#props to my parabatai

[ladyhindsight]

Clary is looking for the lost faerie ring which ushers us into the chapter that gets utterly disgusting. Which, I’m sure, it fully intends to be. Yet it doesn’t negate the fact that the writing and approach here is irresponsible.

(Includes sexual assault)

How is Jace’s neat and spotless room dusty? There was this scene before:

“Give me a second to clean up the room. It’s a mess.”  “Yeah, when I was in there before, I think I might actually have seen a fleck of dust on the windowsill. You’d better get on that.”

I can’t believe Jace isn’t as clean as they claim! I am clutching my pearls as we speak.

→ Also, no semicolon. Just period.

Sebastian interrupts Clary’s search and brings her a ceremonial dress for the big night.

The Nephilim are very particular about what parts of the human culture they adopt and which parts they just come up by themselves.

→ Do they wear red in the parabatai ceremony? Or did we forget about that

How is Jocelyn’s character so divorced from the whole concept of the Circle, the supremacist ideas of Valentine and being married to said Valentine, and yet she wore a ceremonial dress to the Circle ceremonies and attended them.

→ Also now it’s “our mother” when Sebastian was so adamant before that Jocelyn was only Clary’s mother when Clary dared to call her “our mother”?

Sebastian leaves Clary to get dressed, but instead Clary infiltrates Sebastian’s room to look for the ring. Which she finds. Dun dun dunnn.

Cut to Simon sitting in the car with the rest of the Team Good. Clary then contacts Simon via the rings, like finally.

Completely unnecessary?

Clary spills the beans about Sebastian’s plan, but is then cut off. Simon orders the truck to be pulled over because the Team Good needs an action plan. We cut back to Clary which leads us to the most disgusting scene in the entire book, and what only feeds into the incest fetish going on in the series.

This scene that suddenly takes a sexual tone, excluding the cuts to Simon, includes Sebastian forcing himself on Clary by kissing her and then trying to strip her jeans.

Inclusion of dark themes, exploration of those themes, is not the issue. Uncomfortable themes and scenes are not the issue. Bad and awful things happening to the characters is not the issue. It needs to be considered how responsibly the theme is handled in the book, the level of detail gone into, and also whether in which case is it geared towards adolescents or adults. It is critical to understand how the writing actually addresses these.

Sebastian’s villainy is used often to explain his sexual approach to Clary, his sister, and his disregard of human morals and taboos. It is also used to justify this type of content in the series. Because Sebastian is demon-like, corrupted by demonic blood—which ever shit excuse Clare manages any given time—it’s only natural for him to behave like this, to be so morally corrupted that he would do this.

While there is literature, fiction and nonfiction, that is/might be helpful dealing and coming to terms with SA and related trauma, especially considering still adolescent readers, Clare’s most definitely is not. What is the benefit here—narrative or otherwise—of having Clary being assaulted? By her brother no less? Its primary target is to underline and over-pronounce villainy of a character that we already know is evil. Child murder and the need to commit multiple genocides apparently were not enough build a convincing narrative of a villain. No, what we clearly needed was more incest and sexual depravity.

Inclusion of dark and difficult things should be in order to cultivate empathy towards the victim and understanding of what is actual lived human experience, not have your villain use SA as a literary prop to show the reader how bad and twisted he is and make another character go through horrible trauma just for the sake of it. Considering also that Clary has no reaction to it at all. Additionally, when looking at the tone of the writing, it is almost like intended as borderline sexy, but just enough to toe the line and then back away if needed in face of backlash.

TMI—nor the whole of TSC—does not deal with sexual assault (it doesn’t deal with incest truly either). If we go back to City of Glass, how was Aline or her experience considered at all? In similar vein, the writing here uses SA as dramatic effect. Almost shock value. Clary fighting Sebastian after this is probably intended as empowering, but does it make it less so even if the act of SA was not included? No. This was completely useless, disgusting, and negligent.

Should have kicked him in the dick.

We cut back to Team Good at their Team Talk Time.

Unintentionally hilarious mental image.

What a useless piece of a conversation.

Conveniently. Is there a habit of sending prank messages? What is the point of fire-messages—a form of quick and effective communication—if people don’t trust the contents? Plot convenience, that’s what. (While I get that delivering the information face-to-face is more effective, but maybe a heads-up?)

Cut back to Sebastian and Clary. Sebastian reveals Clary that he knew all along Clary would be a traitor to their cause.

I am so tired. I don’t know how many of these you’re like me, no I am not, you’re like your mother, sajdkahsdkjsad conversations I can take. It has become so repetitive that I‘m going to barf.

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.” ― L.P. Hartley, The Go-Between

A quote Jace and Sebastian cite themselves in this book. Should ponder more on that. Also, what the hell do the Nephilim even know about their DNA or how it behaves.

→ Strengthens the risk of genetic disorders, really.

My soul needs scrubbing after this.

There’s no winning with this. The narrative around the whole incest bullshit twists in on itself that sometimes it’s hard to even understand where it stands or what it wants to even say. There must be something broken in me that I cannot kiss anyone but Jace who I believe to be my brother by the same parents. Not that there was something wrong with her that she wanted to kiss just someone who she thought was her brother.

The series makes this point several times: family is not defined by blood relations. But also these characters are related by blood (or think they are) and are in love with each other, because it’s kinky for the author.

→ Unnecessary pauses take away the urgency of the action.

→ Clary just punched him, no need to reiterate that point. You can let go of my hand, thank you. “She whirled and kicked him hard in the stomach, hoping it was still sore.”

→ Thank you for telling me right after showing me.

→ I wish Clary (or any character for that matter) stopped remembering things whenever Clare needs to call back on a scene. “Time slowed like during the fight in the junk shop in Prague, where she had disappeared into her own world…” Or something.

*The Hebrew Bible.

Googled a bit about the Song of Songs/The Song of Solomon, and many have pondered on the incestuous aspect of it (4:1-5:1). Mostly the answer seems to be no, it’s not about incest but sublimity of love, the use of ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ is not literal and used differently in ancient Israel… I am not well versed in any of the Bible talk, but my quick research gives me an impression that Sebastian is interpreting the Song of Songs whatever way fits him and his feelings for Clary the best. Which, considering, would not be out of character for him.

→ Let’s not do the “It’s in the Bible” arguments or justifications ever again.

IS THAT YOUR ONLY DEFENSE ON THIS MATTER?

In the end of the chapter Clary manages to outweigh Sebastian, and the chapter ends with a stupid cliffhanger Clary bringing a shard of glass down at Sebastian. (Spoiler: she strikes the floor inches from Sebastian’s throat because she can’t kill Jace as well. ...Yet :^D)

[queerplatonicshipshowdown]

A little ramble about my beloveds Heronstairs. They are canonically platonically (hey that rhymed!) married! They're Parabatai, a magic battle bond that is specifically non romantic and likened to marriage. They are simply so ❤️. "For five years it had been his absolute truth. Jem and Will. Will and Jem. Will Herondale lives, therefore Jem Carstairs lives also". "Entreat me not to leave thee, idiot". "If there is a life after this one, let me meet you in it, James Carstairs". A lot of people ship them romantically but they are devoted to each other in a queerplatonic way to me.

(Also props to you for running this. I've run one tournament and it wasn't easy so you're doing a great job!)

(Thank you) :)

[notalotgoingonatthemomentsblog]

Ghostwriter Fanfic

word count: 3737

this is my first fic so be nice... literally just a fic about lucie getting injured... VERY FLUFFY !

Firsts

Lucie wished the foggy London night were more memorable, given that this was a rather special one. She wasn’t expecting anything too absurd, but a few falling stars or an aurora would have been appreciated. 

She supposed patrol was going well enough, so far. She was used to going with her parabatai, but given that her and James had just returned from Amsterdam the evening before, she thought it best that Cordelia rested after her long day of travel.

This was supposed to be her first official night patrol with Jesse since returned from their honeymoon. These milestones weren't very important to others, but they were important to her. She mentally tallied all of their firsts as husband and wife like it was a crucial quest: their first time having eggs at breakfast, their first stroll along the Thames, their first time bickering. 

That night, they had geared up, Lucie polishing and sharpening her throwing ax, before stepping out with Jesse who was also fully clad in black. He had reached out his hand for her, like the gentleman she knew he was. “After you, milady.” She had just poked him in the ribs and walked past him, into the dimly lit street. He chuckled as he caught up to her. 

It was a quiet night. They walked together shoulder to shoulder, content with each other’s presence, not having much to say besides the occasional remark. Eventually, Jesse had started asking her specific questions on the draft of the latest chapter in her manuscript that she had let him read the night before. They had ended up in a dark neighborhood of London– deep yet narrow alleyways periodically interrupted the shabby buildings. Deep in conversation, it was too late when Lucie noticed the dark figure creeping up behind Jesse. 

“Look out!” She called, reaching for her ax, and running in front of Jesse but it was too late– the monster had flung a barbed tail forwards across her chest. Hissing in pain, she sank to the floor, ax clattering to the ground, unused. 

“Lucie!” Jesse’s footsteps pounded against the cobblestones. She felt warmness pool her chest, dulling the anxiety of Jesse potentially getting injured because of her. She instead focused on the cracked stones in front of her eyes, and nearly shuddered when heard Jesse name his seraph blade and felt ichor splatter on her arms. 

A few seconds later, Jesse knelt next to her, propping her head on his leg. “Lucie, can you hear me?” She hummed in acknowledgement but she was so tired…

“Lucie!”

Her head jostled with Jesse’s throttle but she could only mutter under her breath, “Goodnight.”

Jesse should have known that this was not going to go well. 

All things considered, he was a new Shadowhunter. Yes, he had received his Voyance rune as a boy, but that was before he died. It was before he had learned what it really meant to train, and fight, and battle. He should have known better than to let his guard down– he wasn’t just responsible for his own life now. The matching marks over his and Lucie's hearts said otherwise. 

Before he picked Lucie up, he had drawn some quick iratzes on her arm, and a quick glance confirmed they had already started disappearing. That was not reassuring. He held Lucie’s unconscious body tightly to his chest as he ran to the nearest place he could think of.

Curzon Street.

It was late– he suspected a few hours past midnight– but he hoped they would hear his knocks. He reached their front door and began frantically pounding with his right hand, trying to survey Lucie’s wound, and feeling nauseous at the sight of so much of her blood. 

“James! Cordelia!” He banged harder. “Open right now or I will open it myself–”

 Mid-knock, the door opened before him, revealing a very tired looking James Herondale, black hair disheveled from sleep. “What–” At the sight of his sister hanging limply in Jesse’s arms, however, his eyes sharpened. Jesse walked past him without being invited in, finding a dark velvet couch in the drawing room to lay her on. 

“Daisy!” James called loudly, “Daisy, come down!” He knelt beside Jesse who was hunched over Lucie, adjusting her sleeping frame to properly examine her wound. “What happened, Jesse?” He sounded frantic. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Jesse was desperate, ripping the fabric of her shirt to reveal a long, but luckily, thin looking scratch across her torso. 

“Lucie!” Cordelia ran over, her nightgown billowing behind her. She crouched next to James and Jesse, putting a hand on her cheek. Jesse didn’t know if it was his imagination but he could have sworn that Lucie leaned into her touch.

“Let's take her upstairs,” Cordelia said firmly. “We will clean the wound, and I will give her more runes. She will be alright.” 

“We should call the Silent Brothers,” James said.

“No.” Lucie mumbled, eyes still closed. Jesse could have cried at the sound, but they all leaned forwards, Jesse reached to brush her hair back. “I’m fine. I think there was something on the talon that got me.” She spoke softly, which was unusual for her. “I need to sleep it off.”

“Lucie…” Jesse muttered, stroking her hair with his shaking hand. She smiled softly, hinting at her dimpled left cheek. Cordelia stood up.

“You heard my parabatai. She doesn’t want to call the Silent Brothers, so we won’t call them.” Jesse and James eyed each other with apprehension, but Jesse figured they had to clean out the wound first, regardless. He stood, scooping Lucie back up into his arms. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder and warmth flooded his chest. He pulled her in closer.

Cordelia turned to James and said, “Stay here, James.” He looked ready to object, but she continued, “We have to dress Lucie’s wound and I doubt she wants you there, considering it's across her chest.”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Nothing?”

“Oh, no. You have a very important task, husband.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, and said, “Make me a cup of tea,” as she walked past him, and up the lavishly carpeted stairs.

James only looked at Jesse with a vague expression of bewilderment, and reluctantly walked towards the kitchen.

Jesse made his way up the stairs.

By the time Jesse arrived at Cordelia's room, she had already set up supplies for Lucie. A bowl of water, strips of cloth, scissors, and more towels were laid out on the bed. 

Jesse rested her on the end, and she made a sound of protest as she left the secureness of his arms. This time, he reached out to grab her hand, his thumb rubbing the Blackthorn ring that now lived on her finger.

“Jesse,” Cordelia said softly, reminding him of the task at hand. He cleared his throat and retreated, letting Cordelia survey the wound. She lifted the fabric of Lucie’s shirt, soaked with blood and poison. There was already a tear down the front where the barb cut through, but until she tugged on it, it had stayed together. Now, it seemed that the shirt had been hanging on by a few threads, falling apart under her hands.

“Luce,” Cordelia spoke to Lucie softly, gently tugging at her shirt. “Is it okay if we take this off? To bandage you up?”

“Mm, nothing my husband hasn’t seen and nothing you don’t have yourself, tenfold,” she muttered, her eyes still shut and her voice dripping in grogginess. Cordelia let out a scoff and looked up at Jesse with a smile.

“She’s ridiculous. Do you hear her? She’s going to be fine.” He nearly crumbled at the words. 

Jesse helped Cordelia peel the drenched shirt off of her body, wincing as the wound dripped more blood, having nothing to stop the bleeding. He could tell now, though, that it was a lot more shallow than he had initially thought, it was just fairly large, stretching from one shoulder, to the middle of her ribcage on the other side.

Jesse placed a towel on her chest as they wiped off the cut. Cordelia would periodically stop to place an iratze or blood replacing rune, but they worked in silence. The silence was occasionally interrupted with a hiss of pain, or a squeeze of Jesse’s arm, but this only comforted Jesse as it meant that Lucie was lucid enough to feel what was going on. When they were done, Cordelia asked him to lift her torso to more easily bandage her up. Halfway through this process, James knocked at the door, and Cordelia instructed him to leave the tea tray outside the door, and leave. Between the two of them, they were able to easily wrap her up securely, and Jesse felt a lot better now that he saw the clean bandages covering what used to be a bloody mess.

By the time they finished, Lucie's eyes were cracked open, bright blue peeking through her eyelashes. Jesse knelt next to the bed, his face close to hers. 

“Do you feel better?”

“Loads.”

He squinted at her in suspicion. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I would never, I promise. Just like I promised to marry you, see?” She extended her left arm, uncoordinated and drunk-like. Her smile was lazy, but sickeningly sweet. She attempted to lift her ring finger to show off her ring, which she still did roughly four times a day, despite having worn it for a few months now. Jesse always found it endearing— like she was still trying to remind herself they had somehow found a happy ending.

He took her hand and kissed it, then leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I love you,” he said. He tried telling her often, but he still felt like he didn’t say it enough to convey how much he felt it. 

Lucie let out a drunk giggle, and reached out to pinch both of his cheeks. Then, she threaded her fingers through his hair and slurred, “I love you, my Jess.” His cheeks warmed. Despite their marriage and getting to know each other in the most intimate ways— her loving words still affected him. The use of his nickname, Jess, she also only used when she was feeling particularly soppy. 

They shared a gaze for a moment longer before Jesse asked, “Why don’t you want us to call the Silent Brothers?”

She turned her head so she faced the ceiling and took a deep breath, “Because that means something is wrong and I’m fine.” Jesse reached to tilt her face back to him. 

“Lucie, look at my shirt.” Although it was already black, it was stained darker with her drying blood. He figured it must have been smeared on his neck and arms, too. She sighed.

“But, I’m alright now.” She squeezed his hand, weakly, as if to emphasize. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was hot. 

He stood, announcing to Lucie and Cordelia, who had finished putting away the bandages and now sat on the other side of the bed, “I’m going to find James and tell him that we are done. Maybe he can let me borrow a shirt.” 

Cordelia nodded, and said, “He should be in the drawing room. I’ll stay here.” She put her hand on Lucie’s shoulder. He nodded and walked out the room. 

Downstairs, it was dark besides a witch light emitting a bluish cast on the drawing room. Shadows of furniture were painted across overflowing bookshelves, but instead of being ominous it inexplicably felt comforting. Jesse found James sitting in the corner, book in hand, but he seemed to be fixated on the view out the window. The sun would be rising soon.

“How is she?” James asked, not looking away.

“She says she's fine.”

“You don’t believe her?”

Jesse took a seat across from James, leaning forward, his elbows on his legs. “I believe she wants to be fine.” James’s golden eyes narrowed. “I was going to ask you if you could call the Silent Brothers.”

He let out a long sigh, “Thank the Angel.”

“What?”

“Oh, I sent my Uncle Jem a fire message a few minutes ago. But I didn’t know if I made the right call.” Jesse smiled thinly and nodded. He should have known that as much as he was worrying, James was likely also pacing his house. Jesse would have done the same thing for Grace.

“Thank you,” He managed, suddenly feeling exhausted.

James only nodded and said, “I’ll wait here. You can go back up and get cleaned up… I won’t tell her that you asked me to call them. I’m okay with being the villain. I may always be Evil Prince James to her.”

Jesse smiled. “If you insist.” 

He began walking away but he was stopped by James who called after him, “It’s not your fault, whatever happened. You know that right?” Jesse didn’t know what he thought, so he clenched his fists, and continued going upstairs, not turning back.

It had only been a minute since Jesse had left the room, and Cordelia didn’t know what more to do with herself besides brushing through her parabatai’s hair with her fingers. Occasionally, her fingertips would brush her forehead, and she tried not to be alarmed at the heat that radiated off. She quietly hoped this was just her body fighting off whatever demon poison was making her so lethargic, and not something more grave. 

She assumed Lucie wasn’t completely asleep though, especially since she seemed to be able to respond when spoken to, but it was clear she drifted in and out of consciousness. However, she was surprised when Lucie spoke to her first.

“Were you impressed by my assets?” Lucie mumbled, her eyes half lidded. Cordelia snorted.

“I can’t say I was particularly focused on them, given all the blood.”

“It's, okay Daisy, you can say you were underwhelmed, I’m rather secure with myself now.” Her lips stretched into a weak smile. She readjusted herself, wincing slightly as she made room for Cordelia. “Come. You need to sleep, too.” 

Cordelia hesitantly joined her, putting her arm around Lucie’s front protectively, careful not to put too much weight on it. She brought her in close, resting her chin on the top of her head. Quietly, tears pricked at her eyes and she was thankful Lucie couldn’t see them. She didn’t need another thing to worry about.

She wondered if she made a mistake with not calling the Silent Brothers. She wanted to honor her parabatai’s wishes, but still something nagged at her. If Lucie needed more help and she didn’t get it for her it would be Cordelia’s fault. But she felt Lucie's breath, strong and steady, and maybe it was the exhaustion of the night, but she was lulled into sleep.

Jesse, feeling more calm in a fresh shirt he stole from James’s closet, made his way back to the room he had left Cordelia and Lucie in. The door was silent, as he pushed it open, and his heart warmed at the sight of Cordelia and Lucie curled up together, fast asleep. The sight was so adorable, it reminded him of two children who had drifted off after a long day of playing pretend.

He supposed that deep down, they would always be the little girls that had met in France and found their matching halves. The thought was enough to make him feel a bit better, too. 

Light had finally started peeking through the windows, and he was thankful for it. This night had stretched too far. 

As soon as he sat on the bed, beside where Lucie’s head lay, he heard footsteps approaching. James and Brother Zachariah entered the room, trailed by Will and Tessa, looking rather distressed. At the sight of their daughter safely dozing with her parabatai, they seemed to ease a bit, but they looked at Zachariah, clad in the same robes as always. 

When did this happen? He asked Jesse, voice echoing in his mind. 

“It must’ve been a few hours ago at this point.” Zachariah nodded but Will seemed miffed.

“And why are we hearing of this now and not a few hours ago?” Will said in a hushed tone, that made Jesse’s heart contract with guilt. Something about Will’s frustration potentially being directed at him made him feel worse than he could’ve imagined. His father in law was typically in good spirits, which made him great company, but it made his moodiness even more stark. Tessa put a hand on Will's chest and they had a silent exchange. He took a deep breath, stepping back and gesturing for Zachariah to examine Lucie. 

Cordelia began to stir, opening her eyes and looking somewhat alarmed that there were now five more people than there had been when she fell asleep. She stood, taking her spot beside James as he draped his arm around her shoulders, and pressed a kiss into her hair. 

Zachariah simply walked up to Lucie’s sleeping body, and placed his hand on her forehead. They all watched in silence until he spoke to them all: She needs sleep. That is all. The Demon Venom is being fought by her body– she could possibly be tired for a few days but it won’t bring her more harm. 

The whole room practically sagged with relief, and Lucie finally woke up enough to see everyone that had joined her in the room. 

She squinted up at Brother Zachariah then at her parents, closed her eyes again, then said, “Which one of you betrayed my trust.” James made eye contact with Jesse, then darted away quickly, obviously opting to stay silent. 

Cordelia laughed to herself, obviously comforted to hear her parabatai’s sense of humor coming through despite the circumstances. Jesse, however, suspected this might have been the wrong thing to say, considering Will crouched next to her and said, “I might ask you, my sweet daughter, why you betrayed my trust and ignored the most crucial Herondale rule.”

She opened one eye, and asked, “Which is?”

“Absolutely never,” Will emphasized, “turn down a chance to call on your Uncle Jem.” 

“I thought it was no necromancy.”

“Not funny.”

She smiled, then turned her face into her pillow. “I’m sorry Uncle Jem, it’s not that I don’t want to see you.” Her voice was muffled, and Jesse thought it was rather charming how sleepy she was acting. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal.”

This time Tessa sat at her other side and brushed hair behind her neck with her hands. “Darling, don’t be silly. We want you to be taken care of.” 

They fussed over Lucie a bit more, and Jesse layed back down next to his wife, watching Will, Jem and Tessa have a conversation in hushed tones. At some point, James and Cordelia left, presumably to get rest themselves. Jesse felt exhaustion start to take over so he shut his eyes, pulling Lucie in close. He basked in every breath, every flutter of her eyelashes that tickled his neck, every twitch of her leg, and fell asleep, not caring his father and mother in law were still in the room. 

When Lucie woke up, she was disoriented by the light and the room she was in. It took her a few seconds for her to recall the fuzzy memories of getting injured, brought to Curzon street, and bandaged up. She felt a rigidness in her chest that suggested tightly wrapped bandages, although she barely remembered them being placed. She vaguely remembered her parents showing up too, and she fought off a groan.

She made to sit up, but realized Jesse’s arm was holding her down. At her movement, he awoke, groggy green eyes surveying her own. Before she could say anything, he closed the space between them and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. “You scared me.” He said quietly. “Don’t do that again.” 

“Good morning to you, too.” She rolled her eyes and tried to sit up again, but winced as she felt a sharp stab of pain from her cut. Jesse helped prop her up in bed, clearly relieved she was feeling better than the night before. His clear green eyes looked clouded with trouble but before she could say anything, he spoke first.

“I'm sorry–”

“Jesse, stop.”

“No, I was there I should have–”

“Jesse,” She leaned forward, taking his face in her hands and pressing their foreheads together. She ignored the pain sparking in her chest as she said, “This is who we are. I am going to get hurt sometimes, so are you, and we can’t control that. But we can control what we do when it happens, alright? You were perfect. You are perfect.” His eyes still swam with unshed tears and guilt but he swallowed and nodded, closing his eyes. They breathed the same air for a moment, and she relished in his closeness, tracing the planes of his face, and along his cheekbones. Finally, the pain in her wound became so strong that she drew back, cringing.

Jesse stood up immediately, “Sorry, I should have gotten Cordelia as soon as you woke– I will be right back.” 

The two of them returned a few minutes later, and Cordelia looked very relieved to see Lucie alert and seated. She smiled at Cordelia, extending her hand for her to hold and said, “Daisy, how was Amsterdam? I’ve missed you!” 

Cordelia’s smile was genuine and sweet as she said, “Wonderful, but I’ll tell you about it later. How are you feeling?” She took out her stele, and began drawing more healing runes on Lucie’s arm, as they conversed. 

“Oh, I feel perfect besides having a corset of bandages suffocating me.” “You’re welcome,” Cordelia flicked Lucie’s cheek, “These bandages might have saved your life.” 

“What dramatics! It’s a scrape!”

“You’re funny.” 

Lucie squeezed her parabatai’s hand and whispered, “Thank you, Daisy.”

Cordelia only smiled, and looked up at Jesse who had been quietly observing. “Your wife is rather ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I know,” he said, ignoring Lucie who scrunched her nose in displeasure.

“Agh, you two are supposed to support me! Instead I get this slander,” she hung her head to the side in mock defeat. They laughed. The midday sun finally peeked through the curtains.

They would be alright.

The end!! Let me know if you liked it :)

[fandom-abyss]

The Shadow and the Flower

[marvelmusing]

The In Another Life series is complete!!!

Find the full series masterlist HERE

And a very small bonus scene under the cut

(though I am still writing more bonus scenes and oneshots for this au as well - but this was my original final scene)

»»---------------------►

“I have a present for you.” Aleksander says, and you lift your head up from the arm of the sofa in the bedroom you share with your husband.

He shrugs his kefta from his shoulders, hanging it beside yours in the wardrobe before he begins to remove the rest of his clothes.

“Oh you do, do you?” You remark playfully, scouring his figure with eager eyes. He laughs softly, shaking his head.

He nods towards the vanity table beside him as he pulls on a fresh set of nightwear.

“The right hand drawer.”

Frowning, you stand and move towards the vanity table, wrapping Aleksander’s bathrobe tighter around your body as you do.

Opening up the drawer, you see a book lying on the top of the rest of the contents. Picking it up, you admire the silver embellishments pressed onto the deep green cloth that covers the sturdy front and back of the book.

The title is written in Old Ravkan, which you’ve been slowly learning. But in all honesty, you prefer asking Aleksander to translate it for you, mostly because you love the sound of his voice.

You recognise the word ‘life’ and that is all.

When you open the book, it’s pages are filled with what looks like a story, but once again, it’s written in Old Ravkan. With confusion in your eyes, you turn to your husband for answers.

Aleksander, now dressed in one of his nightshirts, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder as he also looks down at the book in your hands.

“Sasha, what is this?”

“You found Alina’s story in the library, despite the fact that it was written in another world.” He begins to explain, and you nod. “Well, I wondered if there might be a world where someone wrote your story.”

“And this…?”

Your voice fades as you realise what you’re holding. Aleksander nods, pressing his lips against your temple.

“I didn’t want to pry, so I haven’t read it all. But it most definitely is your story.”

“Our story.” You correct him with a smile as you turn in his arms. “Would you read it to me?”

He smiles widely, and nods.

Together you settle under the covers, Aleksander propped up against the pillows with you tucked beside him, nestled under his arm as you lean your head on his chest.

Warm candlelight illuminates the pages as Aleksander begins to read you, his voice soft and comforting.

“I need to speak with General Kirigan.” He reads aloud, and excitement fills you at the chance to relive your adventure. Especially now that you know it has such a happy ending.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan @savagejane1 @sande5098

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia

[shadowhuntertrash]

Can I request KitTy fic with 2 + 3 (maybe even 10 if you want) of your general prompt, pls? 🥺 I can't get enough of your kitty fluff

Aaaah thank you!! Here's some kitty fluff to make up for the angst 💕

Kit sat at the desk in Ty’s room with hunched shoulders and a headache the size of Alaska. He had been trying to get the Shadowhunter history down, Julian had volunteered to be the one to teach him and he felt bad for not doing good because that meant extra work for Julian, but for some reason, his brain simply couldn’t remember anything when it came to history. Julian wouldn’t really mind and Kit knew that but he still felt bad enough that he tried to study at least an hour a night. 

   Ty was reading on his bed, Kit had his back to him but knowing Ty was there was always immensely relaxing so he usually studied in Ty’s room. Kit had a large suspicion that Ty was reading Sherlock, it seemed to be a comfort book for him, and Kit mentally reminded himself for the umpteenth time to introduce Ty to the show and movies based on Sherlock Holmes.

   Kit let out an exasperated sigh and flopped back in his chair, running his hands over his face. He had been reading this history book for about two hours and his eyes felt like they were melting. Kit sat forward again and rested his elbows on the table, his hands coming up to rub his temples, hoping to soothe his raging headache. 

   Someone’s arms snaked around his middle and he felt Ty’s face on his neck. Kit hummed and leaned back against Ty, who kissed him on the head. “You’ve been at that forever, why don’t you come to bed?” Ty murmured against his neck, Kit shuddered and tilted his head back until it lolled on Ty’s shoulder. 

   Ty was watching him with a fond smile and Kit couldn’t help the answering smile that grew on his face. “I’m almost done.” Kit said, his eyes closing against the light, his head throbbing. Ty leaned down and adjust his grip so he could hug Kit tighter, Kit laid his arms over Ty’s and smiled. “You’re head hurting?” Ty asked softly, Kit just hummed noncommittedly. Ty sighed and retracted his hands, moving in front of Kit to help him up. 

   Kit didn’t put up much fight and grabbed Ty’s hands and stood up. Kit took a step before stopping and resting his head on Ty’s chest with a groan, his hands shooting to his head with a curse. Ty tightened his hold on Kit and guided him gently to the bed. 

   Once Kit was sufficiently nestled in the bed, Ty stood up and went to get his stele and Kit’s history book and drew a quick iratze on Kis’s neck. Kit sighed as the pain ebbed away and propped himself up as Ty settled behind him. 

   He laid back and rested his head in Ty’s lap while Ty looked down at him and kissed his forehead. “Do you want me to read it to you? I know you won’t stop until you finish the chapter and I would rather you not have another headache.” Ty said and Kit couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Ty had always been a thoughtful person but he was always so considerate with Kit it never ceased to amaze him.

   Ty ran his fingers through Kit’s curls and Kit sighed settling further in Ty’s lap as he began to read. Kit couldn’t really focus and was aware he kept dozing off, only catching snippets of Jonathan Shadowhunter and parabatai and demons before he shook his head groaning and reached up to close the book that Ty was reading from.

   Kit pulled the book towards him and tossed it to the end of the bed ignoring Ty’s eyebrow that was raised in amusement. Kit shuffled slightly and brought the blankets up to his shoulders as he flipped to his stomach so he could curl into Ty’s side. Ty readjusted as well, slipped further down the bed so he was under the covers.

   Ty lifted an arm in welcome and Kit rested his head on Ty’s chest. “Love you.” He mumbled sleepily, Ty laughed and rested his head on Kit’s. “I love you too.” Ty said in his ear, Kit shuddered and wondered if he would ever get used to that.

   “What time is it?” Kit asked, yawning as Ty reached over and pickup up his phone. “It’s one-thirty.” Kit nodded, no wonder he was exhausted. Ty tapped his forehead a few times before he kissed him one more time and settled back against the pillows.

   Kit hummed contentedly. He could spend his whole life with Ty, sure they had fights and disagreements but the moments like these make all of it worth it. Ty brought out the best in Kit, he was tamer and always wanted to do his best for Ty. He hoped he made up for that.

   “I love you.” Kit said happily, Ty laughed and Kit smiled wider. “You just said that, I still love you too.”

   Kit closed his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. “No, I love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I love you laugh, not the one you normally use, but the one you use when you genuinely find something funny. I love the way your entire soul lights up when you see or talk about animals. I love the way you go out of your way to help people and when they’re mean about it you can just shake it off. I love that you sat outside of my room when I first got here because you didn’t want me to be lonely. I love that you choose to trust me from the get-go. I think in all honesty Ty you had my heart or at least half of it since you held that knife to my throat.”

   Ty was silent for a minute and Kit opened his eyes with a frown. Had he said something wrong? “Ty?” Kit asked turning to look at his boyfriend who now had a few tears rolling down his face. Kit cursed and scrambled to his knees in front of Ty, cradling his face between Kit’s hands. “Hey don’t cry, babe I’m sorry please don’t cry.” Ty let out a watery laugh and buried his head in Kit’s chest.

   Kit was sure that Ty would be able to hear or feel his racing heartbeat but he didn’t mind much, he just brought his hands around Ty and pulled him closer. He held him for a moment until Ty pulled back and wiped his face, laughing lightly.

   “I love you too, more than you can even comprehend in that pretty little head of yours.” Ty said sweetly, poking Kit lightly in the forehead, drawing a laugh from the blonde. “I love your smile and how only certain people get to see your real one, I love how it lights up any room. I love how you throw your head back when you find something really funny. I love how you scrunch your nose up when you disagree with something but are trying to hold your tongue. I love your love for photography and need to stop at every moment of the day to take random pictures that somehow always turn out to be incredible.” Kit laughed at that, now understanding exactly why Ty had cried, feeling his own tears welling up in his eyes. “I love you inside and out Christopher Herondale and I hope you don’t ever forget that.” 

   Kit was silent for a few moments and Ty smirked at him as if he was proving a point. Kit laughed as a tear slipped down his cheek. He kissed Ty soundly on the mouth, trying to convey the words he couldn’t think of. Ty kissed back the same way, his arms coming around Kit’s waist as Kit loosely clasped his hands behind Ty’s back, his arm resting on Ty’s shoulders. Kit was bent backward slightly but he didn’t mind.

   When Ty pulled away, Kit couldn’t help the beaming smile that spread across his face. Ty laughed again and kissed his forehead as Kit yawned again. Ty pulled Kit down on top of him so they were laying chest to chest and Kit grabbed Ty’s hand, playing with his fingers. “It’s late and I’m tired and I know you are and as much as I would love to continue this conversation we are both too exhausted to without crying so goodnight Kit.” Kit laughed against Ty and kissed his chest softly before turning and resting his cheek against it. “Goodnight Ty.” He said softly, the pull of sleep too hard to ignore.

   Before he fell asleep he felt a soft kiss on his head and heard a whispered, “I love you.”

[imherongraystairstrash]

The Merry Thieves (but mostly Matthew) Fic

A/N: Another fic for the second day in a row because finals week is starting on Monday and I’m a top tier procrastinator. 

“Matthew, get your mutt!” Charles said.

“Oscar, stop.” Matthew said, sarcastically, with a halfhearted wave of his hand.

“Matthew.”

Matthew looked up from his book. “Oscar, please refrain from showering dear Charles with love; he’s allergic to affection.”

Oscar kept trying to play with Charles.

“Will you look at that, he still hasn’t given up on you. At least somebody still cares about you.”

Charles glowered. 

“Good morning, boys.” Charlotte said, rolling Henry in.

Oscar moved on from Charles to jump and try to lick Henry’s face. 

“Oscar. Down.” Matthew said. Oscar reluctantly followed suit and walked over to Matthew, sitting at his feet. 

Charles stared at him, hard.

“What?” Matthew asked innocently. He hooked his fingers around Oscar’s collar and held him back as Charlotte sat down beside him. 

“Mama, can you tell Matthew to take his dog out of the breakfast parlor? It’s unhygienic.”

“We let you stay in the breakfast parlor.” Matthew retorted.

Charlotte scratched Oscar behind the ear. “Matthew, you know he can’t stay here. At least not when we’re having breakfast.”

Matthew frowned. “We’re not even having breakfast.”

“Well, I guess he can stay here for now,” Charlotte said.

Charles didn’t argue with his Mother. 

“I have to go back to Idris for the trial.” Charlotte continued. 

Oscar chose that moment to leap forward, catching Matthew off guard. Matthew was pulled to his heels and had to lean back to get Oscar to stay in beside him. 

“Again?”

“Yes, it’s quite urgent. You boys will be staying with your father in London, though.”

Matthew wouldn’t have had a problem staying with Henry at London; he loved his father. Having to stay with Charles though… Matthew would be spending a lot of time at the institute, that’s for sure.

“Are you going to the Paris Institute, Charles?” Matthew asked innocently using the face that parents seemed to adore (all of the mothers seemed to find it extremely charming, though he hated wasting it on Charles). 

“No. I’m staying here to help Mother.”

“With what?”

“With matters in London.”

“What matters in London? It’s perfectly safe here.”

Charles scowled. 

Charlotte and Henry weren’t paying attention to their brawl; they were talking about something else.

This was going to be a long breakfast.

…

Hours later, Oscar was jumping around The Merry Thieves, occasionally bowing his front legs in front of one of them, to get them to play. When Oscar came close to James, he dropped his book and faced the dog, on his hands and knees. He growled and Oscar’s tail began wagging so hard, James was afraid it would fall off. James flinched intentionally and Oscar went crazy. He spun in quick circles and played with Jamie, until Oscar backed into Matthew, who threw his arms around him. 

Matthew fell back with Oscar still in his arms. Oscar squirmed, trying to play with Matthew instead of cuddling. Matthew only hugged him harder.

“Stop moving, I’m trying to love you!” Matthew said.

Oscar turned his head and licked Matthew’s face. Matthew instantly let go and moved his hands to Oscar’s muzzle, laughing hysterically. 

“Get away, your breath smells ghastly!” 

Christopher was trying to break open a nut with his teeth.

“Kit, you’re not a nutcracker. You’re going to break your teeth.” Thomas said, reaching out to grab Kit’s hand and pull it away from his face. 

“Kit, you should join the ballet. You’re lean and would look absolutely capital in tights! Besides, think of the ladies you could meet.” Matthew said, winking.

“I think I’ll pass,” said Kit.

Matthew propped himself up on his fist and rubbed Oscar’s belly vigorously. Since Oscar’s legs were sticking up, his joints bended and relaxed, his legs flew in random directions.

“Nobody appreciates art these days,” Matthew said with a frown.

“Uh oh, have you been reading Oscar Wilde again?”

“Jamie, when is he not reading Oscar Wilde?” Thomas said. 

“Don’t make fun of me for being cultured.”

James snorted.

Thomas ruffled Oscar’s fur. “It’s not being cultured if you are reading the same thing over and over again.”

“Thomas!” Matthew said, holding up a hand on his heart, “why are you trying to expose me?”

“The handkerchief.”

Matthew paled. “What?”

“The handkerchief, Matthew.” Thomas was not happy.

“Kit! How is Aunt Cecily?” James said, trying to change the subject

“Umm, she’s fine?”

“That’s great!” Everybody was silent for a moment. “Because, I haven’t seen much of her this past week… and that’s…”

“Can we please stop talking about Kit’s mom?”

“Yes, this is getting strange.” Kit said.

“Fine. Let’s talk about something interesting.” James said.

“I’m working on this new experi—”

“NO!” Thomas, Matthew and James all said at once. The moment Kit began talking about his experiments, he didn’t stop.

“It’s okay, Kit.”

“Yes, we probably won’t even understand the half of it. You should really save your science talk for Uncle Henry.”

Kit shrugged with indifference and cleaned his glasses.

The Merry Thieves began doing their own activities; not together, but enjoying each other’s presence.

Thomas leaned back and laid in the sun, James read against a tree truck, Matthew cuddled Oscar and Christopher was making a building of some sorts with pebbles. Kit sighed. 

“I’m glad Alex isn’t here. He always knocks my rock towers down.”

Matthew snorted. “That’s rude.”

“I think so too.”

“Children are like that.” said Thomas. “Maybe he wants to help.”

“But he’s not helping.” Christopher pointed out.

“Well, yes, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to. He’s trying to understand the world.  You could say he’s like a scientist, in a way. He wants to know what happens if he knocks down your rock tower.”

Christopher looked down at his rock tower and pressed his lips together. It was quite impressive he managed to balance them in such a way. He didn’t stack them the easy way (flat side to flat side) but an almost impossible way, where he found the smallest balance point between each rock.

“Can we go to the institute?” Kit said suddenly, changing the subject

“Why?” Thomas asked.

“Lucie’s fun.”

“I agree, let’s go.”

Kit and Thomas stood up.

“Um, all right then.” James said. He turned to tell Matthew to come.

“Math?”

Matthew looked wistfully at Kit’s pile of rocks. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“The rocks?”

“The world always feels like it’s turning too fast. These rocks are proof that it’s moving at just the right speed. It’s calming. Grounding, almost.”

“Are you alright, Math?” James said, getting down beside him and putting a hand on his parabatai’s shoulder. 

Matthew shook his head, as though he were coming out of a trance. “What? Oh, yes, I’m quite alright.”

“Are you sure?” James said, looking into his eyes.

Matthew laughed, but his heart wasn’t in it. “You worry too much.”

James looked at him. 

“Yes, of course I’m okay.” Matthew said solemnly. 

He got up to his feet and extended a hand towards James.

“Let’s go, Jamie.” 

James reluctantly took his hand and let Matthew hoist him to his feet. They put an arm around each other.

“Wait for us, you uncivilized heathens!” He yelled at Thomas and Kit, who were running with Oscar. 

“Aren’t all Shadowhunters technically heathens?” asked James.

Matthew smiled. “I would have called them ‘demon spawns’ but you are proof of how sensible demon spawns can be.”

James laughed and patted Matthew’s back. “Let’s go before you get philosophical.”

“Onward!” Matthew said, loudly.

Here’s a video of the rock balancing Kit was doing because tell me this is not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?

Tagging: @livvyheronstairs @celias @hitheresomeoneusingthus @tsccreatorsnet

If you want to be tagged in any of my fics (either a specific ship/character or all of them) you can DM me, and I’ll make sure to tag you!

[kuiinncedes]

and you knew what it was

author’s note: i don’t know what the fuck this is i was bored at the beginning of my break lol and i wrote some stuff based on a prompt list and a random number generator that gave me “here, drink this. you’ll feel better” and it kinda like ,, grew ,, into a lot

i’ve been sitting on this first part pretty much completed for a while and i think i want to just post it and i have two other “parts” that are sorta connected and idk yeah lmao they’re in progress rn and hopefully i can finish them soon if i post this one i just feel kinda stuck rn :P anyway idk lol i like this part tho hopefully i don’t change anything massively in the other two that would have to change something here XD

basically 1539 words of shadowhunter!quinntina hurt/comfort (or an attempt at it) maybe like sort of warning for mention of death and injury tbh am i trying too hard to be a ya fantasy writer lmao

title from “you are in love” by taylor swift <3

as always lmk if anyone wants any shadowhunter things to be explained lol :P

***

“Here, drink this,” Tina says, voice shaky and quiet, unsure. “You’ll feel better.” She helps Quinn sit up a little and slowly drink the whole glass of… something.

Quinn wrinkles her nose at the aftertaste coating her tongue and throat. “What was that?” Her shoulders are propped up against her pillow, and she awkwardly tries to situate herself somewhat upright. 

Tina shrugs, setting the cup aside. “Something Mike whipped up. Said it should help your strength and energy a little?” She crosses her arms, lightly gripping the fabric of her shirt at her sides—hugging herself.

“Mike needs to add some sugar or something,” Quinn tries in a joking tone. Tina smiles slightly but won’t really make eye contact with her.

The room falls silent and Quinn watches Tina, recognizes the expression on her face, her defeated posture, her smaller, quiet demeanor. Her outfit—a lot darker than what she’s often in these days, when she’s not in black gear. 

And Quinn remembers a few months ago, when Mercedes had her own complicated encounter with demon poison. She remembers how Tina cares, how she loves, how beautifully, how much. 

“Hey,” she says softly, and Tina finally looks up to meet her eyes. “Mike and the Silent Brothers said I stand a good chance for full recovery, right? So no tears,” Quinn urges gently. 

Tina huffs a light laugh and wipes under her eyes. “No promises,” she says hoarsely. Quinn wiggles her fingers and Tina releases the hand clutching tightly at her side and obligingly takes Quinn’s, who squeezes reassuringly.

Tina keeps sniffling though, and it seems to be getting louder. She covers her mouth with her free hand when Quinn looks over and says quickly, “I’m sorry, I know, sorry, it’s Kurt’s turn to see you anyway, I should go—” and starts to untangle their fingers but Quinn holds fast, squeezing again and she looks into Tina’s tear-filled eyes. 

“Come here,” Quinn says quietly.

“What?”

“Help me lay down, then get in bed with me.”

Tina pauses. “Are you—I don’t know if—”

Quinn smirks a little, starting to push herself back into a horizontal position. “I’m the one who’s injured, and I’m cold and I need my girlfriend close to steal her warmth, okay?”

Tina swallows and nods a little, replies barely above a whisper, “Okay.”

Once Quinn is lying down comfortably, Tina climbs under the blanket, facing her. Quinn tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, wiping some of Tina’s still-coming tears as she retracts her hand. 

Tina holds her wrist, lightly, almost only with the tips of her fingers, and presses a soft kiss to her palm. She lets out a slight chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”

Her tone is lighthearted but bitter and Quinn brushes her fingers through Tina’s hair. Her eyelids flutter, half closed, and she releases a small, comforted breath.

“You’ve definitely already done a fair amount of taking care of me. And I’m fine,” Quinn assures, and she really is fine, aside from the fact that she just missed a few days being knocked out from the worst kind of demon poison and she’s still feeling the effects of that, probably will be for a while, but that’s getting out of her system now, and with its complete departure her strength (and ability to move without pain) should also return, if Silent Brother healing magic and knowledge is to be trusted. “On the other hand, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” And knowing Tina, it’s all too possible that she hasn’t.

Tina shrugs a little. “Maybe.”

“Do I need to call Kurt in here to tell me?”

“Fine,” Tina grumbles halfheartedly. “I haven’t.”

But do you blame me? is her unasked—and unanswered—question. 

(Quinn doesn’t.)

Quinn tilts her chin forward a little to kiss Tina’s nose gently. “Go to sleep,” she says.

“Here? I shouldn’t—Kurt wants to see you,” Tina starts and Quinn shushes her again.

“Yes, here. Kurt will live without it, he knows I’m okay.” And Quinn knows Kurt is okay, and presumably will understand Tina staying for longer if he’s been around her the past few days. 

She just hopes—knows, really—that Kurt has helped Tina, that they help each other. They’ve always been close on account of being the two who could always be found awake in the latest hours of night, talking to each other and recently, working on designs and drawings together.

But it’s still different right now, for these past few days, and Quinn thinks that if either of them slept at all, it wasn’t much. Especially Tina. Kurt had the parabatai bond’s assurance while Quinn’s been out. Tina had Kurt’s assurance, but it still couldn’t have been as good as knowing it herself. And at night, Kurt had the bond as an extra layer of assurance when he went to sleep, but Tina didn’t, and Quinn knows how Tina’s worry keeps her up sometimes, and how she sometimes chooses energy runes instead when she knows something is weighing on her mind too much for her to sleep.

“You need sleep, love,” Quinn whispers, and she feels the resistance fade from Tina’s body. She pulls her closer, tucking Tina’s head under her chin.

“I missed you,” Tina says with a small gasp, voice cracking a little in desperation. “I’m so sorry.” Quinn can feel her tears on her collarbone and she hates it—hates that she’s the reason Tina’s crying and she can’t do anything about it because she was unconscious and on the verge of death for three days and then the Silent Brothers kept people away for a few more and Tina didn’t know how she was for a week, and Quinn really just woke up again and she’s mostly fine and she feels fine but Tina hasn’t slept for days and Quinn understands.

“It’s not your fault. And I won’t ever leave you,” Quinn promises. 

“You can’t say that for sure.” 

“Shh,” Quinn breathes, thinking about both statements. Tina’s right, she can’t say it for sure, and she knows that. With their life and what they do every day, it’s the most unsure thing in the world. Even just a week ago, she could’ve died if the demon’s stinger had gone in a little higher, she could’ve died if there were any more of them left, she could’ve died if Tina wasn’t there. Tina could’ve died if Quinn wasn’t there. (Would have, a voice in the back of her head creeps in, less than a breath, and she suppresses the shiver that it brings.)

But if Quinn has any control over it at all, it will be true. She tells Tina as much. “I won’t leave you,” she says again, quietly but as vehemently as she can, and Tina relaxes a tiny bit in her arms. 

And then for the other thing. “And there’s no way it’s your fault, okay?”

“If I wasn’t so fucking careless, you would be fine—”

“You didn’t push me into a demon’s stinger, did you?” Quinn continues to run her fingers through Tina’s hair. “You didn’t take its poison and inject it into my body. And you were killing the other ones. We could both be dead if you weren’t, okay?” Her tone is more blunt than probably necessary and she brushes Tina’s temple slightly in apology.

Tina burrows her face deeper and Quinn knows she’s winning, if only because Tina’s tired. But she needs her to know…. “It would never be your fault,” Quinn whispers. “Ever. Tell me you know that.”

After a second, Tina nods. “Yeah,” she says in a small voice. “Okay.”

Quinn can tell Tina isn’t completely convinced, but it’s a conversation for another time, another day when Tina isn’t running on a ridiculously small amount of sleep and probably an unhealthy number of energy runes, and only just coming down from the emotional rollercoaster of the past week. 

Quinn presses a kiss to the top of Tina’s head. “Go to sleep, love,” she says again. 

“Wake me up if I hurt you,” Tina breathes, on the cusp of sleep. 

Quinn smiles, runs her hand up and down Tina’s arm. “You won’t,” she promises, voice hushed.

It’s a testament to just how exhausted Tina must be that her breathing evens out within a few seconds, and her body is still and loose from exhaustion, mind finally quieted, for now, close to Quinn and reassured, and Quinn continues to rub her girlfriend’s arm gently and thinks.

She thinks about the word she just used—twice, and for the first time. Not the first time in her head, but the first time out loud. But unlike countless other times when she’s questioned her decisions and even after so many that have hurt her, so many choices that have led her astray—led her heart astray… she knows it’s right this time. Now, here, in her room, in the Institute that changed her life for the better, her family within the building’s glamoured walls, next to the one person she would always want to be next to, she doesn’t need to question it. And she closes her eyes and follows Tina into a hopefully peaceful sleep.

[intangibel]

First Lines Of Your Last 20 Fics!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

Tagged by the incredible @ladymatt ❤️ my personal hero and one of my parabatri.

Most of mine are *old* but I just finished the WIP i had been hanging over my head for 6 years so I am determined I can get back to all of these.

1) Eyes of the Beholder (E, Malec: All Human AU/Nude Model AU)

Magnus spots the sketchbook as he ducks out from behind the decorative screen that doubles as a change room.

2). Someone to Believe In (T, Nell Jones/Eric Beale NCISLA: Undercover Mission, Kid fic)

"Didn't you ever wish that there'd been an error? That someone would walk into your classroom and say ‘Sorry, there'd been a mistake! Nell’s not meant to be in this grade but the one down the hall, with the kids two or three grades up’ that you belonged, not with the people who were technically your own age but with all the other kids who were doing the same work as you…”

3). Yours, Mine (M, Alternate Malec: This World Is Inverted AU)

”Kidnapping someone is a lot of effort, a lot of planning and resources,” Alec said almost lazily as he propped himself up against the cold wall.

4). My Last and Only Hope (T Malec: The Martian AU)

Alec knew he was taking a risk just turning up at Bane Industries and demanding an interview with Magnus Bane himself.

5). You Want Me To Teach What?! (T, Malec: Teachers AU)

Alec was sitting in his office eating lunch and chatting to Izzy about what they had planned for the Christmas break when they were interrupted by a timid knock at the door.

6) This Christmas (T, Malec: Human AU, Christmas Fic)

“Are you sure Alec won’t mind?” Magnus asked for what had to be the fourth time that morning as he followed Izzy inside the apartment she and Alec shared.

7). With The World Watching (G, Malec: Human AU, Wedding Dances)

Alec isn’t really paying attention when Lydia throws the bouquet.

8). Dutch Courage (T, Jimon: Human AU, Mutual Pining)

When Simon gets back to his apartment after what is possibly the longest day of his entire life, he’s focused on just one thing.

9). Hold and Release (T, Malec: Human AU, Yoga AU)

Maybe his mother was right, Alec mused as he matched his breath to his movements, maybe this is exactly what he needs to get his priorities sorted.

10). Stand By You (G, Malec: Missing Scene, Parabatai feels)

When Alec walked into the living room he was surprised to see Magnus standing at the drink cart tossing back a glass of whisky.

11), I found God but it wasn't supposed to be (T, Malec: Soulmate AU, Winged!Alec)

“It remains our primary mission, above all else, to locate God. Remember, this incarnation may take any human form - irrespective of race, age, and gender.”

12). Melt My Heart with Snow (T, Malec: Canon Compliant, Snow Play)

“Really?! Already?! Surely it’s too early,” Alec groaned.

13). I want to show you the world (T, Clizzy: snow joy/Christmas)

Clary had gotten up early so that she was already in the training room when Alec walked in.

14). Play Me Like a Choir (M, Malec: Magnus & Simon Friendship, Learning a musical instrument)

Sleeping during the day was still a work in progress.

15). Orphans & Bassinets (G, Malec: Kid fic)

It’d been a really long day, so when Magnus’ phone rang he really wanted to banish it to some alternate universe where no clingy and obsessive clients would ever be able to find it.

16). I’ll Wear My Heart On my Sleeve Tonight (T, Malec: Pride, Spirit Day)

[from: Alexander 3:04PM] I have something I really want to do tonight and I’m really hoping you’re free because I want to do it with you.

17). Malphabet (G-M, Malec: A-Z ficlets)

That was all it took. A single arrow fired by an incredibly hot archer and Magnus was hooked.

18). My Precious Cinnamon Roll (T, Malec: Alec Bakes)

Trudging up the stairs to his loft at 3am was definitely not part of his plan for a relaxing night curled up on the couch with Alec after his late patrol ended at midnight.

19). Heirlooms & Rattles (G, Malec: Magnus babysat Alec as a Child)

“Magnus are you sure the amethyst scarab of that Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh -” Alec began.

20). The Tie that Binds and Breaks Us (G, Alec Introspection, Clizzy, one-sided Jace/Alec, future potential Malec)

“Jace, listen to me!”

Clary. Why was it always Clary who was one step ahead of him?

Patterns:

I start stories in the middle of conversations about 40% of the time.

I have a *thing* for improving the outcome of characters who’ve had long days.

Tagging (should you want to) @magnusbae, @aceon-ice , @apathyinreverie , @arialerendeair , @to-the-stars-writing

[thanatosangels]

Good

a three part Matthew Fairchild fic

part one here

three coming soon <3

TRIGGER WARNING: alcoholism, suicidal feelings, self injury

tags: @princesslucretia @churchthecatismyspiritanimal @booksandbeanbags@tyisthebestshadowhunter @simon-lewis-is-a-skinny-legend @truth-lies-hidden @abigneignenn@oscar-fairchild @themostawesomehuman @cecilyfightwood

1902 

Matthew was surprised by how easy the lying became.

“I’m simply tired.”; “Come on, I just want to have fun!”; “Yes, I am perfectly fine.”.

He weaved a life of a normal boy, one who simply rebelled against society for the sake of freedom, out of tall tales and half-truths. He played the part of son, of brother, of parabatai, of friend, of lover, with a smile on his face and an adventure for everyone. He hid his flask in plain sight, in flashy waistcoats and sharp suits, and his pain in his drink. He built a home for himself and his secrets in the darkness of 3 o'clock in the morning at the bottom of an empty bottle, where he could cry to the baby sister he would never hold. 

He did not cry for himself. He never did.

He did not deserve the tears.

_____________________

“Math, you’re bleeding.” James’ golden eyes were dark with concern, and his inky black hair was falling into his face and sticking to his creased forehead as he leaned over Matthew in the rain.

He reached his hand down to assist his parabatai up off the cold, wet ground but Matthew batted his hand away, turning his face in the opposite direction and moaning. His blood was running from the cut above his eyebrow and pooling under his head, a washed-out pink colour as it mingled with the rain water under the orange streetlight. The tears running down his face mixed with the droplets of rain falling from the dark sky, and when they hit the ground together they were indistinguishable from one another. Good.

James’ face swam into his vision again: he was kneeling down beside him. “You’re bleeding.” He repeated.

“Good,” Matthew mumbled. “Then I’m lucky.” Because I can. He spat the final word as if it repulsed him, and shut his eyes, only for second, so the world above him would stop spinning. It was making him feel sick, sicker than he did when he looked in the mirror.

He dragged them open again when he felt the familiar dull burning sensation against his skin. Jamie, the dutiful parabatai he was, was giving him an iratze. 

“Gerrofme,” Matthew wriggled under James’ caring hand so he couldn’t complete the rune.

“Hold still, Matthew.” James was trying again, using more force this time. Matthew waved his hand in the general direction of the stele and knocked it aside. James swore under his breath.

“Jamie…. stop.” His voice was sluggish.

“No.” Was all he said before straddling Matthew, pinning his arms to his sides using his legs. He put his hand, still gentle, on Matthew’s forehead and moved to draw the iratze - again.

Suddenly, Matthew was filled with white-hot rage - at himself, at James, at his brother, at his parents, at the fairy, at everything. He felt it sober him, replacing the gin in his blood with fire. The world came into focus, every drop of rain twinkling against the moonlight; the warm familiarity of James’ calloused hand against his forehead; the fabric of his trousers and waistcoat, damp from the wet concrete he lay on and clinging to his burning skin.

Just as James was about to put the stele to his head, Matthew twisted his body to the side and kicked up with more force than he thought possible, sending James flying across the empty street. He jumped up, staggering slightly, and turned to see James propped up on one elbow with an expression of mixed shock, anger and confusion.

“Christ, Matthew, I was only trying to help you!”

Help you. The words chased each other around Matthew’s mind. He let out a hoarse laugh. Not his usual one, light and clear: a dark, dry sort of laugh that cut the cool air like a knife. “Help me? Oh, Jamie, Jamie, James,” He breathed, chest heaving up and down, every breath cutting his lungs like razors. There was blood trickling down from his cut and into his mouth. He spat it out onto the ground. “Nobody can help me.”

James picked himself up off the ground, his face melting from hurt confusion to softness. Anger reared its ugly head in Matthew’s chest again, clawing at his racing heart. Of course James would still approach me with kindness. He seemed to have an angelic glow around him in the darkness as he walked towards Matthew, his hand outstretched. A part of Matthew wanted to lash out, to push James to his limit, to see how easy it’d be to ruin the best thing about his sorry life so he could get the whole business over and done with. Instead, he just backed away from his parabatai, blindly stumbling along the pavement.

“We could help you,” His voice was so gentle that Matthew had to bite his lip to keep himself from screaming. “I could help you. But you need to tell me what’s wrong, Math.”

Matthew’s back hit a wall, hard. He let his head fall back against it and stared up into the midnight sky, droplets of rain thinning the blood running down his face. “What’s wrong,” He announced, arms outstretched at either side, looking like a battered angel in the blood and the rain and the darkness, a twisted smile on his lips. “is that you, dear James, are the one with demon blood coursing though your veins and yet I, pure Nephilim, am more demonic than you’ll ever be.” He brought his head down, meeting James’ worried gaze just in front of him, and licked away the blood that had gathered in the corner of his mouth. 

“Tell me, Matthew.” James was pleading, his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Tell me what the dark cloud hanging over you is.” His eyes seemed to ripple like liquid gold, begging Matthew for an answer.

Suddenly, Matthew was simply very, very tired. “It’s been a year, James,” His whispering voice sounded muffled to his own ears. “It’s been a year to the day since she died and yet… I still live on.” He saw James’ eyes mist over with tears, felt his own wet his cheeks. “I have nothing,” His voice broke. “There is nothing to show for her life.” And it is all my fault.

James clasped his hand against Matthew’s cheek and Matthew let his head fall forward, forehead to forehead with James. The two boys stood, sobbing together in the rain. Matthew could not find the words to say that James was holding him up, not because of the gin, but because he wanted nothing more to sink to ground, lie down and never get up as he could not take it anymore. He could not find the words to tell James that the only reason he was still alive was because of their bond, because he knew what his death would do to James. He could not find the words to tell James that in his darkest moments, whether James had known it or not, he had saved him over and over and over again, through iraztes or well placed blows to demons or turning up at just the right time or simply just existing and loving Matthew unconditionally. 

One day, Matthew would find the words to tell him, to thank him, but today was not that day.  

______________

There was a night with a boy.

It wasn’t particularly remarkable, or different from any other night with any other boy.

They had met at Hell Ruelle. His hair had looked black in the dim light but in the shining moonlight outside, when Matthew had run his hands through it, he’d seen it was actually a thousand different shades of brown. They had danced, and drank, and kissed. He laughed at Matthew’s observations, and blushed at his forward flirtations. He had let Matthew hold his hand as they wandered down deserted streets, singing at the top of their lungs, the stars wheeling through the night sky above them. 

Matthew brought him back to his empty house. They had their fun. Matthew let himself get lost in the heat and the passion and the desire, just for a little bit. Afterwards, they lay together, legs intertwined, his head on Matthew’s chest, his arm over Matthew’s stomach. They made idle conversation as they lay in the dark, about nothing much in particular.

“If you could be anything, anything at all in the world, what would you be?” Matthew asked the boy as he played with his tangled hair. He found it a rather intriguing question: it could tell you so much about a person, their values and ambitions.

The boy's hazel eyes were gazing at Matthew longingly. “I would be an author, or a playwright, I think.” His soft lips made their way up Matthew’s neck, pausing at his ear. “What about you?” He whispered.

The words simply fell passed his lips, like water flowing over rocks. He had not meant to say them. 

“I would be good.”

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Lost Book of the White Countdown Event - Homeliness

Pretty, Prettier, Prettiest

(Read on Ao3)

Clary let out a little yelp as Max tugged at her hair for the umpteenth time that evening.

The six of them, Clary and Jace, Alec and Magnus, Isabelle and Simon, were sitting in a haphazard circle around the living room, with music playing from a set of stereo speakers nearby and dozens of shacks Clary was sitting on the floor with Max in her lap, who was playing around with her hair.

“Looks like he really likes your hair,” Magnus commented, lying on the ground with his legs propped up on the couch nearby and his head in Alec’s lap. Like Clary, he was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, leaning back against the couch.

“I guess he does,” Clary said, watching as Max grabbed fistfuls of her hair, looking at it with wide eyes. Jace chuckled.

He was sitting on the floor next to Clary, palms resting on the floor behind him and legs stretched out in front. Jace leaned into Clary, whispering something inner ear, and she blushed. Magnus raised an eyebrow but made no comment. 

“Okay, two minutes more and then its my turn,” Isabelle said, bouncing in her seat. She and Simon had both taken over the loveseat, Isabelle’s legs resting on top of Simon’s. 

“How come you two are allowed to sit up there?” Jace asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, we’re all on the floor. You should be on the floor too.”

Isabelle stuck out her tongue at Jace. “No one asked you to sit on the floor, Jace.”

Jace opened his mouth to add another retort, but then Simon spoke up. 

“Leave my girlfriend alone,” he said in a cool, nonchalant manner, although Magnus could sense the pride laid behind the word girlfriend. Simon was still adjusting to the Shadow World, but he seemed to take it with an easy grace. Probably because he was way into all those fictional mundane fantasy stuff. 

Jace rolled his eyes. “Friendly reminder, champ - she was my sister before she was your girlfriend.”

“Oh, hush, both of you,” Isabelle cut in, shooting both Jace and Simon a withering look. Then her face brightened instantly, and he held her arms out to Clary. “Okay, come on, my turn now.”

Clary shot Max a rueful smile and disentangled her hair from his fingers. Max didn’t protest at all when Clary passed him to Isabelle. Instead, he squealed and received Isabelle’s embrace with utmost joy. Max loved all of his aunts and uncles a lot.

Magnus let a small smile make its way onto his face when Alec’s fingers brushed through Magnus’s hair, combing through the gelled locks. Alec was smiling too, shaking his head at his siblings and their significant others’ antics. Presently, Jace and Simon were engaged in heated banter, and Clary was looking between them with a look that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else. Magnus didn’t blame her - it was her parabatai and her lover caught in argument, after all.

“Well in that case,” Simon was saying, “Clary was my best friend longer than she was your girlfriend.”

“Ah, but she’s my girlfriend now,” Jace said with a grin. Simon threw his hands up, his face red with exasperation.

“Enough, you two,” Alec spoke up at last. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“In my defence, he’s being ridiculous,” Jace said, looking at Simon. “He’s simply jealous that I’m more handsome than him.”

“First of all, I’m not jealous,” Simon shot back. “Besides, it’s not like you’re the most handsome person in this room. Alec is way more handsome than you.”

“What?!” Alec exclaimed, his eyes widening. Magnus smiled up at him, and turned to Simon.

“While I don’t agree with Smedley on a lot of things, I have to say that he’s absolutely correct on this one,” Magnus said. Simon deflated at the incorrect name, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, I think you’re the most handsome person in this room,” Alec said, smiling down at him, and Magnus preened. “But I don’t think I’m more handsome than Jace.”

Isabelle, Magnus noticed, was pointedly avoiding the whole discussion and playing with Max instead. So was Clary, but she seemed more disinclined to take sides.

Jace raised both of his eyebrows, his lips twitching up into an incredulous smile. “You can’t actually be serious about this.”

“Let’s take a vote, then,” Magnus suggested with a grin. “All those who think Alec is better looking than Jace, raise your hands.”

“Leave me out of this,” Isabelle said, casting a very serious look over all of them and then immediately turning back to Max with a bright smile on her face.

Magnus raised his hand, as did Simon and-

“Clary?!” Jace exclaimed when he saw that his girlfriend’s hand was up in the air, a faintly embarrassed expression on her face. “Et tu?!”

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I love you, Jace. But Alec is more handsome.” Seeing the faux crestfallen expression on his face, she added, “By like 2 percent.”

“Okay,” Alec said, looking surprised at the raised hands in the air. Which was silly because Magnus had told him hundreds, no strike that, millions of times just how handsome and beautiful and utterly perfect he was. Though, nowadays, he suspected Alec’s reactions to such compliments were more out of humility than low self-esteem.

“This is not fair!” Jace exclaimed dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. “You’re conspiring against me!”

“No we’re not.” Simon grinned at him. “Alec is just more handsome than you. Deal with it.”

“I really wish you didn’t bring me into this,” Alec mumbled. Magnus chuckled and patted his cheek.

“Okay, time for round two,” Jace said, sitting up straight. “People who think I’m the more handsome one, raise your hands.”

Jace was the first to raise their hand. No one followed. Alec did raise his hand, but Magnus had pulled it down just as soon as it went up.

Jace’s eyes flicked between all of them and their lowered hands, and then fell back with a wail that sounded like a dying cat. Clary pressed her lips into a thin line, trying to suppress a smile, and patted Jace’s gold locks.

“Don’t talk to me,” Jace said with a pout, swatting her hand away. “Traitor.”

A small laugh escaped Clary’s lips. “Hey, come on, now-“

“Okay, you know what?” Jace said, standing up. “Let’s ask Max. Maxie knows best.”

“Jace-“ Alec shook his head, a soft exasperated grin forming on his face. Magnus smiled up at him. 

“You’re adorable,” Magnus mouthed at him. Alec scrunched his nose, only adding to said adorability, and mouthed back at him.

“So are you.”

Meanwhile, Jace was leaning over Isabelle, meeting Max’s eyes. He was looking at Jace with large, oblivious eyes, his hand dangerously close to his mouth. Magnus was worried he would start sucking on his fingers again, but then Isabelle moved his hand away.

“Okay, Maxie,” Jace said. “You tell me who’s more handsome. Me, or your daddy?”

“Jace, he can’t speak yet,” Alec said, laughing. Jace only shot him a brief grin and then turned back to Max.

“Come on, you think uncle Jace is the most handsome, don’t you?” Jace crooned, making silly faces at Max. “Don’t you?”

“Back off,” Isabelle drawled. “It’s my turn to bond with Max.”

Alec sighed when the banter started again. Magnus had been mildly concerned when these people would break out into silly arguments over, well, everything, but he quickly learnt that that was just how family was. They laughed together, cried together, went on death-defying vacations and hell together, and got on each other’s nerves all the time. It was strange, but Magnus knew to enjoy this - having a family - while it lasted.

The first family he had ever had had turned dysfunctional the moment his warlock mark came out. Magnus had never dreamed of having a family after that - he’d had friends who would die for him, lovers willing to die with him, but not a family. Not until now.

"It's getting late," Magnus said, looking out the balcony doors. "You should stay over for dinner. How about pizza?"

Everyone was enthusiastic at the thought of pizza, and it didn't take long for them to call the nearby pizza place and place their orders. Pizza, Magnus supposed, was the only foolproof way to end any banter.

Sometimes, family was a four hundred year old warlock, his little baby warlock, his angelic boyfriend and his two siblings, a little red-haired shadowhunter and her human-turned-vampire-turned-shadowhunter best friend. And this family was only going to get bigger.

[voidstilesplease]

By the Angel, TALK

Warning: THIS IS AN ANTI-CLARY AND JACE SPOILER RANT because I need an avenue to let out some of the steam I've been holding off since starting City of Fallen Angels. So PLEASE SKIP AHEAD because I don't want to burden you all with my reading woes.

This thing centers on the beginning of Chapter 9: From Fire Unto Fire and a little bit of Chapter 8. About eight pages of bad, bad romance set me off.

To start,

The rest is under the cut, so you can go away now.

So, what's been happening to Clary and Jace thus far?

This book introduced them now as an official couple, picking up from the end of TMI Book 3: City of Glass. I don't remember their every scene since then to the point in Chapter 9 where I stopped, but basically, they're having relationship issues early on. They're less than two months into their relationship, and the drama is too frickin much. 

Jace has these weird dreams about murdering Clary and waking up guilty about his subconscious thoughts, so he goes angsting about it and avoiding her, snapping at her, being a total dick, and still question why people think they are on the brink of a break-up. 

So, Jace goes with Simon in the next few scenes, in his plight to get away from her as far as possible, yet still be somehow close by being around Clary's best friend to "protect" him, so his distant behavior will be reasonable and forgivable. Yeah, make that make sense. 🙄 But of course, one way or another, they're going to have to get to the confrontation part (that I still wish had been equivalent to an actual break-up), and so that's when Chapter 8 & 9 enters.

Chapter 8: Walk in Darkness pp. 185-186

Almost instantly, the light went out of them, and the remaining color drained out of his face. "I thought --- Simon said you weren't coming." ¹

[...] "So you only came because you thought I wouldn't be here? [...] Were you ever planning on talking to me again? [...] If you're going to break it off, the least you could do is tell me, not just stop talking to me and leave me to figure it out on my own."

"Why does everyone keep goddamn asking me if I'm going to break up with you? [...]²

First, what an asshole?! 

[1] So Jace finally in-your-face's Clary and confirms that he has been keeping his distance like Clary has the plague. He then has the audacity to [2] be annoyed for being questioned on his intentions of keeping the relationship that he has been actively evading for days!

I get that Jace sucks in romantic relationships and has been fucked up by his daddy-issues, but he has the Lightwoods. Heck, Alec is his parabatai. He sees working relationships, so he has to have known that you don't just stop talking to people close to you and have them not question the behavior, whether you're trying to pull away from them or not. Otherwise, then Jace is dumb for all that he's marketed as the "best" Shadowhunter in his age. Screw that.

---

“You talked to Simon about us?" Clary shook her head. "Why? Why aren't you talking to me?"

"Because I can't talk to you," Jace said. "I can't talk to you, I can't be with you, I can't even look at you."³

[3] Way to make a girl feel special, Jace. Oh, no, yeah. He's trying to do the opposite and push her away with some teenage boy angst that doesn't make any sense. Like, who says that, though, aside from dramatic love interests that can't make a better excuse for going emo? 

That line IS TOO DRAMATIC that it hurts, ugh. 🤮

Anyway, so Clary walks out after that. I don't sympathize with her, but I'd do the same. Who wouldn't? Unless you freeze in the ridiculousness of the situation, that is, which is also likely.

Chapter 9: From Fire Unto Fire pp. 190-195

Now, here's the real shit. I want to quote this entire six-page scene back to Cassie and scream at her.

Clary reached the door and burst out into the rain-drenched evening air. [...] and was about to race across the street against the light when a hand caught her arm and spun her around.

It was Jace. [...] "Clary, didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Let go of me." Her voice shook.

"No. Not until you talk to me."⁴

[4] DUDE, what even happened to your I CAN'T TALK TO YOU, I CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT YOU speech, huh? Be consistent for once, apart from your douchebag routine. Make up your mind, Jace.

---

Still holding her by the arm, he half-dragged her around the van and into a narrow alley that bordered the Alto Bar. ⁵

[5] Man, I love a bit of rough loving in my literature, but I'm so pissed at you, Jace, don't even. Lay the hell off.

---

"I was going to tell you that I was trying to help out Simon. [...]

"And you couldn't tell me? Couldn't text me a single line letting me know where you were?"⁶ [...]

[...]

"I think," he said slowly, "that I thought that the closest thing to being with you was being with Simon. Watching out for him. I had some stupid idea that you'd realize I was doing it for you and forgive me---"⁷

[6] Addressing the lack of communication, that's a great path to follow. These two need to talk so bad. [7] But this line? Sucks Balls. You could be with her, Jacey, and save all the readers your drama if you only pull your head out of your ass and try to communicate. It's like you're allergic to it.

---

She took a step back, blindly, and nearly tripped over an abandoned speaker. Her bag slid to the ground as she put her hand out to right herself, but Jace was already there. He moved forward to catch her, and kept moving until her back hit the alley wall, and his arms were around her, and he was kissing her frantically.⁸

[8] Not only is this achingly cheesy, but it's also totally not the way they should be going off about their situation. They were already talking -arguing, yes, but they're still using words to reach out, and their relationship absolutely cannot be healthy without them. Thus far, they have spoken so less in comparison with the times they've spent canoodling. They're not solving anything by having drama on one second and getting it on with dramatic kissing on the next.

I don't care what Clary says about being so lost in love with Jace. He's treating her like shit. The least he can do is give her answers that she has the right to demand from him. Kissing is not an answer. But, well, maybe to Clary, it is because the next parts from page 192 to 194 are spent on softcore porn in a dark alley under the frickin rain. I bet that's a very romantic setting in their minds, huh.

---

And now this part:

It was nerve-wracking. She could feel the feverish heat that came off him; her hands were still on his shoulders, but it wasn't enough. She wanted him wrapped around her, holding her tight. "W-why," she breathed. "can't you talk to me? Why can't you look at me?"

He ducked his head down to look into her face. His eyes, surrounded by lashes darkened with rainwater, were impossibly gold.

"Because I love you."⁹

[9] Is that supposed to make me tingle? SET ME ON FIRE, but that is the lousiest I love you in books that I have ever read. AND IT'S THE ONLY ONE THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, at all!

Shut up with this, can you please. It's not romantic at all. It's a dumb excuse and an even dumber love from the two dumbest people in this whole frickin series. Oh my god.

Clary, realistically, will frown at this answer. She will pull the hell away and spat him in the face with how demeaning his love is if it can make her sick to the stomach with thinking he has already gone bored and is only cooking the perfect way to cut off their connection. He hasn't given her a sound reason, only desperate declarations of love like he's trying to convince them both that it's true. And it doesn't make sense how she's still plastered around him in the cold, trying to convince the readers that every word from Jace has deeper meanings that she understands no matter how gibberish they are. I'm not buying that, okay? Stop selling your larger-than-life connection bullshit because that isn't real.

You've only been together for two months, okay? The strongest you can feel for each other is lust. And it's showing.

---

His hands slid down to her waist and he kissed her, long and lingering, making her shudder.

She pulled away, "That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does this," he said, "but I don't care. I'm sick of trying to pretend I can live without you. Don't you understand that? Can't you see it's killing me?"¹⁰

She stared at him. She could see that he meant what he said [...] Her desire for answers battled the more primal part of her brain, and lost. "Kiss me then,"¹¹

[10] NOBODY THREATENED YOU UNDER BLADE TO DO THAT BULLSHIT, so shut the hell up with the whining. [11] and Clary, I am so disappointed. You've both just drained me, and I'm dry inside like a raisin.

The next paragraphs describe their very erotic kissing against the wall. Jace, propping her up and her legs around his waist bull crap. Seriously? Am I supposed to believe these two are, what sixteen?- up until Isabelle thankfully ruins their moment by kicking a garbage can that would look better with Jace and Clary in it tbh.

---

And the nastiest horseshit of all:

Clary looked at Jace. At any other time, they would have laughed together at Isabelle's moodiness, but there was no humor in his expression, and she knew immediately that whatever they had had between them ---whatever had blossomed out of his momentary lack of control--- it was gone now. [...]

"Jace---" she took a step toward him.

"Don't," he said, his voice very rough. "I can't."¹²

And then he was gone [...]

[12] No, I frickin CANNOT. His actions keep on contradicting his words, and he's fickle and can't decide which mood to settle, and it's so exhausting, honestly. He wasted a few pages for a cosmic, meaningless declaration of feelings. They're empty words. At this point, I believe the writing only strives to convince the readers that these characters care for each other but is shitty at showing it.

It's not love, because they say it is love.

---

I was already gaining hope for this book, and then one simple few-pages scene with clace squishes it, smearing the innards on my face.

Honestly, TALK OR TAKE A BREAK. This back and forth can't continue throughout the rest of the book or -heaven forbid- the rest of the series. Or at least, put these characters in the background if they really must drag on this problem, because I care not a lick.

Bye.

[softieforshadowhunters]

closer

emma carstairs + julian blackthorn

read on archive of our own : https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920436

i’ve had this hc for a while that after the parabatai bond between emma and julian breaks, they would trace where their runes used to be ( julian’s on his chest, emma’s on her arm ) and it would be this really beautiful and intimate moment between them. here is that idea brought to life with a lot of fluff and kissing and happiness between them. enjoy!!

Emma woke with a start, the images of her nightmare still lingering in her mind: her parents’ bodies by the shore of the ocean; Julian, covered in blood, holding Livvy’s limp body against his chest; black lines webbing underneath her skin as the parabatai curse took root. A quick glance around brought her back to her senses; she was lying in bed, propped up on her elbows. She determined that she was in Julian’s room after seeing the mural painted on the far wall, its colors illuminated by the moonlight shining through the window. She looked down to find Julian sleeping soundly beside her.

Rather than returning her head to the warm place on his chest that she had been only seconds before, she allowed her eyes to linger on him a bit longer. His chocolate brown hair was beautifully tangled and adorably mussed, floating lightly on the pillow beneath his head. His eyelashes ghosted over his cheekbones and his lips were parted slightly looking very, very kissable to Emma, who smiled at the thought.

Her eyes continued their descent, taking in the flat panes of his stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up, fine white scars from used up runes and battle injuries spaced across the expanse of skin. His right hand lay gently on his stomach, his fingers spread out as though remembering the shape of Emma’s fingers that had been intertwined with his only moments before.

Emma found herself looking longingly at the place on his chest right above his heart. His shirt covered the skin there, but she could picture the shape of his parabatai rune through the fabric. The rune itself had faded when the bond had broken months ago, but she still found herself remembering its shape.

It wasn’t that she wished they were still bonded in that way, because that would mean they wouldn’t have what they had now — peaceful nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms, slow mornings when they stayed in bed trading laughs and kisses under the golden glow of the rising sun, and all the moments outside the privacy of their rooms, surrounded by their family and friends, moments where they could share their love openly and honestly. And yet, some nights she found herself tracing the faded outline of the rune, running her fingertips over the swirls, lightly grazing her nails against his skin, following the path that she knew by heart.

Without thinking, she allowed her fingers to travel up Julian’s chest where they began to dance across the fabric of his shirt in the shape of the parabatai rune. She lost herself in the dips and swirls of the pattern, her limbs heavy and her eyes half open. It wasn’t until Julian’s hand came up to cover her own that she jolted wide awake.

“I feel you tracing the rune each night,” he whispered into the space between them. She looked up at him in surprise — never once had he opened his eyes on the nights when her fingers found their way to his chest. His breathing was always deep and steady indicating a deep slumber. Even so, Emma figured she shouldn’t be surprised. Julian had been hiding his thoughts and lying all his life to protect his family. He knew how to school his features into indifference even when he was fuming with anger, steady his heartbeat even when his mind was racing, slow his breathing even when his body was tense with fear.

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?” she whispered back. The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon that was full in the sky. It felt like an intimate moment — his hand covering hers which lay against his chest, their bodies only shadows among shadows in the darkness. It would have felt wrong to speak in a volume louder than a soft whisper.

“Because,” Julian said, now propped up on his elbow so that his body was facing Emma’s, his gaze level with hers. “It seemed like a moment you wanted to have by yourself,” he said simply. “I didn’t want to deprive you of that.”

Emma suddenly felt the need to explain herself to him, although even she didn’t fully understand why she found herself tracing the rune on nights when she couldn’t sleep. “I’m not really sure why,” she began, looking into his ocean deep Blackthorn eyes. “It’s not that I don’t love what we have now or that I want us to be parabatai again or anything like that it’s just — I don’t know, honestly. I don't know how to explain it to you, it’s like there is something about it that just makes me — and I feel like I —“ She fell quiet, unable to find the words she needed, and looked at him helplessly. “I don’t know how to explain it,” she repeated, feeling defeated.

He gently squeezed Emma’s hand which still lay against his chest. He looked at her, eyes open and vulnerable. “Try,” he breathed. “Try. For me.”

She released a deep breath and nodded her head. She would try. For Julian, she would try. He sat up so that he was leaning against the headboard of the bed before he reached over to pull Emma into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. Gently, he brought his arms around her, one hand resting on the curve of her hip, the other pressing against her lower back to pull her closer. The gentle pressure of his palm and the warmth of his touch made her feel safe. Safe enough to stumble over her words without embarrassment, to speak her thoughts out loud without fear that he would turn away. Wrapped in his arms, as safe as could be, she spoke.

“I remember,” she began. “I remember what it was like just a few months ago when we were still parabatai. I remember the agonizing pain and the overwhelming hopelessness. I saw other people who could love who they loved out in the open. And the thought that I would have to spend the rest of my life hiding what I felt for you — it was enough to drive me insane.”

Emma locked her eyes on the place right above Julian’s head, finding it impossible to look at him squarely while speaking about such pain. The words were flowing out of her now, a little disorganized on the surface but true at their heart.

“Just to think about it; that a decision that we made when we were twelve years old — totally and utterly broken children who had lost so much and who only had each other, who tied themselves together not knowing what their love would turn into — it was a decision that would trap us for the rest of our lives, impossibly close to one another in some ways and terribly far apart in others. I remember that pain, and the fact that I don’t feel that anymore brings me a happiness so great and so deep that it breaks me and holds me together all at once.

“But there is this other part of me, this other part that remembers what it was like to be tied so close to you that your pain was my pain and your thoughts were my thoughts. I remember how powerful I felt when we drew off of each other’s strength during battle. Our connection was so strong that one of us could heal the other’s wounds even when no other person could.”

Images of steles and skin and glowing iratzes flashed through Emma’s mind — Emma in Julian’s lap in the back of the Toyota, Julian holding Emma’s dying body on the battlefield before they went up in flames.

“I remember what it was like to be so intricately intertwined with you that we were practically one person, held together by parabatai magic. I remember that, and I miss that.

“And I know that we are still connected in other ways. I know that my heart will always be tied to yours. I know that I would still be lost without you — that hasn’t changed. But there was something about the parabatai bond — the physicality of it, the fact that your pain was my pain in the most literal sense. I felt you, Julian. Every second of every day I felt your presence. You were a part of me. Not just emotionally, but it was as though you were a cluster of cells in my body, a vital organ that I would die without. When we were parabatai, you weren’t just in my mind, you were in my bones.”

She took a shuddering breath before continuing. “And so sometimes, whenever I can’t sleep, I trace the outline of your rune and I remember what it felt like to be tied to you in that way. I know that there was a lot of heartbreak and a lot of pain that came with that rune, but there was a lot of good too. And now that the bond is broken and my heart feels whole, I can look past the pain and remember the overwhelming joy that I felt being your parabatai.”

She paused, unsure of how to finish. After a few seconds, she spoke again. “So maybe I just wanted to remember that.”

Emma took a deep breath in and held it as though she was preparing to get slapped; steeling herself for Julian’s reaction. And for a while, there was no reaction at all; he simply stared at her with such softness in his eyes that she thought she might melt right there in his lap. He reached one hand up to push a lock of hair behind her ear and his fingers lingered there; ghosting over her cheek. She kept herself still, arms straight by her sides, still waiting for him to speak. Finally, he did.

“I remember,” he said, brushing his lips across her cheek. “I remember our parabatai ceremony. I could barely get the words of the oath out of my mouth because I was looking at you, surrounded by heavenly fire and you looked so beautiful that I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.” He dipped his head and began planting kisses across her jawline, from the bottom of her ear to her chin.

“I remember sitting on the beach with you one day only a few months after our ceremony. You took your hair out of its braid and the sun hit the strands just perfectly and this wave of desire hit me so hard that the whole world fell away and it was just you.” His lips were on her neck now, soft and gentle like his voice. Emma tilted her head back slightly allowing him access and her hands found their way tentatively to his shoulders.

“I remember when you healed me in the back of our beat-up Toyota. I remember the sparks that shot through my body when you sat in my lap and touched your stele to my skin. I was trying so hard not to show it — how just your body touching mine made me fall apart. But you were looking at me with this wild look in your eyes and I couldn’t keep myself from pulling you closer.” He leaned in and whispered against her skin just one word, over and over. “Closer,” he breathed. “Closer. Closer. Closer.” She shivered at the feeling of his lips brushing against her skin as he formed the words, his hot breath setting fire to her bones.

“And I remember dancing with you at the Midnight Theater and I swear I would have kissed you right then and there. I didn’t even care about all those people around us. All I saw was you. All I ever see is you.”

Emma’s fingers wound themselves into the curls of his hair, her breathing growing heavy and ragged. Her nails scraped gently at his scalp which pulled a hum of pleasure from the boy beneath her. Her lips began to move on their own accord, the words escaping in a desperate whisper. “I love you,” she said. “I love you. I love you.”

At her words, he straightened up. His face was hidden in shadow, but his eyes sparkled in the moonlight that streamed through the window. They were the color of the ocean on a stormy night, depth and darkness hidden beneath the surface. “I love you,” he breathed into the space between them. “I love you. I love you.”

Unable to wait a second longer, she pulled him in close and their lips met. Emma felt as though she was moving in slow motion. She felt sparks everywhere they touched — every part of her lips, from the center out to the corners and every place in-between, her back where the heat of his palms spread up her spine and across her shoulder blades as he moved his hands across the fabric of her tank top. Even her fingers, still buried in his hair, sizzled with energy.

Her mouth opened up over his and when they reconnected, it was as though everything had sped up. She suddenly wanted more, needed more. “Closer,” she pleaded against his lips. “Closer. Closer.” Her fingers pulled at the collar of his t-shirt and she was dragging it over his head before he even had time to pull away from the kiss.

Julian chuckled softly at her sudden desperation, which turned into genuine laughter when the shirt caught under his chin and Emma cursed in frustration. Finally, she pulled the shirt over his head with an exclamation of excitement and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His brown curls were ruffled now from both the t-shirt and the work of her fingers. He was unbearably beautiful, bare-chested and messy-haired.

Julian’s laughter faded when he saw the look on Emma’s face. Her eyes were dark with desire, her chest rising and falling quickly, her lips slightly parted. They sat in silence and lost themselves in each other’s eyes, the sound of their breaths in sync was all that could be heard. Slowly, Julian moved his hands underneath Emma’s shirt and ran his fingers up and down the bare skin of her sides, his gaze never leaving hers.

Looking into Julian’s eyes, every thought left her mind except for one word: Closer. Swiftly, she caught the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, leaving the upper half of her body completely exposed. And yet she felt completely safe in Julian’s arms. She wanted nothing more than for him to know every inch of her. Her heart was free of fear, too full of love and desire to have room for anything else.

Julian’s gaze was still locked with hers, although his breathing was more labored now than it was when she had her shirt on. She smirked at him, finding joy in the idea that she had that kind of power over him. Planning to take full advantage of it, she pulled him flush against her, the skin of their bare chests hot against each other. He growled in her ear and she laughed, pulling away from him.

In an attempt to take back the control she had stolen, Julian caught her mouth in a kiss and firmly gripped her hips before flipping them so that he was propped over her, his chest against hers, their hips locked together, their feet tangled in the sheets below. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently, eliciting a moan from Emma’s parted lips.

“Closer,” she whispered again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in, claiming his mouth with her own. Over and over, Julian’s mouth opened over Emma’s and over and over their lips met in a clash of heat and desperation. Eventually, Julian pulled away and turned his attention to the places that her shirt had revealed. His lips traveled from her throat down in between her breasts and even further down her stomach, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Emma had her hands in his hair, keeping him close against her, whispering his name into the darkness. “Julian, Julian.”

When he reached the top of her shorts, he paused and looked up at her. Emma’s body was screaming at her to tell him to keep going, her skin begging for the touch of his lips. But the picture before her was one she wanted to savor forever, and she allowed herself to take it in. Julian, her Julian, with a tousled mop of brown hair that fell across his forehead, his ocean blue eyes looking up at her through his dark eyelashes, his cheeks flushed with color, his body pressed against hers, his fingers running lightly over her sides.

He dipped his head and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her hip bone and Emma shuddered at the intimacy of the gesture. She reached down towards him, her fingers seeking to touch his face as she pleaded, “Closer.”

He turned his eyes up towards hers and was just beginning to push himself up onto his hands to climb on top of her when a cry pierced the air, dragging them out of the fog of desire they had lost themselves in.

“Tavvy,” Julian groaned before collapsing against Emma, his head laying on her stomach. She laughed at his pouting and reached down to run her hands through his hair. For a few seconds, neither of them moved, content to simply be close to each other. Their inhales and exhales paired together and their hearts found the same beat. With a heavy sigh, Julian lifted himself up and pulled Emma in for one final, deep kiss before breaking away.

“Go to sleep, my love,” he whispered. “I’ll be back soon.” He held her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning away. Emma’s heart ached as he closed the door behind him, but more than anything she felt love. Julian would always put his family first, and she would do the same, for they were her family too.

She smiled at the thought, giddy with a happiness that she never thought she would feel. Her skin was still warm where Julian had touched her and the bedsheets were cool against her bare skin. She lay her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. Knowing that the boy she loved the most in the world would be coming back to her soon, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

-------------------------

The creak of the door woke Emma from her slumber. Although her back was to the entrance, she recognized Julian’s soft footsteps as he crossed the room. She felt the mattress shift underneath her as he climbed into bed beside her, pulling the covers over his body. He reached out to her and pulled her against him. Their legs and feet comfortably intertwined under the sheets and Emma adjusted her position, curling her head into his chest, his arm coming up to wrap around her waist. He settled beside her, a soft exhale escaping from his lips. Under the cover of darkness, Emma leaned forwards and pressed her lips to his chest, right above his heart where his faded parabatai rune was painted white against his skin.

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against the place she had kissed. He simply pulled her closer in response. Closer. Closer. Closer.

[julemmaes]

Parabatai At Their Best (and their worse)

Crying while rereading my “Parabatai shit” post I realised that (even thought I think all I worte is true) I might have been a little bit rough. I love Matthew and James so much (both as a duo and individually) and this won’t be my last post about them being nice and super cute parabatai, at all, it’ll take me ages before shutting the fuck up about this book, so here you are, my favorite parts of them:

“Matthew,” said James. “Matthew, I know you’re under there. Come out, or I swear on the Angel I will pith you like a frog.”

I was laughing so loud my dad started yelling at me (it was around midnight) (I woke my three-months-old neighbour) (sorry not sorry)

Jem’s violin had pride of place—a Stradivarius carved of mellow wood, it rested in an open case atop a high table. James had seen his father come into this room just to touch the violin sometimes, a faraway look in his eyes. He wondered if he would do the same with Matthew’s belongings if one day, he lost his parabatai. He pushed the thought away. Matthew was like food, sleep, breathing; doing without him would not be possible.

I know Cassie told us, even recenlty that the family tree already lied to us and that we should not trust it, but we all know Matthew will have some twisted end, most probably in the last book, and James WILL eventually do without him and the thought alone hurts like a mothertrucker.

“Jamie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry to have to do this.” He swallowed. “You are cursed. A child of demons. It is why you can see the shadow realm. You are seeing the place you belong.”

James jerked back, staring at Matthew. Matthew, who smelled of brandy and familiarity. Matthew, who could be cruel but never to James. James’s vision began to slide into grayness. Matthew went white. “James,” he said. “I didn’t mean it—”

Okay, but Matthew realising he might have stepped too far this time? I swear this whole scene was an up and down of crying and laughing like crazy, and heart attacks too.

“No stealing the books and bringing them back to the Devil Tavern,” said Matthew. “It would not be the first time your book kleptomania has gotten us in trouble.” James held his hands up innocently.

BITCH I’M JAMES I STEAL BOOKS FROM MY GRAMMA ALL THE TIME AND MY MOTHER GETS THE SCOLDING

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, as if in pain. “Oh, Jamie,” he sighed. “What if I said there is no shadow?” “I would not believe you,” said James. “I know what I feel in my own heart.” “James,” said Matthew. “You’re starting to slide off the bridge.” “Good.” James closed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight.” Matthew leaped down, just in time to catch James as he slumped backward off the wall.

When James woke in the morning, he was lying in his own bed. In a velvet wing-backed chair nearby Matthew was dozing, his cheek propped on his hand. Matthew always looked quite different when he was asleep.

BUT GUYS DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS? MATTHEW NEVER SLEEPS THE SAME AND OH GOSH THE SOFTNESS OF THIS BOY OVERWHELMS ME

“Magnus would never create a bridge that would collapse,” said Matthew. His green eyes were shining, and James felt a rush of affection for his parabatai; Matthew had always loved magic.

Same Jamie, same. I’m like this:

Matthew’s voice shook. “We have to go back to the Silent City. We have to get you to Jem—”

“It won’t work,” he said softly. “No one can follow me into the shadows, Math. Not even you.” Matthew walked swiftly toward the archway, even as James called out to him in sharp alarm.

I don’t know if I’d be able to have such a strong connection with someone. Anyone for what concerns me. It’d be an honor to have it, but the pain, the suffering. I’m not a strong person and being tied to someone like this… Maybe I’d die with worry.

Matthew gasped. His hand flew to his chest: he pressed there, hard, as if a knife had gone into his heart and he was trying to stop the bleeding. His face was utterly white. “He’s dying,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can feel it.”

And this? Feeling them dying? Fcuk no

Matthew sat beside him, wearing a velvet jacket and matching trousers. James had wavered in and out of consciousness for the first two days after his visit to Belial’s realm. Sometimes he dreamed of the demon world and woke up yelling, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. His knives might not have been beside him, but Matthew always was.

“He’s burning the house down, isn’t he?” said Cordelia. “Bloody Herondales,” said Matthew, with a sort of epic despair.

No need to comment

“It coincidentally burned down while you were in it?” grumbled Matthew. “If I could explain—” “You cannot.” Matthew shook his head, scattering ash. “I am completely out of patience. The bank of patience is exhausted! I am not even being extended any patience on credit! You and I and Cordelia are going home, and once home, I will berate you at enormous length. Prepare yourself.” James hid a smile. “I shall do exactly that.”

This gave me such strong Alec/Jace vibes I jumped from my bed and was like:

AND FOR THIS FINAL, LAST BUT NOT LEAST, BEST QUOTE ABOUT OUR BABY BOYS NOW GROWN UPS

Will was grinning like a boy. “Wait until I tell Jem—”

This is so pure and soft I’m-

[thesunandseonghwa]

Shadows and Angels | Part One

chan x reader | changbin x reader

warnings: violence, being drugged. 

genre: angst, kinda fluff idk?

1.7k words

i sincerely hope this is decent, this is literally my first fic ever lmao.

see here for glossary of starred terms

masterlist

You didn't know why you were here, it was noisy and the flashing neon lights had begun to give you a killer headache. You sat at the bar, looking over at your best friend who seemed to be having the time of her life every so often. Your best friend had insisted on going to this party, supposedly she had been invited by some other friends of hers but something about the place made you uneasy. It was just a regular club as far as you could tell and you had convinced yourself you were just being paranoid but you could of sworn you had seen some strange things about the people here.

Bright yellow cat eyes on a guy in a jacket covered in glitter, a women with a spiked tail trailing behind her through the slit in the back of her red dress.

You had probably just had too much to drink or the lights had to be playing tricks on you. Nevertheless, you still felt on edge.

You turned your head as you felt a tug on your shoulder, "Come with me to the bathroom, I need to pee!"

Your best friend laughed as she tugged on you to come along, you stood up from your seat to follow after her. You surprised yourself when your head instantly felt like a thousand tons and your vision blurred in front of you, you shook your head trying to take one step in front of the other but you couldn't and your best friend was quickly fading away into the throngs of people. You tried to call out to her but it was impossible to hear you over the deafening music.

Your drink, it must have been drugged by someone you thought, as you felt your knees buckle under you. You were sure your head was about to hit the floor but a strange man came to support you before you fall. Lifting your feet off the ground and walking on,

You didn't know if this person was your saviour or a nightmare because you could no longer hold on.

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

"I told you going to this rave was going to be useless, Changbin," Chan rolled his eyes at his parabatai, they were surrounded by downworlders* but not the right downworlder. Not the ones he knew Changbin was looking for.

The two of them were no stranger to downworlder raves but Chan knew a lost cause when he saw one, "Hey man, I know you're struggling but this isn't how we're going to avenge your father,"

Chan put his hand on Changbin's shoulder, he could feel the unease in him. The unrelenting anger and frustration too and Chan felt it too.

Changbin's father had died nearly a year ago. A few years prior to his death, he had become addicted to a substance called Yin Fen*. His father ultimately succumbed to his addiction. Once you had built a dependency on Yin Fen, you could either stop taking it and die or continue to take it and slowly die. It was a lose-lose situation if you were to put it in extremely insensitive terms. His father had been killed by downworlders, presumably vampires as he gone to them quite frequently to procure more Yin Fen however this time, the vampires he had gone too were not willing to bargain. The accords* could not protect him, these vampires were not like the others. They were Downworlders that did not care for the accords. They were rogues in a sense, hellbent on causing as much trouble as they could for the Nephilim. They hated the accords and shadowhunters alike.

Changbin's father like his son had been a shadowhunter. A shadowhunter who had ended up tangled with the wrong crowd after the death of Changbin's mother. This 'crowd' had been the reason why his father's addiction began. Chan knew the way Changbin felt about finding the people that had killed his father, they had spent the past few months tracking down each and every person that had any connection to his father's addiction and ultimate murder as instructed by the head of their institute.

They had been tracking one of the vampires but the trail has gone cold, trying to find one vampire at a downworlder rave was like trying to find one specific needle in a stack of other similar looking needles. It was difficult to differentiate thus making it even more difficult to find.

Chan tried to block out the deafening hum of the music as Changbin leaned closer to say something to him, "I think I found our vampires,"

Chan followed Changbin's gaze to see two men, skin pale as night, carrying what looked to be a mundane* girl between them. Her arms were slung over the one vampire's shoulder, her feet dragging on the floor.

They followed the vampires out the back door into a dark alley just behind the club, Changbin flanking them

"If you could just leave the mundane alone, we'd like to talk," Changbin said, his Seraph* blade a few centimeters shy from the vampire's heart. A smile graced his features, one Chan knew well but nevertheless one that scared him sometimes. It was almost like he enjoyed this, in a way it was almost like revenge.

"You have no business here, Shadowhunters," The other vampire hissed,

"We just want to ask you some questions about-" Chan wasn't able to finish his sentence as the vampire made a lunge for him. Chan dodged with a quick tuck and roll. He steeled himself for a battle but when he looked again, they were gone with the wind at a pace neither him or Changbin could follow.

The girl no longer supported by the vampire had slid to floor in a heap. Right now, he shouldn't worry about a randon mundane's possible concussion but it unfortunately cross his mind. He wasn’t evil, a concussion and a hangover was just cruel and not to mention the come-down from whatever the vampires had drugged her with

"So, what are we supposed to do with this problem?" Changbin said gesturing toward the girl on the floor. 

"I-I'm not anyone's problemmm, pretty boy!" The girl suddenly interjected, her voice slurring.

"She can see you? She can see us?" Changbin's eyebrows knitted together as he spoke, clearly perplexed. Chan didn't have to say it, he felt the same.

"She has the sight*," Chan said, bending down to the girl’s height. He propped her up against the nearby wall. He did feel sort of bad for treating her like a sack of potatoes but he didn’t have much choice.

“What are we supposed to do with her then, Chan?” Changbin muttered, clearly annoyed about losing the vampires, “She could be just a mundane for all we know?” 

“A mundane with the sight that’s not exactly common is it?” Chan chose to ignore his parabatai’s attitude, he shook the girl’s shoulder

Her eyes fluttered open for a few seconds, she reached a hand out seemingly to touch his face. It was almost like she was trying to make sure he was real. Chan found himself gazing at her with a softness he didn’t know he had in him. Her fingers brushed his cheek softly, “You’re not an angel, right? I’m not dead?” 

“Close but no,” He laughed, his attention was drawn by the sound of the backdoor scraping open, 

The girl’s hazy eyes drifted to the newcomer, her hand dropping to the floor, she tried to stand, “Miya!” 

“y\n?!” The newcomer’s eyes darkened to black as she saw the boys, “Nephilim, what has dragged you down here?”

“Nephilim? Miya, what are you talking about?” Y/n answered, attempting to make her way to her supposed friend. Chan took a step in front of her, him and his parabatai drawing their Seraph blades. The glow of their blades lighting up the dark back alley. It felt good to stand ready with his parabatai at his side. He didn’t know what this girl was but he felt the need to protect her. 

Chan exchanged knowing looks with Changbin, this newcomer was a shape-shifting demon no doubt about it. One they had been tracking, nonetheless. A scream ripped from the supposedly mundane girl as her ‘friend’ Miya took her true form. The skin of her face ripping open to reveal a grotesque animal-like face, the human body ripping apart to reveal a disgusting demon body fit with several arms. 

Chan and Changbin advanced, they were always fierce fighters on their own but together, they were almost unstoppable. The demon hadn’t stood a chance, it’s body dissipating into nothingness as their blades cleaved cleanly through it. A fine layer of demon blood splurging out, Changbin wiped his blade off on his sleeve, “So, what are we doing with the girl? I think she’s gone into shock,”

“You’re killers!” The girl backed up against the wall, holding herself. She was shivering and he wasn’t sure if it was the shock of what had just happened or the cold. Most likely the former rather than the latter. 

“Listen, I can explain everything to you but I need you to come with us, somewhere safe,” Chan said, slipping his blade back into it’s place on his belt.

“Why should I trust you! You just killed my-” She cut herself off, 

“Obviously that wasn’t your best friend or girlfriend or whatever,” Changbin huffed, running his hand through his dark hair, 

Chan shot the boy a look, “Bin, cool it with the attitude please?” 

Changbin glared at him, Chan turned his attention back to the girl, “Y/N?” 

Her eyes, pupils shot wide looked to him. The fear in her eyes was there but she was trying not to let it show, “That’s your name, right? Mine is Chan and this is Changbin, we’re protectors of a sort and your friend, Miya was a demon,” 

“So you’re like ghostbusters for demons or something?” She said, her back was still flush against the brick wall, “What the hell is all of this, none of this makes sense!” 

“I promise we’ll both explain everything but now we need to get to somewhere safe, you can trust us,” Chan mustered up a smile, reaching a hand out to her. 

She seemed to mull over her options before she stood up straight and after some time she took his hand, “Fine, I’ll go with you,” 

“Bin, you getting the car or?” Chan asked, 

“I have a bad feeling about this and Jihyo is not going to be happy with you for bringing a mundane into the institute,”

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤ 

I hope you liked it, thank you for reading!

 part two is coming soon. I really appreciate any and all feedback <3

[myulalie]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Malec fic on your ao3... Izzy and Jace find pictures in Magnus's work desk, of Alec in lingerie and heels? After after all did a photoshoot for Magnus' birthday? Thank you!

Hi anon! Thank you for your prompt! You can find it on AO3 or read here! I'll admit I was out of my comfort zone, but I had a lot of fun coming up with this story, hope you like it ♥

Talking bodies

One. Ops Center Alec squirms, uncomfortable in the leather chair, and tugs at the fabric of his black shirt. Cotton isn’t so bad, stark black against his too-white skin from locking himself away during the day, and only going out at night. At least his skin hasn’t erupted in rashes from the prolonged contact this time, he thinks.

The shadowhunter feels like he’s about to choke with the collar of his shirt leaning heavily around his throat though, and can’t help but feel wary. This is Alec’s battle gear. He usually wears these clothes when he leaves on patrol, but there is nothing to fight here, except the urge to slap Jace over the head.

Why do they have to get dressed in the Institute? Shouldn’t this Clary girl adopt their customs rather than demand they all get dressed to spare her from… from what, exactly? Alec has seen the way she blushed at the sight of Jace shirtless, Clary enjoyed the view. Is she jealous of Isabelle? She’ll look like Izzy, like them all soon enough, better start living like them too.

Hodge seems uncomfortable in his clothes too, his hair in disarray and his clothes as revealing as possible to let his skin breathe. The pink tinge of Hodge’s complexion clues Alec in on the fact that he’s not the only one that feels too hot right now.

Alec cannot see Jace squirm because the blond puts up a brave front for Clary, but the parabatai bond is taut with concealed frustration. There is a suspicious looking tinge at the back of Jace’s neck too, bright red on beige. No wonder the bond is so sour, Jace must be in pain, Alec muses.

Serves him right, Alec can’t help but express through the parabatai bond.

Alec looks up with a start when the screen lights up with pictures of a warlock, always surrounded by other downworlders. The man is beautiful, with luxurious clothes and Alec squints as he tries to catch sight of a scar, or maybe a defining trait on the smooth expanse of skin exposed by the High Warlock’s clothes.

Magic is nothing like shadowhunters battle skills and there isn’t much to learn from Magnus Bane’s outward appearance, except that he’s rich, and good at hiding everyone and everything. Alec doesn’t approve of the plan, but there isn’t much to do or say either way. They need Clary’s memories. He glances at Isabelle, propped on the edge of the table, and the back of Clary’s head, bright orange hair curling down her back.

“Can you two focus,” he interrupts the banter going on around him, “this is not a joke.”

“Someone needs to get laid,” Isabelle quips.

Alec rolls his eyes and makes a face in reply to his sister’s teasing. Isabelle got away with a sports bra. Her tawny skin — from lazing in the sun when she naps during the day — is left on display. Apparently this is alright with Clary, and Alec has to hide his envious look. He really wishes he could take off his shirt now.

As things are, he follows along with the plan, so there won’t be any getting out of his clothes until he’s back in his bedroom for some well-earned rest.

Two. Brooklyn Heights Magnus doesn’t give much away, even in person. Alec cannot find any tell-tale signs of age on this flawless face, and there are no scars marring this beautiful skin of sepia and magic. The sparkles of color dancing at Magnus’ fingertips always come too late for Alec to feel like he has a chance against the warlock; not that he wants to fight Magnus anyway.

Alec retreats by Jace’s side once he’s sure the loft is secure, and once again wishes the rest of the world, and Magnus specifically, would wear less clothing. The warlock doesn’t need these clothes anyway, Alec reckons. Even if Alec could read Magnus’ body like he does other fighters, magic would glamour anything of use to the shadowhunter. Magnus looks like a dancer, quick on his feet, and it makes sense with the way he wields his magic, this is not about strength.

The shadowhunter glances at his sister as she interacts with Magnus. Isabelle mastered mundane cues to look non-threatening, but Alec can read the danger in her muscular thighs and the few scars on her arms. She doesn’t get hurt often, because her opponents don’t have the time to do any damage.

Jace, in comparison, has many more scars — sometimes more than older shadowhunters — because he fights in close range. It speaks of recklessness, and survival.

Alec startles when Magnus gestures to boss them around, “Pretty boy, get your team ready.”

Jace steps forward at the command, but stops abruptly as Magnus pushes him back to point at Alec instead. The blond steps back reluctantly, glancing between the warlock and his parabatai, and Magnus ignores Jace.

“I’m not talking to you,” Magnus corrects, “I’m talking to you.”

Alec blinks, the flicker of a smile playing on his lips because Magnus likes the way he looks, and Alec takes pride in his body, the work of an entire life, training to hone his skills. He doesn’t need to go hand to hand, because Alec can take his opponents out with his arrows alone.

Jace glances at him with a mock-offended frown, but the blond’s eyes sparkle with pride at the acknowledgment of his parabatai’s strength. Alec shrugs, adjusting his quiver on his shoulder and elbowing Jace. Their bond hums playfully as they get moving.

“Maybe you need to train more,” Isabelle whispers to Jace, teasing.

Clary looks at them like they’ve lost it. She wouldn’t understand, Alec imagines. Soon enough, she will be familiar with shadowhunters’ customs and read their bodies with new eyes. Hers speak of a sheltered childhood, and except for the stain of paint, nothing lingers on her skin. She’s a novice, and it shows in the way her shoulders drop when she sits, too. She has never been on guard, doesn’t need to stay alert.

Alec shrugs and pushes the unexpected compliment to the back of his mind as they get on with the summoning. He can’t wait to go back to the Institute and finally shed his clothes. It feels like he has been on patrol for the entire day.

Three. Training room Alec skirts the punching bag, the light of stained-glass windows fanning in red and purple over his naked back. The floor is comfortably cool beneath his feet and the impact of his knuckles against the bag grounds him. Alec punches once, then twice and thrice and exhales loudly as the clatter of heels echoes behind him.

Alec stills, surprised, as most shadowhunters walk barefoot, and he watches from the corner of his eye as Magnus comes round to face him.

The shadowhunter grabs the bag to stop its momentum, the leather slightly warm against his palm. He glances at Magnus with interest, at loss of what to think with the heavy ornaments the warlock chose to adorn his outfit with that day. There is barely any skin to see this time, and Alec tilts his head to the side. Maybe there is something to gather from Magnus’ clothes. Isabelle would know, he imagines, but this is a foreign language to Alec.

Magnus has zoned out, staring at Alec’s groin, and the shadowhunter frowns, confused. What is the warlock looking at? The parabatai rune maybe? Alec looks down at his chest, then his length, flaccid between his legs, and Magnus finally averts his eyes when Alec makes no move to hide himself. Alec even preens a little to show off the curves of his muscular frame, and Magnus gapes, shaking his head before speaking.

“I had forgotten about the customs of the Nephilim. Should I have undressed at the entrance?” Magnus asks with a wry smile.

“We do not impose our customs on our guests, but they like to deny us of our comfort,” Alec replies evenly.

Magnus’ eyebrows arch up, but he doesn’t comment, and neither does Alec. Clary has yet to adopt their customs, but she has taken to wearing sports bras like the one she allowed Isabelle to wear when they planned to meet up with Magnus, Alec muses as he moves to grab a towel. He wipes sweat off his chest and arms, glancing at the file in the warlock’s hands.

“I have the preliminary autopsy findings,” Magnus explains.

Alec accepts the file, but doesn’t look at it, admiring the colorful dance of the light pouring from the stained-glass windows and onto Magnus’ face instead. Magnus belongs there, Alec can’t help but think as he takes in the sepia of the warlock’s skin, and the royal blue of Magnus’ outfit, that aged like fine wine and shines gently centuries later.

It’s a beautiful contrast, and for a moment, Alec understands the appeal of such clothing. Then, Magnus shifts and the light falls to the floor between them. Alec throws the towel over his shoulder and finally glances at the file he dismissed a moment ago.

“Should I walk you out?” he offers.

“No, thank you. I should be alright,” the warlock gestures at Alec to get going.

Alec can feel Magnus’ gaze on his back as he leaves the warlock alone and walks out of the training room.

Four. Master bedroom For the importance mundanes and some downworlders put on clothes — and especially when to take them off or with whom — Alec finds it increasingly peculiar that Magnus and him keep them on in the warlock’s loft. It’s warm there, and most of the surfaces available are comfortable to lie on.

Alec particularly likes the couch near the window, and curls up there most of the time to catch up on paperwork. He can’t stop fussing today though, and keeps moving around instead of settling in. Alec would enjoy the comfort of the loft a lot more without clothes on.

He doesn’t mind per se. Alec understands that there is a time and a place to go around naked. This was the very reason for his annoyance when Clary insisted they get dressed in her presence at the Institute, Alec’s very home. Alec simply did not expect Magnus’ loft to be one of these places.

“Something’s bothering you, darling?” Magnus calls from the apothecary.

“Why do you love clothes so much?” Alec blurts out without thinking.

Magnus stills in the doorway and peers at him. Across the living room, it feels like the gap between them is too wide, and that Alec can never understand Magnus. He tries though, and stands up to cross the room, stopping a breath short of Magnus.

“Why do you hate clothes so much?” Magnus replies, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“They’re impractical and because of their clothes I can’t tell someone’s social status and battle experience just from looking at them,” Alec explains without thinking.

“To you, maybe,” the warlock nods, “but I love my clothes, I choose them with care. They show a part of me that I cherish, and nobody can ignore these statements I make. Yeah, sometimes I use my clothes to conceal how I feel or what I am truly capable of, but would you know how strong of an opponent I am just from looking at me anyway?”

“Magic is different,” the shadowhunter concedes, “how… do you feel good when wearing clothes?”

Alec fiddles with the collar of Magnus’ shirt, curious, but rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger doesn’t bring any answer. Magnus smiles instead, and takes Alec’s hand to lead the way into the master bedroom.

The warlock opens a drawer in his wardrobe there and pulls out a jet black garter belt. It comes with a set of matching suspenders, and a complementary bra, made only of straps to wrap around the chest. Magnus offers them to Alec with an encouraging smile.

“What I like about my clothes is how smooth they feel, and how they enhance my features.”

The shadowhunter nods slowly and takes the jet black set of satin straps. The fabric is soft and flows in his hands like ink, barely there. At Magnus’ instruction, Alec strips and slips on the garter belt first, adjusting it on his waist, and then the bra. The straps crisscross across his chest like a harness and the sharp pattern of geometric shapes reminds Alec of his rigorous nature.

He likes the way the garter wraps around his legs like thigh holsters, too. It follows the lines of his muscular frame in beautiful curves and Alec smiles a little as he realizes he can barely feel the lingerie on his skin.

“I think I understand now.”

+ one. Apothecary Alec fiddles with a letter opener in Magnus’ apothecary while his boyfriend entertains Clary’s curiosity about the potion he’s making. Magnus is patient, and Alec can appreciate how attentive Clary is. She listens intently and hands Magnus whatever ingredient he asks for, squinting to read the tiny scrawl on the various jars around them. Alec has long given up on deciphering his boyfriend’s handwriting (or so he told Magnus) and relies on a series of tips and tricks to read the most important words, while the warlock does his best to write in a more modern script for Alec’s benefit.

Isabelle hasn’t, and she browses through a handwritten grimoire left open on the cluttered desk, her tongue poking between her lips as she reads. She pushes a misplaced quill out of the way to flip the page, and a picture flutters out. It falls on the floor and Jace bends to pick it up, a smile lighting his face at the sight of the photograph. Isabelle peers over his shoulder, a curtain of dark hair hiding the picture from view. She grins as well, glancing at Alec to wink.

“Damn Alec!” Isabelle whistles approvingly, “Did you really need to wear heels too? You’re already so tall!”

Alec rolls his eyes and ignores his parabatai humming in agreement. He strides forward to grab the picture and have a look as well. Alec is pleasantly reminded of the photo shoot that took place in Magnus’ bedroom when he tried on the garter set and strap bra.

Black satin wrapped around him aesthetically, with matching heels. It was a beautiful pair of heels too, that tied around his calves with black satin ribbons, enhancing the curve of his muscles in all the right places. Alec smiles at the reminder, and moves closer to Magnus, showing him the picture too.

“I don’t want to see that!” Clary shrieks, hiding her eyes.

Magnus chuckles and takes the picture, pressing it against his chest with a dramatic sigh.

“An early birthday present from me to me!”