#maryse tw

[r-truth]

[absolventiia]

❗❗❗ ( to maryse <3 )

/ Send " ❗❗❗ " for your muse to suddenly and unexpectedly kiss mine.

SHE HAD ONLY BEEN TRYING TO VISIT THE SEPT. the way of worship up north was so vastly different from the ways of worship in sunspear, and maryse was still trying to wrap her head around it all. the incense and candlelight, the darkened rooms and silence besides some general, soft chanting that almost seemed to echo along the stone. it made her feel a bit too CLAUSTROPHOBIC. and kneeling along the tables with her hands clasped tightly was also incredibly uncomfortable, the light fabric of her dress not helping to cushion her knees. 

aemond did not usually visit her, these days. the war grows in scale, and he's often away or in a meeting of some sort. not that it bothered her -- considering the fact that they were not yet IN LOVE ( or perhaps, would never be. ) the good in their marriage comes from the fact that they are amicable with each other. despite the rumors that maryse has heard more than once upon her betrothal of aemond targaryen's coldness and cruelty, he was deceptively KIND, or at least generally thoughtful. more than most wives could say, in these situations.

as maryse finally decides she'd had enough of prayer and meditation for the day ( or, more likely her reddened knees ), she stands and exits the sept, allowing the guard to follow her towards the awaiting carriage. they were not FAST ENOUGH for what happens next. to be fair, none of them could be. maryse couldn't react as she's suddenly gripped from behind and tugged against a man, a cold blade at her throat. he screams something about starving, about the rotten food being served at markets, about the lack of dornish aid that they were promised would come with the marriage. that was the only thing he said, before there was a sword in his back, and he drops to the ground -- it is haedon, she recognizes vaguely. his hand is on her arm, the other holding tightly to his sword. the crowd around them scream, and the edges of maryse's dress is stained with the man's blood as she's whisked away into the carriage before anyone else could attempt to harm her.

she's in shock, shaking as they reach the keep. aemond was waiting there, somehow having already received the news about the events in the city. perhaps a guard had ridden ahead to let the family know. still, maryse cannot question it as she's picked up from the carriage seat, his lips brushing very suddenly against her own. maryse can feel aemond's arms around her, and she can BREATHE again, at least slightly. " . . . perhaps we should send a RAVEN to my mother. " maryse mumbles after a moment or two. " we may need to inquire about what aid she is sending. " 

[c1nemafabe]

’ i - i don’t know what you’re talking about. ’ sharp exhale through her nose, chin tilts high, defiance in her stance even as her voice wavers, just barely. those heels, impossibly high, click once, twice, echoing against the tiled floor like gunshots in a silent room. the walls seemed closer, the air thicker as his words settled over her, laced with mockery and that damn smirk she could never quite look away from.

’ irresponsible ’ her tone is sharp, biting, meant to cut — but her body betrays her as her fingers instinctively clutch at the diamond on her left hand. it doesn’t mean what it should in this room, with him, and that thought alone nearly makes her drop her guard completely. but no, she won’t. she can’t. 'you think you know me, warren?'

there’s a delicate arch of her brow, lips pressing into a thin line before curling back up in a taunting smirk of her own, but it’s weak — a facade she’s desperately clinging to. every nerve in her body is aware of how close he is now, the scent of him, the heat of his gaze boring into her like he can see everything she’s trying so hard to hide. and maybe he can.

’ you think just because you know what buttons to push that you’ve figured me out? mignon. ’ her words drip sarcasm, sharp as broken glass, but there’s no denying the way her fingers tremble when she flips her hair back over her shoulder, trying to buy a moment — just a moment — to breathe. to think. to remind herself why she’s here at all. because he’s right !

he’s always bloody right.

the truth claws at her throat like a caged animal. ' this is a mistake, warren. you’re a mistake, ' she snaps, crossing her arms, desperate to create some barrier between them that isn’t paper-thin. she swallows hard, the weight of her words sinking like a stone in the pit of her stomach. it’s all smoke and mirrors, though. her act, her defiance — it all falls apart the second his hand brushes hers, and it’s humiliating how easily he can make her falter.

’ stop it. stop looking at me like that ’ she whispers, voice barely audible, eyes darting away to focus on some random spot over his shoulder. his eyes are her undoing ! always.

'you don’t get to … ’ the words die in her throat when his smirk deepens, and god, how does he always do this to her? ’ you don’t get to act like you own me, warren.' it’s a lie, of course. they both know it. and there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes — fear, vulnerability, something unspoken that she won’t, can’t say.

and then, the breaking point.

her hand snaps up to grip his wrist, nails digging in just enough to leave a mark — not to hurt, but to ground herself. to stop the spinning. ’ fine,’ she breathes, the word barely escaping through gritted teeth. 'you’re right. is that what you want to hear?' she steps closer, the space between them almost nonexistent now, her voice dropping lower, the edge gone but the desperation clear as day.

'you win, okay? you always do.' the bitterness in her tone is palpable, but so is the resignation. ’ but god help me, warren, if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone — ’ her voice cracks, just slightly, and she hates it, hates herself, hates how much she needs him. ’ i’ll … i’ll do whatever you want. anything. just — don’t. please.’

and there it is. the plea she swore she’d never let him hear. but even in surrender, she tilts her chin higher. she’d burn for him, yes. but she’d burn him first before letting anyone else see her fall apart !

𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬𝗦𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗞𝗘 : i still think this is deeply irresponsible - and believe me , i would know.

i   tilted   my   head      ,       a    slow    grin   spreading   across   my    face   as   i   watched      maryse   pace      ,       her   heels   clacking    like   the   opening   act    to   some   grand    drama.      the    way    her    voice   wavered   between   indignation    and   temptation   was      almost    poetic      ,      and god      ,       did    i    love   poetry.      especially   when   it      came   wrapped    in    silk   and   contradictions   like    her.      "      irresponsible      ?      "       i    echoed      ,      letting   the   word    hang    in   the   air      ,       savoring    the   way    it    tasted   on    my    tongue.      "      yeah      ,      i    suppose   it    is.      but   isn’t    that      what    makes    it    so   bloody   delicious      ,       maryse      ?       admit    it      —      you’d   be   bored    to    death   without    me.      "

i   took    my    time      ,      leaning   against    edge    of   the   granite   island    that   currently   separated   the   two    of    us      ,      arms       crossed      ,      watching    her   fight    the      war   inside    her    head.      the   good   wife   versus    the   woman   who   couldn’t   stay    away.       it   was   entertaining      ,       really      —      watching    someone   so   composed    unravel    one   thread    at   a   time.

"      you    know        .   .   .  .        "      i   drawled      ,       pushing    off   the   marbled   surface    before    striding    over   and   closing   the   gap   between   us.       "      for      someone   who   claims    to    know   a    thing   or    two    about    responsibility      ,       you’ve    made    a    real   mess   of    it      ,      haven’t   you      ?      "       i   circled    her    slowly      ,       like   a    predator      ,      my    voice    low   and   teasing.      "      if   you      were    so    bloody    concerned    about    keeping   your    pristine    little    life    intact      ,       you   wouldn’t    be    here.       you   wouldn’t   have    let    this   happen.      but   you   did      ,      maryse.      you   did.      "

i   came   to    a    stop   in    front   of    her      ,      tilting   my    head    to    catch    her    eyes.       "      so   let’s    not   pretend   this   is   something   it’s   not.      you   like    it.      hell      ,       you    love   it      —      the    thrill      ,       the    risk      ,      the    fact   that   you’ve    go      a    husband   waiting   at   home   while   you’re   here   with    me.      "       i   let    the   smirk    widen.       "      and    you   love    that   i   know   it.      "

 i   made    sure    to     cut    in         ,       my    tone    sharp    enough    to    stop   her   in    her    tracks.       "      don’t    give   me   that   look.       you   think    i   don’t    see   it      ?      the    way   your   eyes   light    up   when    i   text   you      ,      the   way   you   practically    run      to   meet    me      ?      you’ve   got    the    whole   world    thinking   you’re   this    perfect    wife      ,      this   untouchable   goddess.      but    you    and    i   both ��  know    what    you      are   when   the    doors    are   closed.      don’t    we      ?      "

i   reached   for   her   hand      ,       my    thumb   brushing    over    the   ring   on   her    finger.       "      this      ?      "       i   said      ,      my    voice   dripping    with    mockery    as    i    tapped   the   diamond.      "      this   doesn’t    mean    anything   when   you’re    with   me      ,       does    it      ?       you’re   mine    the    moment    you    walk    through    that    door.       and   you   love    how   wrong   that    is.      "      i   stepped    closer      ,      so    close    i      could   feel   the    heat   radiating    off    her    skin.

"      you    know   what    the    real    problem   is      ?      "       i   whispered      ,       leaning    down    so   my   lips   were    just   a    breath    away    from    hers.      "      you   don’t      hate   being    irresponsible      ,      maryse.      you    hate   that   you   love   it.      "      i      pulled    back      ,       just   enough    to    leave   her   wanting      ,      my    smirk    firmly   in    place.      "      so   go    ahead     .   .   .         "    i   added      ,      waving    a    hand    toward    the    door.      "      walk    away.      tell   yourself   this    was    the    last    time.       tell   yourself    you’re   done   with   me.      but    we    both   know    the    truth.      "

i   paused      ,       letting    the   silence   stretch   out    like   a   taunt.       "      you’ll    be    back.      you    always    come   back.      "   

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

10) I Miss You, Don’t Call Me

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

TW: slight mention of violence, and mentions of alcohol abuse

Series Masterlist

Jack sighed as Maryse declined his call again. It’s been a month since that incident with Nate happened. The next morning Maryse didn’t want to talk about it, stating she was fine. Jack knew she was lying, but didn’t want to push her.

Things seemed to be okay for a few weeks but recently Maryse has been avoiding him. She would decline his calls and if the off chance she did answer she would rush him off the phone saying she had to get back to rehearsals for her shows she had coming up at the Apollo Theater.

Jack was afraid that if she continued on this path of keeping things herself that she was going to blow up one day. He hated seeing her like this. It doesn’t help that he’s in LA right now while she’s home in NY.

“Jack, why are you rushing back to New York, we literally need you in Boston for New Balance by tomorrow afternoon!” Neelam said as she interrupted his thoughts. Jack needed to see Maryse now, he couldn’t let this go on any longer.

“I’m going to see Maryse, I’ll go straight to Boston as soon as I’m done. I promise.” He responded as he continued to pack his backpack, deciding to only take essentials.

He ignored Neelam's sigh at the mention of his girlfriend. “Jack…” she started but he immediately interrupted her. “Don’t wanna hear it.”

“Jack, just hear me out! I love Maryse but your career is very important. This is a huge year for you, you can’t just drop everything for some girl, you’ve only been dating for 3 months! And don’t think I haven’t noticed her ignoring your calls…”

Jack pulled his hoodie over his head, and took a deep breath before replying. “It’s been five months.” Neelam rolled her eyes.

“I’m not dropping everything for some girl, she’s my girlfriend and a Grammy award winner, might I add.”

He continued as Neelam folded her arms in front of him. “She’s going through something right now and needs me. I’ve been running around nonstop, and haven’t missed an appearance. Boston is hardly an hour flight away from NY. I will be back in time for the NB event.”

Only thing Neelam could do was sigh, knowing she wasn’t going to change his mind. “Ok. Fine. You better be back in time.”

He gave a simple nod as he slung his backpack over his shoulders and headed towards the door. “Gotcha.”

As he walked out the door he turned around to say one last thing. “Oh, and Neelam?”

“Yeah?” She questioned.

“You’re going to respect my girlfriend, she’s here to stay. This weird energy you have towards her is going to stop.” He closed the door behind him, not giving Neelam time to react as she stood there with her mouth open.

***

“That sounded great guys, let's take a 30!” Maryse told her band with a smile. She was currently rehearsing for her shows the following weekend at the iconic Apollo Theater to celebrate her debut album.

Once everyone left the room she sat at the piano and she began playing around with some chords that had been in her head for a couple days.

She silently sighed as her fingers moved across the keys, the more she played the more she started thinking about Jack. He didn’t deserve how she was treating him and made a silent vow to call him when he left rehearsals.

“I haven't slept since Sunday…” she began singing the first thing that came to mind. She wished Jack was with her right now.

“Midnight for me is 3:00 a.m. for you. But my sleepless nights are better with you than nights could ever be alone.” Maryse hadn’t slept properly since the night of her release party, having dreams about Nate, she knew the only thing that would fix this would be opening up about with Jack.

“I was good at feeling nothing, now I'm hopeless. What a drag to love you like I do”

Fuck it. She thought as she pulled her phone out, dialing Jack’s number. He of course answered on the first ring, she spoke before he could even speak. “I love you so much, I’m sorry for ignoring your calls, we can talk about everything when I get home, okay?” She bit her lip as it was silent on the other line.

“I love you too.” Maryse gasped as she heard his voice from behind her. Turning around, Jack was leaning against the doorway, phone pressed against his ear.

She immediately jumped up from her place at the piano and skipped towards him. “What are you doing here?” Maryse questioned as she pulled him closer to her, pressing her face into his chest and smelling his cologne.

Jack just shook his head, and kissed the top of her head. “We can talk about it later. I just needed to see you.”

***

It was 10 pm when she got back home from rehearsals, she stripped as soon as she walked into the house. Walking into her room, Jack was spread across her bed, soft snoring leaving his mouth. She felt bad that he came all this way for her. Changing into one of his many shirts he’s left at her place, she climbed into bed next to him, pressing a kiss to his face.

Jack, being a light sleeper, woke up from the light kiss. “Hey” he said softly.

Maryse smiled at him, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for ignoring your calls.”

Jack pulled her in closer next to him in bed. Maryse wrapping her legs around his own. “I guess I should explain myself.”

He nodded. “But only if you’re ready, I never wanna pressure you. I’m just worried about you.”

Maryse nodded and was silent as she continued playing with his hair. “I had been dating Nate since he was a senior in college. So I’ve known him for a really long time. You could say he was my first real relationship. Everything was really good for a long time, until we weren’t. But everything changed when he tore his pec during a playoff game.”

Jack stayed quiet, letting Maryse get her thoughts out.

“He was really upset and angry with himself for getting hurt. So he started drinking to cope, I would come home from the studio and he would be passed out drunk in the living room.”

Maryse took a pause before continuing, she hasn’t spoken about this to anyone in almost two years. “I watched alcohol turn the man I loved into a monster. We would argue all the time, every problem we faced steamed from his drinking.”

She didn’t realize it in the moment that she had closed her eyes as she spoke, thinking about the things he would say out of anger. “You’ll never make it in the industry.” “No one will listen to your music.” “No one will ever love you like I do”

“He would say the curliest things to me during arguments but he never once put his hands on me. That night at the release party was the first.” Maryse could feel herself getting overwhelmed and tears started forming in her eyes.

Jack immediately pulled her into his chest, bringing her closer than she already was. “I’m sorry.” Maryse said, pulling back and wiping her eyes. She grimaced seeing the tear stain on his shirt.

He shook his head, “This isn’t my favorite shirt.” Maryse couldn’t help but giggle and pinched his side.

“Not about that you idiot! Sorry, for putting you, and Urban for that matter in that position. You both could’ve gotten extremely hurt that night! Especially with how angry Nate was. That’s why I was ignoring your calls because I was really embarrassed after that night.” Maryse ended with a frown.

It was Jack’s turn to frown. “I’m going to stop you right there. One, you didn’t deserve any of that shit he put you through. I’m sorry that you had to deal with that, loving an addict is a hard and taxing job. Two, you’re worth defending. I’ll throw my last punch defending you. You’re my person, my peace. I’ll do anything to protect you.”

Hearing Jack reassure her made Maryse relax for the first time in weeks. She also couldn’t help the flutters she felt in her stomach at Jack calling her his person.

“I love you, Jack.”

Jack leaned forward and kissed her head, nose and finally a sweet kiss on her lips.

“I love you more. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Maryse pressed her lips against his lips one more time, happy he was here in her arms.

Jack let out a yawn. “Now, wrap your legs around me so I can go back to sleep. I have a flight to catch in 3 hours.”

She did just that, getting a full nights rest for the first time in weeks.

***

AN: hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Let me know you’re thoughtssss!

Tag List:

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@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @bout-mine @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @comehomeimissyou@minkookie95@harlowcomehome @jackharloww@jaydaaasworld@xxkoolkatxx @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @w1ldthoughts @jackiehollanderr @katiaw2 @halfmoondaze @babybardi2@vinniehackersbaee

[alexanderlightweight]

hello, I'm not sure if it will interest you but...what about something around Maryse making a deal with a demon for her first born? Or something along those vibes

Hey anon, interesting prompt! I kind of did an au of a different idea I’m working on that I think fits.

Tw: Maryse is still in the Circle at this point, canon-typical lack of infant care and violence.

—

Maryse is heavily pregnant, close to full term and she should be resting but the codes Valentine has her working on are endless.

It isn’t until she’s blinking awake, wondering when she fell asleep that she realizes something is wrong.

“What, what happened?” Maryse barely manages to get out and it’s Lucian who is with her. He’s holding her hand; a raw wound on his cheek as she wakes up.

“Maryse, if you need me to, I’ll fix everything. I’ll figure this out. Tell me, did you say yes, did you tell Valentine he could use your baby?”

And rage. Pure hot rage, more than she’s ever felt for a downworlder, consumes her.

“This is my child.” She snarls, because until the babe in her belly is born, it belongs only to her. When it’s born, its soul will be delivered from the cradle of Raziel but for now, her baby is hers and hers alone.

Not even Robert can lay claim until he’s born.

“Okay, okay.” Lucian looks wrecked, more open and vulnerable than Maryse has seen since they were even younger than now. “He’s trying to sacrifice your son to Lilith, an offering of a child for her power.”

And Maryse whites out with how much fury takes her.

She comes back to Lucian shaking her and she swallows, wishing for something to drink, but there’s no time for physical comfort.

She needs to get her child safe which means she needs information.

She wants to demand it’s impossible but the motherly instincts she’s constantly pushed aside don’t let her.

“I am his mother.” She manages to rasp out. “I’ve already done the ritual for him to be blessed by the divinity of the Trueblood line.”

Lucian gives her a sad, small smile. “He can be blessed by two parents, by two mothers even. And Valentine doesn’t care, Maryse, about anything beyond himself. All of this is for power, you know that.”

And Maryse does know that, but everything Valentines always said has made so much sense and he appreciates her talents, in a way the Clave doesn't, thinking she’s still too young.

“What do I do?”

Because Lucian has to have a plan.

“There’s a risk. But the ritual was already started. You can change it. Make the deal yourself with a demon of your own choice and tie the child to a different, greater demon.”

“No! I will not let my child be corrupted by a demon!” Maryse is seething and she wishes she had something to throw, to break.

But she can’t barely lift herself up and has to settle for glaring at Lucian.

“You’d rather they die?”

Maryse almost bites out a yes but there is a soft flutter. The strong kick of a baby who has always been gentle, as if worried to hurt its mother.

How can she hurt her child, who has given her so little pain and so much joy.

“How will this save him?” She asks bitterly, “he’ll still be claimed by a demon in the end. What does it matter if I kill it now? To save its soul from ever being born into such torment. ”

“Because if you’re willing, there is a loophole. You can tie his soul to a descendent instead. You pick the bloodline, and ritual will guide fate into creating a soul bond with whoever he’s comparable with.”

Lucian licks his lips, “you wouldn’t personally get anything out of it. Not like Valentine is hoping to.

“And Valentine, will he notice?”

Lucian shakes his head, “he’ll simply think it’s another failed ritual. A disappointment, and go on to the next.” Lucian hesitates, “he’s already started a new experiment on Jocelyn.”

Maryse realizes in that instance that she and her child, that any of those under Valentine will never be protected.

They will never be safe.

“I’m going to return to the Clave.” Maryse says with finality. “I’m going to take every single piece of evidence I have and I’m going to make a deal. Will you come with me?”

Lucian hesitates, a strange look coming over his face, part-wistful, part-devastated.

“Jocelyn won’t come. Will Robert?”

Maryse gives a dark little scoff and shrugs.

“Who cares. If he follows me, then I will know he was a worthy partner. If any part of him wants to be a good father or spouse, he’ll follow. If he doesn’t, I will disown him from the Lightwood line and sever our union..”

Lucian seems shocked by her pragmatism, but Maryse has always been cold-blooded.

Pregnancy and motherhood have sharpened not dulled her.

“Then we’ll do the ritual. Now, quickly. Before Valentine returns. I’ll gather my stuff and yours while he’s here. He won’t allow me to stay.”

Maryse shudders at being alone and unconscious and at Valentine's mercy, as she apparently and unknowingly has been many times.

“Asmodeus’ line.” Maryse finally decides, “his hate of Lilith is legendary and his surviving children are few in number, if any still exist. There’s a better possibility that none will be compatible with my child, even with the ritual.”

Lucian shakes his head and gives her a small smile.

“Only you would already be planning your advantages.”

Maryse shrugs again and licks her dry lips, her voice will be gone soon.

—she wonders if it hurts so much because her body has been screaming without her knowledge—

“Tactics and strategy are the only things that will protect my child, Lucian. It’s been made clear that even I am not enough to keep him safe.”

So Lucian gathers the tools and Maryse steals her spine and commits the greatest blasphemy she ever has.

She commits, pledges —the child that Raziel gives to her— to be the soul companion of the most compatible of Asmodeus’ spawn.

And while she regrets that she has to, she will never regret preserving and protecting her babe.

Even if that means somewhere, down the line, her son may end up married to some warlock sorceress instead of a strong, sensible nephilim woman.

But that day may never come, and so she prays to Raziel.

And in a way, her prayers are answered.

Her child’s soul will never be connected to some unknown warlock female.

Because as soon as the ritual completes, his soul already belongs to Magnus Bane.

[cinberella]

My A/B/O Canon Divergent Malec fics

❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰

Shelter

Disowned by his own people, possibly deruned and exiled, just because he wants to be what he was meant to be, wholly and proudly. But the Clave won't allow Alec Lightwood to decide for himself and his daughter. Fortunately, someone unexpected, a powerful and feared Warlock, will offer him help, protection and a safe haven. Magnus Bane is an Alpha who is not afraid to defy the Clave and bring Alec and his daughter to safety.

Rating E - WC 80k

TW implied rape/non con, derogatory language, explicit sexual content, attempted sexual assault

Warlock Therapy

Magnus now expects pretty much anything from the Clave. On the other hand, he has been dealing with Shadowhunters for decades, he knows them. But finding Maryse at his door asking for help to save her son’s life wasn’t something he could have foreseen. The young Alpha who is with her seems to carry on his shoulders a pang of guilt so serious that he would be ready to die, just to atone for his sins. Apparently, the only reason Alec Lightwood wants to fight back and survive is to help his Parabatai. Magnus can’t turn his back on the boy, even if he’s Maryse’s son, when the Clave threatens to kill him just because he’s fallen in love.

Rating E - WC 50k

TW homophobic language, explicit sexual content

[the-great-lightwood-bane]

make this place beautiful

Malec | Rated general | tw canon-typical warnings | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting 

Summary: In which Magnus and Alec a) first meet at Alec's first Downworld Cabinet meeting, months before Clary comes into the picture; b) fall in love while believing that the other one only wants a friend; and c) fight Valentine, and perhaps a few others.

A/N: This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Mini Bang 2023: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver.

This is not a complete fic; I started it for the big bang, and then IRL showed up and I wasn't able to write everything I wanted to. Here, I've collected a couple early scenes, plus the climax scene, so it doesn't end on a total cliffhanger (although there are still loose ends to tie up). There's a summary paragraph in square brackets between those two parts to avoid confusion. If I ever get around to writing the rest of this, I'll post it here!

Art for this fic (above) created by cloudbunbuzz!

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

Magnus stares up at the huge, imposing front doors of the Institute. He’s never stepped inside of them before — oh, he’s entered the Institute through the side door leading to the area of the Institute where Downworlders are allowed to petition the Head for assistance, but this is, obviously, different. At least on the surface. He’s not so sure about how much has changed, deep down. 

He thinks of the fire message he received a few weeks earlier — the formal but not particularly discriminatory invitation to attend a Downworld Cabinet. Organized by the new Head of the Institute, Alexander Lightwood, the eldest child of Maryse and Robert. To share information and collaborate to ensure the collective peace of our peoples. Not races, but peoples. Whatever else Lightwood is, he’s careful in his wording. 

The problem is that Magnus doesn’t know exactly what else he is. As the son of a Circle member, he’d expected cool disdain if not outright vitriol. Instead, Shadowhunter-Downworlder confrontations have been steadily decreasing since the newest Lightwood took control, and now there’s this. An invitation to a Downworld Cabinet. 

It is, honestly, preposterous. A Shadowhunter, and a Lightwood at that, trying to initiate peace? Cooperation? Between the Downworld and the Shadowhunters, as though they’re equals? Magnus knows better than to trust any such promises, however sweet they may seem. 

But the invitation had been sent out. Magnus saw no signs of deception, although he looked carefully. This is almost certainly some sort of ploy to gain the trust of the Downworld; if it isn’t, Lightwood is simply absurdly naïve and the Cabinet will be doomed before it even starts. But Magnus needs to know which of the two it is — does he need to be careful of treachery from Lightwood, or simply avoid whatever bumbling errors he makes in his misguided attempts to build a relationship between the Shadowhunters and the Downworlders? 

Magnus turns when Meliorn calls his name — he must be here to represent the Seelie Queen. There’s no way she could ever let the other leaders get together without a way to know what goes on; whether this is fake or real, she’ll want to know. Magnus greets him with an inclination of the head. They stop at the doors and wait for the others; Magnus knows none of them are particularly eager to wander the halls of the Institute alone. 

Raphael is the next to arrive. Magnus knew he was coming; they’ve been discussing the question in detail since the invitations arrived. Is it a trap? Is it some sort of bribery to get them to cooperate? Is Lightwood genuinely naïve enough to think this could work? The chances that Lightwood will cause them harm are slim — the Downworld would likely fall into revolt, which would bring the Clave’s disfavour down on the Institute — and so Raphael, like Magnus, has come to find out what in Edom Lightwood is thinking. 

Luke arrives last. His ascension to Alpha is because of this meeting: Theo refused to even consider it, and Luke, hoping it was true, challenged him on the spot. (Magnus healed the injuries he sustained in winning the fight.) It makes sense that he’s more willing to trust Shadowhunters than the rest of them — he has, after all, once been one of them — and Magnus hopes he won’t be too let down when Lightwood reveals his true colours. 

Only once all four are assembled does Magnus step forward and knock on the door. He’s sure the Shadowhunters know they’re out here, but a blond man opens the door without comment and escorts them inside with a polite inclination of the head. Surprisingly polite, but of course Lightwood would send a neutral figure to greet them at the door. If he didn’t, it would destroy the entire point of this charade. 

The Shadowhunter introduces himself as Andrew Underhill, and leads them directly into what appears to be some sort of command centre — the space is milling with Shadowhunters, clustered around tables holding holographic maps or computer banks full of camera feeds. Several glance up when the Downworlders enter, but Magnus is taken aback by the strange lack of glares. Lightwood must have a lot of authority here, if he can compel his people to be so polite. 

Another Shadowhunter comes up — tall, dark-haired, extremely attractive, authority lying across his shoulders like a cloak. There’s a deflect rune on the side of his neck, a placement which Magnus recognises as a Lightwood trademark, but even without it, Magnus thinks he would recognise him as the Head. Something in the clear deference that Underhill shows, the posture that suggests leadership. Magnus recalls the carefully polite wording of the message, and thinks that this is certainly the type of person to act carefully and logically, to plan. 

That means he’s probably not very naïve, which means that he has ulterior motives behind the creation of this Cabinet. Magnus cannot afford to think about how attractive he may be. 

“Thank you for coming,” Lightwood says, with an inclination of the head that’s actually not so small as to be offensive — in fact, the gesture suggests that the Downworlders are of equal rank to Lightwood, rather than being dirt beneath his shoes. 

“Did we have a choice?” Raphael asks, voice cold and dismissive. Internally, Magnus winces; whatever Lightwood’s intentions, offending him cannot be a good idea. 

Magnus might be reading too much into it, but he thinks Lightwood’s slow blink might hide surprise. His voice, however, shows no trace of emotion. “It was not my intention to make it appear as though you did not. I assure you that there would have been no repercussions had you chosen not to come, and there will be no repercussions should you choose to leave at any point today, although I hope you do not.” 

It’s easy to say that, Magnus thinks, and Lightwood isn’t a faerie. Lies probably rise more easily to his lips than truth. Still, Magnus doesn’t leave. 

Lightwood leads them out of Ops and into some sort of conference room — the table, Magnus notes, is round, likely to preserve the pretence of equality. None of the seats have their backs directly to the door; Magnus knows that positioning a chair that way would either leave a Downworlder wildly uncomfortable, or if Alec took the seat, give the impression that he was blocking the exit. 

Instead, two seats are about equidistant from the exit. Magnus takes one and Meliorn the other; Raphael sits on Magnus’s other side, and Luke beside Meliorn. That leaves Alec with the seat farthest from the door — a seat he takes willingly, even though it leaves him essentially trapped in a room with four Downworlders. None of them can make a move without bringing the Clave down on their heads, of course, but it’s still interesting. 

“I would like to begin by reiterating my apology that any of you understood there to be repercussions for not attending this meeting,” Lightwood says. “Your presence here today and in future is entirely voluntary, although much appreciated.”

Magnus inclines his head a glacial fraction in acknowledgement; Raphael echoes him, but Luke nods quite happily, while Meliorn’s posture is unchanging. Lightwood doesn’t seem daunted by their reluctance; Magnus still doesn’t know what to make of him. 

“I’ve asked you to come here for a few reasons,” Lightwood goes on. Magnus is certain he’s rehearsed this speech before, but it still sounds fairly natural; the tone is a hair less formal than Lightwood’s apology, but still professional. “First, I want to make amends for my parents’ treatment of the Downworld during their time as Heads of the Institute. Secondly, I think that both Shadowhunters and Downworlders could benefit from closer cooperation between our two groups. Thirdly, I would like to have your input on the measures I’m planning to take to reduce discrimination against Downworlders both in New York and elsewhere.” He pauses, glancing around at the four people sitting around him. 

Magnus no longer knows what to make of him at all. There’s a straightforwardness about him that makes Magnus doubt that he’d do anything too treacherous, and Magnus has learned to respect his gut instinct — but what Shadowhunter could possibly, seriously, want to do any of the things which Lightwood has listed off? It’s preposterous. To make amends? To both benefit from closer cooperation? To reduce discrimination with Downworlder input?  

It is, frankly, utterly impossible, especially for the son of two Circle members. It is impossible. Lightwood cannot possibly mean what he says. 

And yet, Magnus wants to believe him with a surprising intensity. 

He doesn’t know, so he leans back in his chair and listens to what Lightwood has to say. 

“I have recently been made aware of my parents’ role in the genocide of Downworlders during the Uprising,” Lightwood says, and Magnus only barely manages to prevent himself from reacting. There are layers to that statement, but foremost among them is the word genocide. Even when the Clave went so far as to declare themselves opposed to the Circle, they never said exactly what the Circle was doing — never outright declared that the Circle was exterminating Downworlders like so many insects. No, there was always a veneer of formality behind which the Clave hid, euphemisms and half-truths preventing the Clave from having to outright disavow their best and brightest, however misguided. 

And now, Lightwood cuts through all that with perfect ease, although there’s a glint in his eye that shows his awareness of what he’s doing. The Circle committed genocide against the Downworld. It’s there, a bald statement, a declaration. 

Lightwood proceeds as though he doesn’t notice the surprise that’s swept through his listeners — even Meliorn’s careful facade has cracked a fraction. “Since then, they have continually acted unjustly towards the Downworld. I understand that monetary repayments are insufficient to make up for everything they have done, but you are nevertheless owed recompense under the Accords. The Clave may avoid offering it on the basis of technicalities, but I offer it in their stead.” 

This Shadowhunter. To offer recompense at all would be surprising, but Lightwood is offering it without even assuming that’ll make everything better — and he’s implying that the Clave is wrong not to have done so. He’s calling the Clave out on their bullshit declarations that they are entirely unaffiliated with the Circle and thus bear no responsibility for Downworlder deaths at Valentine’s hands. It’s more than Magnus would have expected of any Shadowhunter, let alone the son of two (barely-)ex-Circle members. 

The sum Lightwood proceeds to name is. Well. He’s not rounding down the Downworlder death toll, to say the least, and Magnus is not alone in staring at him in utterly stupefied silence. 

Lightwood waits for a moment, and then, when nobody speaks up, moves on to the next topic. “More practically, I feel that significant benefits could be achieved through a closer relationship between Downworlders and Shadowhunters. I’m not suggesting that Shadowhunters get involved in Downworlder business, but if we could — at a bare minimum — share information on demon movements, I think it could help all of us.” 

“Downworlders aren’t going to do your dirty work for you, Lightwood,” Raphael drawls. “Isn’t killing demons what Shadowhunters are for?”

“It is,” Lightwood agrees calmly, despite the aggression in Raphael’s tone. “And I’m not going to ask any of you to start fighting demons — the chances of that going badly are too high. But our demon sensors don’t work in the vicinity of large groups of Downworlders — or rather, they work too well, and go off continuously. If a demon shows up near the Hotel Dumort or the Jade Wolf, we’ve got no way of knowing about it except if you see it and tell us about it.” 

“And why,” Raphael asks, his voice dropping to a hiss, “has the Clave not informed us of this danger?”

“Because the Clave does not count Downworlders among those we have the duty to protect.” Lightwood pauses. “I, however, do. Raziel created us to protect the world from demons, not merely those members of the world without the Sight. Mundanes, Shadowhunters, ex-Shadowhunters, and Downworlders all fall within our mandate.”

Another simple, concise refutation of all that the Clave pretends not to believe. Raphael does not have a retort. 

“Our technicians are currently working on building sensors that can differentiate between demons and Downworlders,” Lightwood adds, “but we have been unsuccessful so far.” 

“I might be able to offer some assistance,” Magnus says — a test, as well as a genuine offer. Few Shadowhunters would be willing to work with Downworlders when not absolutely necessary. “Runic and warlock magic, working together, becomes capable of a good deal more than either could do alone.” The portal being a prime example — not that any Shadowhunters have acknowledged as much since Henry Branwell’s time. 

“That would be great,” Lightwood replies immediately. “We can discuss fees later on. In the short term, though, please do call us if you see a demon, especially if it’s somewhere near the DuMort or the Jade Wolf.” He pushes a business card with a phone number on it across the table to each of them. Magnus examines his — simple, white with black lettering. 

Alexander Lightwood

Head of the New York Institute

XXX-XXX-XXXX

Lightwood’s own number, then, not just the Institute’s number. Magnus puts the card in a pocket. 

“We’ll consider it, Shadowhunter,” Raphael says, leaning back in his chair. 

Luke nods more cordially, if only marginally so. He was once a Shadowhunter himself; despite all he’s suffered at their hands, he’s still more willing to trust them than the average Downworlder. 

“The last point I wanted to address, before I open the meeting up to any of your concerns,” Lightwood begins, “is about the legal battle underway in Alicante for Downworlder rights.”

“Legal battle?” It’s Magnus who asks the question, but he can see from the other Downworlders’ faces that none of them were aware of any such legal battle. A battle for Downworlder rights in Alicante itself — might that be how New York wound up with such a progressive leader?

“You didn’t know?” Lightwood seems surprised, but shakes it off after a moment. “No, how would you? It’s all going down in Alicante, and it’s not like there are any procedures in place to inform the Downworld of legislative changes that affect you.” He huffs with what seems like genuine frustration. On a Downworlder’s behalf. Every word out of Lightwood’s mouth brings a new surprise. 

Lightwood begins to explain the situation. “Alicante’s last four legislative sessions have been dominated by debate over Downworlder rights. It’s partially because the younger generation is now taking over Head positions from our parents, which is causing a shift in priorities. The old guard is pushing back, of course, but we’re making progress.” He pulls out a binder, stuffed full with papers but appearing meticulously organized. “We’ve managed to stop a bill that Inquisitor Herondale was pushing, which would’ve held leaders of groups of Downworlders responsible not only for the behaviour of members of that group, but also for the behaviour of rogue Downworlders in their area. Our main goal, though, is to get a rewrite of the Accords.” 

Magnus leans back in his chair, doing his best to set aside shock in favour of thinking logically about the political situation. “What do you want to change in the Accords?”

“We’ve got a couple ideas — the right to a trial with a mixed Downworlder/Shadowhunter jury, for example — but what I’d really like to get is your input.” Lightwood glances around at the table. “There’s no point in rewriting the Accords if we end up back where we started.” 

Right. Just Shadowhunters actually trying to help Downworlders, for the first time Magnus can remember. “Not everything can be solved by changing a few laws.”

“It can’t,” Lightwood agrees, “but changing the laws is a place to start, and I’d like to think this Cabinet could be a step towards fixing the other problems we’re facing.” 

Magnus nods, slowly, and they get to work.

[A brief explanation of what happens next: Magnus and Alec become friends (ft. minor misunderstandings and mutual pining). Clary shows up, and Malec deal with her a bit better than they do in canon, because a) Alec is properly HoTI in this ’verse, so he has more power, and b) Malec already know each other and can rely on each other/cooperate more than they do in canon. Valentine manages to build a bomb of angelic energy, which he plans to let off in a roomful of Downworlders (as an alternative to the Soul Sword, since Alec kept that out of his hands in this ’verse). Alec manages to evacuate the Downworlders (giving up on catching Valentine to do so), but he himself is hit with the angelic bomb. It doesn’t kill him, but they soon discover that it’s infected him with angelic energy (similar to heavenly fire, but not exactly the same). If he touches a Downworlder, they die, and if he touches a mundane, they become a Forsaken (basically, Alec touching a non-Shadowhunter has the same effect as drawing a rune on them). They also suspect that if he touches a Shadowhunter, the angelic energy will be passed from one to the other. Izzy’s testing suggests that the energy may consume Alec if they don’t figure out a way to get rid of it. In light of this, Alec has requested that Downworlders stay away from him, and has been attending Downworld Cabinet meetings via Projection. Magnus is, needless to say, upset.]

“What,” Alec asks, his voice clipped and harsh and cold, “are you doing here, Magnus?” 

Magnus refuses on principle to be deterred. “Am I not allowed to drop in to see a friend, Alexander?”

Alec opens his mouth, closes it, hisses, and then glares at him. He’s torn, Magnus knows, between the impulse to insist that Downworlders are welcome in the Institute any time they like — Alec’s really worked hard to make the Institute a more welcoming place — and the urge to get Magnus to leave by any means necessary. 

His goal is to protect Magnus, which is rather sweet, but also infuriating. They have no evidence whatsoever that just being in Alec’s presence could harm him, and seeing as Izzy is yet to find a cure for the angelic energy held in Alec’s body, Magnus thinks his magical expertise could come in handy. 

But no. Alec hasn’t quite forbidden any Downworlders from entering the Institute, but he’s strongly recommended that they stay away from him, which is essentially the same thing. In light of what happened to Gretel when Alec had touched her, Magnus can’t really say it’s an overreaction, but he absolutely can and will say that it’s yet another instance of Alec’s self-sacrificial tendencies. 

“You’re free to do whatever you like,” Alec says at last, scowling at him, and turns on his heel to stride away. 

Magnus follows. 

Alec leaves Ops and starts heading towards his office. 

Magnus keeps following him. 

Alec sits down at his desk and pulls a stack of papers towards himself. 

Magnus sits down opposite him, and waits. 

Alec sighs. “Magnus.”  

“Alec.”  

They look at each other across the desk for a moment. 

“At least let me do a magical scan,” Magnus offers. “I won’t need to touch you, and maybe we’ll figure something out to control it.” Because if we don’t control it—  

“The risks—”

“Are minor relative to the risks to you.” Alec isn’t going to convince Magnus otherwise. Not about this. Not when the untamed energy humming beneath Alec’s skin will eventually consume him, too, just as surely as it’ll kill any Downworlder who touches him. 

Alec’s lips are compressed stubbornly. “Magnus, it would really be best if you—”

“I’m not leaving.” Alec may have a stubborn streak a mile wide, but so does Magnus, especially when it comes to this. To Alec’s safety. “You’re my friend. I’m not going to sit by and do nothing while you waste away.” 

Alec means a good deal more than a friend to Magnus, but that’s beside the point. The point is that Alec already looks skinnier than he should, his cheekbones sharper, his musculature more pronounced. The angelic energy is eating him up from the inside, and Magnus wants to help.  

Whatever retort Alec was formulating is cut off when his tablet blares with an alert that sounds more like an alarm than anything else. Alec frowns and grabs it, silencing the noise and staring down at whatever it says on the screen. 

“Another potential hideout of Valentine’s,” Alec says at last, glancing up at Magnus and then back down. “We’ve come across more than a few potential locations, but so far they’ve all been dead ends. Still worth checking, obviously, but we’ll just send a small team to investigate and call everyone else if they find anything.” 

He looks at Magnus again, and then down at his watch. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll go. I’ve spent too long cooped up in the Institute.” 

Magnus has no plans whatsoever to let Alec avoid this conversation by just walking away. “Good point. I’ll come with you.” 

“No.” Alec scowls at him. 

Magnus returns the look. 

Alec sighs as if to relent. “We can continue this conversation when I get back, okay?” 

“Fine,” Magnus lies — he’s definitely not letting Alec investigate a possible Circle hideout without backup. 

So, ten minutes after Alec leaves, Magnus steps out of a portal across the street from the empty warehouse. 

“Magnus—” Alec hisses from behind him. “Why did you follow me?” 

“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” Magnus replies. “Seen anything so far?” 

Alec huffs, but acknowledges that there’s no way Magnus is going to leave. See, Magnus knows he can be sensible sometimes. 

“No, there doesn’t seem to be anyone there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t anyone there,” Alec tells him. “We should try getting a bit closer.” 

Magnus hums agreement, and the two of them creep quietly forwards, sticking to the shadows of the sparse trees although Alec maintains a careful six feet of distance between them. Alec’s footsteps are, of course, completely silent, but Magnus has snuck around enough places to be pretty quiet as well. The loudest sound is their breathing. 

Until, that is, Magnus feels wards brushing against his skin. “Alexander, wait—”

Too late. Alec, several steps ahead of him, is already across the wards. 

An alarm begins to blare. 

Alec swears softly, and glances back at Magnus. Backup, he mouths, and Magnus flicks his fingers behind his back to send off several urgent fire messages — to the Institute as well as to various Downworlders. Best to get as many fighters here as possible, although he knows it’s unlikely that any of them will arrive anytime soon. 

The not-so-abandoned warehouse is now somewhat reminiscent of a kicked anthill — Circle members in black are scurrying out of it in not-insignificant numbers. 

Magnus makes a quick mental calculation. There’s no way they can fight off that many Circle members alone; there’s no way they can even survive against them until backup arrives. Which leaves either running away, and letting Valentine have a chance to escape, or—  

“How about I cast a spell of invisibility on us, and we sneak inside?” Magnus whispers urgently. 

Alec nods, no doubt having come to the same conclusion. The spell takes effect, and they move in tandem towards the building. 

It’s simple enough to slip, invisible, past the scurrying Circle members, but the difficulty of the invisibility spell increases exponentially with the number of people trying to look through it, and the wards are mildly magic-suppressant. (Mildly to Magnus, at least; they’d be effective against a warlock like Dot.) 

He can’t afford to go into a fight with Circle members low on magic. So, once they’re within the building and out of the Circle members’ direct sight, he drops the glamour with a sigh. Alec glances at him, worried, but only activates a couple runes and continues on — still a couple paces away from Magnus. 

It’s not long before they come across another Circle member, presumably left behind to guard the building while her fellows search outside; Alec kills her with an arrow through her throat. The next two guards are dispatched with similar ease, but the one after that manages to yell before Magnus’s magic wraps around their throat. Magnus sees Alec tense, just as alarms begin to blare; it’s only a matter of time, now, until they’re overrun. 

Circle members are pouring in, an unending stream of them that they can only barely keep at bay. They stand back to back, a scant foot between them so they don’t quite trust, and Magnus fights with magic and blades until the floor is wet with blood and the hallways dotted with corpses. 

And then Valentine is there. It’s obvious that he’s a better fighter than any of his lackeys; Magnus only barely dodges a swipe of his seraph blade, but before he can engage Valentine in proper combat, Alec is there, his blades glowing as brightly as Valentine’s and his Deflect rune standing in sharp contrast to the circle on Valentine’s neck. Magnus can’t hit Valentine with a spell while Alec’s there, but he can knock out the Circle members coming to Valentine’s aid, so he lets Alec deal with the greater threat while he dispatches the lesser ones. 

There are quite a few Circle members left, though, and Magnus is forced to divert most of his attention away from Alec and Valentine in order to fight them. Magic wraps around hands to deflect seraph blades; the knife in Magnus’s other hand darts out to sever tendons and muscles with quiet efficiency. 

And then he hears Alec grunt in pain, and half-turns to look in time to see one of Alec’s seraph blades go sailing out of his bloodied hand — Magnus knocks Valentine back a step with a desperate burst of magic, but he’s too slow, and one of his own assailants’ blades lands in his stomach. 

The angelic energy burns, and he can feel it attacking his magic, trying to eat away at the demonic side of him. He sweeps a hand towards the several Circle members around him, and they fall like stones, and then his magic sputters out against the onslaught of the seraph blade’s angelic power. 

Valentine has lost a seraph blade, too, in the impact from Magnus’s spell; he turns and runs for the doorway. Alec drops to his knees by Magnus’s side — when did Magnus sit down? — and hovers there, anxiously. 

“Go after him,” Magnus hisses, “I’ll be fine—”  

Alec frowns. “The blood loss—”

“The blade itself will keep that from happening,” Magnus returns, “at least until Cat’s here to help me. Don’t let Valentine get away.”

A moment more when Alec hesitates, and then he stands and grabs a blade from a fallen Circle member in his injured hand. “Don’t take the blade out, Magnus,” he says, almost pleadingly, and then he runs after Valentine. 

Magnus takes a deep breath — ouch —  and scoots over to sit against the wall. 

He inspects the injury. The blade’s gone into his abdomen pretty cleanly, and it doesn’t seem like it’s hit anything crucially important (or, at least, anything that’ll kill him before backup arrives); not much blood is leaking out, which is also a good sign. On the other hand, it hurts like hell, and since it’s a seraph blade, warlock magic isn’t going to do anything to stem the injury. And he is, himself, without magic until the seraph blade is out of him; since taking it out would likely lead to him bleeding to death in fairly short order, he is now approximately useless. 

And Alec is facing off against Valentine alone.  

Fortunately, Magnus doesn’t have long to worry about it, because he hears the clashing of blades not far off and then Alec and Valentine come back into view. Their blades — two seraph blades each; Alec prefers to dual-wield and clearly Valentine is as good with two blades as he is with one — are flashing in the air almost faster than the eye can follow. Valentine, Magnus knows, was the best Shadowhunter of his generation; the fact that Alec can even keep up with him is impressive, but he won’t be able to last long. 

And Magnus can’t help him.  

It’s been barely five minutes since Magnus sent out the fire messages for backup, never mind that it’s felt like far longer. He can probably begin expecting help starting in about another two minutes, but by that time, Alec might be— No. He won’t let that happen. Not to Alec, not to the best man (nevermind Shadowhunter) he’s ever met, not to anyone but especially not to Alec, who he loves—

The means at his disposal. No magic; the knife he was fighting with earlier is too far out of reach, as are any of the Circle members who might have weapons. And the seraph blade currently stabbed through his abdomen, of course. 

Alec is obviously tiring. High-intensity combat like this, or even like the fighting they’d been doing together before Valentine showed up, isn’t sustainable for longer than a few minutes, and Alec is quickly approaching that threshold. 

Magnus pulls the seraph blade out of his stomach — quickly, quietly, if Valentine notices he’ll lose his element of surprise — and hurls it across the room with unerring aim. 

Valentine gasps, an expression of surprise on his face and a seraph blade protruding from his throat, and then drops to the ground at Alec’s feet. 

Magnus’s wound starts bleeding in earnest.

Valentine falls, and Alec barely takes the time to make sure he’s actually dead before he’s turning to Magnus, who’s on the ground, a hand pressed to his side with blood leaking out between his fingers. 

Alec finds himself, abruptly, at Magnus’s side, without much regard for the intervening space and/or time. “Magnus—”

“Alexander.” Magnus says his name like it’s a full sentence all on its own, the way he always does, although this time his voice is hoarse with pain. 

Brutally, Alec shoves down his first instinct, to reach out and help Magnus put pressure on the injury. It’s only thanks to the last few weeks of training himself to never touch people that he’s able to stop himself; instead of touching Magnus, his hands hover awkwardly between them. 

The blood is coming out too fast. “Can’t you heal it?” Alec asks, and then realises that was a stupid question, because obviously Magnus would have healed the giant gaping injury in his stomach if he’d been able to. 

“Injuries from seraph blades are resistant to warlock magic,” Magnus tells him anyway. 

No runes either, since Magnus is a warlock. “Mundane healing, then? We can get you to a hospital—”

Magnus sighs. His face is alarmingly pale. “Mundane doctors aren’t going to be able to stitch me back together, I don’t think, and in any case I don’t have the magic for a portal and you can’t touch me.”

Alec feels his heart stutter. “There isn’t — there isn’t anything we can do?” 

The smile on Magnus’s face is far, far too sad, and Alec’s mind is screaming no no no no no. “I’m sorry, Alexander.” 

“Don’t apologise,” he manages, “there must be — something—” no no no no no

“I’ve lived a long time.” That terribly sad smile doesn’t falter. “And if this is how it ends, well — it’s not the worst way to die.” 

nonononononononono, Alec’s brain says, and but you’re not supposed to die at all, and I love you, and he doesn’t quite manage to put any of that into words, but only crouches there and stares at Magnus. 

“I wanted to—” and then Magnus hesitates, and frowns, and the uncertainty in his expression is a thousand times worse than the too-sad smile. 

“You wanted?” Alec asks, because if Magnus is going to — if he’s really — if this is the last time, then the least Alec can do is encourage him to say whatever it is that he has on his mind. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Magnus says, as though he’s made a decision, “that I love you, and I have loved you as long as I’ve known you and maybe for centuries before, and I don’t want to die without telling you, even if you don’t feel the same—”

“Magnus, what — of course I feel the same,” Alec manages, his chest a knot of love-pain-longing-grief because if Magnus had said that a month ago, a day ago, it would’ve been everything he wanted, but now Magnus is dying and Alec can’t touch him. 

There’s a trickle of blood running down Magnus’s cheek, and tears on his face, and the tips of his hair — dyed blue, brilliant and beautiful as Magnus always was — are blurry. Alec realises that there are tears on his own face, too. 

“Idiots, the pair of us, then,” Magnus huffs, and even with his face blurred out by tears, Alec knows that the sad smile is back on his face. “I wish—”

I wish we’d figured it out sooner, Alec thinks, and he knows Magnus is thinking the same thing. All this time they’ve known each other, all this time running around in circles, and now, now, they know that they love each other. 

Magnus tilts his head back against the wall and breathes out, rasping and pained. Alec’s fingers twitch with the suppressed desire to cup his face, to wipe away the tears and the blood. He holds himself still. 

“Can I ask something impossibly selfish of you, Alexander?” Magnus murmurs, meeting his eyes again. 

Doubt you could be selfish if you tried, Alec thinks, but that’s not particularly helpful. “Anything.”

Magnus swallows. “I want to kiss you.”

It takes Alec a moment to realise that he isn’t voicing an abstract desire, but asking that impossibly selfish thing of Alec. His first reaction, upon processing this, is but I’ll kill you, and then with a horrible sinking feeling he remembers that Magnus is already dying and so — so — 

Anything, Alec said, only moments before, and if this is what Magnus is asking for — to die at Alec’s touch rather than of blood loss — then what can Alec do but give it to him? 

“Okay,” he says, and he feels his heart beat faster at the thought of kissing Magnus even as he knows that there will be no recovering from this — from watching him burn and crumble to ashes at Alec’s touch. 

Alec leans forward and presses their lips together, and for a moment all thoughts of what will come next are lost in the softness of Magnus’s lips, the salt tang of the tears on both their faces, the desperate joy that rises in his chest regardless of anything that his brain has to say about it.

He pulls back to breathe in, unwilling to open his eyes and watch as Magnus—

“Alexander,” Magnus says, and Alec’s eyes snap open. 

He’s — he’s here, and he’s alive, and if Alec is hallucinating this, he thinks he rather prefers it to reality. 

His eyes flicker down to the injury in Magnus’s stomach, from which blood still flows. Not a hallucination, then. 

“It didn’t hurt me,” Magnus breathes. “But how — unless the angelic energy—” He’s frowning, muttering to himself in the way he does when he’s caught up in some research project or other. Alec catches the words angelic descent and Asmodeus and fallen angel, but he’s mostly too busy staring at Magnus to follow. 

(Magnus, alive, but terribly pale.)

Apparently having reached a conclusion he’s satisfied with, Magnus nods sharply. “My father,” he says, “is a fallen angel, and the best explanation I can come up with for this is that there’s enough angel left in him — and, therefore, in me — to prevent the angelic energy in your touch from harming me.” He pauses. “Which is fascinating, actually; I’ve obviously never tested whether other forms of angelic energy hurt me—”

Alec’s been only half listening — Magnus’s rants about magical theory are always fascinating, but Magnus is also bleeding out right now — but the thought of other forms of angelic energy sparks something in his head. “You think runes could work on you?”

Magnus frowns at him. “Quite possibly, but I’d want to try with something else first—”

Without a word, Alec grabs a witchlight from his pocket and pushes it into Magnus’s hand. The brush of skin-on-skin contact — the first in weeks — makes him shudder, but now is not the time. 

The witchlight glows red. 

Magnus stares at it. “Fascinating. But Alec, what—”

“If there’s any chance runes work on you,” Alec whispers, through the desperate clenching of his throat, “we have to try.”  

Wide-eyed, Magnus gapes at Alec. Had he really been so interested in the theoretical implications of his apparent immunity to angelic magic that he hadn’t spared a thought for the fact that it might save his life? By the Angel, Alec loves him more than words can say, and he is the smartest person Alec knows, but he can be incredibly idiotic when it comes to taking care of himself. 

“It could work,” Magnus mutters, “although no way of knowing for certain—” 

“But,” Alec says, desperate, “if the other option is definitely dying—”

Magnus nods, and Alec’s stele is in his hands before he’s consciously reached for it. 

Iratzes first, of course, one after another, traced with the careful precision of a lifetime of practice and the intent devotion of lifetimes’ worth of love, until the gaping hole begins to close. Then mendelin for strengthening his constitution, blood-replenishment runes, more iratzes—

On a Shadowhunter, that injury would have been dangerous, left alone to bleed out for so long. With a parabatai drawing the runes, it would’ve been fine, eventually; without a parabatai, Alec wouldn’t’ve lost hope, but he wouldn’t’ve been optimistic. For some reason, these runes seemed nearly as effective as parabatai runes; Alec didn’t have the faintest idea if it was because of the angelic energy humming under his skin, or because of Magnus’s heritage, or for another reason entirely, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

When reinforcements arrived, they found the two of them side by side, a slightly haggard Magnus still leaning against Alec but with plenty of colour in his cheeks. 

(Alec, on his part, had an arm around Magnus’s shoulders and didn’t plan to let go for a long while.)

[carelessflower]

I wanted to write something - before editing and fully posting on ao3.

TW/ Gore

PART 1 - OF (TAINTED LIES.)

The blood trickled down his forehead, blurring his vision, the wirring sound of the machine cutting into deeply into his skull, Alec felt disorientated, as blood was tricking down his face and dripping onto the white floor.

He couldnt scream, couldnt move, he felt someone over him, cutting at him, until his vision went black.

"Alexander." A voice called out from the darkness

"ALEC GET UP." He awoke, startled and sweating, hands checking his head, for anything, but felt no blood or cuts.

"Alec, we are leaving in five." His sister said, closing his bedroom door.

It was just a nightmare, a vivid nightmare. He swung his legs over, and stretched grabbing a brown shirt and jeans and pullig them on, he grabbed his bag, and headed downstairs .

"What time do you call this Alexander?" His father questioned, he ignored his dad, and grabbed a piece of toast from Max's plate.

"HEY." Max swatted Alec's hand.

"You look pale?" Maryse gave him a kiss on his cheek.

"Hm. Im fine." Alec headed out. He was in his third year of college doing Law, he keeps to himself, and has a few close friends, including his sibilings. Jace and Isabelle were in their first year, Izzy doing forensic science, and Jace studying Sports Psychology.

"Be careful, they found seven bodies in Brooklynn last night." Isabelle said getting into his car.

"I heard." His dad was working the case, he heard him talking about it to his mom, he thinks its two people working together.

Jace ran up to the car and got in, he started the car and headed towards the college.

"I had a weird dream last night, about mermaids. Creepy." Jace shuddered.

"Same." Alec repsonded, both his sibilings gave each other looks.

"You had a dream about mermaids?" Isabelle questioned.

"What? No! I had a nightmare about someone cutting into my head."

"Well thats weird. Did you know who it was?"

"An asian male, hazel eyes, kinda amber, was smiling, dont know who that is." He vividly remembered the nightmare, the sound of the machine, the taste of blood.

"That is weird." Jace hummed, as both were now on their phone.

They got to the college and they both went sepearte ways.

"Hiya Alec." Aline ran up to him.

"Everyone is tense today. When the hell are they going to catch him." Aline mumbled, her father was one of the victims found, his organs missing, and he was stiched back up. Its been a year since her father's death.

"How are you?" Alec asked, they both walked to their lecture.

"I am okay. Mom is doing okay. Its been a shitty year." Aline mumbled, Alec gave her a small hug, its been a shitty two years, the body count was already at 49 and those were the bodies that they had found.

"I heard you and Johnathan had broken up."

"We mutually broke up. It wouldnt have worked out for us." They were better of as friends.

The lecture started, about ten minutes in, Alec noticed a taller male trying to look for a seat, he raised his hand and patted to the seat next to him, the man smiled, and sat next to him.

His eyes were amberish, just like in his nightmare.

"Im Magnus, I just moved from my Psychology course."

"Alexander." He eyed Magnus

"You have nice eyes." He blurrted before averting his eyes from embarssment.

"Thanks got them from my dad." He chuckled, taking out a laptop.

They sat in silence, both listening and typing notes.

"Okay, so you will need to work in pairs for this assignment, ill send you all the link. In the mean time, I got an annoucment to make." The lecturer cleared his throat.

"In light of recent events, and some of you may know, that one of our law professors. Lorenzo Ray has been one of the confirmed bodies that was found last night. Now, if you have any questions and or want to talk to someone my office is open, and counselling will be advised"

"Fuck." Aline whispered, Alec and her looked at each other in shock. Lorenzo was a great teacher, he was supposed to be on holiday, Magnus got up, and gave Alec a quick smile, before leaving, as some students were leaving.

"This is full of shit." Aline said, getting up and heading to the lecturer, Alec joined her.

"Sir. Why? Why havent they caught him."

"Questions we dont have answers too, im afraid. Its been a shock to this campus." The teacher said, sitting on one of the chairs, as students lined up.

"Can we do anything?"

"We are going to do a memorial in the front in two days." Aline mummbled something and walked towards the exit.

"Its shit. Why target the lecturer?" Aline asked.

"The victims were not connected, probably Lorenzo was at the wrong place, at the wrong tine." Alec saw Magnus walking towards them.

"This project thingy, im workng with you lot." Magnus shoved his phone in his pocket. He was kinda hot. Alec thought. Stop that. You barely know the guy.

"Yeah, was wondering we can do it at yours." Aline looked at Alec.

"Oh um...cant im afraid, Max is home the whole week, and he will distract us."

"We can do the project at mine, if you give me your number I can text you the address."

"Yeah that would be great." Alec and Aline took out their phone as they swapped numbers.

"Well sent. See you today, at 5." Magnus smiled, as he walked over to what seems to be his friends.

"He is a bit weird." Aline stated.

"Nah, he isnt." Alec was now smilig like an idiot.

(PART 2 SOON)

OHHHHHHHHHHHH IM HOOKED

[ladyhindsight]

TW: transphobia

this is that epilogue cob edit

original:

edited:

that is not a term i'm familiarized with. the word itself was translated as the latin american trans identity 'travesti' but it doesn't mean the same thing. so i can't speak on the wrongness of it, but i did notice that it was also used in draco dormiens chapter 4

i wouldn't judge people for terms they used +15 years ago, this is more a matter of recollection of stuff that isn't aknowledged than a matter of pointing fingers imo

Combining these two messages together since they're about the same thing, regarding this post. Here is Clare's post about TID covers that R linked where Clare wrote that:

"There is no real secret hidden meaning about who is on what cover, except that the marketing department didn't want a boy on Clockwork Princess. They may perhaps have been worried that everyone would think Will's dark secret was that he was a transvestite and was always stealing Jessamine's clothes."

Apparently the term belonged to Clare's vocabulary 10+ years ago, and I think that changing it in the newer City of Bones edition was a sensible choice. If Clare/Clare's editor did not know the offensiveness of the word, they probably would've otherwise left it unchanged. To add to stuff like killer and who molests cats, yyyikes.

I think the term 'transvestite' in nowadays is mostly considered antiquated and offensive, also because it was frequently used before (and in the recent years still is?) as a derogatory term and also rather interchangeably with anything regarding gender expression. For instance, people got terms such as transgender and transvestite mixed up or thought they held the same meaning, which they do not.

There are outdated and old fashioned definitions of the word which all add to the negative connotations because of the defamatory use. By definition it means cross-dressing but in my understanding 'cross-dressing' is the preferred term. There's also history with clinical use in psychology and psychiatry that I am not really familiar with.

As to the changes made into newer editions in general, I think is suspicious and sneaky not to acknowledge them. One of the major ones was the City of Bones one where Jace tells Clary that:

"it's only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities. They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently."

Which later on would not make sense as female characters in TID and TLH could not exist as they do today if this was the angle Clare kept in her series. Which was nonsensical to begin with because why would you incapacitate your already small fighting force by not letting half of your people fight?

These are fun to spot, though.

[malec-ao3feed]

How a heart can break

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/djT52b4 by Alexander_1527 Ok so, idk when this would fit in the time line. Backstory: Massive battle/war with the Circle! TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!!! MENTIONS OF BLOOD, STABBING AND HEARTBREAK! Words: 2564, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Raziel (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Asmodeus (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Alec Lightwood, Luke Garroway, Magnus Bane, Isabelle Lightwood, Jace Wayland, Clary Fray, Simon Lewis, Catarina Loss, Ragnor Fell, Raphael Santiago, Maryse Lightwood Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago, Magnus Bane & Catarina Loss, Magnus Bane & Ragnor Fell, Magnus Bane & Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane & Isabelle Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Simon Lewis & Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane & Clary Fray, Luke Garroway/Maryse Lightwood, Magnus Bane & Luke Garroway, Luke Garroway & Alec Lightwood Additional Tags: Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood Loves Magnus Bane, Hurt Magnus Bane, Magnus Bane Loves Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Protective Alec Lightwood, Hurt Alec Lightwood, Immortal Alec Lightwood, Hurt Alec, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Angels, Why Did I Write This?, BAMF Alec Lightwood read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/djT52b4

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

Tw// homophobia

Small au Alec and Magnus have been dating for 2 years and they want to come out to Alec's parents

So they set up a dinner, at their house, and Robert already hates Magnus so come dinner, Alec comes out, Maryse is shocked, while Robert starts attackig Magnus, while Alec is shouting at his dad

Robert kicks Magnus out, who is upset and angry and runs home, while Alec runs upstairs, because Robert forbids him from going after him, Maryse goes upstairs to talk to her son, but he blames her for not doing anything, he is upset so he texts Isabelle, who comes straight home from a data with Simon

Magnus has come home, angry and he slams the door, his dad hears all this and talks to himx he goes to the Lightwoods to have a "talk" with Robert

okay but I can imagine an alternate universe where asmodeus isn’t a dick and he rips Robert Lightwood for hurting his kid. someone write me this au.

[r-truth]

[absolventiia]

/ @kingmaketh, criston cole + maryse

sent in : you can blame me for that. / @ maryse

maryse could blame criston cole for a lot of things. and yet, and yet, and yet . . . " i don't blame you. " she whispers, the dornish accent a give and take and lyrical thing. there's a pause, as she gestures down the hallway for the pair to walk, and her arm, ever so gently, takes criston's. " aemond may. . . need more time yet, i believe. "

and yet, there is the timing. jaehaerys getting slain in such an awful way, only for one of the assassins, the smaller one, to locate aemond targaryen on his way out, to find aemond and maryse's chambers, to recognize the fact that this dornish princess -- his wife of all of a few months -- is now pregnant. thank the gods she was awake enough in time to react, to grab at the knife that he attempts to thrust at her swollen stomach. thank the gods that aemond arrived only seconds after she screamed. a son for a son, she remembers him saying. it haunts maryse still.

her hands are still bound with cloth ; the maesters say the deep cuts there may scar, but they are healing rapidly.

criston probably still maintains the guilt for not being present for helaena and then maryse, in the same night. maryse wouldn't blame him if he did. in the end, helaena loses her child. maryse's son still shifts in her womb. it was all so brilliantly unfair. " i think i may go through the gardens, to get some air. if you wish to join me ? "

[corvusalas]

Every time I look around I see broken people. The world is walking on shards of glass made up of a past that words could never even begin to describe. I made my choice a long time ago. So has everyone else. There's no going back.

✧ threads ✧ about ✧ headcanon ✧ the mail ✧ ✧ aesthetics ✧ musings ✧ connections ✧ mirror ✧

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Selma Odette Avery

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Sel, Little Swan, Avery

AGE: Nineteen

BIRTH DATE: March 19th, 1961, Nineteen

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix (during the war), St. Mungo's (currently)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Woman. She/her

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Cottage on the hillside of Hogsmeade

OTHER: Avery Manor (formerly), Flat in Diagon Alley

OCCUPATION: Healer at St. Mungo's, Former Mediwitch for the Order

PETS: Achilles (eurasian eagle owl), Ophelia (siberian cat, future)

WAND: Beech Wood, Dragonheart String, 11 1/2 inch, slightly yielding

PATRONUS: Nightjar

BOGGART: Drowning in a body of water

AMORTENTIA: Unknown

SCENT: cedar wood, faint hint of a potions lab, scent of tea

INSPIRATION

SONG: Swan Lake, The Call by Regina Spektor, The Archer by Taylor Swift, What was I made for by Billie Eilish

PINTEREST: Will be updated in the future !!

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS:  Maryse Avery née. Rookwood & Victor Avery

SIBLINGS: None.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: Philippe Avery (cousin). Elodie Avery (cousin).

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Ravenclaw

EXTRACURRICULAR: Slug Club, Charms Club

CLASSES INVESTED IN: Charms, Alchemy, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Potions

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, French, Norwegian, Latin

OTHER LANGUAGES: None.

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Raven/Black

HEIGHT: 5′4

SCARS: None.

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (basic, practicing), Dueling (practicing, decent), Potions (decent), Ballroom dancing (skilled), Harp play (decent), Gardening (decent)

POSITIVE TRAITS: Curious, Creative, Witty, Adaptive, Intuitive, Accepting

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Perfectionist, Calculating, Secretive, Deceptive at times

MBTI: ENFJ

BIOGRAPHY: (tw Death, Infertility)

Selma Avery was born March 19th, 1959 to Maryse and Victor Avery within the french residence of the Avery family just south of Paris within the countryside. Truth unknown to most other than those within the manor that day was that the mother of Selma was not Maryse at all. Maryse and Victor, having struggled with conceiving a child for the longest time, in their desperation selected a witch that met all the necessary criteria in order to keep the bloodline going. The witch selected was of muggle heritage, despite her otherwise impressive accomplishments and the Averys every willing to take that secret to the grave and protect it at all costs. At an unknown point in time shortly after the birth of Selma the witch was vanished, seemingly taken care of by the family.

The young girl grew up unaware of the events of that night and weeks after, believing herself truly to be her parents' child in every way. Though she was warmer than those around her, not walking the halls with an icy shoulder and instead enjoying the dance lessons and other etiquette classes. Her path seemed rather clear.

When she was six years old her family moved back to England, settling in the family seat in the countryside in the northern part of the country near the Scottish border to resume their lives. Finally she was able to meet more children her own age, making friends fast and very much enjoying the elegant and extravagant parties they all always attended. It seemed like a rather carefree life.

By the time the Hogwarts letter arrived it was no longer a surprise to see the confirmation of Selma's magic written within its pages. It was an exciting new time that lay ahead of her and once there the hat wasted no time in sorting the girl into Ravenclaw. The warmth started making more and more sense although, of course, with each step her sense of creativity and wit began to become more apparent. Her open acceptance of all things, disguised behind politeness began to form. Selma was kind, could be demanding but dedicated to a fault.

Yet, despite all her world was thrown about when she was told about the secret her parents had kept. They could have kept her in the dark, let her live on oblivious to the world she was in but instead made the decision that her knowing would allow her to cover things up better especially given who she was friends with. Never could the secret get out, never the truth made known to others. And Selma kept it that way, fearful of losing those she considered dear. With the war beginning to rage outside the doors of the castle, the young Ravenclaw found herself in a spot wishing she could do more. She felt like an imposter.

Throughout her time at Hogwarts her love for the arts and the potential for potions and transfiguration began to shape. Alchemy added to the mix and the young woman had found her talent. Upon graduation she signed up for the healer training at St. Mungo's, eventually catching wind of a resistance fighting against the followers of the Dark Lord. Fearful at first, the wish to protect and help began to grow stronger. One morning she found herself at her desk, writing a letter to Dumbledore with the request to be taken in and given a chance to fight as much as anyone else. Selma became a mediwitch for the Order, helping out with both healing and potions where she could.

It was soon after that her family's secret was unmasked within the Daily Prophet. Her father was furious, blaming his daughter for the info having come to light. The source of the leak was never found but with the world aware of the secret, Selma reached a point where she refused to play the game any longer. While her parents desperately tried to get a handle on things, focus on damage control and telling others that it was simple blackmail and someone trying to better their status with threats, those closest to Selma now knew of the truth. The witch moved out of her parents home, rarely visiting now as they were part of those on the wrong side of the war, living her own life in a small cottage on the hills of Hogsmeade.

After the war the former Ravenclaw fully settled into her life, working hard at St. Mungo's and building relationships back up. The war always on her mind she cannot help but refuse to ever let that past catch up to her again; to any of them, really.

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

Series Masterlist

9. Here We Go Again

tw: slight violence

Maryse Monet began writing “-Ugh, those feels again” following the end of a long-term high profile relationship that she’s characterized as “depressing” and “exhausting,” but half way through the writing process the unthinkable happened, “I originally wanted this album to be a breakup album, but then I fell in love unexpectedly.” The 24 year old singer-songwriter tells Apple Music. That freshness of perspective resonates throughout the album.

“-Ugh goes through the emotional roller coaster of falling back in love after having your heart broken and I feel like everyone can relate to this album.”

Here Maryse takes Apple Music through her favorite tracks on -Ugh those feels again.

Second Chances ft. Jack Harlow

“I was stuck on this song for weeks, I had the whole song written but I always felt like it was missing something, and that something was Jack. I watched him write his verse in 15 minutes. It was amazing, I’m so in awe of his talent.”

Let It Go

“Let It Go is about when you’re so blindly in love that you ignore all their red flags and fail to see them for who they really are. You get to the point where you have to let it go and doing that will allow better love into your life.”

Fun Girl

“I love this song, it’s raw and unedited. Just my voice and my electric guitar. It was inspired by an ex who called me a fun girl. Someone who is cool to hang out with until it’s time to settle down.”

Toronto

“I wrote this song on my flight home from Toronto after a Drake concert. This song and that city will always have a special place in my heart because it’s where I kissed my now boyfriend for the first time.”

To Jack, From Maryse

“This was the very last song I wrote and turned in for the album. I literally turned it in right at the deadline. It was originally just going to be a small interlude but I just couldn’t stop writing. I’m professing my love to Jack in this whole song. I actually sung this to him first in front of a large audience before I had even told him in person”

***

A weight felt like it had been lifted from Maryse’s shoulders. Her debut album was officially released. The reviews were slowly coming in, critics were raving about the album. Pitchfork who is known for giving harsh reviews gave it a 7.4! She couldn’t believe it.

Maryse was currently getting ready for her album release party that her team and label was throwing for her. After being locked up in the studio for almost a year, it’s going to be fun to go out and not have to think about finishing the album.

As she was touching up the gloss on her lips she heard a slight knock behind her. Looking up in the mirror, there was Jack looking as fine as ever. Maryse had to smile when she noticed she and Jack were matching. You had told your team that you wanted the dress code to be more casual, Jack went with a blue sweater, black cargos with matching NBs.

Maryse had a bunch of different options to choose from when it came to her outfit but she eventually decided to wear a custom blue David Koma two piece set.

“Hey baby!” Maryse said, turning around to wrap her arms around his neck in greeting. Her heels tonight gave her a few extra inches.

Jack tightened his hand around her waist and reached down to give her a kiss but frowned when Maryse pulled back. “Hey!” He said with a whine.

All Maryse could do was laugh. “I just touched up my lipstick!” She tried to explain. Jack just shook his head at her, “I don’t care.” And pressed his lips against hers before she had time to react.

After almost four months of dating he still managed to leave her breathless. Maryse never wanted that feeling to go away.

As she tried to pull away, Jack captured her lips once again. Maryse relaxed into his arms and stopped fighting it. Enjoying this moment before they were going to be around a bunch of people all night.

Jack pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers. Maryse giggled seeing that some of her lipstick rubbed off on his lips. Turning back towards her vanity she grabbed a makeup wipe, and began wiping it off his lips.

“What, not the right shade?” Jack said cheekily. All Maryse could do was smile with a shake of her head. After she was done, Jack spun her around so that Maryse’s back was facing him. He smiled at her in the mirror, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

“We look good.” Maryse nodded in agreement. They did look good.

“Look at us in our matching outfits, it’s giving power couple!” Jack said with a click of his tongue. Maryse laughed at his phrasing. “Please don’t ever say that again!”

***

JACKHARLOWSOURCE

liked by 6,890 users

jackharlowsource: Looks like Jack and Maryse decided to match for her album release party! Make sure you guys stream the album and Second Chances which features our favorite guy! 💙 (Fun Fact: Urban shot the cover for -Ugh those feels again!)

view all 245 comments

user: omg stopppp they’re so cute

user: goals

user: oh they really a power couple

user: maryse can you fight cause I want your man

user: I don’t like her for some reason

user: Jack is soooo in love

user: did y’all listen to the song she dedicated to him 🥹🥹

The party was in full swing. There was a huge turnout, not only were close friends like Saweetie and Doja there but many people from the music industry were there as well.

“BITCH!! You look the fuck good!” Doja screamed as she finally found her. Maryse was getting pulled in so many directions since she arrived at the party.

Maryse let out a sigh of relief and gave her friend a tight embrace, happy to see her. “Thank you babe! You look amazing as well!”

Doja thanked her before giving Maryse a once over. She looked happy but maybe overwhelmed. “You good?”

Maryse immediately nodded. “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting so many people here. This has been a crazy few months. This time last year I was just known as “star New York QB girlfriend who sometimes dropped music on SoundCloud.”

Doja pinched her friend's side hearing her talking down on herself. Especially on a night like this. “OW!”

She just rolled her eyes at friend. “I’m not gonna stand here and let you talk down about yourself, especially at your release party. You deserve all this and more. You’ve always been the hardest worker in the room and this year proves hard work pays off.”

Maryse wanted to cry hearing Doja say that, she needed to hear that more than ever. She opened her mouth to thank her best friend but Doja immediately shook her head. “I know, now let’s go find Saweetie and get crazy drunk!” Maryse laughed as Doja dragged through the crowds of people and towards the bar.

As the night went on, she noticed that Jack kept disappearing. Pulling out her phone to text him, the music suddenly stopped. Maryse looked up and her eyes widened when she saw her manager, CoCo and Jack on stage both holding a microphone.

CoCo spoke first. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn the music back on in a second!” The crowd laughed as she continued. “I wanted to come up here and thank everyone for coming to Maryse’ album release party. Maryse worked on this album tirelessly to make this the most successful debut album, and I can proudly say she succeeded.”

Maryse watched as Jack pulled out a framed plaque with the cover of her single Focus on it.

“Not only is -Ugh those feels again already on pace to becoming the number one album in the world but we just got word that her single, Focus just went 5x platinum!” Maryse’ eyes started to water as the crowd turned towards her and cheered, celebrating the achievement.

“Now, come up here girl and come get this plaque!” Coco said, waving her up towards the stage.

Maryse made her way to the stage and embraced her manager. She couldn’t have done any of this without her guidance. Maryse then turned towards Jack who was standing there, looking as handsome as ever. He placed the plaque on the stand and gave Maryse a huge hug, lifting her off her feet slightly. “I love you, I’m so proud of you always.” He whispered in her ear, and gave her a small kiss. Not wanting to show too much PDA.

Pulling away, Jack lifted his microphone to say a few words. “I’m going to make this really quick, I promise. Maryse, I see you everyday, whether it’s on FaceTime or in person and not a day goes by where you don’t amaze me. I’m fortunate enough to witness your passion and tireless work ethic and your ambition. I don't think you even realize how iconic you are. You’ve earned every bit of this, I love you.”

Maryse had to try and keep her body from shivering, she wanted nothing more in that moment than for Jack to carry her off somewhere private so that she could have her way with him.

***

The party was coming to an end, Maryse spent the rest of the night sitting in Jack’s lap in a dark corner of the club as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

In her buzzed state, Maryse became more bold and touchy, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re amazing.” She murmured, delighted.

Jack grins lazily at her, pulling her closer to him. “No, you are.” His face flushes as Maryse continues pressing kisses up his neck and along his jaw.

He hisses in a breath and squeezes Maryse waist. “You shouldn’t tease like that, M.” Jack mutters. “Play nice.”

Maryse giggles with a playful shake of her head and pecks at his lips. “Never.” She teases.

“Ok, it’s time to go. I need you right now.” Patting her ass to motion her to get her up. Maryse was getting excited, more than ready to go home.

“Wait for me by the door and we can go alright?”

Maryse nodded and stole another kiss this time tugging the bottom of his lip with her teeth.

“Fuck.”

“Hurry back!” Jack immediately nodded before heading off to the restroom.

As Maryse wanted for Jack to return, despite most of the crowd clearing out, it still felt hot and stuffy. She texted Jack that she was going to wait right outside the exit of the club.

Leaning against the brick wall, she sighed in relief. Enjoying the breeze and quiet, the moment of peace was rudely interrupted.

“Aw man! You threw a party without me?!”

Walking towards her was her ex Nate. Maryse groaned loudly. “Just when I was having a good night, you decided to show up!” She said, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly feeling uncomfortable around him.

“Don’t do me like that, baby!” Nate said with an almost evil smile.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” Two years ago, hearing Nate call her that would’ve made her smile but now it made her stomach turn.

Maryse tried to walk further down the sidewalk as Nate kept inching closer. “I just think that the inspiration for your album should’ve been invited to the party!”

Her eyes almost popped out of her head with how hard she rolled them. “Good thing you don’t get paid for thinking.”

She continued, “Please don’t ruin my night, Nate. Go home, I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here. Besides, Jack will be out soon.”

The mention of Jack made his ears perk up. “OH! So that’s what it is, you don’t want Jack to see me. Scared he’ll notice that you’re still in love with me?”

Now it was Maryse’s turn to laugh. That was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “You should really go to the doctor and get your brain checked for early CTE, if you honestly believe I’m still in love with you!”

“What did you just say to me?” Nate had cornered Maryse now, roughly grabbing her by the shoulders and pressing her hard against the brick wall. Drinking always made him angry but he’s never put his hands on her.

Before she could even react, Nate was roughly pulled away by Urban. His drunken state made him fall back on the concrete. “Fuck off, dude before I kick your ass for real!”

Shooken up by what happened, Maryse jumped when she felt hands wrap around her. “Hey, it’s just me.” Hearing Jack’s voice immediately made Maryse put her guard down.

Jack could tell she was trying to stay strong as he pulled her into his arms. He couldn’t help but place blame on himself, he should’ve never left her alone.

He didn’t have time to think about that now as he felt his sweater turn wet from Maryse tears. Tapping her bottom with his hand, “Jump.”

Maryse listened, wrapping her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist tightly so he could carry her.

Jack was pissed that such an amazing night was ruined by some dickhead. He didn’t know much about Nate Williams other than the fact that he was her longtime boyfriend. Maryse only talked about him in her music, never mentioning why they broke up. At least not to him. He knew that eventually they would need to talk about it.

Right now that conversation could wait. He needed to get her home, tucked in bed, snuggled underneath him. Where he knew she was safe.

***

AN: damn you Nate for ruining such a great night!! 🤬

As always please let me know your thoughtssss

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[corvusoculis]

"Fate is about as real as the fairy tales of our childhood. Even if it was a thing, I refuse to leave my life up to fate. If need be I'll take charge and make those that matter proud. Every single day."

◇ Threads ◇─◇ About ◇─◇ Connections ◇ ◇ Headcanon ◇─◇ Mirror ◇─◇ Musings ◇

TW: Death, Fertility

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Selma Odette Avery

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Sel, little swan

AGE: Nineteen

BIRTH DATE: March 19th, 1959

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood (hidden half-blood)

AFFILIATION: Neutral (Death Eater leaning, for now)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Female. She/her

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Hogwarts, Ravenclaw Dormitory

OTHER: Avery Estate

OCCUPATION: Student at Hogwarts, Majoring in Transfiguration

PETS: Achilles (eurasian eagle owl), Ophelia (siberian cat, future)

WAND: Beech Wood, Dragonheart String, 11 1/2 inch, slightly yielding

PATRONUS: Nightjar

BOGGART: Drowning in a body of water

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Maryse Avery née. Rookwood & Victor Avery

SIBLINGS: None.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: Philippe Avery (cousin). Elodie Avery (cousin).

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Ravenclaw

YEAR: 9th

MAJOR: Transfiguration

EXTRA CLASSES: Charms, Alchemy, Arithmancy

EXTRACURRICULAR: Slug Club, Charms Club

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, French, Italian

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Green

HAIR COLOR: Blonde

HEIGHT: 5′4

SCARS: none.

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (basic, practicing), Dueling (practicing, decent), Potions (decent), Ballroom dancing (skilled), Harp play (decent), Gardening (decent)

POSITIVE TRAITS: Curious, Creative, Witty, Adaptive, Intuitive, Accepting

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Perfectionist, Calculating, Secretive, Deceptive at times

MBTI: ENFJ

Before Hogwarts

✦ Born March 19th, 1959 to Maryse and Victor Avery within the french residence of the Avery family just south of Paris within the countryside. Truth unknown to most other than those within the manor that day was that the mother of Selma was not Maryse at all. Maryse and Victor, having struggled with conceiving a child for some time, in their desperation selected a witch that met all the necessary criteria in order to keep the bloodline going. ✦ After Selma was born, the witch in question was taken care of or so they were told. Considering their secret is safe to this day, the family's never wasted a moment of thought on the matter. ✦ The first six years of her life were spent in France before her family moved back to England to settle in the Avery estate. ✦ Much like the other pureblood children she was put through lessons intended to raise her to fit the mold. Dance lessons, language lessons; anything to make her someone her family could be proud of. ✦ From the earliest moment possible that she was allowed to join the pureblood society and the events that came along with that, Selma's walked the path of the other children. At times her mind felt as though it was racing faster than the others but she got along with them just fine, coming to have her closest friends thanks to those meetings and parties and other events. ✦ By the time she turned eleven, the arrival of her Hogwarts letter couldn't come soon enough. There was a need to see the world and the school could offer her just that.

During Hogwarts

✦ From the very moment that the hat was placed upon her head it was clear she was a Ravenclaw. Even before that she'd had her thoughts on the matter, only to have them confirmed a moment later when the hat called out the house of the eagle. ✦ Selma wasted no time integrating herself and making friends. It seemed easy and she didn't mind to keep people company while she studied. Of course, there were her closest friends but that didn't mean she wasn't willing to reach out. ✦ Any time not spend studying would be spend discovering the magic of the world, being creative and letting things flow. ✦ It was the Christmas break of her first year that she found out about the truth of her family and out of fear of losing the ones she cares about has kept it ever since and instead focused even harder on appearing like the most normal person. ✦ From that moment on she's been walking through the world with eyes open, wanting to know what the differences all around were. While it was a slow progress, in the later years she's certainly found herself questioning things more often. ✦ When the time came to pick a major, Selma was torn between Alchemy and Transfiguration but eventually decided to focus on Transfiguration with charms, alchemy and arithmancy being additional classes taken to compliment her primary choice. ✦ Eventually, so she knows, her parents are going to find a match for her but until that time, she's not going to worry about things going a certain way beyond the usual worry of having to carry a legacy she doesn't feel to be her own. ✦ As per her family, for now she's siding with the Death Eaters although she has no intention of joining. Isn't she proof that such things are far from simple? Yet she cannot deny that her own family, despite the hypocrisy are part of the whole ordeal.

Future Plans

Over the years Selma has developed a need to live her own life. Even though she is prepared to fit into the mold prepared by her family from the moment they find her a match, she's grown up to be her own person. As an individual with dreams and hopes, the future she sees for herself sees her either working as an Alchemist or medi-witch, perhaps even a healer. Selma may have her creative streak, but she is very much hands on and ready to get done whatever she puts her mind to.

Headcanons (more here)

✦ Selma considered going for History of Magic but since she desired something more hands on, studying the history is a mere hobby that she's kept while focusing on her studies ✦ From the very moment alchemy became an option, she elected the class and has stuck with it ever since. Even though she's focused on transfiguration, she does see alchemy as an important addition ✦ Her favorite flowers are white roses as well as blue cornflowers and there's usually always a small vase with either of them in her dorm room ✦ Once a friend, that person usually becomes someone Selma will protect and make sure has a home to go back to ✦ Her favorite season is spring because of the flowers blooming everywhere