#more power over me and my life because clearly he is unstable - beyond impulsive

[yther]

to those that stay entwined with grief and mourning, there are only days of dying

I want to make the world softer

I want my kindness to be reciprocated by others

I want to be around *good* people - people good to me and for me. people good to animals, people who protect others

I want to feel free from persecution, I want to feel safe in a bedroom. in a neighborhood where people want me dead

I want this...this prank crime tournament joke to end.

Henceforth this is truth.

To Make it So, meesa has.

(I want photoshop to work!!! picard as yoda if yoda were also a gungan)

ahahaaaa 30 tag limit tangential diatribe abt my qualms

[bytheangell]

i am so in love with time travel fics so if it's not too much trouble can you please write something re: sad!past!magnus (maybe TID-era, or anything really) somehow winding up in the present day, and finding out that he's gonna be ok, he's gonna be so happy with his husband and children (if you want to include the book!malec kids here) and family, and the world might not be perfect but it's going to be better than he thought it could be

Believe in All the Possibilities (Read on AO3)Magnus just wants a carefree night of music, perhaps a bit of dancing, and most definitely more drinking than would be strictly advisable in his current emotional state. Maybe, if he still feels awful enough by the end of the night, he can end up in a den of questionable moral offerings on the shadier side of London. Who knows where the night might take him?

Instead he finds himself staring across the room at Camille, dancing far too close to be publicly decent with her current conquest. That’s all they are, he reminds himself, but it doesn’t help, not when he was in her arms not that long ago (had it been weeks? months? what’s time to an immortal, anyway?). Not when she’s the reason he’s drinking his heartbreak drink alone at the bar in the first place. He watches her for a while, losing track of time (has it been minutes? hours? time matters so little these days…). It’s the amount of time it takes to drink two bottles of whiskey, he can measure it that way. He thinks he might just continue for the rest of the night until Camille meets his eyes, winks at him, and then pushes her suitor against a wall to shove her tongue down his throat and run her hands down the length of his body and-

He needs to leave. 

Magnus pays his tab and walks out of the party, doing his best not to look back. He almost manages it but steals one last glance, not sure if he’s more or less hurt by the realization that she isn’t even watching him for his reaction, now entirely lost in the arms of her new lover. It isn’t a comfort to remind himself that he probably means nothing to her because that’s only a reminder that he meant nothing to her, too. 

He doesn’t have a place in mind when he opens a portal. He’s only just polished up with Henry a more stable way of opening portals for Shadowhunters to use, with runes drawn intricately around where they wish to form it to channel the magic needed. The one he opens now, fueled only by his own raw power, could be considered a prototype at best. It’s unstable and unpredictable without the runes to ground it, but hell, he’s feeling more than a little unstable and unpredictable himself. 

Magnus knows, deep down, that this is a mistake. The first rule to using a portal is to have a clear picture of where you’re going, but instead he steps into it with only one thought in mind: Take me somewhere I can be happy. I just want to feel okay again.

London vanishes behind him, and everything goes black. 

—

By all accounts he should be dead. Or in limbo. Or some horrifying combination of both.

Instead, Magnus finds himself blinking his eyes open from darkness to take in the scene around him of a city that is most definitely not London. There are street lamps lit along the– no, not lamps. The light coming from them isn’t fire. They’re electric. In fact, electric lights seem to be everywhere, despite the lightbulb barely being functional in the richest of areas testing out electricity in 1878. 

But that’s not the strangest thing. Magnus takes a few tentative steps towards the street only to jump backwards at the speed of the… well, he isn’t sure what the horrifyingly fast cart that passed him is exactly, but he knows that one more step forward and he would’ve been underneath it. Sobering up much faster than he’d like, Magnus starts to realize that however improbable the idea is, he has to face the facts that add up around him. He appears to be in the future - at the very least an alternate timeline, one far more advanced than his own. Regardless, either should be impossible. 

And the most distressing realization (as if all of that isn’t enough) is that since he has no idea how he managed to get here, he isn’t entirely sure how to get himself back. 

If he even can. 

…if he even wants to. 

After all, the past holds little for him outside of disappointments and broken promises. He can hardly find joy in his work at the moment, the one thing he’s consistently turned to as a source of pride and solace, so why bother going back to a life destined for solitude and misery? 

But first things first: he needs to figure out exactly where he is. It takes a bit of poking around and more than a few heavy American accents telling him in no uncertain terms not to so much as look at  them, before he gets the answers he’s looking for. It’s New York in the late 2010s, a little over a hundred years ahead of where he came from. 

But why here? Why now? 

Those questions are answered when he backs up quickly to narrowly avoid two children who turn the corner and nearly run directly into him, followed by the voice of someone calling out after them. No, not someone - that’s his voice. 

“Max! Rafe! This isn’t a game tonight, okay? Something’s wrong and I need to test the wards before you can go inside.”

Magnus glamours himself immediately, pressing up against the side of the building to let them pass while  listening in on the middle of a conversation this future version of himself is holding with a very tall, very attractive Shadowhunter. 

“-I don’t know, Alexander. But something feels off with my magic, like I can sense too much of it? I can’t explain it, but I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong before you and the boys come up.” And then he’s gone, vanishing into the apartment building while the man named Alexander waits on the sidewalk with two children, one warlock and one shadowhunter. Magnus knows because of the runes and blue skin he can see just beyond their glamours; glamours which are good enough to fool mundanes but not strong enough to block out skilled warlocks who are looking hard enough. The children must be keeping their own glamours up rather than relying on ones put on by the two adults. Impressive, especially for children so young. 

The warlock boy starts to poke small jolts of magic into the Shadowhunter boy, who looks about two seconds away from stabbing the warlock boy in the arm with his stele if he doesn’t stop. Magnus has the sudden impulse to give away his own hidden position to stop them but Alexander is already on top of it.  

“Max! No magic on the street, you know that. Rafael, please, if you break another stele this month Izzy’s going to kill both of us. Just stand still for two minutes while Papa checks the wards.” 

“Alright, Dad,” the children say in unison.

And that’s when Magnus realizes. These aren’t just people his future self is working with, or bringing here for a social visit. These are his children. And Alexander is… well, if Dad and Papa weren’t enough, one glance down at the wedding ring on the Shadowhunter’s finger is all the answer he needs there, too. Magnus can sense the magic there, his magic there, laced with more protection charms than should reasonably be contained in an object so small. 

The future version of himself comes back downstairs looking more confused than ever, and just for confirmation Magnus’ eyes immediately drop to the matching wedding band on his hand, standing out in its simplicity compared to the rings surrounding it. I’m married. And more than that, married to a mortal. A Shadowhunter. “Everything’s fine. C’mon kids, grab your things before we drop you back off at the Institute with Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Simon for the weekend.” 

Magnus follows behind as they go upstairs, the wards letting him pass without incident as they’re keyed to his own magic, after all. He’s careful to stay out of the way as he remains hidden from view, listening to the sounds of laughter as the children pack clothing into a bag and his future self enjoys a glass of wine with his husband, eavesdropping on their conversation while he looks around the room at children’s artwork and smiling family photos, feeling the warmth that radiates from this nontraditional family. 

“Once we get back to Alicante I have three meetings, one with Consul Penhallow,” his future self sighs. “Remind me again why I let you talk me into the High Warlock position?” 

Alexander laughs. “Talk you into it? As I remember, the moment you heard Alicante was getting one you practically demanded to be the one to, how did you put it?, ‘put the Clave in their place once and for all’?” 

Magnus nearly chokes on the air he’s breathing. High Warlock is one thing, it’s an honor he’s always dreamed of. But High Warlock of Alicante? It sounds absolutely absurd and he can hardly comprehend the idea of it. Downworlders are barely allowed to exist in the same rooms as Shadowhunters, let alone exist as any sort of authority in their sacred country. He’s broken from his thoughts by his future self speaking again. 

“Yes, well, I also remember the job coming with the clear perk of moving to Alicante with my husband the Inquisitor, so-” 

Magnus watches them smile at one another, leaning in to kiss. It’s a short one, quickly interrupted by a flying pillow and the laughter of children. Soon both wine glasses are magicked away and both his future self and Alexander are each grabbing a child, spinning them before pinning them to the ground, tickling them into submission. 

Suddenly Magnus realizes why he’s here, why now. 

This is what he wanted. This is where he’s happy. 

There is so much love in the room it’s practically palpable. He’s married to someone he clearly trusts, someone he doesn’t believe will hurt him or leave him, because he knows himself. He knows how impossible the idea of finding someone like that feels right now, and how important this Alexander must be for him to go against everything he’s resolutely resigned to in his own mind and allow him into his life in such a monumental way. And a family… as impossible as marriage seems to him, the idea of a family isn’t even up for consideration. This sort of life - settling down, unconditional love, contentment, happiness - it isn’t meant for him. It never has been, and he never thought it would be. 

Until now. 

When his future self opens a portal to the Institute they’re going to drop the children off at Magnus instinctively follows close behind, still glamoured, coming out of the other side and into the New York Institute just as it closes, like it knows to wait for him. The children immediately run into the arms of another Shadowhunter, a woman this time, and then the man beside her. A vampire, who is casually coexisting in the inner sanctum of the Shadowhunters and friendly with his future children. 

“Simon!” The young Shadowhunter boy, Rafe, nearly shouts. “I got my speed rune, I bet I can beat you in a race now!” 

The vampire - Simon - laughs. “Oh yeah? We’ll have to see about that…” 

Magnus almost feels guilty for intruding on these moments. He knows they’re not for him, not yet, but he can’t help himself when Alexander and his future self say goodbye shortly after and he’s ducking quickly behind them into another portal, this time coming out somewhere entirely unfamiliar at first. It takes a few moments before the scenery around him registers. 

Alicante. 

He recognizes the demon towers, can feel the strength of the angelic power around him from both the concentrated amount of Shadowhunters and the adamas veins that run beneath the city. He’s immediately uncomfortable, an instinctive sense of unease coming from so much as stepping foot upon the City of Glass… but not his future self. 

He watches his future self visibly relax the moment he steps foot out of the portal and onto the ground of the park below. Can anyone portal into the middle of Alicante at will now or is it just him, Magnus wonders idly. Exactly how much have things changed? 

…exactly how much of that is, potentially, because of him? 

Magnus follows his future self and Alexander down a path he realizes was picked deliberately for the portal to open up at. The pair take their time wandering down it, hand in hand, talking and catching up on each other’s days. Alexander mentions Catarina and Magnus feels his heart swell at the knowledge that they’re still friends, even now. Maybe everyone doesn’t leave him in the end after all. 

When his future self and Alexander finally reach a building that’s most likely their home Magnus decides not to follow them inside. He’s seen enough: enough to know that he may never stop watching this version of his life if he doesn’t leave soon, and more than enough to know that running away from the life he has now is no longer what he wants, not when he has this to look forward to in the end.  It might not be what he thought he wanted out of life, but maybe it’s exactly what he needs.

Magnus feels a lightness in him he didn’t imagine himself capable of just an hour ago. Hope, the smallest seed of it, rests firmly within him after the sights he witnessed tonight. He just has to let it grow, nurture the idea that things may seem bleak now but they won’t be forever. He has proof of that now, a reason to believe that he’s more than just someone to be used and discarded. That one day he’ll find a love powerful enough to see him marrying a Shadowhunter, taking on a job title he never could’ve imagined existing let alone holding personally, and raising a family to come home to at the end of the day. Loved. Accepted. Content. 

Before he came here he simply wanted to dull the ache and numb himself to any feelings at all; now he finds himself overwhelmed by too many emotions to count, and he couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

This may all be his one day, but first he has to get here. Once he’s certain he’s alone he conjures a portal of his own, picturing London and a life that’s only as meaningful as he chooses to make it.His life no longer feels like an inevitable sentence to play out but rather a glowing future that’s his for the taking. ‘Take me home’ he thinks with surprising fondness as he takes his first step towards that light.