#so I think he’d count that towards his age while magnus wouldn’t

[boydykedevo]

Rotating Taagnus ethersea au and i guess since elves don’t really exist in ethersea Taako would be a human… (I’d still give him the ears tho if Devo gets halfelf ears it’s only fair)

I’m just trying to think how old I want him to be. I guess the question is whether I’m thinking IPRE ages or BoB ages, like if Mags is 20 or 32. Cuz if he’s 20 Taako’s a couple years older. But if he’s 32 they’re around the same age

#it’s canon to me that mags thought he was sooooooo awesome and way cooler than him when they first met #cuz he was the equivalent of like. 25. while magnus was 20. basically a dilf. #but then I think by canon time period he’s still pretty young for an elf #the equivalents are more shaky at that point cuz life experience is more relevant as time goes on but he definitely LOOKS younger #i mean also once he gets his memories back he’s a hundred years older than he is physically #which would be more complicated as an elf than for humans cuz like. he doesn’t really age anyway. #so there’s not a physical difference between 200 and 300. just a life experience one. #so I think he’d count that towards his age while magnus wouldn’t #in this au tho I think they’d both be 32 #icarus is talking

[raspberrysunshinebby]

Jewel Of Autumn

Chapter 2

Pairing: Cassian x Vanserra!Reader

Summary: Many had excepted High Lord Beron to immediately marry off his beautiful daughter when she came of age, maybe even before, but when instead she’s kept out of the public eye and confined to her chambers many are surprised he does not use her to improve relations with other courts. Instead he fears that when he does eventually marry his daughter off she will be corrupted and the horror of his ways will settle into her mind causing him to keep her as a prisoner in her home, a girl who doesn’t even realize she is one. When he brings his daughter to the High Lord meeting neither of them realize of the mating bond that has just clicked for the General of the Night Court.

Warnings: Sexist views, unhealthy father-daughter relationship, abusive and toxic families, Isolation

Word Count: 3076 

I learned that the place we were in was called the Court of Nightmares, it was sort of separate from the rest of the Night Court but not entirely. Cassian described it as more of a place over but not what it was placed over, it was a little confusing but I just sort of listened as he talked. He also began to explain a place called Valeris, where the Inner Circle lived and had only recently gone public in knowledge, it was always a hidden place until now. I wondered how that was, to be able to freely live in a place that was hidden and not have to spend fifty years confined to your chambers in an attempt to not have your existence be known.

Cassian and I walked through corridors together while he spoke and spoke, he quite enjoyed just talking which I didn’t mind because if he stopped talking I knew I had nothing to say and then I’d be fully sent into my thoughts and probably have a panic attack because I was left alone with a male that wasn’t my family. Something strictly forbidden in the Autumn Court, by law we should have a chaperone but I’m too angry at my brother to ask him to be one for me. He started talking about the Townhouse they lived in and we ended up outside in the gardens. They were dark and a little scary but I pushed through. 

I had to admit I liked Cassian’s voice, he spoke in a hushed tone to me which helped soothe me some from my anxiety and made me a lot calmer when I was angry at my brother, there's a good chance that it wasn’t his voice but instead the bond. 

A cold breeze passed through which made me shiver, “Are you cold?” I heard Cassian ask.

I nodded, “A little but im fine.” I wrapped my arms around myself as we continued walking, Cassian’s silence now beginning to eat at me. I felt something move and wrap around me and quickly realized it was Cassian’s wing, it did warm me up but the thought of how It’d be seen in the Autumn Court made my heart pound into my ear, “I don’t think that's appropriate,” I said turning to him, “Anyone from the Autumn Court would freak out if they saw that.” I moved to push the wing away but before I could he began recoiling it.

“There's no one here to see us, besides that isn’t a thing here.” Cassian said in I think an attempt to calm me down, I knew he could feel my panic from the bond.

“It's a thing where I’m from though, and that's important to me.” I said a little snappy, I also realized how hungry I was getting. Cassian nodded to me before heading toward a part of the garden where the breeze would be covered, so I wouldn’t get cold.

I tried to listen to what Cassian was saying, I really did but I could only imagine what my father would think if he knew I was alone in the gardens with a male. He’d be so angry at Eris for allowing it and I couldn’t imagine what he’d say to me, or considering what I say a few nights ago, do. Now i couldn't help but think about what happened that night to Magnus and how I’d realized that he’d done that to my other brothers as well.

Everytime I’d thought about that they consumed my mind completely until it got distracted and this time was no different. I would’ve felt bad for not listening to Cassian but I couldn’t even think of that.

I began to pick at my cuticles, “I wanna go.” I said, interrupting whatever Cassian was saying. “I’m sorry but I should really go home.”

I felt Cassian’s hand on my forehead, “You're sweating, like really bad.” He stood up from his seat before helping me up as well, I stumbled a bit before following him wrapping my arm to his in order to keep myself up. I felt weak and uncoordinated.

I’m not sure how long we walked before I heard Cassian yelling Eris’ name and then saw Eris rushing toward us, a worried expression on his face. “What did you do?” Eris said, angrily.

“I don't know, she started freaking out while we were sitting down. I think she really needs to go home now.” Cassian responded, now clutching onto me as well.

Eris gave Cassian a look, “Give her to me.” Cassian held onto me for a minute before letting me go, allowing Eris to pick me up like you would a child. It didn’t bother me though I enjoyed the comfort and wrapped my arms around his neck. 

“You remember what I said? Right Cassian? This is her choice and if she doesn’t ever want to see you again you will respect that, I swear to the mother I will fucking kill you if you ever go against her.” Eris threatened Cassian before winnowing away.

I don't remember much after, only changing and falling onto my bed before Eris took the clothes away and left but not before kissing the top of my head. I fell asleep soon after and woke up hungrier than I’d ever been.

The first thing I did in the morning was bathe, as I was scared I smelled like Cassian after he’d clutched onto me like that and I didn’t want my father to have even the slightest of ideas of the bond.

After scrubbing my body practically raw I grabbed a sage green robe and walked out of my bath to go to my wardrobe, wanting to dress quickly so I could go down to the dining room and feed myself. I also hoped I’d be able to go early enough so my brothers weren’t fighting, but I knew that was unlikely as if father wasn’t there they’d fight and father never went down to breakfast or lunch and only occasionally going down for dinner with the family. I’d had dinner with him countless times recently in his office but I wondered if I even wanted to do that anymore.

I had a towel to dab my hair dry in my hand, knowing rubbing it would make it frizzy and look weird. I enjoyed my hair, so I didn’t want it to look bad. I noticed those shadows again, realizing they left something on my bed. I dropped my hair towel on the end of it before climbing on it and noticed a note sitting on it with messy handwriting.

Dear (Y/N),

Hello my mate, I feel as if it's appropriate to apologize for the night before, I feel as if I acted inappropriately and was far much too rapid with my approach with you. I have to admit I was just excited to meet you and really wanted to speak with you in private because I felt it’d be more intimate which led me to ignore how you felt about it and your traditions in the Autumn Court. I feel as if I made you nothing but uncomfortable. With respect for you and your customs, if you choose to meet me again I’ll ensure your brother will be a chaperone for it. I’d also like to say I’m not normally this formal but I’m trying really hard to impress you right now and I also know your brother is important to you so I’m trying to impress him some as well.

With that as well I’d like to express how much I enjoyed watching you hit your brother, I didn’t enjoy seeing you as hurt as you were but the slap was very enjoyable.If you chose to meet me again I;d like to let you know I’m doing my best to plan our next meet and incorporate your brother into it.

I hope we’ll talk soon, write me back if you wish.

-General Cassian.

I couldn’t help but smile at the note but I also felt bad because he thought that he was the reason for my little episode or whatever it was, i found the note so cute though. I went to reach into a drawer to find a paper and pen to write back to him, he really deserved it but I quickly shoved the note into the drawer and closed it when I heard a knock at my door. I composed myself and went to open it, seeing a maid outside the door.

“Princess, your father is requesting you in his office.” She said, bowing. I said ‘thank you’ before closing my door to quickly change, not wanting to keep him waiting.

I allowed my hair to remain damp as I went to my closet to find a simple brown dress before pulling it on and putting on shoes to make my way to my fathers office, I ran my fingers through my hair on my way to make it look more presentable and ran my fingers down my dress to remove any wrinkles on it.

It wasn’t too long before I knocked on his door and made my way inside, ignoring the thought of the last time I saw this room. I shut the door under his instruction and made my way to a seat that sat in front of his desk.

He put away some documents in a cabinet before turning to me, a strange expression on his face. He sat in his chair before speaking, “I’ve waited too long for this my daughter and I worry on how you will take this.” He said with a sigh.

I smiled at him, “take what? What are you talking about?”

He took a breath, “I’ve had contact with a King in the continents for a while now for an alliance, but with the mountain the alliance hasn’t been,” he paused, “it hasn’t been stable due to promises I’d made to him. About you.”

My face dropped, “What do you mean?” 

“I’ve had intentions to marry you off to King Taron for a while but have had it on hold because I didn’t wish for… her to find out you existed.” My father said,

I paused for a moment, “so you're marrying me off now. To a man I haven’t even heard of, you're just marrying me off like that.”

“I made him agree to let you two get to know each other first, he won’t be a stranger when you're married.”

That didn’t make me feel much better, I thought about telling him about Cassian, telling him I can’t marry this King Taron because I had a mate that I was beginning to like. I got up from my seat, I felt nauseous. “I’m going back to my room.” I said, voice quiet.

“You’ll be woken up early tomorrow, your first meeting will be tomorrow.” This made me feel only more ill.

I didn’t say anything else, only stumbling out of the room and doing my best to keep my composure down the hall before making it to my room to cry.

I collapsed onto my bed before beginning to let my tears fall, I wasn’t sad or grieving I was scared.

It was mid-afternoon when I got up from my bed, I wasn’t sure if I feel asleep or was just laying there but my mind was jumbled and my head was pounding, I also felt so fucking sick.

I hadn’t eaten all day, I skipped breakfast after the news of my engagement was broken to me and it looked like it was past lunch. It didn’t matter much though, I didn’t feel like eating.

I slipped my shoes on before making my way out of my room to make a bee line to Archer's room. I wasn’t sure which one but I passed by one of my brothers but ignored them. I marched my way to my brother's room and began to pound on it before walking in without a care.

“Shit!” I heard Archer yell, “What are you doing?”

I made my way over to a chair in his room, ignoring my brother still in bed in mid afternoon. “Did you know?” I asked.

Archer rubbed his eyes, “What are you talking about?” He said before mumbling about how his head hurt, clearly hung over.

“Father is sending me to the continents to marry some King.” I sat on the chair making myself into a ball on it..

Archer now sat up, “He’s doing that? Like actually?”

“Did you know?” I yelled.

“Fuck no I didn’t.” I heard him mumbling curse words. “Do you know if Eris knows?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m meeting him tomorrow. I’m already terrified of him.”

I looked at the ground as Archer got up from his bed, I think putting pants on before walking over to me with a blanket from a drawer and wrapping it around me. “I’m getting Eris, I’m not letting father sell you off like that.” Archer said before exiting the room.

I was being shoved down a road by Archer in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be later than one in the morning. We moved as fast as we could, apparently going to some cabin in the woods that Eris owned, I guess for some sort of discussion happening that they didn’t want father to learn about.

My feet were killing me as I only wore thin slippers and I was cold only having my night dress and a robe that made me look appropriate. Archer said we’d be unable to winnow to it so we had to walk, which made me want to jump off a cliff.

It wasn’t long before we approached a giant circle of trees looking to be covering something I could only assume was the cabin, which now makes sense as to why we can’t winnow to it. It looks like nothing to someone who's not looking for a cabin and with Eris’ paranoia probably as a ward around it.

Archer began rubbing his hand along the trees before he stopped at a certain part and pushed his hand through, grabbing mine and pushing us both through. I saw a beautiful cabin by a lake, I saw a swing on the large porch and chairs by the lake. I could only assume this place was like a sanctuary to Eris and part of me loved he was showing this to Archer and I.

Archer practically dragged me into the house where I saw Eris dressed down with a glass of wine in his hand looking stressed, I noticed two more glasses on the table by where he sat.

He looked up to greet him and motioned for us two to sit with him, which Archer and I swiftly followed.

Archer sighed before pouring the two glasses of expensive wine and handing one to me, “Father doesn’t allow me to drink.” 

Archer rolled his eyes, “Father isn’t here, and believe me sister you're gonna need it.”

I took it from his hands, only allowing myself a small sip.

Eris rubbed his temple before he got up and grabbed a file before sitting back down with us, “King Taron, King of the Graboki which is the leading market for goods like spices, teas and farming supplies but they are also the leading market for illegal products. They’re law enforcement is known to abuse their power and they’re king is known to be just as bad. King Taron is known to abuse his servants and people of his Court, he also has a liking toward married women. Hell blackmail them in order to have them do,” he looked at Archer ``favors.”

I wasn’t sure what the purpose of this conversation was, all it had done was put a void into my stomach. Eris had figured out this information in less than a day, my Father had to know and he was willingly marrying me off to this man? I put my wine down, feeling sick to my stomach and extremely uncomfortable. I knew exactly what Eris meant by “favors” which made my stomach turn even more.

I felt Archer's hand on my shoulder, “you're not marrying him.” 

“Father already made the arrangement,” I replied, “if I don’t it could cause a war. He made the agreement years ago.”

“We’re gonna figure it out, you're not marrying him.” Eris said sternly.

“Why don’t we just pull the mate card? Have her marry the Illyrian instead?” Archer said.

“Because it’ll be the exact same thing, either way we’ll be throwing her into the wolves. We would need time to make sure she wants to marry him and we don’t have that time.” Eris said.

As much as I quite liked Cassian, especially after the letter, I knew Eris was right. I needed to know Cassian before I committed my life to him, I couldn’t just marry him because he’s my mate.

“What are you gonna do?” I asked.

“Right now our best bet is assassinating him and blaming it on an enemy country. I’m aware they have a resistance in Graboki so maybe we could offer support there.” Eris replied.

“Now the support part might be too risky brother,” Archer said.

“I never said we’d make it public,” Eris said in a snarky voice.

I picked up my wine and began to drink some more, wanting something in my stomach so at least when I threw up I’d throw something up.

“How long do you think we can push the engagement out?” I asked, “I would really like to avoid killing someone and it’d give me more time to know Cassian.”

“Not long,” Eris said, “Father’s already been prolonging it and King Taron won't want it prolonged much longer. Father told me he’s been getting angry about it.”

Archer smirked, “(Y/N) could poison his drink. I think that’d be fun.”

I gave him a look, I knew I could never do it, I couldn’t imagine killing someone. Even a horrible man like King Taron.

“Okay here’s what you're going to do for now sweet sister, you need to do nothing but listen to both me and Mother. Do not believe a word that comes out of Father’s mouth and just stay low and whatever you do please do not allow anything King Taron says to get in your head.” Eris said in a soft voice. I heard Archer say “What about me?” but he was ignored as I nodded to Eris.

#acotar x reader #acotar #cassian x reader #cassian

[beclynn-herondale]

Falling like the Stars

Jace was organizing papers: putting them into specific categories. He accidentally cut his finger on the edge of a piece of paper.

Involuntarily, he said, "Ouch." 

His daughter, who had been coloring a picture for Clary, jerked her head up. "Who hurt you?" her sweet little voice asked in a fierce and protective tone.

It took him a moment to answer, he loved his baby so much and when she did things like this it made him want to fall to the floor. "No one, Celery. I just got a paper cut," he said, tears forming in his eyes. "But, you're so protective and I love you."

She smiled like the sun. "Love you, too, dada," she said. "Can I beat up the paper?"

He laughed. "You can't beat up paper."

"I can."

Yes, she has the stubbornness of both him and Clary, both their babies did.

"How about instead we go start dinner," he said, "I'm kinda done with this paperwork."

"Yay!" she was beaming.

Jace always included his children when he did things like cooking or baking or when he took care of the plants in the greenhouse. It allowed them to spend time together but also he wanted to teach them these things, to pass things onto them so they'll remember forever, and to share memories that they'll hold with them forever.

He also taught these things to his nieces and nephews.

"Alright," Jace said, pulling a stool up to the counter and picking his daughter up and placing her on it. "What do we want to have?"

"Mommy said she's been craving the chicken stir fry you make."

"Has she?" Clary had craved that a lot when she was pregnant with the twins, and even after having them still wanted it often. "Well, mommy has been out most of the day. Let's surprise her with dinner."

"I think she will love that."

Cecie had always been pronouncing words very well for her age, there were moments when Jace wondered if Clary and him had made a genius. Though, maybe every parent thought that. And then Archie had the artistic talent of his mother, Clary had included him in painting since it was safe to allow him to do so, and he was already drawing things very well.

They made dinner and by the time they were finished Clary was back and Archie was back from playing soccer with Max and Rafe. Clary tackled their daughter with kisses while Archie ran up and tackled Jace's leg. "Hey, buddy," he said, while ruffling his son's red curls. Archie took after his mom in looks while Cecie took after him, except their eyes, Cecie had her mom's eyes and Archie had Jace's eyes.

"Mom, you gotta hear what happened to dada today."

"What?" asked Clary.

"A paper cut him," Cecie said, "I threatened to beat it up." She sounded so serious it made Jace want to laugh.

Clary stared at their daughter with a look Jace knew well, it was a look of holding yourself back from squeezing one their children into a hug too tightly. "You're so precious," she said. And hugged her with tears of joy in her eyes.

Jace watched them for a moment with adoration. Archie appeared to be trying to decide if he should tackle them both. Jace picked his son up and then went over to take both his daughter and wife into his arms, three of the most important people in his life. They both laughed and kissed him on his cheeks. His little family.

After dinner they put Cecie and Archie to bed.

"Read this one to me, da," said Cecie.

Archie nodded.

Jace was never able to say no to them. "Alright." He'd lost count of how many times he had read this book to them. It also happened to be the same book Max was obsessed with when he was younger, Jace looked at the book, The Very Small Mouse Who Went a Very Long Way.

Alec couldn't look at the book without remembering the many times he himself had read it to Max. Funnily enough, Alec had regifted it to Jace and Clary when Celery and Artichoke came along, Jace believes this gesture had hidden intentions. Aunt Lily also read it to them, though she also threatened to eat them because they were so cute and sweet, Alec told Jace that Lily didn't actually mean that, and he knew that as well.

After reading it to them twice, they both finally fell asleep. Jace gave them both a gentle goodnight kiss on the head and shut out the lights.

He headed to his and Clary's bedroom. Once you became an adult and a parent sleep was very much welcomed.

Clary was in their bathroom combing out her wild red curls. "Are our little Shadowhunters asleep?"

"Yup," he said, "after reading that book two times through."

"I do believe Alec gifted it to us as a way to secretly torture us."

"I think you're on to something, my love," said Jace.

She gave him that smile that was for only him. "How was your day?" she asked.

"Good. Celery really did threaten to beat up a piece of paper."

Clary laughed. "How did we get so lucky?"

"I don't know. But I know I can't imagine our lives without those two."

"Me either," said Clary.

They both got ready for bed and went to sleep.

——

Clary was walking toward her desk to get a pen: she was signing official Clave documents for the Clave in exile.

Sadly she still had clumsy moments and even more sadly she was barefoot, she stubbed her toe on the foot of the desk.

"Ow. Damnit!" she said, then covered her mouth as she remembered her two year old was in the room with her.

"You okay mommy?" Her daughter asked.

She looked down at her daughter, her big green eyes were full of concern. "Mommy is fine," she said, "just hurt my toe on the desk."

"Damnit! Stupid desk," said Cecie.

Fuck! She thought. "Sweety, please don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Well, uh, because it's not a good word."

"But you said it," said Cecie, looking confused.

"Yes. And mommy shouldn't have."

"Okay." Cecie shrugged.

"Hey, mom?"

"What?"

"Do you want a candy to help you feel better?"

Clary teared up. "Yes, I'd like that."

"K, I'll get you one."

She dashed out the door, while Clary clucthed her heart and sat on the floor from how much she loved that little baby.

At that moment Jace peered his head through the doorway and instantly his face changed from amusement to concern.

"Clary, are you okay?" he asked, voice anxious.

She waved a hand at him. "I'm fine. Just lost the ability to stand from the love I have for our daughter."

"Ah," he said, "did she threaten to beat something up for you?"

Clary nodded. "I stubbed my toe and she looked like she was going to fight the desk. Where's Archie?"

"He's getting paper and crayons, he immediately ran to get them when we got back. Saying something about how mama needed a drawing," Jace said. "Our Celery is becoming quite the protecter."

"Yes. And caring, she went to get me a piece of candy to make me feel better. And Archie is becoming quite the artist and kind boy."

At that, Jace looked like he too may start crying from the love for their daughter. "She's such a good Celery," he said. "Archie is a good Artichoke as well."

It was funny how Cecie was like the protecter and Archie was healer, the twins were opposites but loved each other to the moon and back.

Jace had nicknamed their daughter Celery and their son Artichoke after they were born. Clary being exhausted and knowing her husband and that there was no use in arguing with him on these nicknames, gave in and grew to love them for Cecie and Archie as well.

Jace had a thing with giving the kids he felt affection for or loved a nickname, and he of course gave much thought to the nicknames for their children, listing the benefits of them. Clary found it sweet, but also realized Jace was definitely secretly a plant and health nerd. He'd grown a lot from when she had first met him, he was more open with his love now, more open with his gentleness. He still had moments where he fought back reacting the way he used to but he had learned to fight them back, she was extremely proud of how far he's come. Then again, she was always proud of him.

Cecie came running back into the room, dodging Jace's reaching hands. "Hang on, dad," she said, "I gotta give momma this first."

She handed Clary the candy, then kissed her on the cheek. She then ran to Jace's still outstretched arms, and hugged him tight.

A moment later Archie came running into the room with paper and crayons.

"My celery," he said. "How was your day?"

"Good," she said. "Mommy got hurt though." She looked back over to Clary, who was on her feet now, and picked Archie up. walking toward two of the loves of her life.

"Mama's fine," Clary said, ruffling her daughters hair with her empty hand. then kissing Jace's cheek. "Now, we do need to get ready for Magnus' dinner party."

"Ah, yes," said Jace. "That's tonight. He'll be very dramatic if we are late."

"Uncle Magnus is awesome," said Cecie.

"Uncle Alec is awesome too," said Archie. Archie was always following his uncle Alec around, watching him closely. Clary wondered if he wanted to be like Alec. Jace of course thought it was the most amazing thing.

"Yes," Jace agreed. "But, uncle Magnus is also dramatic."

"You're one to talk," Clary teased.

They all laughed.

"Let's go! I want to see Max and Rafe," said Cecie. Who loved her cousins so much, and would tackle them with hugs when she saw them. Max and Rafe were extremely protective of her and Archie, as well. They would always be there when they were first learning to walk to pick them up and kiss their heads. They had always been gentle with them. And when they had first been born, Alec and Magnus brought them to see their new cousins and Max looked at them and said "I'm gonna protect them like little siblings." Clary started crying and Jace lost it too, it had been an emotional couple of days then. Magnus watched this with a kind of loving amusement and Alec patted his parabatai's shoulder.

It was odd and the most amazing thing, Clary thought. How they'd gone from a bunch of misfits who were fighting a lot in the beginning to a family who would do anything for each other and loved each fiercely. To all being married and having kids. She wouldn't trade this for anything.

"Is pop pop and gammy going to be there?" asked Cecie.

"No, but they are coming to take you tomorrow for a sleep over, though," said Clary. Cecie and Archie had started calling Luke pop-pop and Jocelyn gammy. Luke held the title with adoration and now has a mug  that says "best pop-pop in Brooklyn" ( gifted to him by Simon. his and Izzy's son also calls Luke pop-pop)

They went to Magnus' dinner party. They laughed and had fun and ate a lot. Magnus as usual threw a magnificent dinner party. This was their big family and it was home.

Inspired by an ask I sent @khaleesiofalicante last night

Tag list: @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @megs-readstoomuch @magnus-the-maqnificent @replayfootsteps @simply-ellas-stuff @bookfast-at-tiffanys @jazzkaurtheglorious @my-archerboy

#yes the title is kind inspired from the falling like the stars by james arthur #clary fray #clary fairchild #jace herondale #jace lightwood herondale #clary x jace #clace #celery herondale #artichoke herondale #otp #fluffy fic #the herondale family #the fairchild family #the herondales #the fairchilds #clace babies #clace's kids #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #tmi #the mortal instruments #bec's fanfics #bec writes

[hecticcheer]

Hyponatremia (unfinished T/M/A fic)

Fiveish months ago I tried to write a fic based on this scenario post I made. I’m super definitely never gonna finish it, and, it just kinda trails off at the end? Also it’s very rough. Features some American measurements in brackets that I’m too lazy to convert, if that gives you an idea. But I figured I’d post it anyway on one-slice-of-cake>no-cake principle.

As for the plot... uh. Jon has a headache; Martin tries to help, but makes it worse. For *checks notes* ~4200 words. If it has one saving grace, it’s that you can mmmmostly understand it without prior knowledge of T/M/A? Long as you know Martin’s living in the Archives to hide from an evil worm monster, you should be good.

--

As usual, Jon was the first person to join Martin down in the Archives that morning, sometime between seven and eight. And, no more unusually, Martin had twelve-plus hours of nervous energy to work off, and nobody to shed it on but his boss. “Morning. Sleep well? Tim said you still had some work to do when we left for the pub, but I didn’t see you when I got back so you can’t have made too late a night of it.” (Jon shook his head.) “Shame you couldn’t join us, by the way. Elena and Clarisse and them destroyed us on geography, and Sasha says you’re pretty good on maps and that. Maybe you could’ve saved us.”

“Doubt it,” said Jon. Martin waited for him to add more to that thought, but instead he just sort of stood there. Pinched one nostril shut and inhaled experimentally through the other. Trying to figure out which one was clogged, maybe? Tim said Jon’d said he had a headache; maybe it was a sinus thing. Not that this was exactly reliable intel. On pub-quiz Wednesday Tim always regaled him and Sasha with Jon’s latest excuses not to join them. They were always bad, but some were so bad Martin suspected they weren’t so much Jon’s lies as Tim’s lies about Jon’s lies. Probably not a great idea to mention this one, then. He’d stick to the first excuse Jon had allegedly given:

“Did you finish what you were working on?”

Jon closed his eyes, for a bit longer than the average blink, but not long enough to count as a proper wince. “Not even close.”

“Oh. What… was it?”

“Cabinet of statements from 2003. Or at least, nominally from 2003, though by my count less than a third of them actually date from that year.”

“Yikes. Need any help? Extra pair of hands, or.”

“Not right now.”

“2003,” Martin mused—“are you still looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement?”

A short, but hearty sigh. Enunciated, practically. He didn’t open his mouth until afterward, but Martin could see his nostrils flare around it. “No. Three days ago, when I started to look through the cabinets marked 2003, I was looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement. Now I just want to find out which statements in there I can’t send straight to the discredited section.”

Jon stood in the open doorway to his office by this point, hand on the knob as if to remind Martin of his eagerness to close it behind him. Even so Martin tried to peer past him into the office, looking for a discard pile of statements he might offer to shuttle away himself. This was pretty hard to do surreptitiously, though. He’d hoped his eyes would land at once on the tallest pile, at which time he could point to it and say, Are those the discredited ones, then? But from his vantage point all the piles on Jon’s desk seemed taller than usual.

“Right,” Martin said instead; “good luck.” He smiled weakly and returned his gaze to Jon, meaning to restore eye contact before he remembered how seldom Jon looked at people’s faces anyway. At this moment both his eyes were covered by the hand not on the doorknob. It would’ve been weird, he figured, to just duck out now while Jon couldn’t even see him, so Martin told himself to wait until he opened his eyes and only then back off.

But then Jon just stayed like that, for ages, with his fingers on one temple and his thumb on the other, blocking all possibility of sight. Eventually Martin felt like he had no choice but to say, “Are you alright?—or, I mean, how’s your head, by the way? Tim said….”

“It’s fine.”

“Ssssso it—doesn’t still hurt, then?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Thank you,” Jon said, but in one of the least thankful-sounding tones of voice he had. And then he closed the door, without even waiting for Martin to back up.

—

“Thought you might like coffee this morning instead of tea. It’s got more caffeine, and, that’s supposed to help, right? Plus I remembered what you said on your birthday about tea having tannins just like wine does. Of course, for all I know coffee might too—”

“It does.”

“Oh. Well… maybe the caffeine’ll cancel it out and you’ll break even? Or, I don’t know, maybe if you already have a headache they can’t trigger one.”

Jon’s answering Hm sounded pessimistic. Sure enough, as soon as Martin had finished his sentence he said, “I’m not that lucky.”

“Probably not,” Martin agreed with a laugh. “Still, least it’s hydration. Though caffeine’s a diuretic, so if I recall correctly you only get about half, volume-wise. That mug’s about… [twelve ounces,] I’d say? So it probably counts as about [six toward your sixty-four].”

“Yes, yes,” replied Jon, picking up his bottle of water and shaking it. When he set it down again, one look confirmed what Martin had suspected from the sound it made—it was nearly empty.

“Oh hey, look at that! Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job even without…” he trailed off, realizing too late that the most logical end to that sentence was my help, and that that was a pretty pompous way to refer to a coffee he was pretty sure Jon didn’t even want. So instead he said, “I’ll go refill that for you.” And before Jon could look up Martin scurried off to the break room with it.

The water dispenser should’ve been changed yesterday. When the water got this low it took ages to fill even a mug, much less a tall bottle like this one. It startled as a trickle, and by about halfway up the bottle slowed to a glorified drip. In his mind he pleaded with the water spout not to make so much noise; promised it he’d put in a new one as soon as he’d returned Jon’s water to him, mouthed encouragements to it. Not much farther, just to the top of the M, come on, you can do it. (The bottle was an Institute freebie, with Magnus Institute inscribed on it in black-bordered green letters. Martin had one just like it somewhere in his flat. Worm bait now, he supposed.)

By the time he brought it back Jon’s eyes were on the statement in his hands. Skimming, by the looks of it, rather than either actually reading or pretending to.

Martin endeavored to set down his refilled water audibly, but not painfully loudly. But Jon’s answering “Thank you” took him so much by surprise that at the last moment his wrist jerked and the bottle fell over.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry.” It had a lid, so, not an actual disaster? Jon did snarl at him though, or at least at the noise. His hands flew up as if to cover his ears, but he seemed to reject that idea halfway through. Just closed his fists around thin air, then leant his temple on one of them and sighed through his nose. “Sorry,” Martin said again. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jon’s emphatic blink seemed to stand in for a nod.

“Anyway, here’s a further [sixteen ounces] for you, looks like, or thereabouts,” ventured Martin, patting the side of the water bottle with one hand while holding it down with the other so it definitely wouldn’t topple again. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Mm.”

“Good luck.”

—

After his stunt with the water bottle Martin had too much distrusted himself to risk making another big noise with the door, so he’d left it with its tongue sticking out rather than latching it. This meant he made almost no sound when he entered again. The first thing he noticed was that the water in Jon’s bottle still reached the top of the M. It still sat in the same place, too—not out of Jon’s reach but far enough away (Martin had told himself at the time) not to seem an imposition on his space. Almost definitely not where one would set it if one intended to pick it up again soon. His coffee seemed to have fared a bit better though. Half empty, one might say. Optimistically.

The second thing he noticed was Jon himself, who sat with his elbows on the desk, his chin on the heels of his palms, and his fingers arranged around his eyes like fence posts. Like a child peeking out at something they’re too scared to look at directly—except that his eyes were closed.

Martin snuck back to the other side of the door and knocked on it, gently. “Hey, uh, Jon?”

He didn’t look up, and opened his eyes for only a second before shutting them again. But he did drop his hands, threaded his fingers together and set them on the table, and bit his lip. “What, Martin.”

“Er—well, I know you said you’d given up looking for Marcus McKenzie’s statement, but I just realized I never asked if you’d thought to look in the discredited section. I mean, from what he said on the phone it didn’t sound like he took his dad’s statement all that seriously, so, maybe Gertrude put it in there, as, like, corroborating evidence that it wasn’t paranormal, and McKenzie senior’s statement just got misfiled?”

“Martin, I invented the discredited section.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else you wanted to say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Just wondered if you’d like me to take that mug away.”

Instead of responding verbally, Jon picked up the mug and made what seemed a valiant effort to drink a little more of the coffee inside it. From what Martin could tell, he barely managed not to grimace in disgust.

“Do you like coffee? I’m not a big fan of it either, to be honest. Oh, well. If you can’t force that down you’ve still got plenty of water there, I see. Besides, it’ll wash out the taste.” (With an actual heh heh, which came out more like a small dog panting than like human laughter.)

Dramatic, snarly sigh from Jon. “Think I’ll pass. It seems to make it worse, if anything.”

“Oh. Sorry about that; must be those pesky tannins. I’ll just take your cup now then.”

But Jon only tightened his grip on it. “Water, I meant. The coffee’s fine. Not exactly my favorite beverage in the world, but, you were right. It’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Thanks, I’m glad you.” Martin smiled, then frowned. “Wait, water makes it worse?”

“Seems to.”

“Really? Are you sure it wasn’t just—too cold, or something.”

His laugh sounded bitter, hollow—theatrically so, in fact. A perfect Ha ha ha, except he didn’t say those words, didn’t enunciate them like Sasha sometimes did when Tim made a bad joke. He just made the exact sounds they were invented to transcribe. “No, Martin. I haven’t just been giving myself a brain freeze every time I.”

“…Right, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” For a few silent seconds Martin picked at a notch in his thumbnail, carved there earlier this morning by a stubborn paperclip. Part of him wanted to tear the nail off and have done, but he knew it would bleed if he did. Nothing to clip it with in the Archives, obviously. “Are you sure you won’t try again? This water’s quite tepid, actually, since I got it literally from the bottom of the barrel—”

“Martin—”

“Sorry, sorry. Just thought it was worth—”

“Don’t you have something better to do.”

“Er… no, actually. Pretty much finished with everything, at the momen…t. Though if you’d like to give me another assignment I’d be happy to—yeah. Do that, for you. Or I mean, for the sake of the Archives; I don’t mean it’d just be, like, busy work. Not accusing you of that or anything.”

“Are you comfortable leaving the Archives?”

For half a second Martin heard this as a hint—an offer? a threat?—that Jon meant to have him transferred to another department. Then he wondered if Jon was hinting it was time Martin found somewhere else to live. “What, like, permanently?”

“No—just as long as it takes to track down and interview Georgie Barker about her role in the statement Ms. King gave us.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so, uh. Thank you for asking? I mean, Prentiss said she was done with me, right. At least, me personally. And she already knows I’m here, so it’s not like.”

Jon replied shortly, “Yes.”

“I’d like to listen to Ms. King’s statement first, though, if that’s alright. What’d you say it was about? The Cambridge Military Hospital?”

Another short, emphatic, nose-directed sigh. Couldn’t be too stuffed-up then, Martin guessed. “Technically, yes, though Ms. King insists the building itself had nothing to do with it.”

“Huh. What was it about, then?”

“She alleges that a woman she hired to help film one of her ghost stories peeled the skin off her arm.”

“Oh my god! I mean, did you—was she okay? Did she show you her arm? Did it seem to have—you know—skin?”

“Her own arm, not Ms. King’s.”

“Oh.” Martin sighed for himself now, though with relief rather than exasperation. Managed a tiny laugh, as well. “Okay, well, that’s. Creepy as hell, but, not nearly as bad as.”

“Mm. Nor nearly as verifiable as your version.”

“T…rue, no, I guess not. Anyway do you have the tape? I’d like to listen myself, if that’s.”

Jon pointed to a small stack of tapes on the bookshelf to Martin’s right. Sure enough, the top one had M. King, 0161704 sharpied across the label on its side. “Ah! Found it. Thanks.” He had a tape player squirreled away already; on another day he might’ve pretended otherwise, but for the moment he was too relieved not to have to make a pest of himself by asking to borrow one to worry whether the absence of that request might make Jon suspicious.

Besides, Jon seemed pretty… absorbed in himself, this morning. By the time Martin turned to face him again one of Jon’s hands had crept back up to his face, where its fingers now seemed to comb the hairs of his left eyebrow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon do that before, plus doubted the hairs in question needed his help to lie flat. Jon’s eyebrows had always struck him as quite neat. Plus Martin had tried that with his own eyebrows plenty of times before the mirror in his youth, and knew it didn’t work very well even if you licked your finger—which Martin assumed Jon hadn’t. So he figured he should file this behavior in the same box as the earlier fist-clenching-to-avoid-covering-ears thing. As, like, headache-soothing for people who don’t want to look weak. Or unprofessional, or something to that effect.

This gave him a sense of foreboding when he thought too hard about it. But Martin needed so badly to keep this job, now that his flat wasn’t safe anymore. It seemed wiser not to look directly at abstract threats like that. If he could make Jon feel better then it wouldn’t matter, right? Or at least could be put off til next time.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Don’t recall saying I was,” Jon muttered.

Martin winced. He had said he was alright—Martin was certain. When he’d first come in that morning, he’d said he was fine when Martin asked, and then he’d closed the door. Didn’t seem worth correcting him over it, though. So Martin just said, “Try to drink something while I’m gone, yeah? Kool-Aid, for all I care, just. You really don’t look like you’re feeling all that well. And any kind of drink other than alcohol should—oh.”

He looked up, hearing Jon swallow what sounded like a lot more than the tiny sip of coffee he’d managed before.

“Well. Great. Thank you for obliging me.”

Jon continued to gulp down water, while staring right at Martin. He paused in swallowing to breathe, but even then did not remove the mouth of the bottle from his own mouth. When he tried to resume drinking it made him cough instead, and even then he didn’t set it down.

“O-okay, well, I’m sure that’s plenty, don’t—?” Hurt yourself, Martin wanted to say, but feared that would sound patronizing. The bottle was more than half empty now. Jon paused for air again. “For god’s sake, Jon, stop—that looks like it hurts—you don’t have to—?”

At last he slammed the empty bottle on his desk—more loudly than could possibly be comfortable for a man with a headache. Leant his elbow on the table, and between pants huffed a laugh and said, “Care to refill it for me?”

On a sort of autopilot Martin chirped, “Uh—sure! No problem I’ll just,” and rushed off with it to the break room. This refill took much less time, since he’d remembered to change out the thingy. But it still took long enough that by the time he got back he worried, “You’re not going to chug this one too, are you?”

“No,” said Jon, eyes and hands both busy now with a statement hitherto hidden by his elbow. He did not reach out a hand to take the bottle from Martin.

“Okay, I’ll just. Leave this here then. See you after the, uh. Yeah.”

—

And lo, it was as he had feared. Chugging [sixteen ounces] of water did indeed make his headache worse. By ten it seemed to count turning the page of a statement as an exertion worth pounding over. True, by lunch time it seemed to have backed off a bit—until he sat back down at his desk with his fork and plate. On his way to the microwave he’d thought he must be on the mend: his head throbbed a little harder than when he’d been seated, but not so much he’d have noticed the difference had he not set out to pay attention to it. Some food, maybe an ibuprofen or two and he’d be fixed, he’d told himself.

Once he got to the break room, though, he noticed something else odd. His limbs were weak. His knees seemed made of jelly, and wobbled beneath him every time he shifted his weight; his arms were steady enough, but when he set down the pizza box on the counter after retrieving it from the fridge he felt a surge of relief, which he hardly understood until he’d transferred a slice from the no-onion half onto a plate and picked up the latter to put it in the microwave. Even these tiny movements made his arms, neck and chest ache like they do when you hold your breath too long. He leant his elbows against the counter and gulped down air until his mouth felt so dry he couldn’t bear to keep it open. Wondered if he should sit down; he felt a bit dizzy. But he had less than 30 seconds left to wait for the microwave, which he figured couldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t, but the walk back to his office did a bit. Moving his legs’ sluggish muscles made his whole body ache—again like it does when you run too long and have to stop for breath. He figured it must be in a similar spirit that his head waited til he’d sat down to unleash its onslaught. Before leaving his desk he’d grown used to thinking of his heart beat’s faint buzzy shocks like the second hand on a clock, criticizing him under its breath from where it watched behind his eyes. This was… a great deal worse than that. He tried to time the beats against the ticking of his wrist watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on that and breathe at the same time. They were fast, though, at least at first. His heart rate did seem to calm down fairly quickly, but he could swear it never got all the way back down to its earlier rate—at least not before his attention shifted from the speed to just. How much it hurt.

Was that what made his slice of pizza so tasteless? When he cut his first bite, on its way to his mouth he thought he caught a whiff of the red onions with which its tip must have shared space, and only his horror of Tim asking What was wrong with that part, then? when he brought the otherwise-empty plate back to the sink stopped him from scraping that bite off his fork and trying again higher up the slice. But when he finally forced himself to eat it? Nothing. No onion taste, thank god, but everything else too seemed… muted. Hardly worth how the exertion of chewing made his head hammer after each swallow. Jon knew the taste of food was hardly the point of eating it, but? In the absence of everything he normally liked about cheese and meat and bread and vegetables, the fact the cheese squelched in his mouth made him wish he’d never left his bed. The way leaves of soggy spinach flapped over the sides of even his neatly-cut rectangles. His stomach tightened in revulsion, so that in his throat he could feel each swallowed lump shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be let in. Not to mention how the effort of cutting it shook the whole damn table.

He told himself he could skip the crust. If Tim asked about it, Jon’d just tell him it’d gone stale. Just get through the… other part, the crumb, the filling. Between throbs the ache in his tired jaw merged with the one behind his eyes. Why didn’t it always hurt to chew? Did the pleasure of tasting food give you enough endorphins to cancel it out? Would everyone have this problem all the time if we had to live on, say, dry toast?

Right, okay, close enough. Ibuprofen now. No, you idiot—other drawer. In the fantasy versions he’d rehearsed of this moment he clapped four of them from his palm into his mouth at once, and swallowed them dry. But his blister pack turned out to have only three left. Which was fine! Just fine. Better, probably, after so little lunch.

Also, dry-swallowing was kind of a misnomer? He’d never really thought about it before, but. Turned out it would only work if your so-called “dry” mouth had spit in it. As it was the pills stuck to his tongue, leaving streaks of spicy burnt-orange when he tried to claw them back toward his throat with his teeth. When they got far back enough on his tongue he had to concentrate not to gag, and they still stuck—even when he turned his nose to face the ceiling and thumped on his chin with his hand (which, ouch)—at that point he gave up and unscrewed his water. Allowed as little of it in his mouth as would let him swallow these damn things, and wash their stains off his tongue. And it still made his head throb harder.

Jon imagined shooting whoever next told him to stay hydrated. He derived little joy from the fantasy, though; couldn’t not think of the loud, sharp noise it would make.

Returning the plate could wait, he decided; not like it would attract worms in the thirty minutes it’d take for the pills to kick in. Meanwhile he’d just… keep sorting. He took a statement off the top of the pile in front of him and blinked at it over and over, until his vision resolved into a shape he told himself hurt marginally less than the others. 9720406, Nathaniel Thorp. Christ, 1972? “Misfiled” was practically an understatement for that one. And here he’d thought Gertrude had kept that part of the century in relative good order. Still, he stuck it on the all other years pile and reached for another. 0130111, David Laylow. Nope—still not 2003. 0002610, Jennifer Wong. 0910203, Lisa Jones. 0081711, Donald Gately. 0100912, Lawrence Mortimer. 0152101, Uzma Rashid. Ha!—0030707, Seymour… Backsides. Wait a minute. Hadn’t he seen a prank statement with that name before lunch? He grabbed a stack off the 2003 pile and found… Rashid, Mortimer, Gately. Had he switched the—? Look in the unsorted pile again, he told himself. Under where he’d found Mr. Backsides’ tale he uncovered statements 0031212, 0032504, 0031809, and so on. Great. After Seymour he must’ve got mixed up. There was no more unsorted pile—not on his desk, anyway. He’d have to pull some more out of the… open filing cabinet which stood across the room with its tongue stuck out at him. Yeah, well, that could wait too. For now he’d just. Check his email.

#a shifty tract #to be clear hyponatremia is uh. too little sodium in blood. it is the 'eat more salt' ailment #it's very common w/ dehydration so any diuretic (i.e. med that makes you pee more) can cause it? #my plan here was to have martin complain to tim and sasha that he Broke Jon and when he mentions jon said water made it worse ('god why #('didn't i just believe him?') tim as the only Sports Guy in the archives recognizes ah-ha! electrolytes! #and either get him himself or tell martin to get him some trail mix and sports drink #and have jon drag his feet since every other suggestion his coworkers have given him over the last few days of headache &c. has been Garbage #but eventually cave out of pure frustration--enjoy the taste of salty raisin and stale pretzel so much he grins til his face hurts-- #and figure out it must be 'cause he switched adhd meds recently #(...tho apparently it's rare for them to have this effect BUT THEY CAN! i have two data points) #nonsearchable tma tag

[jungwookjins]

word count: 5.4k

summary: Three times Tim should’ve realized Martin’s feelings for Jon, and one time Martin told him.

i let myself write five thousand words of s1 archival crew fluff instead of doing work i should be doing, as a treat

“So,” Tim starts just as the lights in the pub flicker for a half second, making this all seem much more dramatic than it actually is, “Who is it?”

Martin already knows what Tim is on about but feigns ignorance all the same, for his own sake, “Who’s what?”

“You clearly have a crush on someone.” 

“Crush? We’re not in high school, Tim.” Martin continues to object but Tim cuts him off. 

“Ah no, don’t say you don’t, nothing gets past me. Sometimes, you’re just extra smiley at work, and I know you don’t actually find researching statements of horrible encounters to be that entertaining, so it’s clearly something else. Or rather, someone else,” he waggles his eyebrows for effect, “Sash knows what I’m talking about, yeah?”

Sasha rolls her eyes amusedly but, ever the mediator, doesn’t push Martin for more information, “I do, but Martin, it’s okay, you know you don’t have to humor him.”

“Oh c’mon,” Tim puts on a pout so over-exaggerated, it has both Martin and Sasha stifling giggles, “You guys are no fun. I promise I won’t tell anyone. What happens at Morpeth Arms, stays at Morpeth Arms,” his face screws up a little, “Eh, we’ll workshop that one.” 

“Hm,” Martin starts, then hesitates, and Tim is intimately familiar with this dilemma. The age-old question of to tell or not to tell because the former makes it all mortifyingly real, but the latter is only tenable for so long. He settles on what he would like to think is a compromise, “Okay fine, tell you what, I won’t tell you outright, but if you guess, I’ll tell you if you’re right or wrong.” He hastily adds a limit of “Five guesses,” probably to maintain some facade of not wanting to tell Tim at all.

“Alright, that’s fair, uh, Richard in research?” If he’s being honest, there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to Tim’s guesses beyond all of them being people he’s seen Martin interact with. He likes to say nothing gets past him, but this clearly has, to an extent.

“Mmh mh,” Martin shakes his head lightly.

“Rosie?”

“Nah.”

“Edmund in artefact storage?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the p. “Two more guesses left.”

Sasha pipes up, “Ooh, Oliver? The new bloke in accounting?”

“Uh uh, only ever talked to him once so far. One left.”

Sasha and Tim think for a moment while Martin twiddles his thumbs nervously, then, “Wait,” Tim looks as if a lightbulb has struck and shattered across his head, “Wait, Martin, it’s not—it’s not Jon, is it?”

And Martin’s silence accompanied by the blush slowly creeping its way up his neck is answer enough.

“No way! Wait, really?” Tim wears an expression of amused disbelief at the fact that his Hail Mary guess turned out to be correct. Sasha at least has the good sense to school her face into some semblance of neutrality.

The blush deepens, and Martin resolves that if anyone brings it up, now or in the future, he’ll just blame it on the alcohol, no matter how shoddy an excuse that is. He answers affirmatively, but voice tentative, “Yeah?”

“Whew, never would’ve guessed that one in a thousand years.” Tim sits back in the cheap vinyl covered booth, then adds, “Though, I guess I just did,” he’s still a bit shocked, but as memories come welling up to the surface, he realizes that, in hindsight, it was really quite obvious.

***

The first clue must’ve not been more than a few months after Jon was promoted to Head Archivist. Martin had always been of the caretaker type, and Tim had picked up on this rather quickly. He frequently made them all tea, and definitely did whenever they had to stay past five to catch up on research. When statements piled high, and they were all close to tearing their hair out from stress, he always made sure they took a proper lunch break. And most endearingly, he insisted on going out for a small celebration whenever it was any of their birthdays. But with Jon, it was different, more than just Martin’s regular caretaking instinct manifesting itself.

Once, Tim was in the break room fetching his lunch from the fridge when Martin walked in, mug in hand, and purpose on his face. He put the kettle on, leaned against the counter, and turned towards Tim, “Do you know how Jon takes his tea?”

“Can’t say I do, why?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s not that important,” Martin sighed, a wee bit of frustration creeping into his voice.

“Does he not like what you usually bring him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he does? He never finishes it.”

“Why don’t you just ask him? Maybe he doesn’t like tea at all.”

“No,” Another sigh. “That’s not it. He definitely drinks tea, and I know he definitely likes tea because he always takes a sip almost right after I put it on his desk. If he didn’t like tea, I doubt he’d bother doing that, much less every time.”

And after that, Tim made a mental note that Martin was much more observant than anyone, Martin himself included, gave him credit for. Tim hummed in response while putting his lunch in the microwave as Martin waited for the kettle to boil. 

After it boiled and the tea was steeped, Martin poured a splash of milk in and began spooning in sugar. “I just added one sugar last time, maybe I’ll try two this time,” he said in that tone that meant he didn’t really expect or need a response, he just wanted to keep Tim updated. 

This happened a few more times over the next couple of weeks, Martin walking into the break room while Tim, and sometimes Sasha also, were in there doing something or other, mildly frustrated and intent on tweaking the ratio of tea to milk to sugar until he found one that Jon liked. 

From what Tim could tell, both through quiet observation as well as Martin telling him, he had the method down to a science, changing each variable one at a time, so he could nail down exactly how Jon reacted to each ingredient. First, as he had mentioned, was the sugar, which he began to increase until it was quite clear from the slight grimace on Jon’s face after the third experiment cup that it was far too sweet. Martin then tried lowering the amount of sugar until he settled on just shy of no sugar, about half a teaspoon. Then, he had to work on the tea to milk ratio; he decided to reduce the amount of milk first, figuring out loud that more people took their tea with little or no milk than the other way around. This didn’t seem to yield the results he was looking for.

At two in the afternoon on the Friday of this second week of experimenting, Tim found Martin in the break room before the two of them and Sasha were due in Jon’s office for a quick meeting, adding milk to a mug with determination.

He turned when he heard Tim, “Do you want one? There’s still some water in the kettle.”

“No thanks, just had a coffee with lunch. You think that one’s the one?”

“Yeah, I think so. If I’m right, then Jon apparently takes his tea with barely any sugar and a lot of milk, like a third of the mug is milk.”

Tim exhaled a laugh, “What a weirdo, of course that’s how he takes his tea, in a way that no one could possibly guess right on the first try.”

Tim grabbed a cold pastry from the fridge and stopped on his way out the door, “Ready? Need any help with those?” He tilted his chin towards the two mugs of tea Martin was carrying.

“Nah, I got it,” he answered, and the two of them headed to Jon’s office.

Jon glanced up from a statement when they entered and muttered a cursory “Hello.” Sasha was already there, sat on one of the chairs in front of Jon’s desk, trying to make some polite small talk with him with semi-success. Martin took the other chair while Tim leaned against a bookshelf next to Jon’s desk as he preferred to do in these meetings. 

Martin set one of the mugs on Jon’s desk with a barely audible, “Here Jon, tea.”

Jon nodded in acknowledgment and perhaps in thanks? Tim could never quite tell. “Right, so,” he began once it was clear everyone was settled, “the Hill Top Road statements are all a bit of a mess, and I think we should probably go through and organize them all again.” Jon continued on, explaining how he expected them to reorganize and refile them, with no dearth of complaints about how Gertrude left the archives, and these statements especially, in such a mess that it was, “a miracle she wasn’t fired in her first week.”

Throughout it all, Tim saw Martin’s eyes every so often flicking back to the mug of tea that Jon now had in his hand and was taking periodic sips from. Fifteen minutes into the meeting and Jon had finished the entire mug of tea, and Tim certainly did not miss how Martin’s eyes practically glowed with contentment, though he made an impressive and mostly successful attempt at keeping a ridiculously wide smile from his face, such that anyone not paying at least a little attention wouldn’t twig that anything had happened at all.

***

The second occasion coming to mind was last fall, the one and only time that Jon had shown up late to work. It was a particularly cold November morning, it couldn’t have been over two degrees, and it was raining. The cold was the kind that clung to the skin, then sunk into the bones. The kind that, when you’re in it, you feel you’ll never recover from it, no matter how much time you spend in front of the fireplace. And all of that didn’t even include the wind. But Tim, chipper as always, waltzed into the office two minutes past nine, with a latte in hand, and a “Morning boss! Sorry I’m late,” called towards the general direction of Jon’s office. 

“Hi Tim,” Sasha looked up from her computer, smiled at Tim, then looked towards Jon’s office, “Jon’s not in yet, actually.”

“Oh? Jon? Late to work?” He glanced around the archives, searching as he shucked off his coat, “Huh, Martin’s not here either,” a thought began to form in his head, “Wait, Sash, you don’t think—” he was cut off by the sound of Martin entering the archives from the break room, and the thought evaporated as soon as it had condensed. 

“He’s still not—oh hi Tim—he’s still not here yet?” he asked Sasha on his way back to his desk, mug of tea in hand.

“Nope, but I’m sure he’s fine Martin, tube probably just ran late.”

“Yeah maybe,” he clearly wasn’t convinced, “but he’s usually like fifteen minutes early. Rare that the tube is that late.”

“Maybe the wind blew him over into a puddle,” Tim joked. Sasha laughed lightly, but Martin looked positively distraught at the possibility.

Sasha decided to join in on the ribbing, “Maybe he couldn’t decide which white, off white, or grey dress shirt to wear today.” This one drew something like a hesitant laugh from Martin, but the worry was still visible on his face.

Tim and Sasha continued this for a few minutes, with Martin reacting in mixed amounts of horror, amusement, and concern while tapping away at something on his computer. “Maybe,” Tim started, interrupting himself with laughter, “May—” More laughter. “Maybe he thought today was the day to—”

It was at this moment that the door to the archives swung upon just a bit too hard, hitting the wall it was hinged on, stopping Tim mid-sentence. In the doorframe stood Jon, absolutely sodden, hair sticking up in all directions, glasses askew, looking far too weary for fifteen past nine in the morning. He looked less like he had been caught unexpectedly in a bit of rain and more like he had lost a fight to the River Thames. 

“Jon!” Martin squeaked, taken truly aback by the state he was in.

Tim reacted at the same time, overlapping with Martin’s worry, “Woah, boss! You alright? Did the rain get that bad?”

“Pimlico was closed, so I had to get off the tube at Victoria,” he answered tersely.

“Yeah, but was Victoria flooded or something?” Tim decided to pursue this line of questioning, half to tease Jon, half out of genuine curiosity.

“No.” Jon replied irritably, evidently eager to end the conversation and headed towards his office.

That’s when Tim noticed what he was holding in his hands. Or rather, what he was distinctly not holding, “Did you forget your umbrella?”

Jon stopped before disappearing past the door to his office, “If you must know, I couldn’t find it this morning.”

“Huh.” Tim turned back to the rest of the assistants, “See Martin, Sash was right! He’s fine, mostly.”

“Fine?” Martin started, loud enough that Tim was sure the entire basement level of the institute could hear. Maybe even Elias on the top floor too, if he was paying close enough attention. Startled by the volume of his own voice, Martin lowered it by at least three hundred percent, “Fine? He looked like he was about to keel over!”

“He’ll be fine once he dries off,” Tim tried to calm Martin’s, undue, in his own opinion, stress, but he was already on his way to the break room, no doubt, to make a cup of tea for Jon, “though maybe a bit crankier than usual. We better not muck up these statements then, I guess.”

Martin returned from the break room a few minutes later with, as Tim expected, a mug of tea in hand and knocked on the door to Jon’s office. A muffled “Come in,” and Martin opened the door and stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. 

The walls were thin enough and the door open enough that Tim could hear all of Martin’s words and most of Jon’s. 

“Here,” Sound of ceramic on wood. “You okay? Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you, Martin, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? Are you cold? I can ask Rosie to turn up the heating down here if you are.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine—” The sound of wheels on wood as Sasha rolled her chair to the other side of her desk obscured the second half of that sentence, “—and just make sure you get the follow up to the Vittery statement to me this afternoon.”

“Yep, will do. Let me know if you need anything.” Martin returned to his desk and resumed work on what Tim guessed was probably the Vittery statement, but not without shooting concerned glances in the direction of Jon’s office for the next hour. Martin continued his fretting throughout the day, checking up on him at least every other hour, and bringing him far more tea than a man could want to drink in an eight hour workday. 

It was ten past five in the afternoon when Martin packed up his things and walked to Jon’s door. Sasha had already left, and Tim was only still there because he was expecting a call from Sergeant Northam from the precinct about a missing persons report for case 0112905, and he really didn’t care to deal with the hassle of rescheduling. So, he waited for the phone on his desk to ring while tapping away at the mobile in his hands, and listened to whatever was unfolding at the threshold to Jon’s office. Not that he was trying to eavesdrop, it’s just it was quiet in the archives, naturally, as it was past five, and there was nothing else to draw his attention.

Martin knocked and stepped barely inside, “Jon? Are you headed home right now? It’s just it’s, ah-it’s still raining, and I know you forgot—oh, or, er, lost your umbrella and I’m heading home right now and Pimlico station is still closed—I checked—and Victoria is on my way so, uh, if you wanted to, or well, if you were planning on leaving around now we could walk to the station and you could share my umbrella? I-if you wanted.”

There was a beat of silence before Jon answered, voice lacking most of the sharpness it usually had, “Oh, thank you Martin, but I’ll probably be here another hour, there’s a few statements I have to sort out first.”

“Oh, uh yeah, no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow, Martin.”

Martin stepped back out and closed the door to Jon’s office. He took two steps towards the staircase that led up to the ground floor of the institute before turning back, taking his umbrella from his bag, and leaning it against Jon’s door so he’d see it next he left the office. Then he headed back to the staircase, calling a goodbye to Tim over his shoulder. 

The call from the precinct came not a minute later, and as soon as it was over, Tim left, so he didn’t see Jon’s reaction to the umbrella. But the next morning, he arrived (slightly early, actually) to see the umbrella on Martin’s empty desk, and Jon definitely did not complain about Martin’s handwriting or follow up notes for at least a week after.

***

The final, and perhaps most obvious, was the institute holiday party last December. The holiday parties were always confusing and mildly uncomfortable events, organized and hosted by the operations department. They always tried to make these as fun and relaxed as possible, but the general tone of The Magnus Institute wasn’t exactly conducive to that. 

Still, Tim was looking forward to it. The festive season was one of his favorite times of the year, second only to Halloween. Not that he had any sentimental or religious reason to like Christmas, but something about the fact that his family never really celebrated it that much drew him to it. Sasha had already agreed to go, though she was probably already planning on it before Tim had asked. She usually went to these for at least a couple hours each year, something about networking. Martin was out following up on a statement in Waterloo, so Tim would ask him when he got back. Now, though, he could try his hand at convincing Jon, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t too optimistic about it, no matter how persuasive he could be.

He knocked twice on the door to Jon’s office, hand already on the handle when he heard the “Come in.”

“Hiya boss, you coming to the party later?”

At this, Jon looked up from the statement on his desk in mild confusion, “The what?”

“You know, the institute holiday party? Don’t tell me you forgot it was today, Rosie’s been reminding everyone all week!”

“I didn’t forget.” (He clearly had.) “But, no, there are, uh, too many things I need to work on here, I won’t be going.”

“Aw come on Jon, you’re always working. You’re here before everyone in the archives and leave after everyone. According to Martin, sometimes you don’t even leave at all. You can take a few hours and join in on the festivities, yeah?”

“I’ll,” he let out a put upon exhale, “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright! That’s the spirit.” Tim turned to go but not before leaving Jon with, “But don’t think too long, it’s already half past three,” and a wink before he closed the door. 

“Any luck?” asked Sasha, who was crouched next to a file cabinet and rifling through the folders in the bottom drawer.

“Sort of? He said he’d ‘think about it,’” Tim answered, punctuating it with air quotes. “Whatcha looking for?” He took one glance and let out a low whistle at the state of disarray the cabinet was in. 

“Precinct called about sending reports for the Hodge statement? But I could have sworn they already sent them.”

“Hodge? Which one was that one?”

“One-night stand gone wrong.”

“Oh, that one! Yeah, they already sent us the preliminary report, but I got Sergeant Northam to agree to sending us the full investigation file.”

“How’d you swing that one?” she asked, equal parts impressed and amused.

“Let’s just say,” he took a seat in his desk chair and let it roll closer to where Sasha was by the filing cabinet, “Northam has a particular affinity for cronuts. Especially the strawberry iced ones. And Jon lets me claim these outings on the institute expense receipts, so…”

She laughed, “You’re ridiculous, but I’m not complaining. They said they could have someone send the files over next week, or one of us could go down to the precinct and pick them up ourselves if we want them sooner.” 

“I can go grab them tomorrow morning.” 

“Great, thanks, I’ll let Jon know. Any word on when Martin’s going to be back?”

As if he was summoned, the two of them heard quick footsteps on the staircase outside the archives, and Martin appeared in the doorway shortly after, “Hi guys,” he took a seat at his desk, setting the canvas messenger bag with a statement file poking out of the top on the floor.

“Martin!” Tim greeted him, but not hearing, Martin continued.

 “I swear, that trip was worth less than not going at all. Spent three hours waiting around at the hospital only to be told they wouldn’t be speaking to anyone from ‘the public’ about it.”

“Rough,” Tim sympathized. But he had more pressing matters to ask Martin about than case 0121102, “You going to the party later?”

“Uh, maybe. Is Jon going?” 

“Dunno, I asked him earlier, and he said he’d think about it. Sasha and I will be there, though. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“Fun might be a little generous for these institute parties, but yeah, I’ll go.”

“Yay! Sash, d’you hear that? Martin said he’ll go too.”

“Mmh hmm,” she hummed cheerfully in response. 

The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon following up on statements, with Tim fielding yet another call from the precinct, this time about some records they needed returned apparently. The end of the workday at five came and went, and soon enough, it was 5:53 p.m. and time to head up to the third floor where the party was starting at six in the lounge area in front of the research library. It was usually Tim’s M.O. to show up fashionably late, but there wasn’t anything else to do anyways, plus Sasha had a thing about being late to events, even casual office parties. 

Tim ducked his head into Jon’s office as Sasha and Martin headed towards the stairs, “You coming boss?”

“Oh, hello Tim. Probably not, or at least not now. These statements, you know,” he trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah, lot’s to catch up on and whatnot. Well, hopefully we’ll see you there later? You deserve a break, you know.”

“Thank you, and yes, maybe later. You and the others go ahead first.”

“Alright then,” with that, Tim turned and half jogged up the stairs to catch up to the other two, nearly running into Martin who was lingering behind the corner at the top of the stairs, while Sasha was a few dozen paces ahead of him. “Woah, Martin! Didn’t see you there.”

“Is he coming?” he asked, voice hopeful.

“Not now, he says maybe later, something about catching up on statements. Typical workaholic stuff, you know how he is.”

“Yeah,” the disappointment in his voice made Tim very keen on cheering him up.

“Don’t worry about him though, it can be an archival assistants night! We’ll have fun, I promise.”

It was nearly five past six by the time they made it to the lounge, on account of the institute having what Tim believed must be the slowest damn lifts in London. According to Rosie, the whole building was renovated as recently as the 90s, but clearly whoever was in charge of that thought the money would be better spent on faux-marble tiling than fixing the ancient lifts. There were already fifteen or so people there, but surely at least five of them were the ones from the operations department that planned it in the first place. 

“What do you guys want?” asked Tim as he made a beeline for the drinks.

“I’ll have a vodka cranberry, thanks Tim!” Sasha replied, eyes flitting around the room to see which one of the collapsible circular pub tables was empty.

“White—” Martin nudged Sasha with his elbow and pointed to an empty table in the corner of the room, “White wine if they have it. You can pick for me if they don’t, thanks.” He and Sasha made their way to the table, arranging themselves around it such that the empty spot faced towards the drinks table where Tim was.

The makeshift bar didn’t have an actual bartender, just Jasper from operations pouring drinks for people. He nodded in greeting at Tim as he approached.

“Hi,” Tim hit him with a dazzling smile simply because he was Tim, “A vodka cranberry, white wine, and a beer, please.”

Tim didn’t miss the way Jasper fumbled with the bottle of Smirnoff for a second before replying, “Coming right up.” He started with the vodka cranberry with no measuring device but his eyes. Tim spent the minute waiting observing the room and finding absolutely nothing of note. By now, there were probably twenty-five people in the room excluding himself, Martin, and Sasha, but this was neither enough people nor was it late enough for anything interesting to be happening. “Here you go,” Jasper the bootleg bartender said as he set the drinks in front of him.

“Thanks,” he grabbed his own and Martin’s drink in one hand and Sasha’s in the other, and left with a wink and another smile, for good measure. He returned to find Martin mid-rant with Sasha listening intently.

“—know how we had called in ahead? To say we were from the Magnus Institute and would be coming in to ask some questions and the receptionist was—thanks,” he picked up the cup from where Tim had set it on the table and took a sip before continuing, “—so the receptionist was like ‘I can’t promise the Head of Communications will be able to give you any information, but she or one of her assistants will be able to meet with you as soon as you’re here,’ right? So I got there and went to the head desk and told them I was from the institute and had called in, but the receptionist wasn’t the same one who answered my call, so they didn’t know what I was talking about and it was a whole thing. I kept getting directed to different floors and departments who kept directing me to other ones with a lot of waiting in between. And like I can’t blame them because they were clearly busy and understaffed, but God, you’d think—,” He interrupted himself and took another sip, “Like I’ve dealt with being in and out of hospitals enough that you’d think I’d be used to it, but every time I just can’t help but think that like a hospital would be the last place you want to be understaffed, right? So, anyways, I finally got a hold of someone from the communications department, but he wasn’t the head, so during the whole thing, he kept calling his boss to check on what information he could give me, and by the end of it, I got nothing pretty much, so, ultimately useless.”

Tim and Sasha offered up their sympathies before they moved on to distinctly less work related conversation. Most importantly, Tim had just adopted a golden retriever puppy from a shelter in a nearby suburb and spent a good ten minutes showing them photos. “His name’s Ollie. He’s six months old, and one of my friends from Trinity adopted his sibling from the same litter, so hopefully we can arrange some playdates for them on the weekends,” he told them, all while scrolling through nearly a hundred photos of Ollie. Throughout it all, and now that he thought back to it, throughout the whole night thus far, Martin paid attention and oohed and aahed at right moments, but part of his mind was elsewhere, and he kept looking at the door. It wasn’t until after the fourth time Tim noticed that he decided to call him on it, “Waiting for something, Martin?”

“Oh!” He flustered, directed his gaze back to his drink in front of him, “No sorry, it’s nothing.”

“You sure?” Tim asked, half teasing and fully not convinced.

“Yeah! It’s nothing.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he dropped it, but that didn’t mean he stopped wondering. Though an hour later, he no longer had to wonder as Jon appeared at the entrance of the lounge and Martin reacted instantly.

“Jon!” he exclaimed, a bit louder than Tim reckoned he meant to, wine-tipsy. He waved Jon over to table with enthusiasm. Jon gave him a tight smile and nodded, pointing to the drinks table first. Tim watched as Martin’s eyes followed Jon there. He said something to Jasper, who began mixing things in a clear plastic cup while Jon stood awkwardly and looked around the room but desperately tried to avoid eye contact with anyone at the same time. Jasper tapped him on the shoulder, and he startled, whirling around. He took the drink with an apologetic smile and raised it in a gesture of thanks before turning back around and heading to the table. 

“Glad you could make it Jon, what are you drinking?” Sasha greeted him.

“Oh just a rum and coke.”

“Finally decided to take a break from those statements, huh?” Tim clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, I suppose I did.” The four of them continued chatting, first just some small talk, but Jon finally seemed to get more comfortable twenty minutes in, and they could move on to things more entertaining than the weather and the lateness of the tube. Again, most importantly, Tim told him about Ollie and showed him the requisite photos. 

Somehow, they got to a point where Jon was giving what could only be accurately described as a lecture on how the liver processes alcohol. This included a case study on a patient at St. Thomas’ Hospital in the early 2000s who had auto-brewery syndrome, which Jon said was “a condition where gut bacteria or fungi ferments the carbohydrates from the food you eat, producing ethanol alcohol in the process,” which Tim found interesting enough, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit that after the first four minutes of this, he mostly lost focus and was just nodding whenever Jon paused for a bit. Martin, however, looked thoroughly enraptured through the whole of it, asking what seemed to be all the right questions about the biochemical pathways of alcohol metabolism and giggling at the absurdity of auto-brewery. By seven minutes in, he had his elbows on the table and chin resting in his hands, gazing at Jon with single-minded focus as he hung on each sentence as if “alcohol dehydrogenase” and “acetyl-CoA” were the most fascinating words in the English language. In the moment, brain slightly fuzzy with alcohol (ironically), Tim had mostly chalked it up to Martin being a bit of a nerd. 

***

But now, he knows better and knows that there was perhaps a bit more to it. 

“Tim? You done being shocked?” Martin snaps him out of his reverie.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“About how dumb all of this is? You can be honest, Jon doesn’t just not like me, he actively dislikes me. This is ridiculous, I know.”

“Martin,” Sasha puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think he actually dislikes you. He just gets prickly sometimes. And plus, if he can’t learn to appreciate you, that’s honestly his problem.”

Tim chimes back in with, “Yeah! His loss, Martin.”

“Mm, I don’t know, but thanks guys.”

They fall back into easy conversation and laughter within a few minutes, as the nervous flush on Martin’s face subsides. And if that night, Tim makes it a personal goal to somehow get Jon to appreciate Martin as he deserves, well, then that’s nobody’s business but his own.

#rarely am i inspired to write fluff lmk how i did #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #jonmartin fic #tma fic #my fic #mine

[avecorviidae]

Fic: nor any more youth or age than there is now

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Rating: T Relationship(s): Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Word Count: 6512

Ao3 Link

The rumour started with Mary Fleming, who volunteered with her son’s Primary five class every Tuesday, and who had become close enough with most of the P5 teachers that she was considered a mostly reputable source, as far as these things were concerned. She had mentioned it to Katy Hooper over tea, who had texted it to her playdate group, who had repeated it in scandalized whispers and concerned murmurings and oh-have-you-heard phone calls until the news had thoroughly saturated the entire village:

Mrs. Cunningham, the stern older woman who had taught Primary two for as long as most people could remember, had quite suddenly and without warning or reason, retired and left town. Being the only Primary two teacher at the school, this was something of a concern.

For a few days, the Primary two class was shuffled awkwardly between other classrooms, taken largely by whoever had enough empty chairs or floorspace to accommodate them. On Wednesday, they sat cross-legged on the colourful carpet of the nursery room, the sudden shock of being absent a teacher and the abounding well-my-maw-said rumours being quite enough to keep them occupied and mostly out of trouble.  By Thursday, the children had realized that they were free of the bounds of formal education, and attempted to turn poor Mr. Bone’s Primary one classroom into a Lord of the Flies recreation, leading to a few pupils being sent home early with a stern warning. On Friday, they were firmly instructed to sit quietly with the Primary sevens, who were watching a documentary that day. During said documentary, a wolf killed and ate a deer, causing Molly Brown to become inconsolably upset.

The situation was clearly becoming desperate.

In this part of the country, formally trained teachers were in short supply, and for the most part, it was a life term. A post was vacated when the individual retired, or, well, retired.

On Monday morning, the parents of the Primary two class were invited with a strained enthusiasm to join their pupils in the classroom to meet Mr. Sims, who had apparently agreed to take the job on extremely short notice, and who would be teaching the P2s for the rest of the year, or until the school could track down a more suitable, more permanent replacement.

Mr. Sims, perched delicately on an office chair at the front of the classroom, put one to mind of a particularly bedraggled crow. Small frame, narrow face, narrow shoulders, scar-riddled skin, and he peered at the gaggle of children in front of him with flat black eyes, long fingers fretting at a crease in his trousers. His hair, dark as the rest of him, hung in a limp ponytail at his neck, and was streaked through with grey that didn’t quite match the cowed, nervous youth of his face. There was a trepidation to the way he was braced, to the way he glanced, quick and furtive around the room, and it was reflected back in the way the parents watched him carefully, fingers twitching, ready to snatch away their offspring at the first sign of trouble from the odd, scarred little man. The children were immediately fascinated, to the point of being entirely enamoured, having never seen a grown-up quite so openly strange.

The head mistress was stood at his side, waiting with a mild impatience for the chatter to settle. The crease of concern on her forehead had, sometime over the weekend, started to become a permanent wrinkle.

She made brusque introductions, stiffly thanked Mr. Sims for stepping into the role, made some half-hearted assurances to the parents about an environment of stability, an attempt to smooth over the frazzled discontent that hummed through the room.

Mr. Sims coughed, blinked in surprise when he seemed to realise that the head mistress was done with platitudes, that he was, presumably, expected to speak for himself.

“Ah, right,” he mumbled, and pushed his glasses up his nose with two fingers. He cleared his throat, addressed the room at large, though his eyes were skittish, seemed to avoid lingering in one place for long. “As Mrs. McMillan said, my name is Jonathan Sims – though, I suppose Mr. Sims will do, for the classroom. My training is primarily based in academic research, not, ah, education, and while I will be unable to provide the proper curriculum and teaching that experience and time would have afforded my predecessor, I can assure you that I will attempt to fill this role to the best of my ability, and would welcome any input you may have over the rest of the year.”

Mr. Sims turned his attention to the circle of cross-legged little gawkers at his feet, then, and his voice gentled a touch when he addressed them, a rueful smile on his face.

“I know it must be strange to have a new teacher so suddenly, in the middle of the year. And I may not be very good at this. So I do hope you’ll all tell me if I do anything wrong.”

Directly under his nose, Finlay Robinson’s hand shot up into the air.

Mr. Sims blinked. “Yes?”

“Do you know the Queen?”

Another blink. “I- No?”

Finlay’s hand remained up. Mr. Sims nodded for him to continue. “Then why do you sound so posh?”

In one of the chairs at the back of the room, Mrs. Robinson went rather red. Mr. Sims just laughed quietly to himself, however, and replied, “Ah, I suppose that would be because of my grandmother.”

Molly Brown’s hand went tentatively upwards.

Mr. Sims looked at her with a slight apprehension. “Yes?”

“Is your Gran the Queen?”

<0>

Heather tended to get nervous, at the end of the day.

The playground was just – big. Not big the way it was during break, when her and Molly would chase each other laughing and squealing across the pavement like little wild things, but big in a way where the iron bars of the fence around the school loomed horribly, and as her class was slowly picked up by their mums and dads and teachers stalked around like wolves looking for straying soft things to hunt, Heather always became certain that she had to stand very—

very—

still.

Or else it would see her. And if it saw her, it would get her.

Last year, Mr. Bone had held her hand, at the end of every day, had let her stand close to his comforting largeness until Dad waved at her from the gates, and she could run the short and awful distance to his arms. Mr. Bone was bald, and very tall, and outdoors his head always looked very shiny, and she had been sure that as long as she was stood beside him, his big fingers tight around hers, it wouldn’t be able to see her.

Mrs. Cunningham had been smaller, hunched and unassuming, but Heather had thought that it might not be able to see through the drab brown folds of her skirts. But Mrs. Cunningham had told her not to be silly, to go and play with the rest of the class until she was picked up, to grow up and behave like a big girl. And the Primary ones got out an hour before the Primary twos, so she couldn’t hide at the side of Mr. Bone anymore, so it was going to see her. So she had gotten very good at walking to a spot beside the bins, trying to keep her footsteps soft, quiet, and holding herself in their shallow shadows, and keeping very, very still.

Mr. Sims was not too much like Mrs. Cunningham. He did not snap at them for talking a little during individual work time, and hadn’t even told off Logan for getting up to sharpen his pencil, even though he hadn’t raised his hand to ask, and didn’t hold a ruler to his open palm like a threat, like he was looking for any excuse to use it. But when he’d read them a story, Heather had watched him frown, mutter to himself that Bea and Arthur were silly for going exploring without telling their parents, and by the time the last bell rang, Heather was quite sure that if she asked to hold Mr. Sims’ hand, he would frown at her, and think she was being silly, and tell her that she was too big to need to hold hands in the playground.

The class lined up at the big front doors to go outside, and Heather stood at the very back. If everyone else went outside first, it would watch them, and might not notice her as she went to her spot by the bins.

Mr. Sims was waiting for her when she finally reached the doorway. She had been thinking about how she was going to walk, looking at her feet and practicing making them be quiet, so she almost bumped right into his legs. He was frowning, and she felt her lip wobble, a little. She didn’t want to cry, even if he called her silly. She was too grown-up for that.

“Miss Lewis?” he said. It was odd, to be called that. Last year, there had been another Heather in her P1 class, so she had been Heather L, and the other one had been Heather M, but Miss Lewis made her feel grown up, and she smoothed her palms down the front of her pinafore, suddenly embarrassed of the holes in the knees of her tights and the scuffs on the toes of her shoes.

She looked up at him. He wasn’t as tall as Mr. Bone, and he was leaning down towards her, peering at her over his thin glasses. She didn’t want to start crying. She didn’t want him to think she was silly.

“May I ask who’s coming to pick you up?” Mr. Sims asked softly, just like how the pupils were supposed to ask, like Miss may I go to the bathroom—

“My dad,” she said, softly, back. Out in the playground, she heard someone squeal. She didn’t look over Mr. Sims’ shoulder, sure she’d see it looking for her, even though she’d never seen it before. Mr. Sims wasn’t as big as Mr. Bone, no, but his jacket was big and thick and rough, with soft leather patches at the elbows, and all of him looked there enough that she thought it might not be able to see her hiding behind him.

“Your dad,” he said, and it sounded different the way he said it, fancy. Like the Queen. “Well, Miss Lewis. Would you—do you need to—Damn, how to… Would you prefer to wait with me outside, until your dad gets here?”

Heather realised quite suddenly that Mr. Sims knew about it too. Knew that it was going to get her, that it couldn’t see her when he was there. She nodded, and gripped the leg of his trousers as tight as she could, and felt all shaky in the knees with fear and relief as she walked outside with Mr. Sims, his hand near her shoulder, not quite brushing her jumper.

She looked up at him, and he was watching the playground, frowning, but not angry. Not afraid, either. So she copied him a little, since it couldn’t see her if she looked for it now, and looked around at the big game of tig that always went running around at the end of the day, and at Stuart and Duncan wrestling by the big wall, even though Mrs. Cunningham used to shout at them for getting their uniforms dirty, and at Molly, who was skipping at her mum’s side, skirt and pigtails bouncing, and at Tom Mackenzie, who was picking grass out of where it sometimes grew up from between cracks in the pavement, looking up now and again at the big front doors, waiting for the S3 class to be let out so his older sister could walk him home. And it—

wasn’t—

there?

She looked up at Mr. Sims, suddenly, not sure why. He looked back down at her, and smiled, then. “Better to be a watcher, than the watched, I suppose,” he said, very quietly, and she wasn’t sure he was speaking to her, not like he was when he then told her, very firmly—

“It doesn’t like to be seen. And I can see it. You’re safe, while I’m here, Miss Lewis.”

And she had the funniest feeling that she’d known that was true, even before he said it.

She felt his hand nudge her shoulder lightly, and he nodded towards the gate. “I believe that’s your father, now.”

Dad was there, smiling broadly and waving like he did every day, and she smiled back at him, even though she was still feeling a little wobbly, because otherwise he’d worry, and think she’d had a bad day, and try to take her for ice cream, and she would feel bad, because she’d had a good day, she was just scared. He held out his arms, open and waiting for her, because she always ran right into him, running quick enough until she was safe with him, until it couldn’t get her anymore. But if Mr. Sims was watching—

She let go of Mr. Sims’ trousers, and took two careful, tentative steps forward. Still, it wasn’t there. She looked back over her shoulder at Mr. Sims’, and he was still watching her, still there. “Have a good afternoon, Miss Lewis,” he said, mildly, but he was smiling a little, still, and she smiled back, and turned around and skipped into Dad’s arms.

<0>

Underneath the desk, Robbie pressed his knee to Emma’s. He felt her press back, and she smiled at him, but it was strained, nervous.

“It’ll be fine,” he told her, with a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt. “Your wee brother has Sims, right?”

Emma shrugged, nodded. “Yeah, likes him well enough. Better than that hag Cunningham, anyways. But that doesn’t mean he’s—”

Sims shouldered into the room just then, arms full, and Emma’s mouth snapped shut. He was smaller than Robbie expected, honestly. Then again, he’d only really seen him in the hallways, trailed by twenty tiny wee five-year-olds, so he had probably looked tall just by comparison. Between the tweed and the glasses and the greyish hair, he had a bit of a librarian vibe, but up close, he could see all of the scars that Emma’s mum had been talking about, after all the P2 parents got to sit in and meet him. You could just about write off all the pockmarks on his face and arms as some properly rough acne, if you were ignoring how big they were, but one of his hands was a shiny pink mess of skin, like one big blister scar.

He was probably in a nasty accident a long time ago, Mrs. Mackenzie had said to Tom during tea, after the third or fourth question about his new teacher. It’s not polite to stare at that sort of thing. Just you act like he looks completely normal, alright?

Emma’s mum was a practical lady, and Robbie quite liked her. It was good advice, and he should probably take it to heart. Or at the very least, he wasn’t planning on being too obvious about trying to get a better look at Sims’ hand.

Sims tossed a glance at the room as he set his things down on the desk. “Sorry, everyone,” he said, with a tight smile. “Short notice, I know, but apparently Mrs. Sinclair has come down with something, and my class is on a field trip, so I was the only one available. I have some, er, notes for your class – apparently you’re working on a midterm project?”

The class made some unenthusiastic assenting sounds, which Sims took as confirmation. “Well, very good. I’ll just leave you to work on that, then, once I’ve taken attendance.”

Robbie felt Emma go stiff at his side. He hated this, properly hated this, the resigned dread on her face as she prepared herself to be embarrassed. He remembered how often she’d looked like that last year, when they were still sneaking around with it, him helping her change into a pinafore in the toilets in the mornings, trying to ignore it when her dad and Mrs. Sinclair and that fucking hag Cunningham had tried to suggest that she get a haircut, the way she winced every time someone called her the wrong name.

Sims went down the attendance sheet with clipped professionalism, quick and brusque, and Robbie was so nervous on Emma’s behalf that he almost forgot to say anything when his name was called. They got to the Ms, and Robbie found Emma’s hand under the desk. Her palm was a little sweaty, and so was his, but she grabbed on tight and squeezed, and Robbie wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that, to her soft fingers between his.

It was Andrew Macintyre right before her on the sheet. Sims nodded at him when he called out a here, looked back down. “Ti—Hm.” Robbie watched Sims frown, cut himself off. Robbie wasn’t exactly sure what happened, what changed about Sims’ expression, except that his eyes seemed to go a little unfocused for a few seconds, before he blinked, in a properly weird way. “No, I don’t believe that’s correct.” He looked up and around the class. “Miss Mackenzie?”

Emma went a little pale, her fingers flexing in Robbie’s, but after a few seconds, she quietly said, “Here, Mr. Sims.”

Sims looked over at her, nodded, businesslike. “Right. And your name was…?”

“Emma,” she answered faintly. Sims just nodded again, checked her off on the sheet, moved on with the list, calling out for Toby MacLeod.

It felt like him and Emma must’ve let out a breath at the same time, slumping back into their chairs, her hand still in his. All that worry for a few seconds’ worth of talking. What a nightmare.

“Tom must’ve told him,” Robbie whispered to her. “Mentioned that he had a big sister, or something.”

“Don’t know why he would’ve,” Emma whispered back, but she was smiling, all faint giddy relief. “I don’t really care, yeah?”

Robbie smiled, squeezed her hand, smiled some more when she squeezed back. “Yeah. Miss Mackenzie.”

“Oh, shut up, Rob.”

<0>

Jen always went to the Co-op after Molly’s swimming lessons on Saturday, even though it was always pushing seven by the time they finally got home and started making tea. Easier to take care of the shopping while they were already out, rather than make another trip into town.

Molly had wandered off to pick her crisps for next week’s lunch, so Jen was alone when she saw the man by the dairy, squinting at a tub of butter, and it took her a moment to place him as Molly’s new teacher. She didn’t think she could be blamed for not recognising him at first; whenever she picked Molly up from school, he always looked much the same as he had during the parent meeting, put-together and buttoned up. He clearly hadn’t put quite as much effort into dressing to go to the shops, his hair pulled up in an untidy bun, neat jacket replaced with a faded sweatshirt that seemed to be about five sizes too big for him.

Ah, she thought, a moment later. Of course. The true owner of the sweatshirt seemed to have made an appearance in the form of a blond man, taller and more broadly built than Molly’s teacher, walking up behind him and pressing himself close against his side, poking at the butter in his hands. It looked rather a lot like a golden retriever bothering a magpie.

Jen had been ready to leave well enough alone, but that was the moment that Molly came skipping up behind her, already calling out. “Mr. Sims!”

Both men startled, but the teacher – Mr. Sims – seemed to recover quickly when he caught sight of Molly, bending down a little towards her. “Ah, hello Miss Brown. How are you?”

Molly beamed. “Good! We just went swimming at the baths. I’m doing back stroke now, and the teacher says I’m pretty fast.”

Mr. Sims nodded along well enough, seemed genuinely interested in Molly’s little story, but Jen noticed he was shooting quick, nervous looks between the three of them, seemed caught between stepping closer to the man standing beside him, or pulling away.

It was a fair enough worry, and maybe ten, even five years ago, he would have been right to have it. The village had been a different place, back then. But these days, just about everyone knew that Helen and Mary up the road had been waiting out their husbands so that they could spend their widowed years together, and Jen had her suspicions about Hugh from the corner store, and frankly after everything with the Mackenzies’ oldest, everyone had become a good deal more comfortable with quite a lot, lately.

So Jen put a hand on Molly’s shoulder, held the other one out to him, smiled warmly. “Mr. Sims, right? Jennifer Brown, I’m Molly’s mum.”

Sims took her hand firmly, handshake as brief and professional as his strained smile. The feeling of it lingered on Jen’s palm, though, the slick-smooth of scar tissue, and the distinct impression that her fingers had slid into the grooves of his marred hand perfectly, like a key slotting into a lock.

“Jon, please,” he said, “at least outside of the classroom. Good to properly meet you, Ms. Brown. We won’t keep the two of you, though. It is rather getting on.” It was a clear dismissal, as bluntly polite as the English ever managed to be, and Jen didn’t take particular offence to it. It was, after all, getting on, and chatting with her daughter’s primary teacher and his mystery man in a Co-op was not her idea of an ideal Saturday night.

“Of course. Goodnight, Jon,” she said, hand on Molly’s shoulder already gently nudging her towards the tills. “Come on, Molls.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Sims said, and nodded primly down at Molly. “See you on Monday, Miss Brown.”

Jen supposed she understood, now, why the class was so taken with the man. She had no fondness for poshness and stuffiness, but Sims wasn’t necessarily posh in that way that demanded poshness in return, and sniffed up its nose at you if you dared not to have an Oxbridge degree and speak in perfect RP. It was more a quiet, self-imposed dignity that reminded Jen of her own grandmother, like the way that he held himself, conducted himself, was important to him, and it made you think just a bit about how you were holding yourself, made you want to rise to meet it. Molly’s shoulders straightened a little under Mr. Sims’ attention, and she walked to the tills with a look on her face like she felt like a well-mannered wee lass, like a proper Miss Brown, and Jen snorted to herself quietly, glanced over her shoulder at the man himself.

His boy was saying something close to his ear, smiling, and he was softer-spoken than Jen might’ve expected for being the size he was, just the sound of his voice carrying a bit, a hint of a tease in his tone.

Sims’ laugh carried far more, deep and full, and he pushed the man’s shoulder gently, a gentleness that kept in his voice when he said, “Oh hush, Martin.”

“Mum,” Molly said, tugging at the trolley insistently. The limits of her put-upon properness had apparently been pushed by her appetite, and she kicked her heels and whinged. “Come on. What’s for dinner?”

<0>

Contrary to what some of his mates might have attested after seeing him a few pints in down at the local, Colin did, in fact, possess a sense of shame. So it was red-faced and sheepishly that he ducked back into the Primary two classroom after his fourth or fifth failed attempt at putting Ally down for a nap.

Maybe it had been overambitious of him and Vera, to assume they’d be able to both go to the kids’ sports day, hand off the babe and the nappy bag throughout the day depending on whether it was Cath with the P7s or Stuart with the P2s who had a race next, no need to pay one of the neighborhood girls to nanny, with the added bonus of getting wee Ally used to being around a lot of strange people. Not that Ally was a pet that needed to be socialized; Vera liked to tease him for that, the way he sometimes talked about her like she was a feral kitten that needed accustomed to handling. But the point still stood.

After Stuart’s class had finished with their last egg and spoon race, the teacher – Sims? – had herded them all, sweaty and exhausted, back into the classroom, and they were all sat around chattering and playing in informal groups, working their way through the impressive pile of snacks that the volunteer parents had brought in. He’d told them to do as they liked when one of them asked if they had to still sit in their usual seats, so a few of them were in wee clusters on the floor, half-watching the film that one of the other parents had managed to set up on the old projector. Colin appreciated Sims’ attitude, overall. Not that a good work ethic and a bit of discipline weren’t a good thing to have, but kids that age weren’t really made for sitting still and working quietly, he didn’t think, and the wee ones seemed quite happy amongst themselves. Unfortunately, it meant that they were making far too much noise for him to be able to get Ally to sleep.

Fool that he was, he’d sent Vera off to Cath’s relay race alone, having thought that when the afternoon rolled around and Ally started to yawn and scrub at her eyes with chubby wee fists, Colin would be able to give her a naptime bottle, bounce her on his shoulder for a bit, and she’d drop off straight away, just like at home. Instead, she had gurned and whined around her bottle, cried and wriggled when he tried to rock her down, and for the last hour, she’d quite solidly refused to close her eyes for longer than it took her to blink, and she seemed properly angry about needing to do even that much. It seemed like every time he got her to relax for a few minutes, someone in the class laughed a bit too loudly, made her startle and blink and try to wriggle out of his lap to go see what all the fuss was about. So he’d kept trying to bring her outside and walk her up and down the hallway where it was quieter, but it was chillier out there, and his footsteps echoed strangely, so she hadn’t much liked that either.

Sims glanced up at him as the door clicked shut behind him, and Colin gave him an apologetic grimace. Sims hadn’t complained or shot him any dirty looks yet, but Colin couldn’t imagine that anyone much enjoyed having a fussy baby in their room.

To his surprise, Sims stood from his desk, shooting him a sympathetic smile. “Want to hand her off for a bit?” he offered quietly, nodding to where Ally was still squirming, propped on his hip. “She might need a change of pace, to help settle her down.”

Colin wasn’t the sort to hand his baby off to just anyone, really, he wasn’t, but Ally was exhausted, and it was making him exhausted, which she was feeding off of, and all in all, he was desperate enough that he all but dumped her into Sims’ arms.

He took hold of her a little awkwardly, jostling and shifting her with the bewildered caution of a man clearly unfamiliar with the weight of a moving, heavy baby, and Colin hovered anxiously, waiting to catch her if Sims—dropped her? Turned her upside down? He wasn’t sure what his worry was, exactly, just that he was worried.

Sims got her settled eventually, though, one hand propped under her bum and the other resting on her back, and he murmured, “All right, hello, little one. Let’s see if we can’t give Dad a break, hm?”

Sims lowered himself carefully into his desk chair, shifting Ally on his lap, and she stared at him, momentarily distracted from her awful mood by the new man with the funny voice. Sims kept a steadying hand on her wee back as he leaned forward, fussing with some of the papers on his desk. Colin watched as he nudged aside a stack of worksheets covered in scrawling crayon, and plucked out a manila folder, stuffed with papers and pockmarked along the top with paperclips and binder clips. “I think this one is relatively tame,” he said, rather matter-of-factly, presumably to Ally. Ally, by all appearances, was listening to him very intently.

Ally only started to fuss a bit when Sims leaned back in his office chair, the open folder propped up on his knee in one hand, and Ally shifting to tuck close against his chest under the other. She made a small, angry noise as he tried to coax her to lie down, and he tutted, said with a stern, gentle firmness, “Yes, I’m aware I won’t be quite as comfortable as Mum, but do try to sit still. I prefer not to be interrupted, once I’ve got going, and it doesn’t take kindly to interference after the introduction.”

To Colin’s great and unending shock, Ally settled with a little huff, her cheek resting on Sims’ brown jumper, one little fist coming up to clutch at the collar of his shirt, poking out from the neck of it. Sims patted her back primly, said, “There we go, thank you.”

Colin was always one to admit when he was outclassed, and was quite willing to go find himself a seat and defer to Sims’ apparent magic touch with the wee ones, but then Sims cleared his throat, and began to speak.

“Statement of Callum Thompson, regarding an uninvited party guest. Original statement given February twenty-first, 2001. Record recalled by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, retired. Statement begins:

I didn’t invite her. I’m sure of that. I know my mates, and I know my mates’ mates, and all their birds and sisters and that, and I didn’t know this bird, so she weren’t invited, right?”

Sims… told a story. Colin didn’t really know how else to describe it. Put on a proper voice and all, this Callum character speaking high and thready, Sims’ crisp, proper public-school accent giving way to something a lot harsher, more “street”.

It was about some girl that showed up to the kid’s house party uninvited, acted a little strangely while she was there, and for all that he talked about her, the odd twist of her joints, the stare that set his teeth on-edge, he never seemed to actually getting around to describing what she looked like. It was like, anything properly tangible about her, her hair, her eyes, her clothes, just slipped off the mind, oil-on-water. It gave Colin the proper shivers, the way a good Steven King used to when he was younger, and he blinked himself out of a daze when Sims stopped, coughed lightly, said, “Statement ends.”

Ally was fast asleep against his chest, and Sims had one hand stroking absently down her back, eyes still skimming the folder in front of him. “Poor girl,” he murmured into Ally’s wispy hair. She didn’t stir from her doze. “She must have been quite lonely. Still, no harm done to anyone, it seems, and nearly two decades on and outside the purview of the Institute’s resources, there’s not much to be done, hm?”

Quite suddenly, and all at once, Sims seemed to remember that the rest of the world existed, and he blinked owlishly up at Colin. “Ah, seems as though she finally wore herself out. Did you want to-?”

Colin couldn’t help it—he laughed, just a bit, at how sheepish the guy had gone, now that he’d snapped out of his wee trance, and that he was trying to hand off the little one, even as he was still patting her back, curled around her protectively, sitting carefully still so as not to jostle her.

“Nah, she’s all yours, pal,” Colin said, grinning. “Just you get comfortable, and I’ll come save you when she starts crying, alright?”

Sims sighed, smiling back. “Doesn’t seem that I have much choice in the matter. Do try and make sure the class doesn’t stage a mutiny while I’m incapacitated, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Deal, Sims.”

<0>

Jon didn’t take nicely to Walt Whitman, liked to say that if Martin was going to subject him to the nineteenth century Americans, he could at least have the decency to make it Dickinson. Martin would then usually make a case for Emerson, which would make Jon recoil in only partially-feigned offence, and in the ensuing rant about the damned transcendentalists, the argument would usually be dropped.

Privately, though, despite the somewhat overenthusiastic patriotism of the man, Martin had a soft spot for Whitman, for the loping rhythm of his words, for the way he talked about people, about love, almost as a thing that he was, rather than just a thing that he felt. And it was always Whitman he thought about when he saw Jon, these days, Whitman’s insistent and unapologetic love springing to mind when he caught sight of him amongst the sea of bright blue uniforms as Martin slipped into the playground. He was stood by the school doors as he usually was, Heather Lewis tucked close to his side, holding his hand. It was Whitman that best put words to this nurturing thing that had taken root in Jon, turned him soft and watchful over his little brood, and Martin smiled softly to himself, heard the quiet click of a tape recorder in the back of his mind. Maybe he would remember to write that down, but no harm done if he didn’t. It was enough to watch, he rather thought.

He remembered, all of a sudden, one of the first times he’d ever properly seen Jon, storming through the research bullpen in the Institute, crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the sharp lines of his forearms, his wrists. His hair had been shorter, then, slicked back away from his forehead, tucked no-nonsense behind his ears. He’d been all angles and scowls, the kind of look that had barely brokered a friendly tap on the shoulder from a colleague, let alone any kind of gentleness towards a child.

Here, though—

Well, Jon had changed, had let himself be changed. Everything about him was soft-touch, these days, the gentle maroon of the cashmere jumper, and the loose hairs that strayed from his braid and fell around his face, and the easy delight of his smile as he caught sight of Martin. So much about him was gentled, yielding to the herd of little ones that tended to crowd around his legs, yielding to Martin as he stepped into Jon’s space, head tilted back to kiss him with a murmured, “Oh, hello, you.”

“Hello, yourself,” Martin said, pulling back just enough to take hold of Jon’s other hand, the one not already occupied with Heather.

“Hello, Mr. Blackwood,” she said, quite politely, considering she’d just had to watch her teacher snogging someone, and he smiled, inclined his head to her. Jon had been grumbling the other night about the trials of persuading the little ones to zip up properly when they went out to the playground, but Heather, at least, was quite solidly bundled up, wearing a puffy anorak over her uniform and wool tights underneath it, topped off with a cozy hat that had a rather silly pompom on the top. It had been getting chillier, Martin supposed, though he was less inclined to notice the cold until his fingertips went numb, so he had just taken to keeping his hands in his pockets – or Jon’s, as it were.

Jon, too, was bundling up a little more, and he grinned when he saw that he was wearing the scarf Martin had finished knitting last month. It was an awful, hideous thing, knobbly garter with more than a few holes where Martin had dropped a stitch or two, only actually making it to completion under the careful eye of Mrs. Robinson, who had sewn in all his ends and frogged back a few of his particularly egregious mistakes. Nonetheless, Jon had it wrapped snugly into the collar of his peacoat, mouth and windburnt pink nose tucked into the chunky wool, away from the worst of the wind. Mrs. Robinson had given him a pattern for some matching fingerless gloves, and judging by his progress so far, they would be equally as ugly, and Jon would quite as equally insist on wearing them.

Jon’s class drifted off piecemeal, calling out to him as they went. There was a steady stream of, “Bye, Mr. Sims,” “See you tomorrow, Mr. Sims,” as they trailed off out of the front gates, holding hands with parents and grandparents and each other, rucksacks and lunchboxes swinging, and Jon called back to them, wished them a good night, reminded them about spelling lists and worksheets and whatever whatnots they had been working on that day. As the older forms were released, one of Jon’s went off swinging between two of the older teenagers, and all three of them cheerfully and dutifully chorused, “Good afternoon, Mr. Sims,” as they wandered by.

“Robert, Emma, Tom,” Jon recited, nodding to the three of them. Heather went next, skipping off towards her father, waving at Jon and Martin from the gate, and Jon waved back, with a smile that was all fondness.

Mrs. Robinson had been… unsubtle, with her knitting lessons. He always seemed to find himself with skeins of big, chunky, soft wool, and when she went digging in her folders upon folders of ancient, yellowed patterns, the ones that found themselves spread on the coffee table for Martin’s perusal had a bit of a theme. Garter stitch booties, baubled newborn hats, lap blankets.

Urge and urge and urge, he thought, a touch wistfully. Always the procreant urge of the world. Maybe Whitman had had a point.

Still, it wasn’t a question he’d asked, yet. Not a question he knew how to ask, of himself, really, let alone of Jon. For now, he rather thought he was content to wait. Content to be content, to help watch over Jon’s little flock until they were bundled up and sent home safe, and after, to find their own way up the winding road home.

#/ #// #/// #//// #///// #robin fic #tma fic #fic: nor any more youth or age than there is now

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #1- Meeting All Our New Friends

Okay, let’s see what happens when you give one man way too much power over a franchise, and he doesn’t use it for evil.

Before we get into the story, let’s take a look at the cover art! MTMTE, as well as its sister series, Robots in Disguise, started off IDW Phase Two, a brand new run of main comics to replace the by-then completed The Transformers (2009). To celebrate this momentous occasion, each comic’s first issue got FOUR separate covers, which could be combined to create a large, overarching image. MTMTE’s looked like this when all the covers were put together.

The cover art here is by Alex Milne, who is on as the main artist for the series, but he’s not on issue #1- no, for our foray into this comic run, we see the return of Nick Roche.

The last time Roche and Roberts worked together was on Last Stand of the Wreckers, and other than MTMTE #6 and the Revolution one-shot, they won’t be teaming up again within the IDW run.

On a potentially-related-but-more-of-just-a-humorous note, it seems that Roberts is a huge stickler with his scripts, going into what sounds like an honestly horrific amount of detail for each individual panel. The average comic script is either between 20-23 or 28-30 pages long, not counting title and credit pages. Roberts has been cited as sending in comic scripts that approached 50 pages.

Which, if you know anything about the scriptwriting process, is a little… yeah. It’s a very good thing Roberts seems to be able to take criticism.

ANYWAY.

IT’S TIME.

The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye- Liars, A to D Part 1: How to Say Goodbye and Mean It- holy fucking shit that’s a long title- starts off with the Story So Far, a comic book classic to catch readers up on what’s happened prior to the issue. The very nature of a Story So Far will become plot-relevant much later down the line, but as is, it’s just reminding us what happened during Phase One, in as basic a point as it can.

And then the credits are right underneath.

I can’t even imagine how friggin’ good seeing this printed must have felt.

So, what’s going on in the premiere of the sad, gay, space comic?

Not my phrasing, by the way, but the Wiki’s.

So, the war’s over. What does that mean? Well, a lot of things, honestly, but the first thing we’re given in terms of what changes to expect with everyone’s favorite space robots is in relation to their wardrobes. Yeah, without a war to fight, what’s the point in having relatively identical blocky armor that protects all your insides? It’s time to get skimpy.

Rodimus has switched out his toned calves and discernible ankles for the Uggs that are now positively iconic to his character. Drift’s mass has almost completely gravitated to his thighs, making him the curviest thing this side of the Milky Way. Ultra Magnus didn’t get the memo about not needing to be in uniform anymore, I guess, but somehow I doubt he owns anything casual.

Rodimus, Drift, and Magnus are holding a rally to invite Autobots to come on their party-barge to find the Knights of Cybertron, in an effort to heal the planet, because Rodimus took one look at post-war Cybertron and said “no thanks.” Honestly, I think most would, if these properly colored characters are any indication.  

Just the Autobots, by the way. We aren’t ready to be friends with the ‘Cons just yet. Swindle did some major damage on that front.

Prowl and Wheeljack are off to the side discussing this turn of events, and while Wheeljack seems to think that a lot of folks will be boarding the ship and getting the hell out of dodge, Prowl’s expecting nothing to come of it.

So, that was yesterday. What’s going on today?

Inside Kimia, there’s a dead guy. He wasn’t dead when he was brought in, but he is now. Who is he, anyway?

Oh, he’s one of the NAIL protesters, and he died because he was protesting by way of transforming on the steps of Autobot HQ, until his transformation cog burn out. Yep, that can kill you. Ratchet’s the one who performed the autopsy, as per Metalhawk’s request- he only wanted the best of the best on this.

Too bad the best of the best is starting to slump. After a brief scare with Rigor Morphis- the stiffening of the corpse into the body’s preferred mode- Ratchet explains to Bumblebee that his hands have started seizing up, and that’s why he’ll be leaving on the Lost Light with Rodimus. He just can’t do the work anymore.

This news is not well received by Bumblebee, who’s just about had it with everyone up and leaving him all by himself with the mess that is Cybertron.

Phase Two will not be kind to Bumblebee.

Bumblebee accuses Ratchet of having been insnared in Rodimus’ siren song of reclaiming the Golden Age, but c’mon, this is Ratchet! He’s too cynical to fall for that. He’s more interested in finding the Autobots who’ve been lost over the millennia to the war. Ratchet’s already well aware of the true purposes of this little galactic road trip, almost like he’s read the plot outline.

It’s about helping people, and adventure, and being unapologetically gay and sad in equal measures.

Up in the sky, Cyclonus is displeased. He spent six million years in the Dead Universe, under the control of a madman, waiting for the moment he could return to his beloved homeworld, and what does he get? A ball of half-baked primordial cookie-dough, and it’s not even chocolate-chip like he was expecting; it’s fucking oatmeal raisin.

Mmm, that is some tasty panel-breaking right there.

Of course, the I/D chip might not have worked anyway, seeing as Cyclonus got a little bit of a boost when Vector Sigma ejected everyone during the Matrix incident. It’s doing some weird stuff to his body, on top of whatever nonsense existing inside the Dead Universe does to a person.

Cyclonus is about to head over to the Lost Light- apparently he and Rodimus made a little deal off-panel- when he detects a familiar life sign and decides to see what that’s all about.

Over in Prowl’s office, things are tense. He and Chromedome can’t even look at each other, as Chromedome reveals that both he and Rewind are jumping on the Lost Light. Prowl doesn’t like this, not one bit. He needs Chromedome, needs his skills, his expertise. He tries to appeal to Rewind, knowing who wears the pants in this relationship.

Or, well, he tries.

Prowl, they’ve been married for over 250,000 years.

In all seriousness, this is slightly before the first tentative steps Roberts took towards making the franchise as gay as he possibly could, at least when going by the story’s chronology. The thing about professional comic script writing is that plotting/planning goes for a ways beyond the current script one’s working on, so that everyone knows where everyone else is. Considering the somewhat congruent nature between MTMTE and RiD, planning ahead was especially important.

Chromedome and Rewind were originally (like, first draft originally) meant to be best friends. This was to fill a void in the department of close relationships Roberts felt within the Transformers franchise. Then Roberts saw how handsy he’d been writing them during plotting and realized he’d made something a little different happen. Which still sort of went with what he was going for, just in a slightly different fashion. Chromedome and Rewind are a rare case of a writer NOT leaning into the “they’re just bros, bro” mentality and just letting the characters be together as romantic partners.

Also keep in mind that it would be another three fucking years before the United States would legalize same-sex marriage, which is where the IDW offices are located. You gotta ease that sort of change in, that way nobody realizes what you’re doing until it’s already been done, then you can go hog-wild. We won’t be hitting critical mass on the homonormative civilization that is IDW1 Cybertron for a solid year or so.

So this bit of dialogue is just the start of the setup, and the “best friend” line is either a leftover from earlier versions of the script, or Prowl really just is that big of an asshole.

Rewind is, of course, recording everything taking place on his handy-dandy little head-mounted camera, because history is his business, and he’s not going to stop recording for the likes of Prowl.

Rewind doesn’t like Prowl very much.

It would seem that the feeling is mutual.

Chromedome suddenly remembers that trying to reason with Prowl is like talking to a brick wall, and the two of them leave. Prowl responds to this slight by yelling in the hallway and then flipping a table.

I sure hope y’all like running gags.

Of course, Prowl wouldn’t be Prowl without having a few contingency plans in place for when things don’t go his way, and he makes a call to his inside guys to “load the cargo.”

That’s not ominous in the slightest.

Six million years prior to all this nonsense, a tiny little dude fell in a hole and broke his legs trying to get to work.

This is Tailgate, and he’s seen better days. Not many, mind you, but at least a couple. He was making his way to the launch of the original Ark, when he decided to take a shortcut that would change the course of his life forever. Hence the whole “stuck in a hole” thing. Still, he’s got to get out of here, because without him, the entire expedition is doomed!

For being an idiot, Tailgate’s pretty smart- he figures that if he sets off his energon rations, it’ll blast up through the roof of the cavern he’s in and someone will be able to find him. Good thing energon’s so incredibly volatile.

Speaking of volatile, let’s jump back to the present and check on our buddy Whirl.

It looks like Whirl also got a makeover between series, because he’s now sporting a much sleeker, angular frame, complete with long, tapered head.

Whirl’s currently busy thanking his new friends for spending so much time with him. It really meant a lot to him, their patience. Not many folks have been patient with him before.

Of course, it probably helps that all these guys are dead as hell.

It’s time for another Roberts’ staple- the suicide attempt. We won’t be using the robot-equivalent to Multiple Sclerosis though. This go around, we’ll be using a classic: self immolation!

Title drop! Bet you weren’t expecting it to have such a dark connotation, huh?

Cyclonus interrupts Whirl’s monologue and suicide attempt. He thought he’d seen his best buddy, Scourge, on his tracker, and his immediate response is to lurk in the shadows looking like a night demon wearing a party hat.

Fun fact: a group of Sweeps is called a Spring Cleaning.

Scourge isn’t here, and he won’t ever be. Scourge most likely died off-panel, never to be seen again, assumedly because nobody wanted to write for him. I think it’s the nails, puts people off.

Whirl doesn’t take kindly to the intrusion, and responds the only way he knows how.

It’s always embarrassing when your self-immolation gets interrupted, but maybe try taking a first deep breaths before committing to more war crimes, Whirlybird.

While these two morons fill the post-Bay movie explosion quota, Red Alert’s hard at work screening the passengers on the Lost Light. Currently, he’s checking Brainstorm, who’s making it as difficult as possible, both legally and emotionally. Red Alert waves him on with a grumble, without even getting a peek at what’s inside his mysterious briefcase.

Up next is Swerve.

His legs are so jacked, it makes me a little uncomfortable. Glad to see Swerve’s body reformat went swimmingly- seems he went for the classic “tires in the shoulders and ankles” model.

Oh hey, it’s Rung! Hi Rung!

This series will not be kind to Rung.

While Cyclonus and Whirl terrorize the folks just trying to get on board the dang ship, Rodimus is feeling rather pleased with himself with the turnout. Drift strokes his ego a bit, because they support each other, but things are still weird because Drift doesn’t know who he is as a person anymore, and Rodimus has a guilty conscience mixed with being the Matrix’s golden child, which really fucks with a guy’s head.

Ultra Magnus goes through the list of the folks joining their quest, and starts running through all their demerits and crimes like it’s his job, because it is. We get a little peek into Magnus’ world view and then it’s back to the Whirl and Cyclonus show.

Also, Drift doens’t have a nose right now. He’ll get it back in time for the next issue, don’t worry.

Over with the flyboys, Cyclonus has decided to land and attempt to reason with Whirl. Not that he couldn’t totally kill Whirl if he wanted to.

He just doesn’t want to.

No, Cyclonus is far more concerned with his meeting with Rodimus, the one that he’s already friggin’ late for thanks to the detour he took checking that life signature. Whirl doesn’t care, far more worried about the fact that Cyclonus saw him talking to desecrated corpses and, far more importantly, vulnerable.

Look at this jackass’ ensemble- demon helmet, a crop top, a skirt and bellbottom pants. What an icon. He and Eugenesis Wheeljack should trade fashion tips.

Whirl still isn’t done with him, even after scraping him across the side of a mountain. Feeling especially artsy, he scoops Cyclonus up and jumps into the air, since he apparently has a hundred-foot vertical leap.

Back in the past, things aren’t going so well for Tailgate.

More cool panel stuff going on here- every time the panels have had rounded corners, it’s been when the scene takes place in the past. Now that the last panel has proper right angles to it, Tailgate’s in the present with everyone else. That middle panel probably covers a couple million years, at least. Poor guy.

Up on the surface, Ratchet’s met up with Chromedome and Rewind, and they’re all walking over to the launch site, Chromedome bitching all the while about how they’ve got to use their legs since Rewind’s alt-mode isn’t a vehicle, but a USB.

Chromedome seems to have forgotten that his tiny husband is small enough to probably just ride on top of his alt-mode, if not directly inside, most likely due to his larger-than-life personality.

Whirl and Cyclonus fall out of the sky before Chromedome can say something that’ll get his ass divorced. Cyclonus gets knocked out cold, having taken the brunt of the impact. Unfortunate, seeing as Whirl’s taking the time to make up lies about him.

You thought I was kidding when I said the armor was skimpy, but here we are, with a shot of Whirl’s battle thong.

Ratchet, who knows Whirl, because he knows everybody, tries to talk him out of straight up murdering Cyclonus. Whirl doesn’t like it when people try to talk him down, and is about to turn on the good doctor, when Tailgate enters the scene, by way of explosion.

Whirl doesn’t handle explosions terribly well. Probably why he was going to use one to kill himself.

With Whirl knocked out, Ratchet and the power couple pull Tailgate out of his hole, where he manages to ask about the launch before freaking the fuck out and fainting at the sight of a rather dead-looking Whirl. To be fair, I can’t think of a whole lot of folks who’d survive getting their tits blown off with enough force to clear a tunnel in solid rock.

You said it, Rewind.

Ratchet grabs Tailgate and Whirl and brings them onboard the ship, seeing as Tailgate seems to want to be there, and Whirl’s too dangerous to be out of sight. They just kinda leave Cyclonus on the ground. I doubt the two guys who were on Kimia last month really want to deal with him.

Rewind breaks off from the group to see his dealer. This dealer isn’t selling the good kush though. He’s got something far more incriminating to offer.

But we don’t get to find out what the fuck Rewind just bought from Swindle for a few more issues. Rest assured, it’s nothing good.

On the bridge, Rodimus is in his captain’s chair, ready to captain it up. The Lost Light raises into the air, as Bumblebee and Prowl watch on, about to exit the atmosphere and begin a adventure filled with hijinks and mild peril.

And that’s a series wrap on everyone! I hope you enjoyed this wonderful one-shot written by James Roberts.

What do you mean there’s 56 more issues?

Alright, let’s see where this goes.

Back on the bridge, there’s alarms and sirens out the wazoo, as things have pretty much immediately gone to shit. The quantum engine the Lost Light’s outfitted with apparently went off prematurely, rocketing them into a completely random quadrant of space.

Also, there’s a hole in the ship, and vacuum physics are doing their thing.

This series will not be kind to Rodimus.

The Lost Light touches down on the planet they popped back into existence over to start looking for all the guys who got sucked out of the ship. They don’t have to look long, seeing as they’re all burning up in the atmosphere.

Welcome to the Lost Light. It’s a friggin’ mess.

Back on Cybertron, the aftermath of the explosion is seen, as Bumblebee and Prowl listen to a message that seems to imply a lot more heartache in the future.

Prowl, you could at least pretend to give a shit.

That’s the end of the story, but not the end of the issue. In the back of the book, we get a welcome letter from James Roberts himself, thanking the reader for taking the time to read the beginning of MTMTE, and holy shit does he really try to sell it to you. This is a guy who wants you to be excited about the story that’s coming your way, because he’s excited about it. He’s a big dork who loves Transformers, and he gets to write about them for the next six years! That’s awesome. 

#transformers #jro #mtmte #liars A-to-D #issue 1 #incoming analysis #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 1

Title: “I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great” Ch. 1 of 14 (masterpost or by tag) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia, implied bullying and implied child abuse Word Count: 5531

Notes: Alternate Universe - College!AU, Roommates, Non-famous!Isak and Famous director!Even, different first meeting

Cover art

Playlist

AO3

Summary:

"Gutter! Guess who is here!" Magnus practically wheezes, unable to keep quiet long enough for any actual guesses to be made. "Even freaking Bech Næsheim!"

Isak's heart stops. Even is here, why is Even here?

"What's going on?" Jonas asks when Isak stumbles.

"Sorry, I just need to -" he stumbles backwards, bumping into someone accidentally, nearly managing to topple the both of them over.

It's either divine comedic timing or something straight out of a tragedy that Isak whirls around to see world-famous movie director Even Bech Næsheim staring right back at him.

"Isak," Even breathes out.

Isak flees.

--- Or the one where it's been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

Isak can do this. He hasn’t had a drink in ages, hasn’t needed to rely on the bliss of alcohol and weed. Hasn’t seen the plentitude of alcohol he’d down before the world around him blended into a blurry mess.

He’s getting better.

It helps that he’s made friends, close friends even – close enough to move into an apartment with them – and that he’s currently surrounded by them. Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus, all currently holding their beers up against each other’s, shouting skål! before clanging the glasses together. Isak hurries to follow them so they won’t notice his mind is elsewhere, even though he’s trying to force it not to be as he’s getting better.

This is going to be his year.

They’re at a private party held by some guy, Mikkel or something, who Magnus knows and who apparently used to attend Bakka, Isak’s not quite sure; he’d tuned out the story once it had lasted more than four minutes without Magnus actually giving any useful information. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate Magnus, really, the guy is great, it’s just… things are hard and Magnus isn’t being all that helpful in relieving Isak from some of the stress he’s under.

The party’s in full swing, more people having shown up than were probably invited, but Magnus also brought the three of them along, so there’s that. It’s crowded and every possible seat in the room has been taken, so they’ve resorted to standing in a back corner in the living room awkwardly, barely any people there visible to them, and those who are, are either using their own corner to hook up in or are simply not noteworthy of interest. Not that Isak’s looking, because the gender the boys are looking at isn’t really what Isak would be looking at were he to look, which he isn’t. He just… can’t.

The boys are all scanning the crowd anyway, and Isak tries to mimic them; the way they’re looking at girls as if they’re on the hunt, and Isak feels his stomach churn because he needs more alcohol to be able to pretend to like girls for an entire night.

A girl tries to make eye contact with him; she’s pretty, he knows the boys would say gorgeous, with short, dark brown hair and revealing clothes. Emma, he knows her name is. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to get with him. He hurries to move his gaze down onto his feet. One shoe has a scuff mark. He tries to rub at it with his other shoe, but it doesn’t really do anything. God, he’d kill to have something stronger than beer right now, but he’s so anxious about drinking anything. He can’t go back to his old habits, can’t relapse, not when everything is starting to look up for him.

He’s not the type to babble when he’s completely piss drunk, but he can feel his heartbeat rise at the mere thought of accidentally revealing anything to the guys.

He takes a swig of his beer. This will have to do.

Jonas leans closer to him. “Go dance with her,” he says, nods towards Emma who is still looking at him, giving him a wide smile she probably thinks makes her looks seductive and makes Isak think she looks constipated, and Isak’s now trapped.

If he says no, Jonas will not only worry something’s going on, but will probably start to wonder why the hell Isak wouldn’t want to dance with a beautiful, willing girl, and Isak can’t have him put two and two together. He can’t, but if he says yes he’ll have to go dance and then the girl will get the wrong impression, and he also doesn’t want to do that when he has no intention of sneaking off to a bedroom or going home with her.

Thankfully he’s saved from having to do anything when Magnus returns from getting more beers. He’s bouncing all over the place and Isak can already feel his body slump from the relief of having the excuse of listening to Magnus talk about some girl he saw.

“Gutter!” Magnus practically shouts even though the volume of the music doesn’t necessarily call for it. “Guess who’s here!”

While Isak knows it’ll give him more time if they guess, literally none of them will have a clue as they didn’t attend the same high school and they only really started spending time together in the last couple of months of their first year in university, about half a year ago now. They know the basics about each other, of course; parents’ names, siblings, other close friends, but a long list of exes, or in Magnus’ case imaginary-exes, hasn’t been completed, meaning the guessing-game doesn’t last very long.

Magnus clearly isn’t bothered by this, though, as he’s practically bouncing off the walls in excitement. Isak can’t help but laugh a little bit because of him. It’s nice being around someone like that, sometimes.

Magnus’ eyes are sparkling and he’s spilling his beer everywhere when he suddenly leans really close to the three of them, as if about to tell a national secret.

“Even fucking Bech Næsheim is here!”

Magnus’ answer makes Isak’s blood freeze and leaves him wanting to curl up or throw up, he doesn’t know. All he hears is an echo of Even and he wants to bolt.

“What?”, “Serr?” he hears Mahdi and Jonas exclaim but he can’t think anything but, Even is here, why the fuck is Even here.

None of them really encourage Magnus in his world-famous-director-Even-Bech-Næsheim-obsession – the very same Even Bech Næsheim Isak has spent the last two years hopelessly and unsuccessfully trying not to think about – but they also don’t discourage him – all except Isak who sometimes can’t keep his temper and mouth in check – and he can tell how happy Magnus is from at least Jonas and Mahdi indulging him when he has a chance to meet his idol.

“What’s he doing here?” Isak can’t help but ask.

He sees, but he barely registers the warning glance Jonas sends him. He feels distanced from all of them, like he’s watching everything from someone else’s point of view, through someone else’s eyes.

“Apparently he knows the guy holding the party as well? They were like, best friends or something. Can you believe I know Even Bech Næsheim’s best friend from high school? How fucking crazy is that?!”

How fucking crazy, yeah, Isak can’t help but think and bottoms his beer.

“What should I say to him?” Magnus has apparently forgotten the open beer bottle in his hand because he’s swinging it left and right, “should I even say anything to him? Oh god, what if he doesn’t want attention brought onto him?”

Isak can’t help but snort. Yeah, fucking likely – what hasn’t Even done to get in the spotlight, Magnus should only know.

Jonas removes Magnus’ bottle when he nearly manages to dump it onto Jonas’ new shirt, putting it a bit harshly onto the table next to them.

“Of course you should talk to him!” Jonas encourages and Magnus preens since he got the answer he really hoped they would give him.

“But what should I say?”

“Just be cool,” Mahdi said, taking a swig of his beer, “just tell him you really enjoy his work and are looking forward to the next movie, and if he’d maybe like to give you an autograph.”

“Be polite,” Jonas supplies, “don’t be too desperate or come on too strong, you don’t want him to be scared of you.”

Magnus looks a mix between crestfallen and scared. “What if I mess up?”

Jonas and Mahdi quickly try to calm Magnus down and keep him from psyching himself out. Meanwhile Isak feels close to dying. He can’t catch his breath and the room is spinning and he’s nearly willing to jump out of the window. He can’t do this again. He can’t. He can’t see Even, he was getting better, he can’t-

He stumbles forward, catching the other boys’ attentions.

“What’s going on?” Jonas asks, glancing at him judgingly. Isak knows why, he hasn’t exactly masked his distaste of Even around the guys, and he knows Jonas is probably thinking he should be a better friend and help Magnus right now, because even though Isak isn’t a fan, Magnus is, and it is the least he could do as a friend.

But it’s not that simple, and Isak can’t tell him that.

He turns around to face the boys, now standing with his back against the crowd rather than the wall. “Sorry,” he slurs, tries to avoid their judging, shocked, and worried gazes, “I just… I’ve just got… I need to get a drink.”

Isak starts to back up as if he’s heading towards the kitchen backwards. Magnus pointedly glances at their full case of beer that Isak is leaving behind, clearly ready to question Isak about it, when Isak suddenly bumps into someone.

“Hey, be careful!” Someone shouts, not even the person Isak nearly managed to topple over. Both he and the person hurry to turn around, a ‘sorry’ already about to fall off Isak’s lips, and –

Isak feels faint and mentally swears at himself. Just his fucking luck.  

The one and only Even Bech Næsheim is standing in front of him, looking just as shocked as Isak presumes he himself looks.

Isak can’t help but note that he looks good; healthy and fucking gorgeous, wearing his now signature quiff and jean jacket, his right hand weakly clutching a glass of some drink, Isak doesn’t know, might just be beer. He can’t breathe; he feels like crying, thinks he might start any minute now. It’s not fair.

He vaguely registers Magnus’ gasp at the turn of the events and he notices the guy behind Even with the long brown hair staring at the two of them intensely. It’s Mikael’s party then, Isak can’t help but think. Mikael, not Mikkel. Not that he would have known the difference as he’s never actually met the guy.

Everything is so quiet. He can’t hear the party still going on, he can’t hear anything but the sound of his pulse rushing through his body, making him feel both queasy and dizzy and he’s ready to just sob.

“Isak,” Even finally breathes out, and Isak nearly chokes on his next breath, because, god, it’s been so long since he’s heard Even say his name, and it hurts, it fucking hurts, it feels like Even is breaking his heart all over again when he’d finally managed to tape the few remaining, uneven shards together into a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Isak knows he’s opening and closing his mouth, gaping like a fish, but he can’t think, can’t breathe, and he ends up doing the thing he’d wanted to do since before he even heard Even was at the party.

He flees.

 Past

The day Isak meets Even is a shit one. Proper shit, even.

He’d forgotten all about the “creative” biology assignment due early tomorrow morning, and Elias and his friends had caught him unaware earlier today, and his body aches from their meeting, his eye slightly swollen and definitely a dark purple color by now.

The biology assignment, he can’t help but think, is the worst thing right now, though, as it’s way too late for him to be out on the streets of Oslo, let alone all alone in Birkelunden in the middle of Grünerløkka. He’s not quite sure why he’s chosen this park of all of them; it’s mostly used for entertainment and markets, but they have a variety of flowers planted around the park in small segments, and he’d hoped he would be able to just take a few pictures and then get to leave, but it’s getting so late by now and he still hasn’t managed to take enough pictures of these fucking plants.

He loves biology, he really does, just… maybe not so much this part of biology. The nature part.

He’s lying down on his stomach, feels the cold from the ground seep in under his shirt and hoodie, and he’s been trying to take a picture of these fucking flowers and their leaves for the past five minutes. He’s getting grumpier by the second as the flash on his phone only manages to blend out several features of the flowers, therefore making the picture unusable. He really needs to make this assignment his best one yet. A lot of things depend on this, amongst others his dad believing he’s adult enough to move away from home.

He’s about to snap another picture. This will be the shot, it has to be.

“Hey!” A voice startles him and makes him draw his phone close to his chest, shaking the picture leaving it a blurry mess.

Isak sighs. It would’ve been the shot as well.

The guy who’d shouted is standing right behind him, and Isak doesn’t feel alright with being splayed out on the ground in front of what appears to be a giant man, but if he moves he will never get the shot, so he stays down and instead twists his body to look at the guy.

“What?”

The guy is breathing heavily as if he’d been jogging, but he’s wearing regular clothes. Isak can’t help but direct his phone’s flashlight in the direction of the guy and his heart fucking stops.

The guy is gorgeous, absolutely stunning, with everything working for him from the height to the blond hair flopping down and pushed slightly to the side over his forehead, wearing a light bomber jacket with his hands stuffed into his pockets, figure slouching slightly as if he’s trying to appear cool and relaxed.

Isak knows his mouth is open, but he can’t seem to figure out how to close it.

“You’ll never get a good shot like that.”

Speak, Isak, you need to say something, right the fuck now!

“And you know everything about photography, do you?” Way to go and sound condescending. Great flirting technique, Isak, ten out of ten.

Luckily, the guy doesn’t take offence to Isak’s rudeness and instead slyly grins. “Obviously more than you do.”

Isak smiles but tries to disguise it with a scoff. “Please, I’m the master of taking pictures,” he says and turns back to the flowers.

The guy breathes out a short laugh and gently kicks at the dirt. “Is that why you’re using an iPhone?”

Isak grimaces. “I’m on a budget.”

That earns him a full blown out laugh, and Isak can’t help but feel triumphant even as he flushes under the guy’s attention.

They both fall silent and tall-guy goes back to his scuff mark. Isak doesn’t know what to say to fill the silence, the guy is a stranger after all, and he was the one to approach Isak, but Isak doesn’t really want this to be it – the only time he sees him. So he slowly uncurls his body from the ground, his stiff and cold limbs adding to the already existing aching in his body.

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” Isak says and pockets his phone, “I’m running out of plants here that aren’t just grass or the trunk of a tree. And the pictures I have of the other plants are way too dark or way too blurry.”

Tall guy only studies him for a moment without replying, and Isak starts to wonder if it was a good idea to just let this be and get the hell out of there.

Then he opens his mouth.

“What time is it?”

The question startles Isak. Not the question itself as it is rather common, but because of the context having no relevance to the question.

Isak fishes his phone out again and unlocks it. “21:21.”

Tall guy raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Isak only shrugs. He doesn’t really know what to make of this.

The guy stands still for a few moments longer as if evaluating or planning something. Then everything suddenly moves quickly.

“Come on, I’ll show you somewhere with plant life,” and then he starts walking away, not even looking back to see if Isak is following him.

Isak is frozen in place staring at tall guy’s back slowly moving further and further away from him.

He gives himself a moment to think what the hell, and then he follows.

OOOOO

“Somewhere with plant life” turns out to be The University’s Botanical Garden.

The tall guy stops outside of the closed gate before finally looking at Isak for the first time during their walk.

Isak shifts between glancing at the guy and the gate and ends up on the guy. “You do know they close at 9 o’clock?”

Again with the eyebrows and a smirk now as well is the only reply Isak is given before the guy is suddenly heaving his body up and over the gate.

Isak stares openly at the guy and starts to feel quite uncomfortable about all of this. What the hell is this guy doing?

Tall guy remains on top of the fence and awaits any reaction from Isak. When he’s given none he ends up asking, “Well, are you coming?”

Isak should go home, he can already feel himself shaking his head even though he doesn’t remember telling his brain to do it. This is stupid. Not only stupid, this is illegal. They’re sneaking into the Botanical Garden of all places and Isak tries to tell his legs to turn around and go home, to hell with the biology assignment.

But…

Before he even knows it, he’s trying to repeat the movements he just saw tall guy do as he climbed on top of the fence. Isak, however, clearly has no practice in breaking in anywhere and tall guy has to grab onto a hand and his sweatshirt to heave him up alongside with him.

Tall guy gives him a beaming smile and Isak offers one shakily back. His thighs are clenching and his hands are shaking and sweaty on the railing.

“This wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tall guy grins and starts to swing one leg over the top. Isak stares at him in horror as he thinks about all the different ways he could lose his balance and fall down to his death, but then becomes paralyzed with fear as he realizes he has to do that as well now.

The guy is clearly waiting for him, but Isak can’t unclench his thighs and it’s most definitely not only his arms shaking any longer.

“Um…” Isak mutters, trying to adjust his grip, “help?”

He can’t help but think about how Elias would’ve taken advantage of this moment and probably pushed him forcefully. Tall guy isn’t Elias, though, and Isak lets out a sigh of relief when Tall guy only offers him a shy smile and then grabs onto his hands to hold him stable.

“Now, just, lift your left thigh, yeah, just like that, well done.” Tall guy is full on smiling at him now, and he doesn’t know whether to keep his attention there or on the feel of warm hands holding his clammy ones.

Isak dares take a look down to where he needs to jump. It’s by no means far down, especially not with how tall he is, but he’s not exactly well-versed in the required movements and a injury seems more likely than not. Also there’s the fact that this is technically a break-in, which doesn’t sit well with Isak either.

“Don’t look down,” Tall guy says when he notices where Isak gaze is.

Isak meets the guy’s eyes and knows he’s revealing his inner turmoil of panicked thoughts. “Too late.”

The guy rolls his eyes but manages to look slightly fond rather than condescending.

“Okay, talk to me,” tall guy says, obviously trying to distract Isak instead. “Why are you taking pictures of plants in the middle of the night?”

Isak swallows and forces himself to keep his eyes on tall guy. “Biology assignment,” he manages to stutter out. “We have to take pictures and identify and categorize and stuff like that.”

Tall guy nods even though he appears incredibly uninterested in the science-part of Isak’s assignment.

“Okay,” he nods, shuffles closer to Isak along the railing. “Question, though. Why do it at night?”

“It’s due tomorrow,” Isak breathes and allows himself to be fully distracted. He can feel the guy’s heat radiate off him in waves. “Forgot about it.”

Tall guy nods, looks down, and then up again at Isak with a wicked smile. “Jump.”

He does.

Or, maybe not as much as he lets himself be pulled down along with the guy’s jump. The landing’s shaky, though, and his ankles hurt for a short moment as he loses his balance. He almost falls flat on his face, but tall guy crowds him against the fence and uses his own body to keep Isak’s upright. Isak knows he’s blushing, shit.

He knows tall guy sees it as well because his gaze linger a moment too long on his cheeks before he’s quickly moving back and clearing his throat.

Isak only has a moment to curse at his lack of ability to hide his sexuality before tall guy is giving him a wicked smile and saying, “Let’s go.”

They head to Great-granny’s Garden, the place filled to the brim with various flowers that Isak, once again, will have to get down on the ground, dirty and up-close, to take a picture of.

“So, your pictures are too dark or too blurry. Have you set your ISO settings?”

Isak can’t help but stare helplessly at tall guy. He only knows about iOS and that’s only because the salesman guy said it when he bought his phone. “My… what?”

Tall guy grins cheekily. “Oh, the master of photography doesn’t know how to set his ISO?”

“Master on a budget, remember,” Isak grins back.

“The iPhone has a built in ISO adjustment,” and Isak blushes again from not knowing.

Tall guy doesn’t say anything about it, though, only holds out his hand for Isak’s iPhone, and normally he’d be more careful with who he lets hold very expensive things he most definitely can’t afford to replace, but he hands it over willingly after entering the code and opening the camera.

Tall guy gets down on his knees next to a very small, white flower gathered in a bunch.

“Okay, look here,” he says and touches the screen and starts changing things faster than Isak can see. “The ISO is all about sensitivity to light. You can up the sensitivity when taking a very dark picture. It’ll make your photo grainy, because it’ll make a lot of noise, but you can always edit that out afterwards if you have the right programs.” Tall guy glances at Isak, who’s left gaping at tall guy rather than the screen. Tall guy nods for a few moments. “How about I just take a picture and show you.”

Isak nods slowly.

“How close do these need to be?” Tall guy asks as he positions himself onto the ground, steadying his elbows on the cold dirt.

“Quite close,” Isak mumbles, absentmindedly hoping tall guy doesn’t stain any of his clothes, “um, I really only need one flower and one of its leaves. It just needs to be clear enough to look at, and, things,” he ends stupidly, already cringing from his use of words.

Tall guy doesn’t say anything about it, though; he only takes a picture and then moves to show Isak.

Isak quickly and quietly sends a prayer to any deign who might be listening that he has nothing to embarrass him in his gallery.

“You see?” Tall guy asks, pointing at miniscule spots surrounding a very clear flower. “Noise because of the ISO.”

Isak nods, still not quite understanding, but deciding the leave it alone. Tall guy clearly knows what he’s doing.

“Could you,” he mumbles, not daring to look at tall guy, “could you maybe take a few more, please? Of different plants?”

He shouldn’t have asked for help, why the fuck would tall guy even want to help him. But, a traitorous voice in the back of his head supplies, he’s helped you so far, even broke in here with you, and Isak does not want to think about the fact that he’s currently committing a crime.

But tall guy only grins and shuffles over to the next flower, probably getting his shirt dirty in the process. Isak can’t afford to get it dry cleaned or buy him a new one entirely.

Tall guy doesn’t point it out though, he only snaps a few pictures, shows them to Isak for confirmation they’re good enough, before shuffling along and repeating the process. Isak’s left staring at him bewilderedly.

He can’t understand him, can’t fully comprehend what’s going on right now, and tall guy certainly isn’t helping by being nice and smiling widely at him every time he sees Isak’s looking at him. And every time Isak will blush and turn his head away, but will let himself look at Tall guy out of the corner of his eyes. His heart rate speeds up when he sees the expression Tall guy has; a softer look you probably shouldn’t show a stranger you’ve just met in the middle of the night.

Speaking of, he doesn’t know Tall guy, doesn’t even know his name, let alone why he’s wandering out and about in the middle of the night, even breaking and entering just to help Isak, and Isak doesn’t know why he’s letting him. He shouldn’t be here; not only because the Garden is closed, but because this is the exact scenario parents are supposed to warn you about when you’re little – maybe not exact as Isak’s sure not all parents specify the scenario enough to include not trusting a hot, tall stranger who will help them with their homework.

Isak’s so caught up in his mind that he doesn’t notice Tall guy has stopped taking pictures before he’s grabbing his arm, getting his attention.

“Wha-“ Isak beings only to be quickly hushed by Tall guy who hasn’t let up on his grip.

Isak’s about to freak out because this is the actual scenario parents warn their children about, oh god, he’s about to die because of a tall, hot stranger who will now kidnap and murder him, but then he hears it.

Footsteps.

And there, right behind a cluster of large bushes and trees, in between the branches and leaves.

A flashlight.

Tall guy starts pulling on Isak’s arm and it takes all Isak has to move his gaze away from the employee currently investigating the park they’re not supposed to be in to look at Tall guy.

He doesn’t know what he expects, maybe for Tall guy to be as freaked out about this as Isak is since he definitely does not need to have the police be involved in his everyday life, but Tall guy’s eyes are full of life and excitement and he has a wide, devious grin on his face.

“Follow me,” he mouths, and Isak can’t even let himself take a moment to relish in the view of Tall guy’s lips, before he begins to, as silently as possible, army crawl after Tall guy, both trying to keep an eye on the employee and where they’re going  to minimize the chance of an accident occurring.

It doesn’t work though, as Tall guy somehow with his long limbs manages to bang into a garbage can, the loud clanging resonating through the air, the echo of it only being louder from the lack of any other noise.

Isak can feel his heart beating in his throat and everything is frozen for a second, but only for a second, because then, all hell breaks loose.

“Hey!” The guy shouts and then they hear footsteps running towards them.

“Run!” Tall guy shouts at Isak, hauling him up by his arm, and they’re off.

They don’t stop through anything, and Tall guy keeps his hold on Isak, making sure they’re not separated. They fly through bushes, flowers, archways, Isak manages to earn himself a couple of scratches when he attempts to run by a bush filled with thorns.

Isak doesn’t know his way around the Garden, doesn’t really spend a lot of time here, if he’s being perfectly honest, but Tall guy seems to know his way around, because before Isak knows it, they’re at the gate again, and Tall guy helps Isak get up and down, thankfully a lot quicker than they were last time.

Isak nearly twists his ankle when he lands on the pavement, but Tall guy somehow manages to pull him up right before any actual damage is done.

“Get back here!” The employee shouts after them, clearly out of breath.

“Go, go, go!” Isak shouts and pushes Tall guy in the direction they’re facing, no idea where they actually are, just knowing they need to move, now, goddammit.

They fly through the streets of Oslo, avoiding the few cars they find during the late hour, giggling like fools every time they escape a possible near-death experience that never had them in any danger at all.

“Fuck,” Isak laughs when they finally stop, doubled over and trying to breathe, he’s so out of breath and makes a mental note to work harder in P.E.

Tall guy is leaning against the wall of the building, hands running through his hair as he laughs along with Isak, gasping in between each breath.

Turns out they were headed in an alright direction, Isak realizes, as he’s only about fifteen minutes of a brisk walk away from home.

“That was stupid,” Isak gasps, standing up-right again.

Tall guy huffs out a laugh but nods along to Isak’s statement. “But a lot more fun than what I thought this night was going to be.” He rummages through his jacket’s pockets before finally pulling out Isak’s phone, holding it out to him.

And Isak feels his stomach drop, because for not even an hour, Jesus, he’d managed to forget that this isn’t his life, Tall guy isn’t a part of his daily routine, he’s a guy he met in a park in the middle of a night and who has given him an anecdote no one will believe happened, and he’s a guy he’s never going to see again.

Fuck.

“Well, guy whose name I’ve yet to be told, I’ve never been so happy to meet someone in my entire life.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Isak rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone. He tries to make time pass slower, to extend his time with Tall guy before the goodbye by inspecting his phone for any possible injuries it could’ve sustained during the chase scene.

Neither of them say anything, though, and Isak feels like time has run out and they’re only trying to ignore the blaring alarm.

“That was a hint, by the way,” Tall guy says, and Isak can’t help but look up confused at him.

“Huh?”

Tall guy smiles and rolls his eyes extravagantly and dramatically to show Isak he’s not actually annoyed. “To tell me your name.”

Isak can feel the blood fill out his cheeks, coloring his face red, as he stutters out noises unintelligibly, before finally managing to utter his name. “Isak Valtersen.”

Tall guy stops leaning against the wall and stands at his full height. “Well, Isak Valtersen, pleasure to meet you,” he says and holds out his hand, “Even Bech Næsheim.”

He has a name, Tall guy has an actual string of noises that he identifies himself with and Isak knows them now and he commits them to his memory to never be forgotten as he grabs Even’s hand and shakes it.

“Where do you live?” Even asks him, and Isak points to the left and answers.

And of course, Even lives a few streets away the opposite direction of where Isak’s going.

So this is it. This is the end of his meeting with Even Bech Næsheim, a boy he knows absolutely nothing about even though he wants to, and he will never have the chance to.

But Even doesn’t leave, not even when Isak backs up a few steps backwards as to not be the one to look away and walk away first.

Even only stares at him thoughtfully, though, and Isak both wants and doesn’t want to ask what’s up, but he doesn’t get a chance to before Even’s apparently made up his mind.

“If I’m right,” Even begins, taking a small step in Isak’s direction, “meet me at Kaffebrenneriet on Markveien this Thursday at 4 o’clock.” Another step.

The tips of their feet knock together by the time Even stops walking. Isak can feel the heat radiating off of him as he looks up into his eyes.

“Right about what?” Isak manages to breathe out. His heart is racing.

Even gently takes a hold of Isak’s face, thumb gently sweeping over a cut on his cheek. “This,” Even whispers as he bends down and kisses Isak.

Next part

#Something Great #evak fanfiction #Evak #skam fanfiction #Dutten-does-the-fanfic #SKAM #SKAM norway

[bytheangell]

hey there! if you're taking prompts, I kinda have an idea if you dont mind- basically alec is away for a few days bc he's the inquisitor, but he hides a bunch of cute little notes around the loft for magnus to find and they're basically all sappy and adorable. btw, I love your writing

Keep You Close (Read on AO3)

Magnus hates any amount of time he and Alec have to spend apart no matter what the reason, but this particular separation hurts a little more than the others. Alec has been temporarily assigned the position of Inquisitor in Alicante. Alec swore up and down that it isn’t permanent, though the Council want to make it permanent, promising Magnus that he made it very clear he isn’t going anywhere without him. 

“It’s just for a few days,” Alec reassures him, with one final, lingering kiss before he leaves. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.” 

Magnus sighs. “I miss you already and you aren’t even gone yet,” he points out, stealing a second ‘last’ kiss while Alec rolls his eyes with a fond smile. 

“You know I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important, right?” Alec asks. He can obviously tell Magnus’ been on edge about this trip, and this assignment, since Alec told him about it, and Magnus feels a little extra guilt over adding to the stress he knows Alec already feels. 

“Of course,” Magnus says, forcing a smile. “I’m just being dramatic. Go, I’ll be fine.” 

Magnus knows, deep down, that if Alec were to take the position full time they would make it work somehow. If it’s what Alec wants Magnus would never stand in the way of that… but that doesn’t stop him from selfishly hoping it’s as temporary as Alec says it is. 

That night, when Magnus goes into the bedroom to sleep, he finds a note on Alec’s pillow. 

Keep the bed warm for me. Love you - Alexander

Magnus is actually glad he’s alone, surprised by the strong swell of emotion he feels over the simple note. He quickly brushes away the stray tear from his eye before using a bit of magic to warm both sides of the bed as he slides under the covers that night. 

He finds another note in the morning tucked under the coffee grounds. 

Remember, caffeine isn’t a substitute for meals, no matter how many clients you need to get through today.   -Alexander

Magnus continues to find little letters, some just a few words and others entire paragraphs, from Alec throughout the week. He finds one in the bathroom (If you notice half the shampoo is missing it’s because I wanted to smell like you all week. Sorry, not sorry. -Alexander) and one in the book he’s reading (try not to fall asleep in the armchair while reading, I won’t be there to massage the knots out in the morning.  -Alexander), and it seems like every time he’s convinced he found the last one two more pop up somewhere entirely unexpected. 

Even more meaningful than the notes themselves - which Magnus is keeping, every last one, and re-reading more than once a day while Alec is away - is the fact that each one is somewhere Alec knows Magnus will be at some point. Alec knew exactly which book he’s been reading at night, which day Magnus is meeting with Cat for dinner (Alec  leaves a note with her to give to him reading, ‘You aren’t allowed to talk about me too much while I’m not there to defend myself -Alexander’), and even had the forethought to place a note under the 4th towel in the closet proclaiming ‘Four days done, you’re in the home stretch now! I promise I’m missing you more than you’re missing me, can’t wait to be back with you -Alexander’. Not back home, but back with Magnus. 

And Alec is right - Magnus isn’t missing him half as much as he could be, because each letter is a piece of him here, now, even if Alec isn’t physically there. The notes help the week go by faster, they give him something to look forward to throughout his day because, even on days five and six, there are still more of them turning up. Day six happens to be a Friday, when he and Alec usually go to a bakery nearby for coffee and fresh bagels. Magnus decides not to skip out on that habit and is rewarded when the barista hands him a folded piece of paper along with his espresso that reads ‘You have no idea how jealous I am of you right now, as I’m forcing down what is undoubtedly a sad excuse for coffee and missing our bagel date. -Alexander’ 

By the day Alec is set to return to New York Magnus finds himself counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until his husband’s expected arrival time. He can feel Alec’s presence the moment he walks through the wards, and though Magnus has a book open in front of him he’d be lying to himself if he thought he retained anything his eyes skimmed over in an attempt to look like he isn’t sat there waiting. 

The key turns in the lock and Alec walks in, hanging up his jacket and setting his bag down by the door next to where he toes off his shoes before coming inside properly. By the time those simple tasks are done Magnus is already on his feet. 

“How was your trip?” Magnus asks, leaning in to steal a kiss before Alec has the chance to answer. He’s thrown off when Alec’s arms don’t move to wrap around him, and when he backs up he sees it’s because there’s a folded piece of paper in his hands. 

“One last note,” Alec says, and there’s a nervousness behind his words that gives Magnus pause.  

After a unanimous vote, this letter serves as an official offer of the first High Warlock of Alicante position to Magnus Bane. Should you accept the position is yours to begin at your earliest convenience. -Inquisitor Alexander Lightwood-Bane 

Magnus re-reads it before looking back up at Alec’s hopeful expression. “Is this-” 

“What the entire trip was about? Yes.” Alec beams. He’s been advocating for opening Alicante up to Downworlders for ages now, starting with an attempt to bring his idea of the NY Institute’s  Downworld Council to the Nephilim on a much larger scale. The last Magnus heard it was still under review. “Every High Warlock in attendance spoke on your behalf. The position is yours, if you want it.”

“And your ‘temporary’ title of Inquisitor?” Magnus prods. 

“Still not official. If you agree then we both move to Alicante and it’s mine to keep. If you don’t, I go back to being the Head of the Institute without a single regret.” 

Magnus searches Alec’s face as he says that and can see that he’s telling the truth - he’d take or leave his dream job so long as the end result is staying with Magnus. It takes a lot of the pressure off of the decision to know without a doubt that Alec wouldn’t hold any resentment towards whatever he decides, which means when Magnus’ gut reaction is loud and clear he knows that it’s what he wants, and not what he feels obligated to want. 

“I’ll take it,” Magnus agrees almost immediately. 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to answer now-” Alec starts, but Magnus cuts him off with a shake of his head. The chance Alec is offering him here, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime sort of opportunity and he’d be a fool to turn it down. The freelance clients he has now are fine to pass the time, but he misses the meaning and impact behind the work of a High Warlock. 

“The last time I was this sure of something was our wedding day,” Magnus says. This time when he leans in for a kiss Alec doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Magnus’ waist, pulling them both closer into the motion. 

Earlier Magnus was thinking of all the clever ways he could return the favor of Alec’s notes the next time Alec is in Alicante, but he much prefers the realization that now there’s nowhere one of them will go that the other can’t follow. 

“You’re going to change the world, Alexander, and I’m going to be by your side every step of the way.”  

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #twisted the set-up a teeny bit to fit the idea i had #but I hope you like it!! and sorry for the wait on this one! #flufftober and nano really pushed me back oof #anon glamour activated #ask rune #long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #also thank you so much for the kind words! <3 and for sending me a great prompt! I loved writing this one :)

[maiaisbia]

Clizzy and 38!

"Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait"

Thank you so much @heronstairslover! Here are five times Izzy and Clary were mistaken as a couple, and one time they acted on their feelings. I have no idea where this fits in canon, so it is technically canon divergent in a slightly softer, more Valentine free world, with slightly sooner Maryse redemption. from this prompt list | on ao3

| Maia |

Clary leaned against the bar, trying to catch the pretty bartender’s eye. It didn’t take long, and the young woman leaned on the other side, eyes flicking over Clary’s face. Clary couldn’t help a blush at the attention.

“Ah, I was wondering if I could get a cider?” Clary said, and suddenly hoped she wouldn’t be carded. The shadow world seemed to have a different idea of what the legal drinking age was, but there was always the chance-

“Sure thing, we have a pumpkin one for the fall?”

Clary let out the breath she was holding. “That’d be great!”

The bartender walked down to a little fridge, returning to open the cider and pour it carefully into a beer glass. “I’m Maia, by the way,” she said.

“Clary.”

“New recruit?” Maia asked, as she put down a coaster and slid the drink across.

“Something like that,” Clary reached into her purse, setting her wallet on the bar. “How much do I owe you?”

“How about your number-” Maia’s words cut off as Clary felt the familiar weight Izzy’s arm around her shoulders. “Ah.”

“Watcha got there?” Izzy asked, taking the cider and sipping it before making a face. “I hate pumpkin.”

Clary laughed at Izzy’s adorable expression. “Well it’s my drink! Maia was just-”

“Nothing, nothing,” Maia waved a hand as if to clear the air. “I know not to step on someone else’s territory.” She winked, and Clary grew hot.

“Oh Izzy and I-”

“You’re drinks on the house, but only this once,” Maia said, and gave Clary one last wistful smile before turning towards Izzy. “Your usual?”

“Please,” Izzy was still hanging off Clary, and pressed her cheek against Clary’s hair.

Clary was left sipping her cider and wondering if Izzy had realized Maia had mistaken them as a couple. As much as that set cliched butterflies in her stomach, Clary didn’t want to lose Izzy’s friendship so she didn’t want to bring attention to it. If Izzy didn’t want to acknowledge it, then Clary wouldn’t either.

| Simon |

“Clary, Clary!” Simon ran down the Institute hallway, skidding to a stop in front of her. His hands moved all around letting Clary know he was very excited about something.

“Simon, woah,” Clary laughed, and walked to her room. Simon followed after her. “What’s up?”

“I need your help,” Simon said, flopping on her bed as if they just finished a day of highschool and not the reality that they were graduated and now deep in a secret society.

“Okay,” Clary prompted, moving to her desk and picking up one of her little sketchbooks. She always thought better if her hands had something to do.

“I want to ask out this girl,” Simon was hanging upside down off the end of the bed. Before he’d been turned, this would have his glasses falling to the floor. Clary felt a pang for that simpler time.

“And you want my help?” Clary asked, confused, and chewed on the end of her pencil.

“Your advice,” Simon said. “I assume you know how, considering you and Izzy-”

“Wait a moment,” Clary stood up, crossing the room to sit in front of Simon. “Izzy and I aren’t dating.”

“You aren’t?” Simon’s forehead scrunched. Clary poked it, but she guessed he didn’t need to worry about getting wrinkles.

“No,” Clary said, and hoped he didn’t notice her blushing. But this was Simon.

“I thought, well, since you’re always training together and you usually go out together and take your meals together,” Simon said, counting off on his fingers. “And you hold hands and you share clothes and you’ve drawn her all over that sketchbook.”

Clary quickly closed the book. “We’re just friends!” And then she shoulders sagged.

“But you want to date her,” Simon said in a whisper, glancing toward the closed door. He sighed. “Well I see you’re going to be no help with this. But maybe I can help you? Izzy clearly likes you.”

Clary shook her head, “No I’m not her type.”

Simon didn’t look convinced. “How sure are you about that?”

| Lightwood brothers |

“I’ve called this family meeting-” Jace began.

Alec and Max rolled their eyes in the exact same way and Izzy tried to hide a giggle. Jace just glared. They were seated at a far table, just the four of them, tucked away from the other shadowhunters.

“Hey, this is serious,” Jace said, before stuffing a bite of waffle in his face. Izzy snagged some of his bacon and one of his strawberries, because she’d already finished hers.

“I’m listening,” Izzy promised.

“And it required the toll of my bacon?” Jace asked, mouth full.

Alec made a face. Max stole some of Alec’s bacon while looking Izzy dead in the eye. She nodded her approval. Younger siblings’ privilege.

“I don’t have time for this,” Alec muttered, but dug into his eggs, signalling he wasn’t actually going anywhere. “And I’m not forgiving you for calling me in early. Magnus can summon a much better breakfast than this.”

“This is why we need a family meeting!” Jace said, waving his fork around. “We haven’t all talked in what feels like forever. You and Izzy both need to update us on how your relationships are going.”

Izzy frowned, the light, silly atmosphere suddenly awkward to her. “I’m not dating anyone.” All three of her brothers turned to stare at her. She stared back.

“Wait, you’re not dating Clary?” Alec asked.

“What? No,” Izzy said, though she wasn’t offended. Instead she felt a tug in her heart at the idea, but knew it was for nothing.

“That makes no sense,” Max said, shaking his head. “I saw her leaving your room this morning.”

Izzy blushed. “She’d just come in early to borrow a dress.”

“Isn’t it a couple thing to share clothes?” Jace asked, then reached over to tug on the shirt Alec is wearing, that was clearly one of Magnus’; a lovely, slightly shiny, dark green button up. “Exhibit A.”

Izzy frowned, because she didn’t know if she could express how much she longed that Jace was right. She sometimes borrowed Clary’s jackets or sweaters because they would still smell like her. Might as well be honest. “We’re just friends and it’s killing me. God, do you know how hot she is when we spar?” She pushed her plate away and dramatically rested her head on the table. “And she’s so talented with her art!”

“Change in the family meeting agenda,” Jace declared, then lowered his voice. “Operation Clary Fairchild needs to be planned.”

Izzy listened as for the rest of breakfast, her well meaning brothers argued the best way to let Clary know about Izzy’s feelings.

| Luke |

“Hey kiddo, you know you can tell me anything,” Luke said, as he walked with Clary along the river. Neither of them had any real reason to be there, but could excuse it as patrol. Clary was a little sad that this was the best way to see her dad, but they had both been so busy.

“I know,” Clary said, her breath visible in front of her. “And I’m pretty sure I tell you just about everything.” She nudged him with her elbow, smiling up, and keeping her hands deep in her pockets. “I have to keep some teenage secrets though.”

They were silent for a moment, just the sounds of the murky water and their footsteps. Then Luke said, “Can I ask about when you and Miss Isabella Lightwood got together?”

Clary startled. “What?”

“I know you might want to keep your relationship on the downlow, I just want to make sure you’re being safe,” Luke continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Just because you both-”

“Izzy and I aren’t dating,” Clary said, quickly. “And you don’t need to give me the talk. Again. Google is a thing.”

Luke stopped walking, hand going out to rest on Clary’s arm. “I’m sorry. Did you and Izzy break up?”

“What?” Clary said again, then sighed deeply, remembering her conversation with Simon earlier that week. “We haven’t dated and aren’t currently dating.”

Luke raised both eyebrows and gave her his best unimpressed dad face. “Clary, I don’t know who needs to tell you, but it sure looks like you’re dating. Do you like her?”

“Yes,” Clary started walking again, needing the movement. “And no, I haven’t told her. She’s just… brilliant and gorgeous and strong... I can’t imagine her liking me back the way I like her.”

“You are also those things,” Luke said.

“You’re my dad, you are legally required to think that,” Clary chuckled. “As a cop, you should be familiar with that law.” Chewing her lip and thinking for a moment, she added. “It would be nice to talk about it though.”

“Gush about your crush, I’m all ears,” Luke said, smiling over at her.

“Hi all ears, I’m daughter,” she said and stuck her tongue out as Luke nearly doubled over laughing.

| Maryse |

It is still odd, and sad, to see her mother without her runes. Izzy was tentative about building a better relationship, but she decided she was going to follow Alec’s lead. If Maryse did anything to hurt Alec again, or Jace or Max, Izzy wouldn’t stand for it, but so far she seemed to genuinely want to change.

Izzy’s righteous anger from her childhood was almost snuffed out completely as her mother pulled her into a fierce hug. Maryse pulled back and smiled at Izzy, resting a hand briefly on her cheek. Then her eyes grew a little worried. “Isabelle, have you been sleeping alright?”

Izzy wasn’t going to tell her mother that no, sleep had been hard lately because she was pining after a certain fire-haired shadowhunter. She shook her head. “I’m fine, just been busy.”

Maryse doesn’t look convinced and brought Izzy further into the little bookshop someone had set her up with (Luke? Magnus? Izzy wasn’t sure). Maryse sat them both down in surprisingly comfortable chairs, some coffee and cookies already set out.

Izzy gratefully took a mug and used it to keep her hands still. It was getting cold out, and she forgot to put on the gloves that Clary had gifted her.

“Izzy, I’m worried about you,” Maryse said, hand reaching out to rest on her arm. “Trying to keep your relationship with Clary secret can’t be good for either of you.”

Izzy froze, and wondered if Jace had put their mother up to this. It didn’t seem like something he would do… “Clary and I aren’t dating.”

Maryse looked more worried. “Isabelle, darling you know you can always be honest with me. I haven’t always been the best mother in the past, but I want to make that up.”

Izzy shook her head, huffing a sigh. “No, Mom honestly, Clary and I really aren’t dating.”

Maryse looked confused. “Are you sure?”

“Yes?” Izzy said. “We’ve never talked about my… feelings for her.”

“Well why not? She seems very nice, if a bit reckless,” Maryse moved her hand away.

“I don’t think she likes me the same way I like her,” Izzy said, and almost jumped when Maryse laughed.

“Darling…” Maryse shook her head. “Even I can see that isn’t true.”

| +1 |

Clary rested against the headboard of Izzy’s bed, sketchbook propped in her lap. Izzy’s head was resting on Clary’s shoulder. Izzy knew to be careful and not bump Clary’s arm. The laptop Clary had placed at the end of the bed played the Great British Bake Off. She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to show what baking could look like to Izzy, and there had already been some science experiments. But it was the most relaxing way to spend a night off from patrols.

“You sure you don’t want to go out tonight?” Clary asked, glancing at Izzy.

“Would you be joining me?” Izzy asked back, looking between her phone and the show. They’d already watched this season.

“No, I want to get some work finished,” Clary said, looking at the comic page she had managed to sketch out. She wasn’t sure the panels were quite right for the story’s pacing though.

“Then nope, I want to to stay right here,” Izzy smiled at her, and Clary wondered if her own expression gave away doomed she was over Izzy.

“Okay,” Clary couldn’t stop her responding smile, and moved a little closer to Izzy. The chatter of the contestants on the show and the scratch of Clary’s pencil were the only sounds for a long moment.

“Something weird happened to me this week,” Izzy said, and Clary could hear the little quiver of nerves in Izzy’s voice. Otherwise it was Izzy’s strong voice, the one she used when directing a patrol on how to corner a demon.

Clary set her notebook aside, turned so that she was facing Izzy. They were probably too close, but Clary couldn’t bring herself to move away. Izzy had put her phone aside, but she was staring at her lap. “What happened?” Clary asked.

“Well… my family… um,” Izzy shifted and sat up straighter. Her hair was in a messy bun and Clary reached to tuck a fallen strand behind Izzy’s ear. Izzy gently took the hand, and moved to hold it in her lap like a lifeline. “There is no easy way to say this.”

“Is everything okay?” Clary asked, trying to think of what horrors Izzy could be this nervous about talking about.

“Ah,” Izzy bit her lip and Clary couldn’t help it has her eyes followed the movement. “They think we’re dating.”

Clary felt like her ears were full of fluff. That couldn’t be… “They think you and I are dating?” Clary had to repeat it to be sure.

Izzy nodded, “Jace brought it up last week, and then when I saw my mom yesterday…”

Clary searched Izzy’s face, trying to gage what the other shadowhunter was feeling. Smiling again at what she saw, Clary said, “Simon and Dad actually both asked me something similar.”

Izzy’s mouth fell open in surprise, but then it turned onto a shy smile. Clary knew that Izzy was very good at seduction skills, but maybe this was different, what they had here in the warmth and safety of this moment.

Clary hardly noticed as they both leaned forward. Kissing Izzy was like coming home, a final puzzle piece sliding into place. When they pulled away, Clary whispered, “You should have told me we were dating.”

“And you should have told me!” Izzy chuckled back, before pulling Clary close and kissing her again. “I have a lot of these to make up for.”

Clary could only hum in agreement as Izzy climbed into her lap and got to work making up for lost time.

#clizzy #clary fairchild #clary fray #izzy lightwood #isabelle lightwood #my fic #maia roberts #luke garroway #maryse lightwood #lightwood sibs #simon lewis

[idi0twizard]

Sunny-Side Up (1)

hm, i’ve never posted any fics before haha

i have other parts planned that i’ll probably post...eventually

feedback/comments/reblogs/likes all incredibly appreciated

Angus Mcdonald was 11 years, 3 months, and 6 days old. He’d calculate down to the very second, but he had other matters to attend to, and just didn’t have the time. He had things to check, crimes to solve, and clues to crack. In his short, short human life, he’d dealt with a lot more than an average 11 year old should, and some days he felt more like an adult than a child. Still, Angus Mcdonald was a kid, and kids will be kids no matter what.

The Bureau of Balance moonbase was an incredible feat of science, and Angus could respect that, but it could get awfully boring living on a fake moon day in and day out when everyone else got to touch back down planetside at least once in awhile. And the Bureau definitely hadn’t been built with any children in mind, even a child as reserved as him, so there wasn’t much around to keep him occupied. So today he decided to do some investigating, or as others liked to call it, snooping. An even more correct term would be “eavesdropping,” and hoping someone had a mystery on their hands that needed solving.  

Sure enough, a mystery showed itself in the form of the Bureau’s sole reclaimers, the uh, Tres something Boys. Perhaps eavesdropping hadn’t been the proper term, since the three (actually, only Magnus) invited him to sit with them in the cafeteria, but they had been ignoring him and speaking huddled up ever since Angus sat down. Their attempts at secrecy were admirable, but their idea of hushed conversation was speaking at room volume while pretending to whisper.

“It's an object just….made of zone of truthing,” Merle said, placing a hand against his mouth as if he still wasn’t just talking as loud as ever, “That’s like...my whole deal, ya know? We gotta find it!”

Taako leaned back in his chair, dropping the pretense of pretending to talk quietly, and stared dismissively at the ceiling, “Sounds like waaay too much effort for Taako. Probably just a bust anyways- count- uh, count cha’boy super out.”

“But Taako,” Magnus cut in, “If it’s lame, we can just lie and make up a story about it and pawn it off for some cash. You’re like, crazy good at that! ...aaand we might need your super cool magic stuff?”

Taako paused for only a moment before leaning back into the huddle, “Okay, flattery's getting you everywhere” he whispered, “So when we going?”

“Um, Sirs?” Angus chimed in for the first time since he had sat down. He immediately had three pairs of eyes on him, all looking like they had entirely forgotten he was there, “Do you..do you even know where this thing is? Or what it's actually called? You’re going to need some leads if you’re going to find it.”

“Thanks Pumpkin, but the grownups are talking right now so-”

“No, no, Ango’s got a point. Do you even know what it’s called, Merle?”

“Uh,” Merle scratched at his beard, his brow furrowing in thought, “The..er..Fab Egg? The Fad Ed? The uhh...”

Magnus rolled his eyes, “Okay cool, so we have no idea what or where this thing is. Taako’s right, too much work.”

Angus’s eyes lit up and he bolted up in his seat, “I can help! I can ask around and see if anyone’s heard of anything like it! I can even look through Leon’s book and see if there’s any magical items similar to it listed to get some clues and-”

“No fuckin’ way, ki-”

“Great, Angus! Can you go do that for us? We’ll start lookin’ too, meetcha back in a hour, ‘kay?” Taako gave the young detective a wink and Angus beamed, leaping from his seat and practically sprinting out of the cafeteria.

Merle huffed and crossed his arms, giving the elf a pointed look, “Why’d you let the squirt help out? We can figure it out.”

Taako smirked and rested his feet on the table, reclining back in his chair, “Less work this way, Gramps. Now all we gotta do is chill for an hour and Agnes will have all the answers.”

The dwarf still wasn’t convinced, but relaxed further into his seat, “Ya really think he’ll figure it out?”

Taako gazed at the door Angus had just ran through, suppressing his grin that threatened to show, “Yeah, he’s got this.”  

Okay, Angus, you’ve got this! Angus had stopped running after leaving the cafeteria, but his pace was still brisk with the excitement of having a mystery on his hands. He began to think of all the possible people who could know about a magical object. There was Leon, obviously, and he was for sure visiting him, but who else if that turned out to be a dead end? Killian and Carey have seen their share of magical objects, but Angus doubted they’d have much knowledge of them or their whereabouts. The same went for Avi or Johann, and Davenport...well, Davenport wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He continued his trek down the hallway while pondering his options, head down and fingers on his chin in deep thought. The Voidfish could know something, but as far as he knew there was no way of communicating with it. Maybe he could come up with a system where it could hum once for yes or twice for no, or motion with its tentacles? No, no, that wouldn’t work…Completely absorbed into his thoughts, Angus ran right into something solid and flew backwards, landing on the ground with an ‘oof.’

“Oh, Angus! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” Madam Director was standing over him, her hand outstretched for him to take.

Angus stared up at her with wide eyes, “Madam Director,” he grinned and took her offered hand, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Got any fours?”

“Nah, go fish. Merle, ya got any eights?”

“Mmf, yeah yeah. Taako do y-”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Taako slammed his cards down on the table, “Okay, this chill sesh is boring as hell, my dudes! Won’t- Can’t stand another minute of this, I will die for reals.” The elf stood, crossing his arms over his chest, “Are we seriously gonna let boy detective do all the dirty work while we just play old lady games?”

Magnus stood as well, pointing accusingly, “You’re the one who came up with that! You’re the one who suggested we play cards!”

“Yeah whatever,” Taako waved his hand dismissively, “Had a change of heart or something, totally wanna track down the Fat Eggplant or whatever it is. Let’s go do that before I kill over.”

Merle hopped off his chair and strode over to Taako, “The kid did say there might be somethin’ useful in Leon’s book. Maybe we can go check in with him?”

“Yeah, I do that.” Magnus replied, already heading towards the door. The remainder followed suit, and together the trio made the familiar trek across the quad to Leon the Artificer’s office.

Leon threw out a warm greeting as he heard the door to his office open, but his cheerful demeanor was struck down instantly when he looked up from his book and saw who his guests were, “Oh, goddamnit.” He closed the book and paced around his desk, “You three haven’t been sent on any missions,” He stalked over to stand in front of the trio, “You have no tokens, I have no patience, now please get the hell out.” He glared up at the three of them, eyes narrowed almost challengingly.

“Hey it’s okay man, we’re not here to mess with you-”

“Much.”

“-We just need to look at your book real fast.” Magnus finished, elbowing Taako in the side. Taako elbowed him back forcefully, and the two broke out in a seconds long elbowing match. Merle attempted to cut in and end the spat, but instead got himself dragged into it as well.

Leon made no attempt to hide his exasperated sigh, drawing the trio’s attention back to him and promptly ending their duel, and hesitantly stuck out an arm to gesture towards his book, “Just make it quick, okay? No funny business. I don’t even care what you need it for, I don’t want to know.”

“We’re looking for a truth orb or something,” Magnus replied helpfully.

“Truth egg,” Merle corrected.

“I just said- wait a what?” Leon’s interest was visibly peaked. He returned to his book before the other three had a chance to look at it themselves and began flipping through it’s many pages, “There aren’t many magical truth items out there..hm..ah-ha!” He slapped his small hand down on the page opened before him, “Here it is!”

“Well,” Merle pressed, “What is it?”

“The Fiberge?” Angus was sat across from the Director in her office. The desk between them was hand-carved and looked worn and old compared to everything else in the room, save for the madam herself. Like the desk, the Director looked worn with age, and the wrinkles on her forehead creased when she smiled in response.

“Yes, I believe that’s what it is, given the, erm, vague description.” She shifted a few files she had set in front of her and read, “The Fiberge is a collectible faberge egg that’s been enchanted with a zone of truth spell, or at least something of similar nature. Completely unsurprising that word of it would catch Merle’s, uh, scattered attention.” Angus noticed her focus shift for a moment, her gaze distant and a soft smile on her lips, before turning back to Angus, “We found it years ago on a bad relic lead. It seemed harmless enough so we decided to give it to Leon for the Fantasy Gashapon. I haven’t any idea if it’s still there or not, though.” She returned the papers back to their proper file and slid them into one of the desk’s drawers, “Sorry, I wish I could be of more help.”

“No, no, Ma’am, you’ve helped a lot!” Angus grinned up at the woman with a look of both an excited child and a detective with a lead, “Now I’ve got a name to go off of, and a susp-- person of interest! This has all been very valuable information for my investigation!”  

The Director chuckled at Angus’s enthusiasm, “I’m glad I could be of assistance. Just take it easy, alright? Those three goofs can be a handful to deal with when they set their minds on something.” If Angus noticed yet another change in demeanor, which he absolutely did, he didn’t draw any attention to it. Everyone up on the quad seemed to be fond of the trio of reclaimers at least somewhat, but the Director’s fondness towards them was something else entirely. Angus noticed it constantly; when they visited her office, when they cracked jokes at her or others’ expense, and especially when they returned home from their missions. Her eyes would always light up and the creases of a smile would appear by her mouth, all undetectable by untrained eyes. But Angus didn’t mention it. It was a mystery for another day.

“Oh, I know how they can get, Madam Director. I did spend quite a lot of time with them on a train! I’ll be sure they don’t almost get themselves killed again, don’t you worry!” Angus slid out of his chair and extended a hand over the desk, “Thanks so much for your help! I’m going to go talk with Leon right now.”

The Director took Angus’s extended hand and shook it with a grin, “You’re welcome, Angus. Don’t hesitate to come see me again if anything comes up. And don’t let the boys pick on you!” She called after him as he practically sprinted out of her office. Shaking her head, Lucretia stood and faced the portrait hanging on her wall, longing for her own days of adventure.

Well, they had some idea of where to find The Fiberge, and a pretty good one too. Leon had told them all about it, and with some light threats revealed that the late Liam Kessler had won it a couple years ago. “We’re pretty good at this detective shit, huh?” Merle mused as they made their way through the quad to return to their quarters, “Didn’t even need the squirt.”

“Oh shit,” Taako replied, “I uh, forgot all about him, actually.”

“Do we still want to...go meet up with him? See if he found anything out too?” Magnus suggested.

“Nah, we got this all figured out. Just gotta go do some grave robbing and we got our egg,” Taako shrugged, “‘Less you jokesters are cowards.”

Magnus made a face and stopped walking, “Aren’t there like, mystical consequences over disturbing the dead? Like curses or hauntings?”

“Not worried about that.” Taako responded plainly, continuing ahead. They were well across campus when they heard a tiny voice calling out for them from behind. “Ah fuck.”

“Sirs, sirs! I know what it is!” Angus jogged up to the three, all besides Magnus hurriedly walking away from him, “I ran into the Director in the hall and she had a bunch of files and information about miscellaneous magical items and she told me that it was called the-”

“The Fiberge,” Taako cut in, “Yeah, Agnes, we figured that one out already, catch up.”

“Oh. That’s um, very pro-active of you guys, I’m proud! Well, I’m on my way to Leon’s right now to-”

“No need, kiddo, we already got that covered!” Magnus beamed and pat Angus on the back. The force sent the detective stumbling forward before righting himself, “He told us that Liam Kessler had it.”

“O-oh…” Angus visibly deflated. He had been so excited to help them out with their mystery, but it seemed like they hadn’t needed him after all. He willed his pouting expression down and cleared his throat, “Well, okay, I’ll just, leave you to it then.”

Taako let out a long, dramatic sigh and looked up towards the heavens. Gods forsake his totally generous and bleeding heart, “We might still need your help, pumpkin. We- we have no idea what they did with Kessler’s shit after he bit it. We were, uh, just gonna go check his grave out.”

Angus brightened, “That’s very ill-advised, sir! Grave robbing is super punishable by law, not to mention highly unethical!” Taako rolled his eyes and ruffled the boy’s hair, “I can look into what they did with his estate. Um, if you...if you want me to.”

Merle grumbled to himself for a moment before speaking up, “Okay, kid. Where do you want us to start?”

#the adventure zone #taz #taz fic #the adventure zone fic #angus mcdonald #taako #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #an angst free angus & THB centric fic FT. a lot of other characters #wiz writes

[holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight]

Hands to Myself - Part II

Summary: After Alec comes out to his family, Jace drags Alec to an LGBT friendly strip club so he can ‘expand his horizons’ since he hasn’t even attempted to date or meet anybody new. Alec reluctantly agrees only because he’s grateful Jace is so supportive. While there, his eyes land on an intoxicating man whose body moves so fluidly Alec can’t keep his eyes off of him. Once Magnus is alone with him, he, too, finds himself enraptured by the younger man.

Rating: MA

Genre: Smut, Romance, Friendship, Everyone is Human AU

Author: dylanobrienstyler

A/N: I did my best to be as realistic and accurate as possible so please forgive anything lacking in that department. Please be aware I upped the rating on AO3 from Mature to Explicit FOR A VERY GOOD REASON. The smuttiest, gayest thing I’ve ever posted on here, dear god I’m trash for these smitten kittens.

Title inspired from Selena Gomez’ song of the same name. This is the final part of the two-part series. Feedback of all kinds is very welcome!!

Also can be read on AO3!

Part I on Tumblr can be found here.

Chapter Two - Corruption

Magnus had left Alec alone in the room hours ago, yet he swore he had left a piece of himself behind too.

He had gone back to work, trying to compartmentalize his thoughts as he usually did so he could focus on putting on the best show he could, but his mind drifted against his wishes. He certainly hadn't expected anything that ended up transpiring in that room when he first heard he had been requested for a private dance.

His eyes found the man he had just soloed for shortly after his return to stage, Alec meeting up with a blonde man around his age at the bar and heading out of the door immediately. He felt his heart sink at the concerned looks shared between the blonde and the bartender, knowing both were questioning what had upset the boy.

Magnus swallowed his pride and concentrated on the music, effectively pushing Alec to the back of his mind now that he had left the building for good.

Thankfully, his shift was only a couple hours longer and finally closing time came around. Magnus rushed towards the back room, ready to gather his things and get the hell out of there. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts; he'd clean up and take off his make-up at home.

"Everything okay with you, Mags? Maia said you stole someone's puppy earlier." his coworker and long-time friend Dot said as she sat down next to him.

"I did what?" he couldn't help but ask, bewildered by the statement.

Dot smiled a little. "One of your private requests. She said he left looking like someone stole his puppy. Did you reject him or something? Turn down a marriage proposal?"

Although it wouldn't be the first time he would've had to do so, at least the former, Magnus shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just a little… sexual awakening for the young man, I think. Always a little rough."

Dot nodded sympathetically. "You've just seemed off since then too. Anything you want to talk about?"

Magnus cast his eyes around to see they were alone, some of the others already gone and the few still around away in the showers.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about it though. Despite spending a lot of the night thinking about it, it wasn't exactly something prideful he was looking to admit.

Unfortunately for him, she didn't miss the guilt settling on his face. "Uh oh. I know that look. Something happened. What did you do?"

"Now, why would you assume I'm at fault here?" he said, hand on his chest in mock-incredulity.

"Because I know you, Magnus. What happened?"

Sensing defeat, he sighed. "I… I may have made a mistake with him. Broke a big rule."

Dot's eyes went round. "Magnus!" she whisper-shouted. "Raphael will kill you!"

"Not if he doesn't find out." he said, rolling his eyes at her dramatics. "Plus, he owes me a lot. I practically raised him."

"I don't think babysitting him every time his parents went away counts as raising him."

"It does when they were as absent from his life as they were."

Dot poked him in the shoulder. "Stop changing the subject. What. Did. You. Do."

Magnus exhaled, thinking back to the raven-haired boy. "Well, things were going well. Everything panning out as expected. He was shy and nervous but overly respectful, if anything. And then, to my surprise, in one heated moment, he leaned forward and kissed me."

His friend watched him carefully, seeming wary by his answer, as if waiting for more. "O-kay… here I thought it was a big deal. Sheesh, Mags, you know we've all had the odd one do that. Just because you didn't rat him out doesn't mean you're the devil. I mean, you said he was young, right? It was probably just a first timer mistake. It's not that wrong to let it slide."

He looked down, knowing he couldn't look his friend in the eye during his true confession. "Well, he pulled back in a panic, apologizing profusely, but I… I was the one who kissed him again."

This time Dot's jaw hit the floor. "Magnus!"

"I know, I know." he groaned. "But, Dot, I can't explain it. Something about him has me feeling a way I haven't in a long, long time. I haven't been able to get him out of my head all night. It's like he shoved all of my rationality and professionalism aside and nestled in like a stray cat."

Dot took his hands in hers, pulling out her best maternal intimidation look. "Magnus… you can't be doing things like that. Raph would lose his shit if he knew you were letting yourself fall for a client, and, more importantly, acting on it while you're working."

"I know." he said softly.

She squeezed his hands. "I'm sorry. I know you don't need the reminder. Are you going to see him again? See if something's really there?"

He blew out a breath. "Doubtful. I think I scared him off for good. That's what I get for freaking out after things finished up."

Dot nodded sympathetically. "Well, go home. Try to get some sleep. Maybe things will look better tomorrow."

Magnus half-shrugged, not even bothering to try to put his heart into her false optimism. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight."

Magnus threw his bag over his shoulder and exited out the back door, cutting through the alleyway in the hope of getting home faster.

He needed to get home, wash off, and hopefully rid his mind of the young man who had managed to reduce him to an adolescent with a crush.

"Hey, sexy. Did you come down here just for me?" a slurring voice came, browning teeth shining through a drunken grin as the man stepped out of the shadows.

Magnus felt his stomach clench. The last thing he could handle was one of the men from the club asking for more from him that he was giving. It wouldn't be the first altercation he had, and surely not the last, but tonight was not the night.

His jaw set. "No, I didn't. I'm just passing through. Excuse me."

Magnus made to rush by him, but the older man snagged him by the strap of his bag, pulling him back.

"Oh come on. I've seen the way you dance. You know how to give me what I want. And I want it now."

"You're going to have to look elsewhere." Magnus growled, wrenched his bag back.

The blow to his face took him by surprise, and Magnus found himself sprawled across the pavement before what happened caught up with him.

His arm stung and his hand reached up to touch his cheekbone, an angry mark no doubt forming from the hit he just received.

Instead of verbally responding, Magnus leapt to his feet with surprising speed and spun into a kick that hit the sleazy man directly in the chest, sending him soaring into a pile of garbage bags with a grunt.

"I have those moves because I do martial arts, prick." he spat at the man who was groaning, the wind knocked out of him.

Magnus rushed out of the alley and down the street. He was not going to wait around for him to gain his wits back.

God, he just needed to get home. Separate himself from human beings for a while. This night was just getting worse and worse. If one more thing happened, he swore—

But he was so distracted by his panic, he ended up running headlong into something solid, and, for the second time that night, he found himself falling backwards to the ground.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you." a worried voice came, and Magnus looked up.

He couldn't control his jaw from dropping.

The man above him seemed to recognize him in the same moment and froze.

"It's not your fault. It's mine. I wasn't watching where I was going. Thank you, Alexander." he murmured as Alec helped him to his feet.

"I… um…. Are you okay?" Alec suddenly asked, catching on that the no doubt bruise forming on his face was not from running into Alec's chest, however solid it may be. "You're bleeding!"

Magnus looked down at his forearm, where he had scraped it after he fell the first time, and forced a smile. "Oh it's nothing. I just ran into somebody who was asking for more than I was giving, and, you know, he didn't like hearing the word no. It's not the first time. Price of the business and all." he rambled, not even sure what he was saying anymore.

Alec's eyes narrowed in concern as he swept his gaze over the Asian man. "Can I walk you home?"

Magnus wasn't sure what to say. On one hand, he'd be breaking about the biggest rule in the business ever. You don't ever let a client know personal details about you, especially your home address. It couldn't have been a more stupid thing to do. Dot would kill him before Raphael even had a chance.

But something about Alec, from the beginning, made him trust that he was a good soul, so Magnus simply nodded, feeling the moisture push at his eyelids at the man's sweetness.

Once at his loft, the walk home virtually silent, Magnus dumped his stuff by the door and gestured Alec to make himself at home. Instead, Alec headed to the bathroom and managed to locate his first aid kit, before instructing Magnus to sit down and working on cleaning up his wounds.

"You don't have to do this." Magnus couldn't help but say as he sat pathetically before the man he hadn't stopped thinking about all night.

"I don't remember you forcing me into it, so I think it's safe to assume I want to." Alec teased gently, grimacing as Magnus' arm twitched when he applied alcohol to his skin. "Sorry."

Magnus shook his head to excuse his apology but didn't speak.

Once his scraped arm was cleaned up and looking less gruesome, one of Alec's big hands cupped Magnus' cheek to angle his face so he could get a better look at the mark.

"Whoever they were, they hit you pretty hard. You probably want to ice that to manage the swelling, but otherwise, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for it to disappear on its own."

Magnus nodded, his eyes on the floor now, but Alec caught the drop of water that slipped from his cheek, and more followed against his will like a leaking roof.

Without a second thought, Alec moved to pull him into a hug, Magnus burying his face in Alec's shoulder.

"Shh, you're okay. You're fine. You're safe now." Alec murmured, stroking up and down Magnus' back, sliding up to nestle his fingers in his dark hair.

Magnus let himself be comforted. He knew he shouldn't, knew that it wasn't right to ask this of a stranger, but he hadn't felt this vulnerable in a long time. And he felt he could trust Alec somehow. He felt safe with him somehow.

It was part of the reason why he had screwed up so spectacularly at the club before. Alec had kissed him with such surprising gentleness that Magnus found himself completely lost in him and was kissing him again before his brain could catch up. And then Alec held his face in his hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. Even when he was free to touch him, a half-naked man he was clearly very attracted to, Alec stuck with gentle, tender strokes. Strokes that made Magnus feel worshipped, loved even. It was such a contrast to the usual groping and pawing he normally endured that he completely forgot that he hadn't openly volunteered to be alone with Alec of his own accord.

And then Alec spent so much time watching his eyes, not peering at his body like some sort of ogling ape. Magnus was literally gyrating in his lap and Alec was completely entranced watching his face, holding eye contact. It was so intimate it had made Magnus shiver. He had never experienced anything of the sort in the business. He had no idea what to make of the man.

Normally, he had a pretty good sense when a man was about to climax. There were signs of course, especially when you were as close as Magnus was to Alec at the time. He had felt the shortened breaths, the loss of rhythm in his hips, the hardness of his arousal pressing against him. He had known when he was close, even without Alec's whispered warning. In a typical scenario, Magnus wasn't one to wait it out, instead ending things before they got to the point of no return. Sometimes he didn't have a chance to break things up, but he'd at least move away to make sure they didn't soil him too. But with Alec, he wanted to feel him cum. He wanted to experience him climaxing, to feel him spasm in his arms. Alec had been so dignified when he came, the way he sang Magnus' name out like a prayer, the way his body arced and shuddered through every last spasm. He was beautiful. He was downright glorious.

Once the euphoria of bliss passed, Magnus realized he had messed up. That he shouldn't have done such things. And the guilt for taking somewhat advantage of the young man ate at him. Alec had signed up for a private dance, sure, but he didn't sign up for someone to reverse their agreement to watch him come undone. The show was supposed to be Magnus, not Alec.

So he folded in on himself, cursing his actions. He was the experienced, mature professional. He was the one supposed to be the one setting and maintaining the boundaries. And then the familiar look of shame had settled into Alec's features, and he remembered how inexperienced the boy was. He knew the look, knew the shame coating his skin was the fault of the fact that Magnus was a man who invoked such sexual pleasure that he climaxed right then and there. So Magnus crossed the room and praised the boy for his bravery, because he was brave. He not only gave himself over to a stranger, let himself be so vulnerable, but he had come to the club in the first place, agreed to something terrifying, and managed to do it all with great dignity and maturity despite his intense nerves. He knew many in a similar position who handled things entirely different and he couldn't help but admire him for it. He was on the difficult road to acceptance and part of that was the rocky pathway of enduring scary experiences like giving up control so you could feel what you really feel. He had a feeling Alec wasn't one to give up control easily either.

Magnus managed to get a hold of himself and pulled back from the kind man, blushing now. He wasn't sure it was noticeable given the mark on his face and his naturally darker skin tone, but he didn't want to meet Alec's eyes to find out.

"Hang on. I'll be right back." Alec murmured, disappearing again.

Magnus didn't really feel like moving anyways, the weight of the day pressing on him, and Alec returned a moment later with a bottle of make-up remover and some cotton facial pads.

Magnus felt the briefest of smiles ghost across his lips as Alec got to work cleaning off his face from the smudged, tear-stained make-up he was currently sporting. Well, if he was hoping to impress Alec on their next meeting, he was doing a bang-up job.

Alec worked silently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked, and Magnus tried not to find it endearing. He had a feeling Alec was sort of the intense type.

"Better." he said after a few minutes, leaning back to admire his handiwork.

Magnus certainly felt cleaner. He stood gingerly.

"Thank you. I'm just going to jump in the shower really quick. You know, try to wash off that creep."

Alec nodded and Magnus disappeared into the bathroom, hoping the water would clear his head.

Alec sat on the couch after cleaning up everything he had dragged out there, drumming his fingers against his thigh. The way Magnus had stated it, he assumed he was expecting Alec to be there after he got out. Or should he leave? He wasn't really sure what the protocol was. Was there a guidebook for what to do when you walk your stripper home after he's been attacked and you gave him first aid?

Alec let his eyes drift around the room. He couldn't help but be amused at how Magnus-like the loft was. Eccentric, elegant décor and a lot of bold colours and choices. A lot like how Magnus dressed at the club. Alec figured the bold side to him wasn't an act.

Alec noticed some mail on the coffee table. They were addressed to Magnus Bane. So Magnus was his real name? For some reason, the confirmation made him smile.

The identified man returned after a few minutes in just a silk robe, hair damp but looking much more like himself, sans make-up. He sat next to Alec, sending him a tender smile.

"Thank you, Alexander. For everything. You didn't have to come to my aid like that. I appreciate your concern, however, and that you helped me in my time of need."

"It was nothing." Alec said, rising to his feet. This was sounding like a polite farewell, and he figured he should take the hint and get going.

Magnus watched him inquisitively. "What were you doing roaming around alone at that hour anyways?"

Alec corrected his throat, not meeting the older man's eyes. "I, uh, couldn't sleep. So I went for a walk."

"You do know New York can be a dangerous city to wander alone in, right?"

"Well if I didn't before, I certainly know now." Alec reminded him, a sly smirk resting at the corner of his mouth.

Magnus tried to hide a smile and failed. "Something troubling you, Alexander?"

Alec didn't know what to say. It was sort of awkward to admit that he had been so wrapped up in thoughts about Magnus that he hadn't been able to sleep. He lay in bed for a couple hours before giving up, even the alcohol he consumed not helping encourage slumber.

"Just… couldn't shut my brain off, I guess." he said with a shrug.

Magnus stood to meet him, noticing now the height difference between them despite having walked next to him earlier. Alec had been sitting for most of the night before that, so he hadn't quite seen it for himself, but he didn't mind it at all.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Feeling how you feel." Magnus stated.

Alec wondered in a panic if he could somehow read his thoughts, understand that Alec had developed stupid feelings for the man he barely knew in a very short period of time. But then he continued.

"I see it a lot at Pandemonium. Some people are comfortable with their sexuality, some are still battling some inner demons despite accepting it in some ways, and others are merely questioning. You seem to have mostly accepted yourself."

Alec nodded. "I, uh, come from a strict family who weren't exactly thrilled at the revelation. It's been… tough. Trying to balance being myself and being the son my parents want."

Magnus' eyes grew sorrowful. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I have really supportive siblings. Hence my reason for meeting you tonight in the first place."

"Ahh, your friend at the club?"

He nodded. "My brother Jace. Adoptive, technically, but he's been family long enough it feels the same."

"Any other siblings?"

"Two. My younger sister Isabelle and my little brother Max."

"So you're the oldest."

He nodded.

Magnus smiled, understanding the man before him a little more already. He had a certain level of expectations put on him, likely by his parents but no doubt by his own hands as well. Wanting to be a role model for his siblings, wanting to please his parents' wishes. Being gay under a strict household with all of those expectations hanging over your head would certainly be tough.

"What about you?"

Magnus shrugged one shoulder slightly. "Just myself, I'm afraid. My parents are long gone as well."

Alec's expression changed. "I'm sorry."

Magnus waved a hand, dismissing his concern. "It was a long time ago. I've done fine on my own."

After the words left his mouth, he wondered if Alec would agree, considering where they met. Not everyone supported the lifestyle he lived. He knew it could be tough to swallow.

And then of course, there was the way he behaved during their private session.

He took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any, since the opportunity had presented itself. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

A line formed between Alec's brows, confusion etched on his face. "Why?"

"For what happened earlier tonight. At the club."

Alec felt his skin burn hot in embarrassment. Oh god, Magnus had read his mind and he was going to let him down gently. Apologize for leading him on. Tell him about the psychological facts behind clients falling for strippers, throw statistics at him so he didn't feel like a complete freak.

He should just run. Just run straight out of there and never look back.

But he was glued to his spot, eyes completely locked on Magnus.

"I… I crossed the professional line with you. It was my mistake. I shouldn't have taken things as far as I did. It started catching up to me after we finished up that I was taking advantage of you…"

But Alec cut in. "Taking advantage of me how? I kissed you first, remember?"

"That was just you, being caught in the moment…" Magnus dismissed. "I was the one who took things further."

"Did you hear me complaining?" Alec asked, flaring up a little at the idea of Magnus beating himself up over the best part of his night. "Magnus, I literally got off while you kissed me because I enjoyed it so much. Do you honestly think I hadn't been wanting to do that all night? I wanted a lot more than that, but I didn't want to push and get kicked out or get you in trouble and I thought it was all me and you were just being good at your job… I couldn't sleep tonight because my mind kept drifting back to you, wondering if I upset you or grossed you out when I came in my pants like a pubescent schoolboy…"

Magnus didn't even realize he had stepped closer until he felt Alec's body heat bleed into the thin layer of his silk robe. He clued in rather quickly how undressed he was.

Alec was standing before him, chest rising and falling rapidly from his passionate argument, and Magnus felt longing light up his spine.

"Alexander…"

Alec looked down, seeming to try to gather his thoughts. "Look, it's fine that you don't feel this… connection to me that I feel to you. I get it. I'm young, I'm inexperienced, and I'm the last thing someone like you would be interested in. But don't try to push the blame onto yourself for the sake of my dignity. I know I screwed up. I'm sorry for that. I signed off on that stupid rule list and I still managed to mess up. But I know it was one-sided and you were just being nice, to make me feel less stupid. So don't… don't try to spare my feelings by blaming yourself."

Magnus was finding himself stepping closer, straightening up his posture to level with the man better, his air entering and exiting his lungs quicker too. He couldn't believe the blasphemy coming from the younger one. Did he really have no idea how captivating he was?

"Quite the contrary. Feeling you get off nearly set me off too, or could you not feel how aroused I was? My job, normally, is the very opposite of arousing, despite what it might seem. It's all groping hands and emotionless exchanges, faking smiles and attraction while going off to gag about it later." He turned away in shame. "But then I'm with you and I'm ready to climb you like a tree… The things I want to do to you, Alexander…"

And that was all he could take. He wasn't even conscious of his actions. All Alec knew was that he was suddenly crushing Magnus against his chest, lips descended on his as he kissed him fiercely on the mouth.

Magnus faltered a little, surprised, before groaning and knotting his fingers in his black hair, kissing him back just as hard.

This was the kind of passion he had been missing from the boy earlier—the guttural lust that he was acting on now made it clear he was as deep in as Magnus was. He loved the tender, gentle side too, but his attraction to the man before him left his desire running the show.

Alec was backing him up to the couch, causing Magnus to perch on the edge of the arm rest, stretching desperately to reach him. Alec's hands tucked under Magnus' thighs and guided him to wrap his legs around his waist. Magnus wasted no time in acquiescing, tugging his locked legs so their pelvises could meet deliciously. Alec wasn't the only one who whimpered at the friction. There were so few layers between them, but somehow too many at the same time.

For someone inexperienced, Alec certainly appeared to know what he was doing. His hands had found Magnus' lower back and was helping to support each thrust his hips pushed forward. Magnus' fingers tugged on the hem of Alec's shirt impatiently, and Alec yanked it over his head as if clothing was the most inconvenient thing invented. It almost made Magnus laugh right then, despite the heat forming between them.

But then Alec's mouth was placing scorching, open-mouthed kisses along his throat and he could barely concentrate on anything else. His fingers scratched at Alec's scalp, encouraging his motions, tightening his legs around his waist so he knew he very much liked what he was doing.

Alec's lips closed around his Adam's apple, smirking a little at the way it bobbed in retaliation, and then he switched to nibbling at the junction between his neck and collarbone, his hot tongue lathering over the spot as some sort of sensual finale.

All Magnus knew was this had to be one of the hottest make-out sessions he had had, and he wasn't exactly an innocent when it came to lovers.

His fingers found Alec's waistband and he worked on getting his zipper down and freeing the hardness he could feel beneath the material. His mind was so clouded with arousal he didn't even think to stop and ask if it was okay, his mind completely forgetting that Alec was less experienced despite his expertise showing otherwise.

But Alec seemed just as desperate, stepping back from his tight hold so he could push the pants over his hips. He kicked them away irritably before going back to what he was doing.

Magnus distracted him by finding his mouth with his own again, his nails scraping through Alec's chest hair and down to his toned abdomen. He'd have to ask him about his workout regime later because Alec could very easily blend in at Pandemonium with the incredible body he had. Magnus' hands could barely find a spot to stay, wanting to touch all of him, to fully consume the man before him.

There was a happy trail of dark hair leading to below his boxer brief's waistband, where the bulge of arousal was pressing against Magnus. He finally gained enough oxygen to fuel his brain cells into speaking coherent English.

"Alexander… are you sure you want to keep going? This feels like it's heading in a very specific direction and I don't want you to feel like you have to do this to keep me interested. Trust me, I'm interested. In more than just your body."

Alec was panting hard now, leaning his weight into Magnus to keep himself steady. His hair was mussed, lips plump and dark, and Magnus was a little proud at how thoroughly corrupted he looked. He looked like walking sex.

"I know. I am for you too." he said, and Magnus shivered at the husky quality to his tone. "But this… feels oddly right. I don't know how to explain it, but I've felt magnetized to you all night… It feels like this, me and you, was inevitable."

Magnus' eyes widened at the proclamation, surprised at the confession that coincided with his own feelings. He had felt a pull to Alec almost instantly and he too felt as though there was something stronger dragging them together.

"Okay. But you tell me, no matter how far things get, if you want to stop at any time, okay?"

Alec nodded, pulling him into another deep kiss to distract him before he jolted his own hips to help gain leverage to lift Magnus up into his arms. Magnus whined into his mouth, pressing his body flush against his lover's, and Alec attempted to find the bedroom without separating them too much.

"We could've done things out there, you know. I wouldn't have minded." Magnus teased against his ear as Alec climbed on top of him on the silk sheets.

Alec rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for wanting to be a gentleman."

The look of adoration Alec had caught at the club earlier in the night shone through Magnus' eyes again, and this time Alec leaned down to kiss him softer, slower, taking his time to tumble his lips over the other man's.

Magnus immediately met his pace, hands sliding languidly down Alec's muscular back, skimming across his ass and back up again.

He didn't miss the little twitch his intimate touch invoked, and his lips curled up in a smile against Alec's mouth.

"Shut up." Alec grumbled.

Magnus laughed, effectively breaking the kiss. "I didn't say anything."

Alec chose not to respond, instead zoning his eyes on the gaping robe. So far it was only giving him a good view of the expanse of Magnus' chest, but he knew it was hiding more. More that he couldn't wait to reveal.

But of course, his nerves were beginning to settle in. It was only natural now that his adrenaline was dying down. His instinct had taken over when he was fueled by frustration and pent up sexual tension, but now, as things settled into a more comfortable rhythm between them, his anxiety found time to awaken.

Magnus seemed to catch on, his eyes reading the change in expression. Alec had been completely dominant and in control when his body was leading things, but now it seemed his mind was battling to overthrow it.

"Hey. We can take things slow." Magnus reminded him.

Alec breathed through his nose. "I just… haven't really done… much of anything. I wish I knew how to avoid disappointing you."

Sensing his emotions catching up with him, similar to at the club, Magnus tugged so Alec was lying next to him, switching to his side so he could look at him properly.

"Alexander. Don't psyche yourself out. I may be experienced, but this is my first time with you, which makes me vulnerable too. I don't know your preferences, or what you like. It's about discovering each other, and sometimes it can be a bumpy road. We just need to communicate with each other and try to relax and enjoy it."

Alec remembered a similar spiel at the club before his private dance and exhaled slowly. He was right, of course. Alec just had a hard time convincing the rest of him to stop thinking and let himself go.

Magnus reached out to touch his face, rubbing his thumb across Alec's cheekbone. "The only way you will disappoint me is if you don't speak up when you're uncomfortable in any way, okay?"

Alec finally found his lungs working on their own better and nodded.

Sensing a win, at least for now, Magnus crossed the distance between them and began kissing him again.

Alec forced himself to relax and focus on the feel of Magnus' mouth on his own, moving closer as Magnus' tongue licked its way inside his mouth.

He hooked an arm around Magnus' waist and lifted him so he was lying on top of his chest, causing Magnus to twitch his hips in reaction.

"What?" Alec couldn't stop himself from asking, wondering why Magnus seemed to enjoy that quite a bit.

He rolled his eyes to the heavens. "I'd explain, but then you'd probably argue with me for ten minutes, and I'd rather get naked with you."

Alec's body was the one who reacted that time, his bulge of arousal nudging against Magnus' growing erection.

He moved forward to kiss him again, and, with newfound confidence, began slipping Magnus' robe down his arms and off the bed in a graceful swoop.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, he let his eyes roam down the length of Magnus' body, and just as quickly threw his head back against the pillow in anguish.

Magnus tried to keep his amusement at bay, instead kissing along Alec's neck at an attempt at a distraction.

"Like what you see?"

Alec turned his head and made a muffled groan into the side of the pillow. "I'm most definitely gay. Didn't really doubt it before but there's no denying it now."

Magnus grinned, and Alec couldn't help but smile as he gazed back at him. It was still pretty surreal that he was in bed with the magnificent man that he was. That Magnus wanted him too.

Determined not to waste a minute of it, he cradled a hand behind Magnus' head and pulled him into a heated kiss, hissing in desire as Magnus deliberately rubbed his hardness into Alec's clothed one.

Alec bit his lip as he wriggled underneath Magnus, slipping a hand between them to push his underwear down.

Magnus caught on quickly and helped him remove it, giving a similar noise of appreciation Alec had allowed his nakedness.

Both bare-skinned and exposed, Alec wasn't really sure what to do next. He knew this was sort of the beginning, and he knew from his own personal education on the matter about the logistics to get to the end, but the middle where things got built up to reach that end, he wasn't so sure.

Thankfully, Magnus knew was he was doing and stretched above him to get at his night table drawer.

He slipped a bottle out of the wreckage and left it to the side as he crawled up to meet their mouths again.

"I'm going to touch you, okay?"

Alec made an unintelligible sound but nodded quickly, bracing himself for the oncoming pleasure so he didn't lose complete control. Still, when Magnus' slicked hand made contact with his sensitive flesh, his hips bucked upwards into the closed fist against his wishes.

Magnus didn't let it slow his motions though, his strokes starting out slow and lengthy before picking up pace.

"Magnus…" Alec moaned, arching his back to get himself closer to the tightness surrounding him.

He was gorgeous like this, Magnus couldn't help musing, as Alec gripped the silk sheets in his fists, his skin flush and his body in complete control again. Seeing him losing himself to his pleasure was intoxicating.

Alec's hand clawing at his arm caught his attention and he slowed his hand's movements.

"It's too good… I don't want this to end so soon…" Alec mumbled, his voice catching when Magnus' wrist twisted a little as he removed his hand.

Once he had a hold of himself, Alec propped up on one elbow and scooted over to where Magnus was lying. He wasn't really sure what he should do next, but he knew he wanted to try being a more active participant. The only thing was that he had never tried anything sexual on anyone else before, so he wasn't exactly confident in how to get Magnus to the overly pleased mess he had managed to get him to twice in one day.

However, what Alec lacked in experience, he made up for in determination, and he was damn well determined to make Magnus feel even half as good as he had made him.

"Can I touch you too?" Alec murmured, the idea already making his skin shiver.

"Of course." Magnus replied, fingers teasing at Alec's dark locks. He seemed so very at ease, and the comforting feeling of his hand in his hair gave Alec an idea.

Shimmying down the length of the bed, Alec got comfortable on his knees on the rug. He made sure to pull the lube down to his end and spread his hands up the tops of Magnus' thighs.

Magnus seemed to catch on to where he was going since he exhaled heavily, his body curling up on itself in preparation of what was to come.

Alec ran his thumbs up his inner thighs, spreading his legs a little more and trying to figure out how to best situate his lover's body. He hadn't ever had something of this nature done to himself but had seen plenty of visual evidence during his time alone, so he guided Magnus' legs over his shoulders and nestled himself closer to the heated flesh before him.

He was happy to see his own pleasure had had an effect on the older one's anatomy, and he grasped the firm appendage in his hand. With a drizzle of lube on his palm, he slid his hand down to the base, somewhat fascinated by the neatly trimmed hair around there. He supposed Magnus' lifestyle sort of dictated things like that, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't lessen some of the intimidation of taking him deep into his mouth.

Magnus had only twitched under his touch, remaining quiet so far, and Alec had a feeling it was to avoid scaring him off. He was practically equivalent to a skittish deer; one wrong move or slightest of noises, and off he would run, never to look back.

However, once Alec let his lips surround the head, Magnus let out a guttural moan that sounded near primal in nature. It made it very hard for Alec not to grin in pride.

Instead, Alec ventured further, using his hand to massage the opposite end as he kitten-licked at the tip and along the length. He tested different techniques, using different pressures and amount of tongue, soft kisses and hard sucks along the skin and behind to where his other sensitive flesh lay, but the best was the most obvious—when he took Magnus fully in his mouth.

Magnus keened once he was fully enveloped in Alec's mouth, his fingers raking through his hair in encouragement. He was trying to control his hips from thrusting forward into the wet heat, knowing that that would be too much too fast, but it was extremely difficult, especially when he sat up to see the twinkle of utter excitement in Alec's eyes.

Alec sucked deeper, breathing better through his nose now that he was starting to get the hang of what he was doing and the nerves were subsiding, and he tried his best to apply pressure with his tongue to the vein pulsing beneath the shaft. The weight of Magnus in his mouth was oddly satisfying, Alec gradually taking in extra length as he tipped his chin to let more of him in, and Magnus' shaky petting to his hair alerted him that he was doing just fine.

After a few enjoyable moments, Alec pulled back, mostly to gulp in oxygen, but he let the tip of his tongue slide between the glistening slit at his head, and Magnus' whining gasp was proof that his instincts were better than he anticipated.

He couldn't stop the proud beam from gracing his face and he climbed up the length of Magnus' body, pressing kisses all along the definition of his torso as he ascended and then across the expanse of Magnus' handsome face. He was especially tender over the sore spot on his cheekbone, wanting to leave a different reminder on the painful skin.

Before Alec could ask about borrowing a toothbrush, Magnus pulled him into a heady kiss, knocking Alec breathless for another time that night. He didn't seem to care where his mouth had been, more focused on making his gratitude known.

"I want to try something else. If you're up for it." Alec explained quietly, once they had managed to separate.

Magnus, intrigued, slipped his fingers between Alec's, interlocking their hands. He squeezed reassuringly. "What's on your mind?"

Alec bit his lip, not really sure how to voice what he was thinking without stumbling on the words in embarrassment. He wasn't one to expose himself so bare, despite what his current attire dictated.

His tongue wet his lips before he spoke. "I wanted to… try taking things… one step further." He peeked up to read Magnus' expression, hoping he'd understand what he was getting at.

It seemed to dawn on him a moment later, eyebrows jumping in surprise.

"Alexander… You know penetration isn't the only way to have sex, right? That's a heteronormative idea that's outdated. What we've been doing, what other ways we can give each other pleasure… all of that can fall under the same realm as intercourse."

Alec nodded. "I know. I just… I'm curious." he mumbled, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks now. "I'm sorry. We don't have to. If you don't want to, it's fine—"

Magnus cupped his face with one hand to turn his face to him. "I didn't say that." he said softly. "I just don't want you to feel like we have to hit every item on a checklist tonight. I don't want you to be a one-night stand, Alexander. I want to get to know you more, inside and outside the bedroom. But if you're eager to try more tonight… well, I'm up for that too."

Alec's eyes went round. "Really?"

Magnus chuckled. "You are really oblivious to your allure, my dear."

Magnus sat up, crawling down to where the lube was and slicking his own hand up with it. Alec was confused at first before Magnus lay back and spread his legs, and then, well, he was rather distracted watching Magnus touch himself where he couldn't see.

Magnus spoke as if he wasn't intimately engaged in his own foreplay. "Did you have preference on position? I figure it'll be easier due to my past experience if you top this time around."

Alec nodded quickly, trying not to jump out of his skin. It was already so much. He was secretly grateful Magnus was taking care of things himself, as he wasn't sure he could handle it after how incredible the night had already been. The fact that he held it together so far was a tough feat.

"I probably won't last long." Alec admitted, wondering if he was setting Magnus up for something he couldn't see through to the end.

Magnus tugged his hand in his own so he moved closer. "That's okay, love. I'm enjoying just being with you."

Alec smiled into their kiss, finding it easy to relax when Magnus was kissing him so tenderly. Even in the more heated kisses, there seemed to be some hidden gentleness behind each brush of his lips, as if marking him with affection every time their lips met. It was tantalizing, getting lost in the warmth of Magnus' mouth, his tongue, the feel of his hot breath intermingling with his own. Alec almost forgot what was yet to come until Magnus was moving his legs to encircle Alec's waist.

Alec got to his knees on the bed, looking down at his lover, who was glistening with a light sheen of sweat due to the night they had had already. Strands of hair were sticking to his forehead, his swollen lips between his teeth, but his eyes were bright and sparkling with something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I've opened myself up some. It may take some time but my body should adapt once you're inside me." Magnus explained, fidgeting on the bed so he was at a better angle.

Alec felt his legs quake, unable to believe what was happening. How the hell did he even get here?

Magnus held up a hand and stretched to dig into his drawer again, producing a foil packet.

“Magnus, I’ve never… been with anyone else. And I trust you.” Alec told him, eyes darting away a little in bashfulness.

Magnus smiled as he helped him put it on. “I trust you too, Alexander. And Raphael forces us to get monthly screening tests, even if it hadn’t been ages since I’ve been with anyone. But it also makes for an easier clean-up, you know.”

Not able to argue with that, Alec waited until he removed his hands before he concentrated on the task at hand.

Inhaling a deep breath, he pushed himself closer, grasping onto Magnus' thighs to help guide his body correctly to where it needed to go.

The first nudge into the ring of muscle nearly made him collapse onto Magnus' chest, it being too long in the evening since he had been touched there, and Magnus reached up to press encouraging kisses to his chest.

Breathing in again, Alec rocked his hips forward, and this time it was Magnus who reacted, his back curling as he dug his head into the mattress.

A spark of confidence lit inside Alec's chest, and he gripped Magnus' thighs tighter as he did his first proper thrust.

Another groan sounded from the man beneath him, and Alec wasn't sure if it was pleasure or pain, or maybe a mix of both.

"Keep going." Magnus rasped, clutching at Alec's back now for something to anchor himself to.

Alec obeyed, rolling his hips again, and again, and Magnus was soon meeting them with a thrust of his own. The tight fist that had grasped Alec earlier was barely preparation for the feeling of Magnus' taking him in. The hot clenching around his arousal was making his breaths come out in short spurts, feeling the fire lighting his spine like a flame getting out of hand.

Alec clasped one of Magnus' hands in his, fingers interlaced, digging their locked fist into the mattress as his other arm supported him above him as he snapped his hips up into his lover earnestly, chasing the burning that was finding his nerve endings. He hoped Magnus was as close as he was.

Magnus was a writhing mess below him, having left scratches on every bit of skin of Alec's he could grab, clawing at his back with his free hand as Alec found his sweet spot.

It seemed he knew as soon as he had, since he moved a hand to tug up Magnus' thighs so he could hit it again, and Magnus was seeing stars behind his eyes as he wheezed Alec's name like a plea.

And then Alec was falling, hips losing all rhythm and control, legs quaking as his back bowed in defeat while his orgasm ripped through him like a grenade. He was burying his face in Magnus' chest, higher octave whines slipping through his lips as he endured the best high of his life.

Magnus was spilling through his own shortly after, sucking in bursts of air as his body rumbled through the current of white hot pleasure.

Alec stayed inside him for an extra moment, reveling in how intimately close he felt with another human and one so special, before freeing them both and flopping in a heap next to Magnus.

He removed the used contraceptive, tying it in a makeshift knot before sending it sailing into the garbage bin next to the night table.

Once back to earth, Magnus leaned over the edge of the bed and used a fallen throw blanket to clean them both up some. Then his hand settled into Alec's damp hair, teasing the strands while Alec caught his breath.

Alec finally rose his head to take in his expression.

All he was met with was a lazy, loving smile and he couldn't help but return one of his own.

"Sleepy yet?" Magnus murmured, settling back into the pillows.

Alec simply grumbled like a moody cat and nuzzled into his side, curling his leg around Magnus' thigh and listening to the steadying of Magnus' heart as it calmed into a slower pace. Magnus' knuckles ran light strokes over his back, until they too slowed and sunk to a simple, loving hold.

Once Magnus was safely in dreamland, Alec realized he hadn't exactly told anyone where he was going earlier when it was simply a night walk through the city, as the last thing he expected to happen was to be falling asleep in the arms of a man he was crazy about.

Managing to find his phone in his discarded clothes while still holding on to Magnus with one arm, Alec sent a quick text to his brother.

Hey, so, you know how I said I wouldn't find my romantic awakening at a strip club? Yeah… about that... How do you think Mom and Dad will take me dating a stripper?

#malec #malec fanfiction #malec au #stripper!magnus #innocent!alec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfiction #prompt #my writing #smut #gay smut #to the nth degree tbh #I spent half of writing this fic running around my house trying not to scream at myself #that's the kind of nerd I am ok

[alexanderglghtwood]

look at us, burning down in flames for kicks

have some domestic and fluffy and slightly sexual  malec - for @jacehvrondale because i promised her fluff after my last fic - thanks to @softshumjr​ for helping me edit once again

Alec had just gotten out of the shower when he noticed the time. It was nearly five thirty already. He panicked slightly, remembering he’d promised that he would have dinner ready when Magnus got home from doing a few jobs across town for the day. 

He knew Magnus wouldn’t mind that dinner was slightly late, but he’d made a promise and then forgotten about it, which didn’t sit well with him. Quickly, he threw on a pair of boxers and one of Magnus’s dressing gowns before making his way into the kitchen. 

He cursed Magnus for only owning extremely short robes, and then he cursed himself for not taking Magnus up on his offer of making space for more of Alec’s clothing. 

On Magnus the robes just barely covered everything important, but Alec was slightly taller than him so there was no use even trying to be modest, he couldn’t cover everything.

 Not that it mattered much, Alec was alone in his boyfriend’s loft. And it wasn’t like he and Magnus hadn’t both walked around the loft wearing less than he was now, so he normally wouldn’t really be concerned with covering up, but he was going to cook something and, when he wasn’t fighting while covered in stability runes, Alec was quite clumsy and he knew he’d most likely burn himself.

It didn’t take him very long to cook the meal, but it took long enough that he wasn’t quite finished when Magnus walked through the front door and called out, “Darling, I’m home”.

Alec looked down at himself, momentarily concerned by how little he was wearing, before realising that it was just Magnus, his boyfriend, and that he didn’t care.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Alec called out before turning back to the stove and focusing on the meal he was preparing. He’d only recently learned how to cook, he figured that he was going to have to learn how to at least do the basics when he came of age and his parents started spending more time in Idris. And once it became clear that Izzy wasn’t going to get any better at cooking, he decided it was time to learn for real.

It was easy really, just finding a few recipes online and practicing. Once he’d started, Alec found that he really enjoyed cooking, especially for his boyfriend, who lit up with excitement the first time he came home to a meal Alec had made himself.

As they ate he’d talked about how he couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken the time to actually cook for him. He said that most people just expected him to use his magic to conjure up some takeout, which was perfectly fine, but he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the sentiment that came with having someone cook for him.

Magnus walked into the kitchen. He set his bag down on the floor by the door and started to speak as he stood up straight. However, he froze mid word when his eyes landed on his boyfriend’s half naked body standing in front of the stove. His hair was still damp from the shower he’d clearly taken earlier and, when he turned to face Magnus, he noticed that he had a five o'clock shadow. It made his face look thinner and his cheekbones more prominent.

Magnus let his eyes trail over Alec, from the shaggy, damp hair clinging to his forehead, to the purple bite marks trailing along his neck and collarbones and chest, to the dressing gown that had fallen open and the fact that he was only wearing tight boxers underneath it. He felt his breath get caught in his throat as he moved forward, making his way over to where Alec was standing, and pulling his boyfriend’s body close to his own.

As soon as he was close enough to reach, he pressed his lips against Alec’s, one of his hands moving up to cup Alec’s jaw. The stubble was rough under Magnus’s palm and against his chin as they kissed, but Magnus wasn’t bothered at all, actually, he kind of liked it.

Alec chuckled softly as he pulled away from Magnus, “It’s nice to see you too.”

Magnus blushed lightly at Alec’s teasing tone and rolled his eyes, “Oh shush. If you’d come home to me walking around half naked, you would have done the same thing.”

“Magnus, you walk around naked all the time, I think I’m used to it by now.”

What Alec didn’t say was that Magnus was completely correct. He had, on multiple occasions, done the exact same thing that Magnus just did. The difference being that usually Alec was coming home late at night from a mission when this would happen and it was usually followed by them showering together, partially to clean the dirt and grime off of Alec, and partially because Magnus always ended up turned on when he thought about Alec out in the field, kicking some poor demon’s ass.

Alec wasn’t really sure what it was about it that turned Magnus on so much. He thought maybe it could have something to do with the fact that he was quite strong and very good at his job, but the more likely reason was something that made Alec feel kind of sad when he thought about it.

Magnus may have had other relationships in the past and he may have been with thousands of people in his unnaturally long lifetime, but he’d never really had someone like Alec. He’d never had someone strong and capable who actually wanted to do things for him and to take care of him.

He admitted one day, rather sadly, that most of his past relationships, or at least the long term ones, had been more about what Magnus could do for the other person. None of them cared much about protecting Magnus. There was an exception of course, Camille. Though neither of them were sure if she really counted, since she also liked to spend her time manipulating Magnus, but they mostly stayed away from that subject. Magnus didn’t like to talk about it much, and when he did it, usually ended in teary eyes and crushing hugs.

Alec pushed those thoughts out of his mind and turned back to the stove, where the pot of water and noodles was just starting to boil over.

Magnus pressed a kiss to Alec’s cheek before turning and walking towards the bedroom.

When he came back out ten minutes later, wearing sweatpants and a thin T-shirt instead of his usual work attire, dinner was ready and waiting on the table. He sat across from Alec, who still had yet to put more clothing on or retie the dressing gown where it had opened, not that Magnus was really complaining. Alec’s bare chest was exposed and Magnus couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Magnus was vaguely aware of Alec telling a story about the last mission he went on and the new, creepy demon he saw. There had been a lot of those since Valentine started doing his experiments. But he wasn’t paying as much attention to his words as he should have been, instead he was focused on Alec’s chest and abs.

“Earth to Magnus,” Alec called out when he realised Magnus wasn’t really listening to him. “You okay over there?”

Magnus blinked and nodded, finally looking up to meet Alec’s eyes. “Yes, darling. Sorry about that, I got a bit distracted,” he said, motioning to Alec’s uncovered chest.

Alec blushed, quickly pulling the dressing gown closed and tying it so it wouldn’t fall open again.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Magnus said, grinning playfully. That made Alec’s skin flush an ever darker shade of red.

“Maybe if you finish all your dinner and you’re lucky then I’ll take it off completely.” Alec spoke quietly, but his tone was teasing, and Magnus didn’t miss the way he chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he said it.

That one little comment was all the motivation Magnus needed to finish his meal quickly. When he was done, he looked up to see that Alec had also finished his food and was sipping his wine. Magnus leaned back in his chair, wine glass in hand, and looked at Alec. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving Alec’s.

“So I’ve finished. It was delicious, by the way. Thank you, my dear.”

Alec nodded, “You’re welcome. So what now?”

“Well,” Magnus said, his voice low and seductive, “I believe you said you would take that off.” He gestured to the short robe Alec was wearing. 

Despite the tie being done up it had still managed to slip open a bit while he wasn’t paying attention, revealing a small, but nonetheless captivating, section of Alec’s toned chest that had a couple of slightly purple bruises Magnus had left the night before. 

Alec’s cheeks flushed for the second time that night, and they got even redder when he noticed Magnus’s eyes glued to the exposed skin. He set his wineglass down on the table and reached down to undo the tie. He didn’t miss the way Magnus’s eyes followed his movements.

He paused for a moment, his hands on the tie, and took a deep breath, then he pulled the tie loose and let the robe fall open.

He leaned back in his chair and fought the urge to cover himself back up. It didn’t matter how long they’d been together or how many times Magnus told him how much he loved Alec’s body, the feeling of Magnus’s gaze sweeping across his bare body still made him squirm. 

He fought off the uneasy feeling though, because as weird and foreign as it was, he really liked the way Magnus looked at him. 

Alec stood up and shrugged the robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at his feet, and around the table to Magnus’ chair. He leaned back against the table in front of Magnus and just waited. 

He didn’t have to wait for very long because soon Magnus stood up and pulled Alec’s body close to him, pressing their lips together as soon as he was close enough. 

Alec’s hands fell to Magnus’s hips as they kissed, his fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt. With their bodies pressed together, chests touching, Alec could feel the heat of Magnus’s skin through the thin material of his shirt and it made him crave for the feeling of their bare chests pressed together. 

He slid his hands up Magnus’s sides, pushing his shirt up as he went, until eventually Magnus had to break the kiss and lift his arms so his shirt could be taken off. 

As soon as his shirt was off, Alec spun them so that Magnus was pressed against the table instead. Alec reached back and moved the remains of the dinner they’d shared out of the way before leaning down slightly and grabbing the back of Magnus’s thighs, lifting him up just enough so that he could sit on the table. 

With Magnus on the table like this he was the same height as Alec, which made it easier for him to wrap his legs around Alec’s waist and pull him closer. Then they kissed again. But this kiss was different from the previous one.

Where the first one had been fast, all pushing and pulling and eager hands on hot skin, this one was was slower and deeper. It was the kind of kiss that left you breathless and unable to think straight, that left you with a wrinkled shirt collar and weak knees and bitten red lips. It was the kind of kiss that left you with a warm feeling in your belly and the promise of something more to come. And when they both pulled away, their eyes still closed and their breathing uneven, Alec understood exactly what he was being promised.

Just the thought of it made Alec’s heart race. The idea of sex was just as strange and disconcerting as the idea of being undressed in front of Magnus was. That is to say, it made Alec feel moderately uncomfortable, but it also made him feel like his entire body was on fire, in the best way possible.

He felt even hotter in the places Magnus’s body made contact with his own. His hips where Magnus’ thighs were wrapped around them, his back where Magnus’ fingers left trails of heat up and down it, his neck where Magnus was pressing his lips to one of the more sensitive parts of his body, the blocking rune that covered a large part of the left side of his neck. He found himself getting lost in the feeling of Magnus’ lips on his skin, trailing down his neck, over the marks that were still there from the night before. He stopped at Alec’s collarbone and nipped at the skin there.

Alec used his his grip on Magnus’s thighs to lift him up off the table and carry him into the bedroom.

He laid Magnus down on the bed and climbed on top of him, pushing his thighs apart enough so he could rest between them. Magnus immediately pulled Alec up so he could reconnect their lips. Magnus had his hands in Alec’s hair as Alec dragged his hand down Magnus’s side until he reached the top of his sweatpants which he proceeded to push down as far as he could without breaking the kiss, leaving Magnus to kick them off the rest of the way.

After that, the only thing that was left to get rid of was their boxers, which were quickly removed.

Once they were both completely naked they let themselves get lost in the feeling of their bodies pressed together, of hands in hair and lips on necks, of hands dragging against sensitive skin and the indescribable feeling of being as close as possible to the person you love most in the world.

When Magnus woke the next morning Alec was still asleep and the morning sunlight was streaming in through the windows where they’d neglected to pull the curtains closed last night, warm and golden. It made Alec’s pale skin glow.

Magnus was laying on his back, one arm resting on his stomach, still bare from the night before, and one arm lying across the pillow next to his. Alec had his head resting on the pillow so that Magnus’s arm was under him, resting in the crook of his neck. If Magnus closed his eyes and drowned out the distracting sounds of the city outside, he could feel the beating pulse in Alec’s neck, thrumming against the inside of his arm.

Alec was laying on his side, knees pulled up slightly, almost like he was trying to curl up into a ball. His arms were up near his face. One of them was just resting there, his nose pressed against the inside of his wrist. The other was sitting a little lower and his hand was resting on Magnus’ forearm. The sight made Magnus smile. Here was Alec, someone who was usually so closed off and private, laying next to Magnus and letting himself be seen in his most vulnerable state, asleep. He still couldn’t believe that he was the only one who got to see Alec like this, who got to see how beautifully vulnerable he could be.

Magnus allowed himself another minute or so to watch Alec’s sleeping face before forcing himself to get up and wander into the bathroom so he could take his morning shower. Usually he would be quick in the shower, wanting to get back to the comfort of his bed and his boyfriend’s arms as soon as possible, but today he had a knot in his shoulder that he wanted to try to work out with the help of the hot water, so he took a bit longer than normally.

When he finally got out of the shower and made his way back into the bedroom, Alec was gone.  There was only a moment of disappointment before Magnus saw Alec’s clothing from the day before still on the floor and heard the sound of something cooking in the kitchen.

Magnus grabbed one of Alec sweaters off the floor and a pair of boxers and got dressed before quietly walking out to the kitchen.

He’d barely made it halfway across the room when Alec spoke, “Babe, I’ve already told you it’s nearly impossible to sneak up on me.”

Magnus groaned, “It’s not fair. You always manage to scare me so easily,” he said, pouting as he went over to lean on the counter next to the stove where Alec was making bacon. “That’s just because you’re one of the jumpiest people I’ve ever met, which is saying a lot considering I know Clary.”

Magnus crossed his arms and pouted until Alec leaned over slightly, just far enough that Magnus had to lean a bit too to get a kiss. Magnus groaned at this, but gave in after about two seconds and leaned in and pressed a kiss to Alec’s lips. When Alec pulled away, Magnus was grinning.

Alec turned back to the stove and Magnus cleared a space on the counter where he proceeded to sit.

They were quiet for a few minutes while Alec finished with the bacon and Magnus busied himself picking at the loose threads from one of the holes in the sleeves of Alec’s sweater. When Alec was finished, he turned off the stove and came over to stand between Magnus’s legs. He grabbed a piece of bacon for himself and handed one to Magnus. They ate their bacon between giggles and kisses and Magnus trying to annoy Alec by tickling him.

Afterwards they made cups of coffee and went back into the bedroom to get ready for the long day of magic and demon hunting that was no doubt ahead of them both.

And if Alec was a few minutes late to the morning briefing because he got distracted making out with Magnus against front door, well no one needed to know.

#my writing #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #shadowhunters fanfic #shadowhunters fanfiction #malec #malec fic #malec fanfic #malec fanfiction #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fluff #domestic #mostly implied sex

[karenhikari]

Family Life-12. New Member of the Family

Well, first of all, I want to start by saying that this was one of the first ideas I got when I starte dwriting this story, and I had been putting off to write this idea, but it's very dear to me.

Also, I haven't had much contact with cats and much less with babies, so I hope I'm not making things too strange over here. I hope you like this!

"Do you remember what you told me when we first met?" Ales asked, carefully rearranging Max in his left arm as he stepped out of the portal, pulling a wheeled backpack with him.

"Sweet pea, I say a lot of things" Magnus replied nonchalantly, as he placed two more bags on the floor, struggling to get his hand in the pocket of his coat to find the key to their apartment as he balanced a third bag on his shoulder. Seriously, if Alexander didn't make them do things the mundane way…

"Don't call me that" Alec rolled his eyes in automatic as he handed Magnus his own key once it became obvious that the warlock had forgotten his. "You said that you didn't date anyone your cat didn't like, remember?"

"I did?" Magnus raised an eyebrow. Quite honestly, all he remembered from the first time he had seen Alexander were his cerulean eyes and shy blushing. Though, to be fair, those words did sound like something he'd say.

"So, I was just thinking" the Lightwood continued. "Did that just apply to your love life of do you not adopt anyone that your cat doesn't like either?"

"What?" he questioned, turning to take a look at Alexander for the first time in their conversation.

"Well, I was wondering" Alec said. "In case, you know, that the Chairman doesn't like Max " he shrugged, causing the young warlock ―who already recognized his name― to giggle.

"What are you talking about?"

"I just want to know if I count with you or if I have to brace myself for the possibility of becoming a single father" Alec trailed off, trying to croak a laugh to disguise his nervousness with a joke.

"That's not happening" Magnus brushed off, walking over to the shadowhunter. "Surely he'll like our blueberry, won't he? I mean, how could he not? Right, cupcake?" he said, picking at Max's right cheek, much for the toddler's delight. "It'll be alright" he said, this time to Alexander before turning around and entering the apartment to start looking for the Chairman.

During the two months that they'd been away at the Academy, Lily and Maia had been kind enough to drop by and feed the Chairman so, now that they had opened the door as nosily as they had, either the cat thought it was one of the girls and thus didn't deem them important enough to go and greet them or, more likely, he knew it was them but was too upset of having been left behind and simply didn't want to see them.

"Chairman, kitty, kitty" Magnus said, feeling foolish as he entered the main bedroom. Nope, he wasn't there sleeping on top of Alexander's pillow. "Chairman, c'mon" he continued as he kneeled down to take a look under the bed. He couldn't help but remember Alexander's words.

Stupid, he thought, it had been so stupid of him not to think of the Chairman. He hadn't considered for a minute that, while Max had already been welcomed with open arms by Alexander's family, his cat, whom Max would now be sharing a house with, his cat, that had been his only real family for years… had yet to give his approval.

In a perfect world, the Chairman would be a sweet little kitty and welcome the new member of the family, accepting his new role as Max's protector and companion―sadly, that sounded rather utopic.

Truth to be told, the Chairman had grown a tad grumpy in his old age and most of times spent his days half rubbing himself against their legs to be petted and half avoiding them.

As if that wasn't enough, the Chairman didn't like sharing. Some years in the past Magnus had taken in a kitten that he'd rescued from the streets. He'd kept it for over a month, only while he found a fitting adopter for the white furry ball. Two weeks after he'd given the kitten away the Chairman was still hissing at him in disagreement.

Besides, his small cat had never liked children. Well, that was probably an exaggeration, because he'd never been around children, with the sole exception, maybe, of Clary's yearly visit, though, to be fair, Biscuit wasn't a good reference, with her small hands that wanted to get on everything, even the dangerous potions on the kitchen's table.

But, on the other side, the Chairman didn't like noise, that much was true, and despite the fact that Max wasn't a scandal, he wasn't quiet either, so―

"Found him!" Alec called from the living room, interrupting his train of thought.

Screw it, Magnus decided, it was better to go and find out what the Chairman thought about Max instead of continuing senselessly worrying over it.

When he returned to the living room, he found Alec looking at the couch on top of which Chairman Meow was lazily sprawled. On his left arm, the shadowhunter held Max, who was making grabbing motions towards the small mammal.

"Chairman, come here" Magnus ordered, pointing to the floor at Alexander's feet, but he merely eyed him skeptically and licked its paw.

"It doesn't seem like an obedient kitty, does it, Max?" Alec laughed next to the warlock.

Rolling his eyes at being made fun of, Magnus walked over to the blue piece of furniture and minding not his cat's hiss, he picked the Chairman up and then walked right back to Alec, carefully setting the infamous cat on the floor.

"This wouldn't happen if you didn't leave me hanging like that" Magnus shrugged at the cat's annoyed glare.

"Ba-ba-ba" Max babbled happily, as he both clapped his hands and tried to free himself from his father's grip.

"Aha, that's what he is, a mean, old ba-ba-ba" Alec nodded with a smile before, upon receiving a nod from Magnus when they locked gazes, kneeling down to put Max on the floor.

"Ba-ba-ba" Max shrieked excitedly once Alec's arms weren't around him anymore, promptly trying to crawl in the cat's direction. The Chairman, seeing that his tranquility had been disturbed once more, jumped back in alarm, though he kept his eyes on the new creature.

A second went by, then three, then five, during which none of them did anything, until finally, slowly, the Chairman took a tiny step forward, receiving Max's excited laugh as reward. Sure enough, it sounded boisterous, but it did not seem dangerous, and his human looked quite content, so the Chairman decided to two take two more steps, until he was at hand's reach from the young warlock.

And, neither slow nor lazy, Max was reaching up, his small, chubby hands in the cat's direction within seconds. Seeing the tiny fingers nearing him, the Chairman stretched his lips, showing his small, sharp fangs in warning.

"Be nice" Magnus reprimanded, receiving a low growl as answer, though it wasn't long before the Chairman covered its teeth once more and took another step forward, allowing Max's fingers to brush over his face as he sniffled them. He smelled sweet, like milk and sandalwood, though Chairman Meow was sure, the latter was his human's doing.

Deciding the little human wasn't that bad, the Chairman took two more steps forward and let the warlock pat his head, purring somewhat against his will, as he had yet to decide whether if he liked the boy or not.

"Ba-ba-ba" Max declared once more as he promptly wrapped his arms around the cat's neck and pulled it to his lap. The Chairman squirmed for a moment, but after a few seconds, he gave up and, with a small huff, he stopped fighting and allowed the toddler to pet him.

Feeling like a weight had been lifted off his back now that his cat and his son had meet each other and there had been no more problem than some tense minutes, Magnus almost slipped to the ground, letting out a sigh he didn't even notice he'd been holding.

"So I guess that means it'll be alright?" he whispered as he felt Alec's strong arms embrace him from behind.

"Of course it will be" Alec said in a passing. "I never doubted it would, I know my family."

There was something in Alec's words, an assurance so gentle, the feeling of a domesticity so un-thought that Magnus felt his breath getting caught in his throat.

Of course he knew they were a family―more so then than ever before, since they had taken Max in. On the other hand, Chairman Meow had been his only family for years, the only one that would notice if one night he didn't return home, and that was why it had been so important that he got along with his love interest of course he knew that the whole Lightwood clan had pretty much taken him in and yet―Alec's tone had been so unconcerned, so familiar, so fitting.

It was a simple statement that somehow came as the living proof that everything that he'd once thought he'd never have had actually been acquired by him―a family, love, real love, someone that cared for him.

It made him feel so warm inside that Magnus actually had to blink away a couple of tears.

"I love you" he choked, leaning his head on Alec's left shoulder.

"And I love you too" Alec whispered, brushing a kiss to the warlock's temple was he thought to himself that, really, was there anything they were missing from their lives?

And well...? How did it go? Good, bad? Please comment, it feeds my soul and makes me think all the work is worth it!

Read you next week!

#TMI #Born to Endless Night #Fanfiction #Malec #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #Blueberry #Max Lightwood #Chariman #Family