphobic, Jon,” Melanie says.

“Stop being bi-aced, Jon,” Georgie says, which is unfortunately quite good.

“Fine,” Jon says. “This isn’t awful. It is, instead, wonderful.” He means the last sentence to come out begrudging, but it sounds more sincere than anything else. Jon blames his emotions. Now that the initial surprise has worn off, warmth is beginning to replace it. It’s not that he’s particularly starved for bi friends, but it’s nice, having one more thing that ties him and Melanie together.

“Thank you.” Melanie gives Jon a haughty sniff, but she smiles as she does it.

Jon’s neck is beginning to strain, but Melanie is still resting her head on top of his, and he doesn’t want to bother her. He closes his eyes and tries to focus his attention elsewhere. He can take a few minutes more.

“I just realized something,” Melanie says. “Jon, I’m literally under a bi pride blanket right now.” Georgie starts to giggle again.

“I’m asleep,” says Jon.

“Yeah, under a bi pride blanket that I, too, am currently under. Because I’m bi.”

“I’m double asleep,” says Jon.

“And I’m bi,” says Melanie.

“I know it’s useless to ask, but is there any chance we can forget about this and pretend I’ve known all along?”

“No,” Melanie and Georgie say in unison.

“Great,” Jon replies, and hides his smile in his bisexual friend’s shoulder.

[ladyhindsight]

First, to anon calling what I said "bs": Looks like someone misunderstood what I said 🙄 Why don't come after me instead if you mean to be respectful? Obviously Robert can't help is he's physically scary and obviously he can't help being wrecked over his parabatai bond! Oh my god. Of course none of this means Alec didn't deserve a better father. Robert should have done better and he is very aware of that, just as I am. We already agreed Robert wasn't a good father to Alec, but Alec himself recognizes Robert DIDN'T MEAN to make him feel like that while growing up. I don't know what is your idea of parenthood, but is not everyone who is able to get over their emotional problems enough to be a great parent, and if you think that getting over his emotional problems was actually under Robert's control when Alec also recognizes Michael's absence as a shadow that hung over Robert, I can't do much about it. Nobody here is saying Robert is just a helpless victim of the world, he just should be understood the way other characters always are.

Now for you!: About whatever else Robert may have done to Alec: Robert does aknowledge he said things to Alec he shoudn't have and that he judges unforgivable off page,

“Alec.” Something about Robert’s voice made Alec turn; he didn’t sound angry, just … broken. “I did, I said—unforgivable things. I know that,” he said. “But I have always been proud of you, and I am no less proud now.”  (City of Heavenly Fire, epilogue)

The worst practical things we have from Robert against Alec is the dialogue from TRSoM (I can't send you the entire scene if you want) and from CoLS, when we find out Robert is allegedly not supportive of Alec

“My mother seems to have accepted it,” Alec said. “But my father—no, not really. Once he asked me what I thought had turned me gay.”

Simon felt Isabelle tense next to him. “Turned you gay?” She sounded incredulous. “Alec, you didn’t tell me that.” 

“I hope you told him you were bitten by a gay spider,” said Simon. Magnus snorted; Isabelle looked confused. “I’ve read Magnus’s stash of comics,” said Alec, “so I actually know what you’re talking about.” A small smile played around his mouth. “So would that give me the proportional gayness of a spider?” 

“Only if it was a really gay spider,” said Magnus, and he yelled as Alec punched him in the arm. “Ow, okay, never mind.”

“Well, whatever,” said Isabelle, obviously annoyed not to get the joke. “It’s not like Dad’s ever coming back from Idris, anyway.” 

Alec sighed. “Sorry to wreck your vision of our happy family. I know you want to think Dad’s fine with me being gay, but he’s not.”  (City of Lost Souls, chapter 17)

We have something from BtEN:

“I did do that,” Alec said. “I did give her keys. Forgive me, Magnus, I love you, I did not know she was going to be like this.”

Usually Robert looked slightly uneasy whenever Alec expressed affection to Magnus. This time, however, he was staring fixedly at the warlock baby and did not even seem to hear.

Magnus was starting to feel ever more disturbed by the turns this night was taking. (Born to Endless Night)

That's it, plus what we get from TRSoM (the only actual scene of Robert being anti-Malec, and that was the last Robert's appearence)

I'll let this for this ask! ;)

Misunderstandings, especially in tone, are fairly common when speaking through plain text. But we should be able to have these conversations and have empathy for flawed characters without it being interpreted as accepting or excusing poor or bad behavior. People have a wide set of feelings and ways they approach these characters and circumstances surrounding them, and I understand that not everyone likes the same character for the same reasons others do and are able to empathize with them. Here Robert for example, or why Jace was still much loved in The Mortal Instruments despite all the things I dislike him for.

Children of course aren’t responsible for their parents’ emotional lives. That responsibility to not let it affect your kids are solely on parents themselves, and for which I think Robert was a flawed parent to Alec. He wasn’t able to control his own emotional issues enough to be the father Alec needed and deserved. But I also think it is a tad too polarizing to call it a choice made by Robert, as if Robert’s character is choosing to be a bad father or that he is motivated by hatred, disgust, or anything malicious when that is not the case in any sense that we’ve seen his character acting.

Robert asking Alec what he thought “had turned him gay” speaks to me more about great ignorance rather than about malicious intent. It is also troubling to have Alec’s interpretation of his father’s attitude when his father isn’t very emotional or forthcoming person either. And when Robert speaks on it, it always comes down to how much he loves Alec and is proud of him. How he can’t believe Alec is his son the same way he could not believe Maryse was the one to choose him in The Evil We Love. It’s a pretty multifaceted topic that wasn’t delved too deep into or given enough room and time and development in any text.

When I wrote my review about The Red Scrolls of Magic I did note that

“I do appreciate the complicated nature of Alec and Robert’s relationship, that Alec still misses his father and wants Robert to be proud of him. I also appreciated that the narrative doesn’t treat Robert or his difficulties overcoming his bigotry and his character expressing these thoughts as wholly evil and cartoonish-ly bad but rather shows that in spite of it he still does love his son and wants what he thinks is best for him. No matter whether it would in actuality make Alec happy at all or even be the truly best for him.”

That’s what I was personally left with after reading the book. I went to read the scene again (because I had completely forgotten it existed…), and after having read The Evil We Love I see it more as Robert’s own fear and cowardice he projects onto Alec, Michael having loved him and Robert not being able to accept it or compute it on any level. Also there’s the very essential fact that Robert is afraid of Magnus telling something about him and the Circle days to Alec when Robert isn’t there to explain or defend himself, potentially alienating Alec further. Very interesting. Of course, others might interpret this very differently!

And I’m sorry, but Robert being so in awe of and fixated on M&M is just too cute. 🥰

[magnuslightwood-bane0414]

⚠️More Malec headcanons alert⚠️

also no one really submitted any headcanon requests so I urge you to do so if you’re looking for something specific I’d love to write some for you :) don’t be shy I literally love getting stuff in my inbox it makes my day!!!

so I think whenever Alec showers at the loft he borrows a pair of Magnus’ fuzzy pajama pants and a hoodie that’s really Alec’s but it smells like Magnus so he uses it anyway. then he’s all warm and he wants his husband so he’ll go find him and wrap his arms around him He gets extra clingy after showers so he’s always finding Magnus and grumbling until Magnus pays attention to him and holds him.

speaking of showers, Magnus adores Alec’s fluffy hair and literally plays with it while holding him because (look to my last bullet) Alec is clingy after showers and he just wants cuddles. Magnus loves loves loves Alec’s hair but especially when it’s all soft and messy and smells like sandalwood.

Magnus had an epiphany one day while holding Alec close. Alec was napping, snoring with his face pressed against Magnus’ neck and Magnus gently sifting through his hair. Magnus realized he’s gone decades and years alone. Like physically alone. As an immortal, he’s never felt the need to constantly be around people since they’re more independent and stuff. But as their relationship progresses Magnus finds that he hates being away from Alec, like genuinely loathing it. Alec is the first one to make him feel that way. for example, Alec has to go away to some clave thing for a few days and it’s torture to be in the loft without Alec. He goes as far as to sleep with Catarina and madzie for those nights. And when Alec comes back, it’s like the scene in The Notebook all dramatic and soft and stuff. But honestly neither of them complain because they just sit on the floor and hold each other for like three hours before getting up and going about their normal routine. It’s new to Magnus to want to be close to someone 24/7 but it’s a good new!

after they’re married and things are really really really good, Magnus decides to stop drinking as a coping mechanism. He chooses to save it for fun nights out with family or friends, or dancing with Alec, or even a quiet night in when they just want to get tipsy and cuddle. It isn’t easy since we all know Magnus being an alcoholic was low key canon. Whenever Magnus feels the urge to drink, he calls one of the people closest to him. That includes Catarina, Raphael, and some more warlock friends he’s met along the way and trust. And of course, if the temptation is really bad he’ll call Alec and Alec will either come home or Magnus will sit with Alec in his office.

Magnus and Alec try and go on a date at least one night a week. They try tons of places of course, but their favorite will always be the hunters moon. Maia always hooks them up with free drinks because they’re so cute, and they always stumble out of the bar drunk and laughing and they have the best time there. They definitely make use of the pool table but they can only play for so long bc as the drinking continues the sexual innuendos also continue.

they’re obviously more comfortable around each other now, but I still feel like they would blush and hold doors for each other. those cute little couple things. Alec would tell Magnus how beautiful he looked and Magnus would blush and say alec looked even more beautiful. Alec would hold the door for him and then they would argue over the check whenever they went out somewhere. they would walk home and Magnus would link their arms and it’ll just be the same cute stuff they always do. But they never get sick of it and we won’t either!!

we all know Magnus has an abundance of terms of endearment for Alec, but we never talk about Alec’s terms of endearment for Magnus. I think Alec normally just says Magnus and it’s the tone of voice that conveys if he’s flirty, sleepy, mad or whatever. Sometimes he’ll say Mags if he’s feeling frivolous or causal. But my favorite is babe or baby. I think Alec says that if he’s drunk or sleepy or whiny, when he’s not in his right mind but he doesn’t care either way. Magnus always grins and blushes because it sounds so precious coming from Alec.

as time progresses and the tensions between Shadowhunter and downworld calm some, Magnus feels even more welcomed in the institute. I think people start acknowledging him and even making small talk with him, no longer glaring or staring whenever Magnus walks into the institute. There’s always those few bad apples, but overall the Shadowhunters adore Alec so they would obviously accept Magnus. And Alec has made it abundantly clear that Magnus is just as welcomed as any Shadowhunter. (Magnus secretly loves it when a Shadowhunter starts complaining because Alec gets protective and man is that hot)

[toosicktoocare]

No one asked for this— I just wanted to write how recording statements is actually starting to get to Martin more than he lets on.

Setting: S3 with soft JonMartin.

(Currently taking prompts for The Magnus Archives!)

Tim’s walking toward the door of the archives, though, he isn’t quite sure why because he doesn’t plan on recording a statement. He can’t explain why, but whenever he reads the curved, old, faded letters of a statement, a foul taste coats the back of his tongue. One of the “perks” of this job, he assumes. 

Still, he finds, more often than not, that he’s oddly drawn toward the archives, that, during his aimless wandering throughout the day, he always ends up outside the archives door. Most of the time, he doesn’t open the door, but a few times, he’s found himself in the archives, staring blankly at a statement almost as if in a trance.

He stops before the closed door, hand frozen in the air just before the doorknob. He can hear a voice filtering softly through the small gap at the bottom of the door, and he drops his hand to his side and leans forward, listening closely.

Martin, he concludes almost immediately. He can hear Martin reading through the ending of a statement, his voice slightly darker, almost edging the line of an unknown, furious passion, as if he’s the one who wrote the statement originally. But, when the statement ends, he can hear Martin let out a long, shuddering breath, and then Martin’s stuttering through his final thoughts, his voice barely above a whisper and cracking every few words.

Tim’s muscles twitch with a muted need to open the door, to try and bring comfort to Martin, especially since Martin’s been appearing rather zombie-like over the last few days, paler than normal and almost dazed. But, just as quickly as the feeling flicks across his bones, it disappears because how can he bring comfort when he, himself, is unwillingly to accept comfort?

He breathes through a quiet sigh, his shoulders slumping against the low breath. He may not know how to help Martin, not with the Institute bearing down on him, but he knows who will.

***

Jon’s lost within a statement, his mind wrapped around the cursive words on the paper in front of him, when his phone begins buzzing insistently beside his leg, promptly scaring The Admiral off the couch.

He expects Georgie or Martin. He even begrudgingly expects Elias, but what he doesn’t expect is to see Tim’s name flashing across the screen. He makes a split second, conscious decision to keep the tape recorder on as he answers the phone, heart already taking to a too quick thump against his ribs.

“T-Tim,” he stutters in lieu of greeting, voice echoing the surprise etched across his face.

“Jon.”

Tim’s voice, as it has been for weeks now, is cold, indifferent, and Jon’s heart falters slightly.

“How, um, how are you?” There’s a long sigh on the other line.

“I didn’t call for a friendly chat, Jon.”

While Jon didn’t expect Tim’s call, he’s not surprised by Tim’s tone, by Tim’s attitude toward him. Still, he can’t keep the wave of muted defeat and guilt that washes over him, and he sinks back against the couch, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Why did you call then?” Another, longer sigh follows, and he swears he can hear the cogs turning in Tim’s mind.

“It’s Martin.”

Jon bolts forward, body tensing around the two words, and his fingers tighten around his phone. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?” He begins to mentally curse himself for not doing more to keep his staff safe as numerous, grim scenarios cross his mind.

“He’s fine. Well, actually, he’s not. But he’s not hurt or anything.”

Jon struggles to decipher Tim’s words, seeing it as some foreign code he simply doesn’t have the time time crack. He can feel panic lacing the edge of his mind, and it mirrors in his tone. “Get on with it, Tim. What’s wrong with Martin?”

“It’s the statements.” 

Tim pauses, voice quiet on the other line, and Jon presses his phone a little harder to his ear, waiting with bated breath.

“He’s not you, Jon. He can’t just read one then move onto the next one. I think they are really starting to get to him. He doesn’t seem well.”

Each word is heavier than the previous, and Jon can feel the weight against his chest, an unseen pressure pushing past his ribs to his lungs and heart. It’s a cold feeling, and he unconsciously shivers.

“I can’t... You need to talk to him.”

Though Tim doesn’t say it aloud, Jon knows what’s gone unsaid, and he mentally supplies the unspoken conclusion of Tim’s sentence: ‘Because this is your fault.’

“Of course,” he mutters into the phone, already pressing stop on the tape recorder and getting to his feet, determination breaking the pressure in his chest. “Is there...?”

“No. Nothing else.”

Tim goes silent on the other end, but he doesn’t end the call, and Jon takes a moment to pause where he’s been shoving his feet into a pair of boots and just hang onto the notion that Tim’s still there, that maybe he hasn’t given up on him completely.

“Right.” Tim clears his throat. “Bye, Jon.”

The call drops, and Jon pockets his phone with a faltering frown, confused, but, for the first time in a long time, slightly hopeful for Tim sounded just a smidge more normal toward him in those last three words.

***

Jon’s made it to the archives door relatively unseen. Though, he’s aware that Elias knows he’s here without having seen the man, and he did share a silent, mutual nod with Tim when they crossed paths a few moments ago.

On the other side of the closed door, he can hear Martin mumbling through his final thoughts on a statement, picking up on the evident, tired frustration laced within his tone. His stomach twists uncomfortably, and, as he’s been on the other side of this door one too many times, he knocks, rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood.

“Oh, um, c-come in.”

Jon pushes the door open, holding one hand out when Martin jumps to his feet, knocking some papers over in the process.

“Jon!”

“Careful,” Jon says quickly, stepping into the room fully.

“Sorry,” Martin’s voice falls slightly, his cheeks going pink. “Why are you here? Er, well, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Don’t get me wrong, Jon. I’m happy you’re here... Well, I’m happy to see you, I mean. Just,” Martin pauses, hands tugging at the bottom of his shirt, “what brings you here today? Need more statements?”

Jon takes a moment to drag his eyes from the dark circles casting shadows underneath Martin’s eyes, up to his rumpled hair, looking as if he’s spent far too long raking his fingers through it, and to his eyes, meeting the wide, almost panicked look that makes his heart sink low into his stomach. He’s sure that he’s been on the reverse side of this countless times, and he briefly considers apologizing to Martin for putting him through this so many times.

Without fully working through his thoughts, he spits out the first, coherent word. “Lunch.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Martin steps around the desk, rubs one hand over the back of his neck.

“Lunch,” Jon repeats. He clears his throat. “Would you... Do you want to join me for lunch?”

“Oh. Oh! Um...” Martin’s face flushes a deeper red, and if Jon weren’t completely worried about his health and mental well-being, he would consider smiling.

“Sure! Yeah. Lunch sounds great.”

***

Jon opts for a small diner that’s about a ten minute walk from the Institute. It’s quiet when they slip inside, the lunch rush not quite kicking in yet, and they’re quick to put in their orders when a nice waitress greets them at their table, a corner booth a bit away from wandering ears.

They take to small, mindless chatter at first, with Martin doing the bulk of the talking. He talks about the staff, Elias, a movie he watched the other night, a new convenience store that’s opened close to his flat, but when their food arrives, Jon takes very quick note to Martin picking up and setting down fries without actually eating anything.

“You aren’t eating.”

Martin flushes a soft pink, and he bows his head slightly. “Oh, sorry! I’m not that hungry.” His voice grows soft with the admittance, and Jon frowns, ignoring his burger entirely.

“Are you alright, Martin?”

“What? Of course!” As if to further prove his point, he shoves a fry in his mouth with a forced smile.

Jon considers his options, finally working through the fact that the truth will most likely yield better results. “Tim called,” he says, and Martin raises a brow.

“Have you two made up?”

“Not exactly,” Jon mutters lowly. “He’s worried about you. He thinks the statements are starting to... get to you.”

“Oh, I’m fine!”

Jon can see right through Martin, reading his practiced, light-hearted attitude like an open book. He sighs quietly, finger absently smoothing around the rim of his tea cup.

“Martin, I know how hard this job is. You can... I want you to know that you can talk to me.” He picks his words carefully, not wishing to push Martin under the pressure of compulsion.

And yet, Martin all but deflates across from him, and Jon’s hand twitches with a jolting need to reach out to him.

“I really am trying, Jon. It’s just... Some of the statements... I don’t know how you do it,” Martin admits. “Each one brings this chilly fear that I can’t shake. It follows me home.” He pauses, eyes casting to the table. “I’ve been dreaming about the statements, you know? Nightmares really.” He laughs weakly. “It’s a bit embarrassing, but I’ll wake up screaming. I’m a bit worried my neighbors might file a noise complaint.”

Jon’s hand stops its absent movement, instead falling to the table and curling into a tight fist. His teeth are clenched tightly, and the anger that floods his mind bleeds down to his chest, burning against his heart.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” He can’t help the demanding tone. He only hopes that Martin will know it’s out of pure concern.

“I didn’t want to worry you! You’ve had so much going on. The murder... the kidnapping! The last thing I want to do is whine to you about how some of the statements scare me!”

“You’re...” Jon sucks in a shuddering breath and holds it in his lungs, unsure of what’s the correct thing to say, lost for words as he’s so used to spitting out sentences that were written for him. He knows that he wants to assure Martin that his feelings are completely valid and that his fear is justified. He knows that he wants to run back to the institute and slam Elias into a wall. He knows that he wants-

“-Jon? Are you alright? You’re shaking.”

The breath Jon lets out is long, uneven, but it helps to ease the prickling, hot anger. “You need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed with the job. I know I’m not there, but I’m still the archivist.”

The label is sour on his tongue, but it’s what he knows needs to be said. “Believe me, Martin, when I tell you that this is not a job you can do alone.” He wishes, in that moment, that it is a job he could do alone, that he could relieve his staff of their duties without any consequences, but he can’t. So, he’s stuck with the next best thing.

“So, you have to let me help you.” Martin’s gone still across from him, mouth agape slightly, and Jon’s just considering that he somehow broke Martin when Martin finally clears his throat.

"Okay.”

Jon’s not sure if it’s a trick of the poor lighting in the diner, but Martin’s pale face looks a bit better, taking to a soft pink color, and unconsciously, Jon reaches out, cupping his rough palm atop Martin’s hand.

“Call me, Martin. Even if it’s in the middle of the night, if you need me, call me. I want to help.”

Jon’s not sure how, but he’s verbalizing what Martin’s been saying to him through looks alone since he first because the archivist. It’s an odd feeling being on the other side, being the one who’s deeply concerned for another. He pulls his hand back when Martin gives it one, tight squeeze.

“I will,” Martin whispers, and Jon smiles, soft, but unabashedly genuine, and the wide, open smile Martin returns momentarily takes Jon away from every single worry.

For just a moment, it’s just Jon and Martin sitting in a small diner, and Jon clings to that.

[visander]

To The Test | ao3.

That was one good thing about having a difficult teenage son. Magnus knew that Raphael would put any of his romantic partners right to the test, even if Magnus wished he wouldn't.

This is my ‘Single Parent’ square for @shadowhunterbingo. 

Being a single father of two, Magnus found that it was surprisingly not the toddler that turned Magnus’ potential romantic partners away. There were of course those Magnus would go on a stray date with before finding out they didn’t like kids but Magnus didn’t want those people in his life anyway. It was the other pool of romantic partners, the ones that didn’t hate kids or the fact that Magnus had them, that Magnus had trouble with but again, it was not because of his chubby faced rambunctious toddler.

It was because of his teenager. His troubled, grumpy teenager who was exceptionally jealous whenever Magnus would start spending time with someone else but would not admit it. See, apparently some people found it odd that Magnus had adopted a fourteen year old when he’d only been twenty five himself and those few who were willing to give his unconventional family a chance ended up running away the moment that they actually met Raphael and Raphael did everything that he could to chase them away.

It was intimidating to meet your partner's kids. Magnus understood the anxiety but he especially understood it when it came to meeting Raphael because as much as Magnus loved his son, he went out of his way to make the experience as dreadful as possible.

Magnus had hardly been able to date anyone since adopting his kids. Now, Magnus wasn’t really complaining. He loved his kids and he understood that Raphael was scared of him leaving. He was scared of him getting close to anyone else and deciding that he’d rather be there instead of with their family, as if that would ever happen.

It’s why Magnus had gone so long without dating anyone. When he’d first adopted Raphael, he’d wanted to focus on his son anyway. The adoption process had not been smooth sailing for them and after they’d finally settled in a place where they felt like a real family together, Magnus had agreed to foster Max, who’d only been a few days old when he showed up on Magnus’ door step. Fostering turned into adopting and after a few years, that slow process was finally over and Magnus had his two sons and nothing else to worry about.

Except dating. Magnus hadn’t had much time for dating when Max was a baby either and now… well, now Magnus was more than a little deprived and he was finally at a point where he knew Raphael, beyond his fears and anxiety, understood that Magnus loved him even if he went out one night to go on a date.

That didn’t quite mean that Raphael was thrilled when Magnus continued to go out on dates with one man, who he then intended to introduce to his children. Going out to have fun was one thing but inviting a new person into their lives, someone that Raphael was threatened by, was completely different.

Needless to say, the first time Magnus invited Alec over for dinner, he was a little nervous about how it would go. Raphael was already not thrilled about someone coming over, someone who Magnus clearly had deemed important enough to be brought over in general. Magnus hadn’t liked someone that much in a very long time and the weight of that alone he could tell already had Raphael on edge, which didn’t set the night up to go well.

It didn’t help that Alec himself was already nervous to meet Magnus’ kids. Magnus assured Alec that Max would love him but Max loved everyone. Max loved meeting new people, regardless of who they were. The same could not be said about Magnus’ teenager but if they could get through the dinner without Raphael deciding he absolutely hated Alec, Magnus would consider it a success. They’d work on Raphael liking Alec later. Tolerating was the first step and if they could get there, Magnus could sleep easy at night knowing that Alec and his child might someday get along.

Though, Raphael had already seemed to form an opinion on Alec even before he stepped foot in their house. Raphael had asked how old Alec was and frowned when Magnus had informed him that Alec was a couple of years younger than him. Raphael asked if Alec had kids and then frowned even harder when Magnus said no.

“So, why does he want to date an older man with kids?” Raphael had snapped finally, a question that Magnus didn’t really have an answer for. Most weren’t willing to go on a date with Magnus, after they learned he had kids, especially people who were younger than him. Young people were normally looking for fun, not someone already tied down with children, especially an older child who they had to work harder to get along with than they would a baby.

“Alec likes kids,” Magnus had responded finally but Raphael didn’t seem too pleased with that answer.

“So, why doesn’t he go get his own before he tries to date someone?” Raphael had quipped back. When Magnus stammered to respond, his expression shifted into an unamused smirk, “See, he obviously doesn’t like kids that much. He likes you.”

“He likes me and he likes kids, otherwise he wouldn’t like me that much, would he?” Magnus responded.

“Unless he thinks he can just ignore us until he gets you in bed.”

Magnus held back a sigh and then, he looked up at his son mildly. “He doesn’t think he can do that. He’s coming to meet you because I like him and because you and your brother are the most important part of my life. If he thought he could ignore you, he wouldn’t have agreed to come over for dinner.”

At that, Raphael pressed his lips but didn’t say anything more. Magnus could tell he hadn’t quite convinced his son of Alec’s intentions but Magnus didn’t imagine he would no matter what he said.

“You don’t have to like him,” Magnus said at last. “-but I’d appreciate it if you tried not to be rude.”

Raphael’s gaze tightened into a small glare but he said nothing.

“I think you’ll like him, if you give him a chance,” Magnus continued.

Raphael stared at him for another moment before he rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. “We’ll see,” he murmured before he was walking down the hallway to disappear into his room. Max instantly bounded out of his own room as he saw Raphael pass, chasing Raphael to see what his brother was doing.

Magnus sighed and pulled out his phone to send Alec yet another text about how good of a kid Raphael was and how he probably wouldn’t like Alec but it wasn’t Alec’s fault. After he sent it, Magnus sighed and threw his head back.

He didn’t understand how Alec was still willing to come over.

.

Magnus thought cooking would be a bit too much for their first dinner together. There was no need to put more on the table that could go horribly wrong tonight. Magnus decided to order take out instead. That way, Magnus didn’t have to cook and Alec didn’t have to come over and cook. Magnus would already have the food on the way. Alec would come over. They’d do introductions. The food would get there. They’d all eat together and depending on how horrible the evening went, Alec would say his goodbyes and leave, so Magnus could then send him a rambled text about how sorry he was and how he knew he wasn’t exactly an easy person to be dating.

He might do some damage control with Raphael as well and hopefully reassure him that he was an irreplaceable part of Magnus’ life and that even if he was dating someone, that didn’t mean he was leaving Raphael behind.

Then, maybe someday they’d try dinner again or maybe, Magnus would just continue to see Alec outside of the house, never introducing him to his kids again and hoping that Alec never wanted them to deepen their relationship in any way that would involve Alec becoming a big enough part of his life to have to meet his children for a second time.

One option seemed far easier than the other but Magnus didn’t know many people who would be okay not being involved with Magnus’ home life at all. Alec swore up and down that he’d be patient and he understood Magnus’ son was going to have issues with his presence but Magnus didn’t think Alec really understood how strong willed Raphael could be.

Most didn’t, until they met him. Magnus wondered if it was too late to cancel the dinner all together and then, he decided that it was.

.

Magnus had reservations about the entire dinner and that was before Alec showed up late. Now, it wasn’t exactly Alec’s fault. There had been a car accident on the highway and Alec had been stuck in traffic for nearly an hour. Alec felt horrible about it, if the countless text messages he sent Magnus were anything to go by but that also didn’t mean Raphael was that understanding about the whole thing.

With the food already growing cold on the table, Raphael had settled for staring at Magnus, his unamused expression saying everything his words didn’t need to. Then, when he didn’t seem happy with simply glaring and he’d finally spoken. “He seems really dedicated,” Raphael commented mildly.

Magnus held back the eye roll. “It’s not his fault. He can’t control the traffic.”

“Or he’s just busy with something else and he lied,” Raphael snapped back instantly.

“He’s not lying. He’s in traffic and he’s doing his best to get here,” Magnus insisted.

“Max is going to starve to death before he makes it.”

At that, Magnus did roll his eyes. “Max ate dinosaur chicken nuggets not even two hours ago. I don’t think he’s quite famished yet.”

Raphael fell silent for a moment before quietly speaking, suddenly sounding deeply offended, “I didn’t get dinosaur chicken nuggets.”

“You were asleep,” Magnus explained instantly, before his son could go on about how neglectful he was as a father for not asking if he wanted food when his brother ate. “Maybe, if you slept at a reasonable time and woke up in the morning with us, I could offer you dinosaur chicken nuggets with your brother.”

Raphael scoffed. “Why? If I stayed up later last night I’d still be asleep and I wouldn’t have to sit here and wait for your boyfriend to finally decide to show up.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Magnus murmured, pulling out his phone to see another text from Alec, informing him that he was finally turning off the highway.

“Oh, so you introduce us to every man you meet?”

Magnus shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked up to Raphael yet again. “He’s not my boyfriend until you like him,” he said before he could really think through that sentence. It was true. He wouldn’t date someone his son didn’t like but that didn’t quite mean Magnus had to inform him of that.

“Then you’ll never date someone again,” Raphael informed him.

Magnus left out a soft sigh. “We’ll see,” he said, echoing Raphael’s bleak words from before.

.

Alec finally arrived twenty minutes later. When Magnus opened the door, Alec appeared on the other side, out of breath and clearly having sprinted from his car all the way up the steps to Magnus’ loft.

“I’m sorry,” Alec rushed out instantly.

Magnus waved him off, ushering him inside instead. “It’s fine,” Magnus murmured, hoping Alec would leave his apologies at the door before Raphael could hear them and latch onto the weakness. “Come in.”

Magnus closed the door behind Alec, reaching to take his jacket as Alec shrugged it off. Alec turned to look at him as Magnus hung it up. For a moment, they stared at each other, a frantic air hovering between them in a way that had never happened before. Normally when they both met, things were easy between them. Magnus relaxed in Alec’s presence like they were meant to be together but here, Magnus met Alec’s wide eyes with an equally unnerved look of his own.

Magnus wanted this to go well. Alec wanted this to go well and yet, Magnus knew it would not and he was trying to be okay with that. Raphael was going to resist anyone Magnus brought into their lives. It had nothing to do with Alec himself and they’d already had that conversation before Alec had come.

But they both wanted it to go well anyway, even though it wouldn’t. Magnus wished he had managed to be more okay with that fact.

“Let’s go sit,” Magnus said finally.

Alec nodded and turned to follow Magnus as Magnus led him into the dinning room, where Max was happily babbling to Raphael as Raphael sat with his arms crossed. He’d been smiling a second before they walked in. Magnus could tell by the way his face changed. He’d been happily talking to Max but now, his face hardened. He sat stone faced as he watched them both walk in.

Magnus gestured to Alec. From the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Alec raise a hand to wave to them both. “This is Alec,” Magnus said, as if Raphael hadn’t heard Alec’s name a million times by now. Raphael knew who Alec was. That’s why he was glaring in his direction.

“Hi,” Alec rushed out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Raphael-” Alec’s eyes darted over to Max, who was staring with wide eyed interest at the new stranger. “-and that must be Max.”

Magnus could hear that Alec was nervous. That wasn’t great and when Raphael heard it, his expression only tightened and became a touch angrier. He didn’t seem to appreciate Alec taking an interest in his brother. Raphael had always been protective. “Hi,” Raphael managed to ground out finally.

Magnus shot him a grateful smile. Saying hello was a good first step. “Sit, Alec-” Magnus said as he gestured to the table.

Magnus sat next to Max and Alec came to sit next to Magnus, thankfully leaving the seat next to Raphael empty. Magnus was pretty sure Raphael would have tried to stab Alec with his fork if he dared to sit next to him.

“The food looks good,” Alec said politely as Magnus reached for the dishes and started to plate some for Max and then himself.

“It was better a half an hour ago when it was warm,” Raphael murmured as he reached for the dish in Magnus’ hands.

Alec paled slightly. “I know, it probably was. I got stuck in traffic-”

Raphael cut Alec off before he could go on with his explanation. “I heard.”

Magnus reached for the plate again before he handed it to Alec. Alec seemed thankful to take it and have something to do with his hands.

“Alec’s here now,” Magnus said, smiling tightly across at his son. “That’s all that matters.”

Raphael said nothing to that and he stayed silent as Magnus and Alec started talking about Max and his drawings on the refrigerator. Max babbled happily as he reached for his noodles with his bare hands, chomping as he managed to get one into his hand. Every few minutes, Magnus or Raphael would stick their fork out and offer Max a bite of their own noodles, to make sure he was actually eating and not just playing with the food in his dish.

Raphael seemed more than happy to face away from Alec, focusing on his brother as if he failed to look over to Alec once during the meal, he would just vanish. That was better than being openly antagonistic, so Magnus would take the pointed silence without comment. If Raphael would let them have a few meals where Raphael ignored Alec, at least that was something. Maybe someday, Raphael would look at him and talk but Magnus didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself. The silence was enough for now and it remained for nearly the entire meal.

Magnus tried to engage Raphael a couple of times. He asked Raphael about an essay he was working on for school, prompting him to explain what it was about. When Raphael didn’t, Magnus explained instead.

Almost forty five minutes later, they were done eating and Max was covered in his food. Magnus thought it was good for Max to explore food by himself but that also meant that every single meal ended with his son looking like a disaster.

Magnus rose to his feet, reaching to pull his gooey child into his arms. “I’m going to go clean him up. I’ll be right back. Raphael, could you help clean up a little?”

Raphael nodded simply. He’d always been so polite about doing chores. Once when Max was merely a baby, Magnus had woken up to Raphael almost done cleaning the entire house. Raphael had brushed off Magnus’ thanks as if it was no big deal but Magnus knew it had been. Magnus loved his son. He was such a good kid. Magnus just wished other people could see that as easily as Magnus did.

Magnus left Raphael and Alec in the kitchen as he went to wash Max. He assumed that they’d pick up the dishes and sit in silence until Magnus returned but when Magnus did return twenty minutes later, he heard Alec and Raphael speaking. More specifically, he heard Raphael speaking.

Magnus paused in the hallway, holding Max a little closer as he listened. His toddler was uncharacteristically silent, as if he wanted to let Magnus listen too.

“He doesn’t date a lot of people,” Raphael was saying. “He just stays home with us and if he’s dating you, he must like you quite a lot but Magnus is stupid. He just trusts people and if you don’t actually care about him, then you leave and you don’t call him again. He doesn’t deserve to get strung along.”

There was a still moment in which no one spoke and Magnus did not dare to breathe. Then, Alec said, “Raphael, I really really care about your father. I like him a lot and I’m not going to hurt him. I’m here because I like him so much that I want you and your brother to like me too.”

“Just don’t hurt him,” Raphael repeated. “And we’re fine.”

“I won’t,” Alec promised.

Magnus stood in the hallway for a few more moments until Max started babbling. Magnus straightened up and then, he walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, look at how clean,” Magnus said, as if he hadn’t heard the conversation that had just happened. Magnus moved and pressed a kiss to Raphael’s head, something that made the teenager scrunch his face up and turn away, grimacing. Magnus kissed Raphael’s head sparingly because of that very reason but today, he couldn’t help but indulge himself. “Thank you,” he called as Raphael promptly fled the room, rolling his eyes in response.

Max squirmed as Raphael retreated. Magnus placed his toddler on the ground and he fled the room too, running after his brother as quickly as his little legs would carry him. Magnus met Alec’s eyes and smiled softly. “It went well,” he said.

Alec laughed and he sounded immensely relieved. He nodded. “Yeah. It went better than I expected. I don’t think... Raphael hated me?” He asked, looking anxious for reassurance that Raphael hadn’t informed Magnus that he absolutely despised Alec.

“No, he didn’t,” Magnus assured. Magnus thought about telling Alec that he’d heard what Raphael said but Alec didn’t tell him, so Magnus didn’t mention it. He wasn’t supposed to have heard it. It was a private moment between Alec and his son and Magnus would let them have it. Magnus liked that Alec didn’t tell him too. He liked that Alec didn’t tell him exactly what Raphael said the moment Raphael fled the room.

A lot of people would have but it took someone that respected Raphael to not say anything. Magnus needed someone that respected his children and he needed someone that was willing to put in the effort to get along with them, even when it was not easy.

That was one good thing about having Raphael. He would put Magnus’ partners to the test right away. There was no waiting for their true colors to come out. If they couldn’t handle Raphael from the beginning, then Magnus knew it wasn’t meant to be.

“Thank you, Alec.” Magnus murmured. “For coming and-” Magnus waved his hands vaguely. For trying with him. For caring so much. “For everything.”

Alec nodded. “Of course, Magnus.” Alec swayed towards him, asking hesitantly, “Could I-”

Magnus moved forward instantly, pressing his lips into Alec’s own. It was a blissful moment that Magnus was thankful to have, until Magnus heard Raphael’s voice from the doorway.

“Gross,” he snapped.

Max at his side burst into laughter, probably not understanding what his brother was referring to but finding it all very funny anyway. Max adored Raphael and anything he had to say was the funniest thing Max had ever heard.

Magnus pulled away from Alec, sighing softly.

They said their goodbyes shortly after and then, Alec left. Magnus wanted him to stay but they’d agreed on dinner alone and Magnus didn’t want to push whatever tentative agreement Raphael had made with Alec by asking him to stay. He’d come over again soon and maybe then, he could stay a little longer.

Magnus was surprised when that night Raphael asked when his boyfriend was coming back. Magnus informed Raphael that he wasn’t sure before he stopped and really thought about what Raphael had said. “I told you he wouldn’t be my boyfriend unless you liked him,” Magnus said after a long moment of silence.

Raphael did not respond but that let Magnus know what he needed to know anyway. Raphael had remembered what Magnus said and he’d said what he did on purpose.

Alec had gotten Raphael’s seal of approval, at least for now. One slight slip up and Magnus knew that Alec would lose it but Magnus didn’t think Alec would slip up. If he did, Magnus was sure his teenager was going to have a lot to say about it but for now, Raphael liked him.

That was so much more than Magnus had hoped for.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXVIII

*Warning: Mild Adult Content at the end of this chapter.*

Cordelia sat upon the chaise lounge staring wonderingly into the flickering red and orange curls of the fire the maid had just added fresh wood to. Her eyes felt like cotton, no matter how many times she blinked. She could not erase the images of Tatiana Blackthorn’s story in her mind. Images of Belial— of Lucie— doing horrible things to this world under his control.

She thought of her dearest friend and the years of secrets she’d managed to keep well within herself. Secrets Cordelia could only wish Lucie would have felt comfortable enough to share with Cordelia, of all people.

Despite herself, she could not help but wonder whatever she’d done to cause Lucie to feel she could not trust her with such sacred information. Perhaps she could have been of more help.

But then how could she judge her friend for harboring secrets when Cordelia herself had plenty of secrets of her own. Perhaps they could have helped each other.

As her mother was always preaching, it doesn’t do to dwell on the past. The future can be changed.

The old grandfather clock in the study rang eleven times marking the hour. She’d left the drawing-room to allow the Herondale’s their space to discuss the rescue of Lucie; however, no one seemed to have a logical plan without knowing exactly how to access her. James took Matthew and Christopher aside to fill them in on the details of the afternoon.

Not wishing to be in the way or draw attention to herself, Cordelia snuck away into the study and found herself curling up on the sofa for the past hour.

When her legs had grown stiff and the fire had dwindled to a pile of flickered black coal at the bottom, the door to the study creaked open on aged hinges.

The firelight created shadows over James’s face making him look more beautiful than he already was. His eyes had lost the spark they used to hold except when they fell upon Cordelia. Even know as his gaze found her on the lounge, his shoulders dropped away from his ears and a small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth. Her heart sped up just a bit. “There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Cordelia smiled as much as she could manage and pulled the throw blanket up over her shoulder.

“You slipped away without telling anyone.” He came to stand beside the end of the lounge where Cordelia’s bare feet rested.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she said and filled her lungs. “I wanted your family to have a moment to talk. I did not want to be in the way.”

“Cordelia,” said James and slowly sank onto the edge of the lounge. “You are never in the way. Lucie is as much your family as she is my own.”

“Thank you for saying that,” said Cordelia, “But I cannot help—“ The words trapped in her throat.

James tenderly and without hesitation reach up and brushed a fallen strand of hair away from her face. His finger curled underneath her chin and he lifted her eyes to meet his own.

“I know what troubles you,” he said, his golden eyes flickered across her face. “They are the same troubles as my own. But this is not your fault.”

Cordelia exhaled sharply. “If I just been more available to her.”

“No.” James cupped her face between his hands. “Lucie still would have kept her secrets and Belial would have gone even farther to acquire her, even so far as removing one of us from his way.”

Cordelia nodded and pressed her cheek into his palm. “I just feel so useless. I want to go after her— I want to do something.”

“As do I,” said James. “But after what Tatiana said, Magnus assured us that the best thing we can do is prepare for Belial’s first strike. If he’s already possessed Lucie then we must find a way to separate them. If she’s managed to fight him away, then we’ll be ready to assist her. Whatever the case, we must wait.”

She hated waiting. Never having been very good at it in her short seventeen years.

“She must be so scared,” said Cordelia, imagining her time alone with Belial. It’d been the most terrifying experience of her life second to almost losing James.

James took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “If I know anything about my sister, she is not making this time pleasant for Belial. I would almost be more concerned for his sanity rather than her own.”

“Are you trying to make light of this situation?”

James scowled. “On the contrary, I’m being quite serious.” He turned on his hip and stretched his legs out beside Cordelia. The chase lounge was just large enough to hold them both. It still felt odd to be alone with James without a chaperone, as if someone were to walk in on the two of them she’d still find her reputation compromised in some way, but then she remembered that her reputation had been quite compromised in all the ways it counted. For this man, she’d found herself in ruin. For this man, she’d given up the life dreamed and worked for her. And for this man, she’d do it again.

To offer him comfort; to offer him what strength she could give him, she’d do it again.

And tonight it seemed they needed both from each other. James leaned his head back and looked up at the wallpapered ceiling.

“Where has everyone gone off to?” She asked, tucking herself closer to his arm.

“My father and mother have gone to Henry and Charlotte’s to inform the Consul of Belial’s plan,” said James as if recited a list. “Grace and Jesse are with the Silent Brothers. Matthew and Christopher were called to report to Charles about today’s patrol. Nothing interesting to report except for a rouge Deatrix demon that was living in the sewers in Bath and a rogue werewolf with a mighty big temper. Alastair took your mother to a secondary location in case Belial decides to come here first and Thomas went with him, I believe. That’s about everyone. No one could find you to invite you along.”

“Oh James, you shouldn’t have stayed on my account,” said Cordelia. “I would have been perfectly all right.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” said James. “In truth, I wanted to stay behind. My mother has enough to handle with my father and the consul, whom I’m sure he’ll share some choice words with if they so much as attempt to condemn or criticize my mother for the kidnapping of Lucie. She did not need my company there as well. And I did not go with Matthew and Christopher on patrol as you well know, so I would have had nothing to report.”

“Is that all?”

“And…” James turned to look at Cordelia. “I much prefer your presence over any of theirs.” His eyes drifted down to Cordelia’s mouth and lingered there a moment before he met her gaze again. When he moved closer towards her, the warmth of his breath brushed against her lips, and she did not move. A silent, welcoming answer to his question. His mouth covered hers in a kiss that started soft and tender. She felt his hand slide across her waist to wrap around her back and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

A quickening fluttered in her core as his hand moved over her hip and down her thigh.

She felt as if she could scarcely breathe. She needed, wanted him closer. As if in response to some inner demand, her hands slid from the curve of his jaw, down the plains of his chest where muscles and bones contracted beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Her fingers found the hem and the soft, warm skin that lie beneath.

James shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly.

He chuckled against her mouth. “Your fingers are cold.” He held her hand where it was against his abdomen. The lines and peaks of each muscle that could be felt along her fingertips had her breathing erratic again.

“A thought for a thought, Cordelia,” whispered James.

She did want to expose what she was thinking.

She looked up at him. His pupils were dilated making his eyes more black than gold. He watched her for a long moment, his eyes following the flick of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Cordelia. You’ve started calling me Cordelia— not Daisy. Why?”

His hand tightened around her own stopping its trail right above her heart. “When I gave you that nickname, we were but children. Whenever I saw you thereafter, I pictured you amongst those delicate flowers. But we are not children anymore. Ever since that moment I watched dance at the Hell Ruelle, Daisy just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. I look at you now and I can scarcely breathe. I look at you and I think about wanting you so badly that I have trouble concentrating on little else. I think about how I almost lost you and what I would do if I ever did.”

Her heart stumbled a beat. She no longer knew what to do with her arms, her legs, her face. She steeled her spine for what she was about to say, “I’m thinking— I’m thinking how if this is to be our last night alive— the last night we have with one another, then there is no one else in the world that I’d rather be spending it with. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. And to hear you say such things… God, it feels as if I might burst. And given the current situation, considering our efforts should be focused on Lucie, perhaps that makes me a terrible person or a woman worthy of ruin—“

“It doesn’t,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers. “For tonight, there are no expectations, I just want to hold you. I want you as close as you’ll allow me.”

Cordelia sank closer into him as she drew her hand away out from underneath his shirt. She took his hand that was holding her face and showed him exactly how and where she wanted to be touched. The rough callouses of his fingers grazed the side of her neck, down to her shoulder, and over the full contours of her breasts, that felt too full for her usual corset.

His eyes never left hers as his hand kept moving down her stomach and only paused when he reached her lower abdomen.

“Have you ever—?” She blushed. “With anyone?”

James shook his head. “Though Matthew is quite vocal about his own endeavors, I have not.”

“Not even Grace?”

James shook his head again. “Grace and I barely shared a kiss. What you and Lucie saw that night was nothing more.” His fingers played with the fabric of her gown. “We don’t have to do anything tonight unless you wish to.”

“Do you wish to?”

His nose grazed her jaw and she arched beneath him. “I am yours, Cordelia. In whatever way you will have me, I am yours.”

Something hard pushed against her center. Heat flooded her and the breath was stolen from her lungs.

He let her lead for a time. Her shaking hands unbuttoned his shirt and helped remove it from his shoulders. She discovered every inch of his bare chest, kissing her way up until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he claimed her mouth.

He made quick work of unbuttoning her gown and with inhuman strength, he broke the small clasps of her corset ripping it open where it was secured at her front. When she was free, he took his own time discovering her. An exhilaration and ecstasy she’d never felt came over her with each tender kiss to her exposed flesh. All the while her body begged for more. For him to be closer. For the burning to stop.

When the moment came, it was not as she’d always feared as a young girl. There was a brief moment of discomfort, but she clung closer to James relishing in the way their bodies responded and adapted to one another. Then there was no more pain, only pleasure. At that moment, she understood why this act was so forbidden. Why worried mothers guarded their daughters and men climbed rafters and went to war. Because to be so close to him, to feel his heart beating against her own chest, Cordelia could not remember a time when she’d been happier or felt more loved.

Whatever happened tomorrow, or the days granted after, no longer mattered. For the night, she’d forget about the end of the world. They’d help each other to forget.

____________________________________________________________________

The grandfather clock chimed again this time with four distinct rings. Cordelia stirred besides James, his arms were banded around her, his breathing deep and even. He was already awake and gazing at the ceiling above them. His index finger drew lazy patterns across her bare shoulder.

For a moment, she wondered if it’d all been a dream. But from the slight, delicate tenderness between her legs, she knew it had not.

“Are you all right?” James whispered into her hair.

Carefully, she twisted to face him. His arms tightened around her as if to keep her from disappearing.

“Yes, quite,” she said quietly.

His eyes were solemn as he looked at her.

“What is it?” She asked. A terrible fear came over her that he might be having some regrets. “Did I do—“

“Will you marry me?” The words spilled from him and seemed to bring with a quick release. “For real this time? Would you be—“

Before he could ask again, Cordelia had flattened herself against him, pressing her mouth to his.

“Yes,” she smiled deeply. Without warning, he sat up so that she was straddling his lap. “Yes.”

His broad hands slid around her back as he kissed her. Neither of them thinking of the troubles to come.

(Author’s Notes: I have been so hesitant to post this! I’ve read of it twelve different times and even had my friend read it. You all can blame her for this because she said go for it. It’s not as good as any CC can write, but I thoroughly enjoyed letting James and Cordelia get frisky. Sorry for the wait! I shall see you next Monday 2/1 and we’ll be back to see what Lucie’s up to. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. As always, thank you for reading, liking, and reblogging this story. It seriously means SO much to me.)