#king of saying ‘black women are beautiful but let me refocus’

[mythiccheroacademia]

you can’t go to any of his games in february bc after every jump serve, he’ll flash a ✊🏻 to you 😐

oikawa looks like he calls black girls chocolate drops gn

[theredraccoon]

A Desperate Proposal - Ch 4

Simon never thought that he would be the guy that needed a prenup to get married. That was for rich people with yachts and assholes who didn’t think that marriage meant sharing and compromise. He’d always envisioned something pretty simple: his mom and sister, a chuppah, a ketubah, a person of indeterminate gender underneath it who loved him. Jewish weddings were actually remarkably straightforward.

In sharp contrast to that lovely, hazy vision of a wedding that would now, sadly, never be reality, Simon had been confronted with a stack of paper a solid two inches high, which contained the initial contract that the Shadowhunters had sent over. Simon knew that political weddings were always nightmares and that there was a lot more in that stack than just wedding vows, but holy shit, there were so many details and such a short amount of time to absorb them. 

Raphael had explained that the timeline for the marriage contracts had been the first order of business after the initial Alliance had been agreed upon, with Shadowhunters actively pushing for a quick turnaround. The Downworlders had two days to review this first contract and submit changes to the Clave and then the Shadowhunters had an additional two days to respond. After that, each party had only a day to make final small alterations and nothing substantial could be significantly altered. And then on the seventh day, instead of resting, Simon would be getting married. 

Sighing, Simon rubbed his forehead and tried to refocus, shifting on the exceedingly cushy chair. It seemed that Magnus had anticipated them sitting down for eight million years during the negotiations and had thought ahead about comfortable seating. Or maybe the chairs in Pandemonium’s conference rooms were always hedonistic; that would definitely be in keeping with Magnus’ personality. 

The High Warlock himself seemed to be just as bored as Simon, rings flashing as he covered his face to hide a small yawn, red silk brocade catching the light from the chandelier. Simon felt his lips curl up as he remembered the man’s pout when he, Raphael, their secretary James, and Magnus had entered early that evening and had found the Seelie Queen, Meliorn, and another unnamed Seelie already sitting at the head of a long rectangular table. Magnus had immediately frowned and waved a hand and the table had instantly rearranged itself to be perfectly circular. It gave off a distinct ‘King Arthur and his Knights’ vibe and seemed to piss off the Queen, so it was probably the right move. 

By the time everyone had filed in, there were twelve of them around the shiny round table, each contingent sending their leader, their second (usually the one getting married off, like Simon) and a secretary/notary/lawyer-type person whose job it was to sit there and take notes. That’s what Simon had initially thought, anyway, but he was rapidly revising that opinion as he listened to the Seelie secretary argue with the warlock representative about… flowers? The position of Mercury the night of the wedding? Simon had long lost the thread of the conversation. He thought longingly about his imaginary dream wedding, with his sister’s gentle teasing and his mother fluttering around worrying about food. Simon grimaced, now thinking about his future husband’s reaction to the wedding feast including blood. Would they even have dinner afterwards? He couldn't remember. Simon eyed the stack of paper. He thought maybe it had grown in the last hour since he last looked at it. 

A sharp slap on the glossy wood stopped the speakers mid-word and made everyone except the three people directly opposite Simon startle. 

“Enough. This wedding minutiae is what tomorrow and all the damn lawyers and diplomats are for. We should be talking not about the wedding itself but the marriages and what they actually mean for all of us.” The irritated words came from the strikingly beautiful Black woman that headed the New York pack of werewolves. 

Maia Roberts had been the pack leader for the last three years, ever since she’d gotten fed up with the previous alpha and challenged him for control. Apparently he’d been quite the dick. She’d been a positive force since, her no-nonsense attitude smoothing out some of the longstanding hatred between the wolves and the vampires, and some of Simon’s accounting headaches had disappeared when she took over. Turns out when there are fewer fights and fewer things constantly being broken, your expenses went down. Simon might have even tried to make a play for her one day, he was that relieved (and she was that gorgeous) but it was out of the question now. 

Anyway... Everyone around the table was alert now, and Simon could see a frightening gleam in the Seelie Queen’s eyes. She was masquerading as an older matriarch today, her flower crown nestled in dark curls piled high on her head and just the hints of lines on her face. Simon thought she looked like she'd walked straight out of Downton Abbey. 

"And what do you suggest we talk about then, Ms. Roberts?” The Queen’s tone was curious, her voice rich and smooth and somehow girlish, which was jarring coming from someone who looked a little like a grandmother. The Faerie was a mystery box that Simon had no interest in unpacking. 

“Let’s talk about what these alliances will mean in both the present and the future. What are Downworld responsibilities in terms of patrols and helping the Shadowhunters? Right now and after we defeat whatever the fuck is killing them? How many of our people are we going to have to put forward and potentially lose? What is the role of the couples themselves? Are they figureheads? Propped up for all to see with no other real purpose? Or are we actually going to try and see if we can use them to build better relationships with the Shadowhunters?”

Simon was sitting up straight now. Around the table, the other future grooms were also leaning forward. Magnus’ fingers were sparking ever-so-slightly, Meliorn's eyes had actually fully opened where before they’d been hooded, and Luke’s jaw was tight and his shoulders set back.  

A bitter laugh came from Magnus’ right, where his second, Lorenzo Rey, sat. Simon hadn’t met him before and honestly, from the look of him, that was probably fine. Where Magnus’ clothes made him seem fun and eccentric and flashy, Lorenzo’s finery just made him seem snooty and ostentatious. He stared at Maia down his long nose and said, “You don’t know your history very well, young wolf. The Clave might be panicking right now but as soon as they get through this crisis, it will be back to the same; we are regulated to the fringes and we are supposed to be eternally grateful for their help. There will be nothing long term that comes from this, no matter what this contract pretends to say.” The sneer was pronounced. 

Simon watched Magnus bristle and puff up, probably in defense of his boyfriend, er, fiancé, but he was cut off by an unexpected source. Raphael hadn’t moved a muscle since the contract negotiations had started hours ago, besides a faint twitch when Maia had pounded on the table, but he spoke clearly now. “I disagree. I think the time is ripe for change and that the Lightwoods are actually committed to using this disaster to change the way Shadowhunters interact with the Downworld. Alec Lightwood has shown himself to be an honorable man in my dealings with him. I say that we should discuss what is possible and put it into the contract to return to the Nephilim tomorrow.”

Lorenzo leaned forward and put his hands flat on the table. “Ah, yes. The Lightwoods. Before I even address the futility of what you’re saying, can someone please explain to me why the Clave only put forth Lightwoods as marriage prospects? Especially considering Maryse Lightwood’s… history.” 

This time the response came from Luke; the quiet, even tone intimately familiar to Simon. He rubbed absently at his wrist. Their relationship since Clary’s death, Simon’s Turning, and the revelation that Luke was a werewolf had been turbulent to say the least. But ultimately he was still the same man that Simon remembered being such a large presence in his childhood and the need to listen closely to what Luke was saying was strong. 

“Maryse committed terrible crimes during her time with Valentine and the Circle. So did I. No one denies that. In the twenty years since Valentine was defeated though, she has actively worked to make amends. She has her faults, to be sure, but we are all capable of change. If nothing else, look at her children— Alec, who reached out to us, instead of just demanding our help, and Isabelle, who has already been doing her part to help Shadowhunter-Downworld, uh, relations.” 

A small amused titter ran through the group. Simon shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. He knew that Luke probably hadn’t meant it that way, but sometimes the misogyny of the Downworld smacked him in the face. Too many beings in this room were born in a time where laughing at women who slept with others was acceptable. Simon opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Magnus chimed in, and took the conversation in a different direction. 

“Before she married Robert Lightwood, Maryse was a Trueblood, one of the oldest and most powerful families in the Clave. She is a political creature at heart and she is still very well connected. Her words, in spite of, or maybe because of, her history, hold sway in Alicante. And Jace Lightwood, before he was adopted into the family, was a Wayland, another important lineage. Michael Wayland was earning a reputation as a master weapons maker before Valentine killed him. I think his son still carries one of his swords. So they may all be Lightwoods, yes, but they have reach and power. Raphael is right; if we can make these marriages actually mean something then the Downworld has a chance to be heard for the first time in centuries. We need to try.” Magnus’ voice was firm and unyielding.

Simon cleared his throat and jumped in; he actually had knowledge here. “The contract states that Downworlders will be responsible for joining Shadowhunter patrols from now until whenever they are able to restore their numbers to their previous level. So, like, probably at least fifty years? At least a generation or two, depending on how many kids they produce at a time. And they propose that the couples act as liaisons between the Downworld and the Clave, working together to solve disputes that come up, which I think will be really useful. Living arrangements are trickier though.” By the time he finished, Simon found himself the focus of eleven different sets of eyes. 

He shifted uncomfortably and then rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, did no one else do the reading? I mean, I know there were way too many boring details in there about the exact cut of suit we’ll all be wearing, but there were actually some good ideas buried in that crap.” 

Under the table, Raphael’s knee was suddenly pressing against Simon’s, even though his outward expression didn’t change. Simon knew what it meant though, and silently preened at the approval from his Sire.

The werewolf secretary, a hulking fellow with shaggy blond hair, cleared his throat and said, in a surprisingly pleasant voice, “The vampire is right; we are all required to help the Shadowhunters with patrols only until they recover. Maia has a point though, we have room to negotiate what our involvement will be in the future. The other three couples besides us involve immortals. The werewolf commitment might involve multiple generations but to Seelies and vampires, fifty years is nothing. So you should think about what will happen after your Shadowhunters die. The language is pretty ambiguous, I think they are waiting for our response. It’s also really vague on kids.”

“There will be no offspring from these unions.” The Seelie Queen’s words were swift and hard. She was sitting rigidly in her chair, tension obvious. Simon’s eyes flickered to Meliorn and it was clear that he was also holding himself deliberately still. Simon wondered how the Knight actually felt about marrying the woman he was already sleeping with. He was also self-aware enough to realize that he was focusing hard on the Seelie’s reaction in order to not dwell on the idea of having children himself. 

Simon’s internal freakout was stopped by Magnus’ equally fast and firm words. “There might not be children from the marriage between your subject and his wife but the language should stay ambiguous. The Downworld might be aligned on many things but we are not a monolith and your words are not law. Who agrees with me?”

“I do.” Luke’s words were clearly symbolic but Simon caught the grateful glance that Magnus threw him.

Simon swallowed hard but said, “I do as well.” 

Magnus knocked his knuckles on the wood of the table. “It’s settled, the language about children stays. Your conversations with Meliorn are your own, Your Majesty.” The Queen was glaring daggers at the Warlock but he blithely ignored her, and continued, “I do know that Shadowhunters take their marriage vows seriously in terms of adultery, even in arranged marriages, but there is no requirement that the marriage itself be consummated to be valid and binding.” As the only one who hadn’t even met their future spouse, much less had sex with them, Simon could feel how the others at the table avoided looking at him, but thankfully Magnus just kept rolling. “The marriages and that restriction on outside affairs ends with the death of the Shadowhunter though,” a dark shadow passed over Magnus’ face and Simon felt a surge of sympathy knowing his feelings for Alec, “as do our roles as liaisons, unless we decide to change that.”

Simon didn’t often think about his immortality, for good reason; it scared the shit out of him to think about being in his twenties for millenia unless something killed him off first. Contemplating watching his husband grow old and die while he didn’t added a whole ‘nother layer of fucked up to this situation. Simon wanted to run away from this whole thing and anger and frustration choked his throat and he could feel his fangs trying to descend as he lost control over his emotions. 

A cold hand wrapped around the fist he hadn’t realized he’d made and then Raphael addressed the table, saying quietly, “Why don’t we break for lunch. When we return we can hammer out the details of the liaison positions and the living arrangements for the couples. Then we can continue with the other main points of the contract.”

Magnus stood instantly and made his way over to the bar set up on the far side of the room, reaching for a martini glass with one hand and a bottle with the other. At least he’d have company in his misery, thought Simon bitterly. They should set up some kind of club. Shadowhunter Husbands In It Together. SHIIT for short. Sounded about right. Simon sighed.

The others were starting to get up and move around the conference room, although the Seelie Queen was having a heated discussion with Meliorn in whispers, while the other Seelie sat there with an inscrutable look on his face. Simon got up and made his way over to the fridge at the other end of the bar from where Magnus was sitting, opening it to grab a bag of O negative. The other two vampires had followed him so he pulled out two more and looked around for some glasses. He found some fancy highball ones and got busy pouring, letting his hands take over while trying to clear his mind. James, who Simon barely knew because the older vampire had always treated him with a silent sort of awe, thanked him quietly and then fled to one of the armchairs set up in another corner. 

Raphael stayed though, and together they watched the other people in the room mill around, most of whom had scattered themselves around the large area, although the werewolves were still a tight knot. Simon’s Sire took a small sip of blood from his cup. “Do you want to meet Jace Lightwood before the wedding? There is still time to do that.” Simon opened his mouth and then closed it a second later, taking a gulp from his own glass instead. Raphael shifted and said, “There is also still time to put my name in before the Clave instead, although you will have to take over as Clan leader.”

Simon startled so hard that the heavy, viscous liquid actually sloshed out over his hand and he swore and put the cup down on the bar before sticking his fingers in his mouth. Raphael watched him fumble, staying still in the way that only an undead vampire could do. 

“No. No, I won’t ask you to do that. The Clan needs you, I’d be a terrible leader, I know you’ve said that the other vampires would follow me but I definitely don’t want them to do that, they are all eight hundred years old and don’t understand any of my references and it would be a complete disaster and I’d run the Clan straight into the ground in like, a year, and you would be so mad at me and it’s just a terrible idea. No, I’ll marry this Jace person and hopefully he’s not a raging asshole and we can get along and we’ll figure out whoever is murdering Shadowhunters and we’ll murder the fuck out of them instead. And no, I don’t want to meet him before the wedding, I’ve done so much research on arranged marriages— do you know it’s still incredibly popular in the Mundane world? I totally thought it had gone out of style but apparently not— and most of the feedback from married couples that made it work is to let yourself be surprised at the altar and see your spouse at their finest and best and then you have a really great first impression of them and it’s better to do that instead. Yeah. So I’ll meet him in a week.” Simon finally made himself stop talking and drained his cup of blood instead, feeling the metal in it coat his throat and settle in his stomach.  

Raphael was wearing his “Simon Face” again but only said, “All right, Simon. We’ll keep things the way they are. I’m going to talk to Magnus before we keep going.” 

Simon bobbed his head, not daring to open his mouth again, and he watched Raphael glide down the bar to where the warlock was on his second drink. He knew how deeply Raphael cared for his friend and Simon hoped that he would have some comforting words for a man who was clearly already deeply in love with the Shadowhunter he was marrying. 

Putting the empty glass back onto the bar, Simon thought about the articles and blog posts he’d read from people in arranged marriages. There had only been a few actual horror stories, thankfully, and most had just been about how to live with another person comfortably even if you weren’t in love with them. There were a few entries though that stood out, shining examples of couples who talked about how the person they married ended up being their soulmate, someone they couldn’t imagine being without. Simon knew that his situation was much more complicated than most, but—  

He could hope, right?