#i sincerely apologise for the poor souls that stumble onto here expecting to find a single coherent thought or some context

[kindred-spirit-93]

salutations of peace!

welcome to this blog dedicated to the many, many thoughts wondering in the expansive meadows of my inner mind. we have:

fandom rambles

OC galore and random lore dumps

deep life thoughts TM

excerpts of books ill never write

memes, awful puns, wordplay my beloved, rants about anything and everything

music and art and language appreciation

vivid descriptions of things that would put ebony dark'ness dementia raven way to shame

and so much more! my vision for this blog is essentially a scrapbook of sweet wrappers, weird poetry, dried flowers, inexplicable blood drops from untraceable source(s), cute little doodles, coffee stains, all tied together with glitter glue and skull washi tape ^-^

so feel free to sit back with some snacks and watch me as i take apart my mind thought by thought and have epiphanies and shit :)

*:･ﾟ✧ but before all that, a few things:

the name of this blog, Memento Vivere, is latin for remember to live. you may be familiar with its more morbid counterpart, Memento Mori, remember you must die. the reason for this choice of phrase is that due to reasons, i sometimes have to remind myself to stop and live, to really smell the roses, to appreciate my short existence on this spinning rock in space. so this blog will be my escape, my breath of fresh air, my cup of mint earl grey on a rainy january morning.

*:･ﾟ✧ a lil about me lol:

british jordanian gen z hijabi, dont have social anxiety; social anxiety has me lol, sleep deprived, herbal teas, psychiatry

medical student, full time and life long learner, salty snacks are better than sweet treats there i said it, strawberry milk supremacy

chaotic academia aesthetic, cats, existential (and assorted) crises

main @lemedstudent2021 and oc blog @bright-side-of-the-moon feel free to drop by for a chat here there and everywhere ;)

*:･ﾟ✧ general rules and guidelines:

this blog aims to be a safe space for anyone and everyone, leave your prejudices at the door or dont bother coming in :)

youre all welcome to share thoughts and ideas and suggestions, please keep it halal tho (so pg-13 and mild language). in the very least label accordingly so those yet with innocence stay safe

hate and bullying and disrespect in all forms will not be tolerated, bigots and brain dead buffoons will be blocked on sight

that said, for what remains of my sanity; zionists and anti-vaxxers DNI (i will come after you and your essential oils)

if i remember anything ill add it later, for now bring your marshmellows were making s'mores on the dumpsterfire that is life

art by the wonderful @sunshines-child ^-^

[silver-lily-louise]

One Better Than Palladium

Summary: ‘Alright, so what’s the traditional seventy-sixth anniversary present?’ ‘There isn’t one, sweetpea. The system’s of mundane origin, I don’t think many mortal couples get that far.’ It's Magnus and Alec's seventy-sixth anniversary, and Magnus wants to find his husband the perfect present.

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

Magnus Lightwood-Bane is currently in the throes of the nicest problem he’s ever had, and he’s sorely disappointed with the reinforcements he’s drafted in. ‘You do realise that you two are being completely unhelpful,’ he grumbles, raising his voice over the high street bustle.

Catarina chuckles. ‘Only because you’ve shot down every one of our suggestions. Look, I told you – it doesn’t even matter what you get him. You know he’s going to love it, because it’s from you. He even appreciated the candy canes you got him that one year.’ ‘Don’t remind me,’ Magnus mutters. He’d gotten them as part of a hamper for one of their early anniversaries, knowing how much Alec liked mint at the time. Unfortunately, he hadn’t known how much Alec disliked hard candies.

He jolts back to the present as he stumbles into someone. ‘Spiacente,’ he apologises, before giving a deep sigh and turning back to his entourage. ‘I’m not sure inspiration is striking me here. Perhaps we gave up on Seoul too quickly-‘ ‘Magnus,’ Madzie interrupts, half-laughing, half-groaning. ‘This is the fourth city we’ve been to. I don’t think location is the real issue.’ Magnus huffs, annoyed at how reasonable she’s being. ‘Remind me why I invited the pair of you?’ ‘Because your other option was Ragnor,’ she points out, matter-of-fact, ‘and we all know how that trip would have gone.’ She pulls him to the side, away from the flow of foot traffic, and stops him in his tracks. ‘Okay. Let’s just think for a moment,’ she says. ‘What did you get him last year?’ ‘Last year was easy,’ he says, a little bitter at how good past Magnus had it. If only the poor bastard had known what was coming. ‘Seventy-five years is apparently also known as a palladium anniversary, so I inlaid a seraph sword sheath with a palladium design and a protection charm.’ ‘Alright, so what’s the traditional seventy-sixth anniversary present?’

Magnus rolls his eyes. ‘There isn’t one, sweetpea. The system’s of mundane origin, I don’t think many mortal couples get that far.’ ‘Oh!’ Catarina’s suddenly at his side again, grabbing his arm in excitement. ‘Magnus, I think I may have just solved your problem.’ She spins him around, pointing across the street at a low-ceilinged, plainly-painted shop, almost invisible amongst the flashier, more modern boutiques. He raises an eyebrow, sceptical. ‘Catarina, Alexander doesn’t play any instruments.’ ‘Well, he’s over a hundred now. High time he learned,’ she declares, and she’s dragging Magnus over to the music shop before he can offer up more than a token protest.

The inside of the shop is surprisingly large, stretching back quite a long way from the street. The lighting is fairly dim, but warm and welcoming, and the noise of the street dies down to almost nothing once the door swings shut. The shop is quiet aside from the low mutter of a few other patrons, and the faint strains of Wagner in the background. The first floor is almost entirely dedicated to pianos, and with Jace gone less than ten years, Magnus thinks that might hit a little too closely to be a viable option; so instead, they head up to the second floor, home to the more portable instruments.

Catarina and Madzie soon drift away from him, giving him time to browse alone. (He hears the noise of a gong being struck – albeit softly – and then a hiss of ‘Mom, I don’t think you’re supposed to touch-‘ ‘Oh, relax, sweetheart. I’m not going to break it. Besides, I’ve always wanted to do that.’) Magnus walks through the different displays, trying to choose an instrument that will suit his husband. Anything bowed is out immediately – Magnus already lived through Ragnor’s short-lived attempt to learn the double bass, and he’s not eager to repeat that experience at a higher pitch. The woodwind section tempts him for a moment – Alexander keeps himself fit, so he’s definitely got the breath control for it. Plus a very talented mouth, he thinks with a smirk. He’s sure there must be some… transferable skills involved in playing the saxophone -

The next display, however, is revelation enough to stop even that train of thought. Magnus finds himself staring, before starting to grin in triumph.

Perfect.

***

‘That was incredible, Alexander,’ Magnus declares once they’ve finished their lasagne. It’s always worth complimenting his husband purely to see the look of bashful joy on his face, but in this case, Magnus also happens to mean every word. After coming to the end of his stint as Consul, Alec’s spent the last twenty years as a sort of part-time diplomatic consultant for the Clave, and he decided fairly early on that he’d like to spend his extra free time sharpening his culinary skills beyond his usual read-the-recipe-and-pray approach. It took him a while to start trusting his instincts – but nowadays, they nicely complement his attention to detail, and he’s become a well-rounded chef. (A few years back, he even managed to fix the infamous Trueblood Stew, his newfound culinary understanding lending context and helping him better decipher his grandmother’s looping cursive. ‘Eight tablespoons? What the hell was I thinking, Magnus? Obviously that says ‘three teaspoons’, because any more than that and the bitterness would just overpower-‘)

Alec smiles, glowing at the praise just as Magnus expected he would. ‘Thanks. Dessert’s still chilling down, so in the meantime…’ He stands, taking Magnus’ hand and pulling him over to the couch. Magnus goes willingly, an absent-minded handwave taking care of the dirty dishes, and drops onto the seat beside his husband. A pristinely-wrapped box is immediately placed in his lap. ‘Happy anniversary,’ Alec says.

Magnus plants a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you, darling.’ He gets to work unwrapping the gift (Don’t hold it upside down, Alec warns hurriedly), and the shiny gold paper tears away to reveal a plain cardboard box. Curious, Magnus opens the lid – and his mouth falls open in surprise and delight. ‘Alexander…’ he breathes.

Inside the box are twenty-four jars, each neatly labelled, each containing a different potion ingredient. Black sand, dried honeysuckle, and eagle feathers are among the more commonplace; but what takes his breath away are the likes of oceanic volcanic ash, powdered saint’s teeth, and honeyed rafflesia. ‘Alexander, some of these are incredibly rare,’ Magnus points out, unnecessarily. ‘How on earth did you come by them?’ ‘Hey, I can’t give away all my secrets,’ Alec teases. He’s practically beaming, now. ‘But no-one’s coming to arrest me, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ Magnus scoffs. ‘As if they’d get through me, in any case.’ He gently closes the lid of the box, and with a flicker of magic, it’s deposited safely in his apothecary. He pulls Alec in closer with one hand under his chin, and kisses him appreciatively. ‘Thank you, Alexander,’ he murmurs against his lips. ‘I love it. It’s so thoughtful of you.’

He pulls away then, laughing at the brief frown that crosses Alec’s expression. ‘Oh, stop that,’ he chides good-naturedly. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for kissing once you’ve opened your gift.’ He gives a flourish of his wrist, and the large, triangular package appears on the coffee table in a spiral of pale blue sparks.

Alec’s eyes widen as he hauls the – admittedly sizable – present onto his lap, and he’s clearly trying to work out what it could be, even as he peels away the scotch tape from each end and removes a perfect rectangle of flocked green wrapping paper. He unzips the soft black case – and freezes.

Magnus fidgets a little. ‘Catarina suggested that you might like to learn an instrument,’ he says, scanning Alec’s face for a hint of his reaction. ‘And I thought it might be an interesting new endeavor for you to embark on, after your culinary quest proved so successful.’

‘…It’s beautiful,’ Alec murmurs, and a wave of relief washes through Magnus. Alec lifts out the lever harp, holding it almost reverently, fingertips brushing lightly over the silver runes Magnus magically inlaid in the brindled wood. Perseverance. Technique. Creation. Quietude. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ Magnus says softly – but then he grins. ‘I did consider a few other instruments, but this seemed… an appropriate choice.’ Alec rolls his eyes, though his gaze goes straight back to the harp. ‘We’re still not doing that angel-and-demon couples costume for Hallowe’en.’ Magnus waves a hand dismissively. ‘You’ll come around on that. I’ll wear you down eventually.’

Alec finally puts the harp down, sliding it gently back into the case and standing it carefully on the coffee table. ‘Thank you,’ he says sincerely, wrapping his arms around Magnus, before pulling back a little to kiss him again. ‘I love it. It’s beautiful.’

Magnus closes his eyes, humming a little in contentment as he rests their foreheads together, trading lazy kisses back and forth. ‘You’re welcome,’ he says. ‘Happy anniversary, Alexander.’

The rest of the evening is wonderful, and Magnus feels his quiet happiness – a familiar emotion, these days, and isn’t that positively miraculous? – settle soul-deep. The lemon posset turns out to be just as delicious as expected, and after a few cocktails, Magnus even manages to convince Alexander to dance with him for a few turns.

They wake in a tangle of limbs and silk sheets, and Magnus gazes softly, almost disbelievingly, at the man before him. Alexander is more than a century old, and he’s still here, still young and healthy, still lighting up Magnus’ world with every step he takes. It’s more than Magnus ever dared dream of, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever run out of gratitude for the life they’re building together.

Later, Magnus is in his apothecary, carefully arranging his precious new ingredients into place on his shelves. A hesitant, disjointed melody starts to surround him – coaxed from the harp strings in the next room by his very own angel – and he smiles.

~oOo~