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roanniom · 4 years

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Phillip and Miss Perfect

Phillip Altman x Reader

Word Count: 2,866

Part 1/?

Summary: Back in high school you were a perfectionist and he was a charming douche. You’ve spent years suppressing the feelings he awakened in you senior year because you’re better than that, right? You’ll sure find out now that you’re back home for the holidays right in time to run back into him.

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Masturbation (F/M kinda). Gratuitous Altman charm.

Phillip Altman had long been the bane of your existence. Phillip and his cheeky grin and his gaggle of older siblings whose mere existence somehow afforded him an untouchable cool status amongst the weaker minded of your peers. A status you’d always felt was completely unearned as he swaggered through the halls of your high school, winking at pretty girls and tossing innuendo-laden comments to his fawning admirers.

Yes Phillip Altman, you’d decided long ago, was the bane of your existence.

Handsome and arrogant and too smart for his own good, not that he ever applied himself, for crying out loud. It was senior year that solidified your loathing for the boy. Mr. Weathers had paired the two of you together for the group-project winter final. Only a sadist would assign a group project for a final, so you should have seen it coming. Always the instigator, the old man had been thoroughly entertained by the way you and Phillip would constantly bicker in class. Though “bickering” probably wasn’t the right word considering that the interactions were less a volleying of insults and more a pattern of Phillip smoothly complimenting you and you spewing vitriol back in response.

“My place or yours?”

Your head had snapped up hard when you heard the baritone voice laced with amusement too close for comfort a few moments after Mr. Weather’s class had ended.

“Altman. What have we said about my personal bubble?” You made sure your voice dripped with venom. Phillip straightened from where he had leaned to whisper in your ear as you placed books into your locker.

“Your personal bubble is your own and I am not allowed inside it,” he rambled off, as though reciting a vow from memory. After a breath he wiggled his eyebrows and added, “unless expressly invited.”

“In your sticky dreams,” you shot back.

“Every night, Miss Perfect,” Phillip said, giving a roguish half-smile that you wanted to slap off his face. Instead you slammed your locker door and stalked off.

“So, your place it is then?” Phillip called to your retreating back. You ignored him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after you, making sure that everyone in the hallway could hear his humor-tinged voice.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, Juliet!”

“We’re presenting on Hamlet, moron,” you said, shooting him a look over your shoulder as you continued to walk away. “That quote you just bastardized is Romeo and Juliet.”

Phillip had just laughed and walked in the opposite direction. Leaving you to fume on your way to the bus while wondering seriously to yourself if murder would be enough to make colleges take back the early acceptances you’d already received.

~*~

And so you two had spent one blustery weekend in early December holed away in your bedroom. You trying desperately to keep Phillip’s tiny attention span from wandering to your panty drawer long enough for a presentation on the themes of Hamlet to miraculously get written. Phillip trying desperately to get into said panty drawer and avoid the slaps you repeatedly sent his way. To the surprise of absolutely no one, you both failed tremendously on all accounts. Your mom certainly didn’t help matters by bustling in with Christmas cookies and cooing comments to Phillip about how cute he was. True to form, he thanked her through a mouthful of gingerbread before throwing an infuriating wink your way. That was it. You knew you and your perfect grades were doomed.

And yet on the day of the presentation, something crazy (a miracle, if you’re sappy) did occur. Phillip pulled – out of his ass, presumably – a 180 and gave a performance to rival anything old Willy-Shakes could have staged. Not only did he express a genuine and insightful knowledge of the themes of the play, but he was also a generous presenter, setting you up for and supporting you in points that even made you, the top of the class, look better. As Mr. Weathers complimented the two of you on your efforts at the end of the presentation, you couldn’t help but stare at Phillip, struck for the first time by the way his hair curled a little at the ends and the way his eyes sparkled under the attention of the class. You didn’t like admitting it to yourself, but your stomach was in knots. Phillip parading around like he’s god’s gift to high school girls? Gross. Phillip confidently presenting literary analysis and showing a glimmer of genuine intelligence? Fucking hot.

After class you’d felt a little intimidated at the prospect of talking to him. You weren’t sure why. It was Phillip Fucking Altman, class clown and grade-A pain in your ass. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you slid your books back into your bag. His frame stood out amongst the small circle of his friends, his dumb, tall body making it so that you could always see him from far away.

You gripped your bag close to your body and walked briskly toward the door, deciding against any further interaction with the boy whose eyes had suddenly made your cheeks grow hot for the first time in all the years you’d known his stupid ass. As you walked by, however, he broke away from his friends and chased after you, calling your name. You didn’t stop until you reached the destination of your locker down the hall.

“Hey, so it seems like we killed it in there.” Phillip leaned against the next locker, slightly breathless from having jogged to catch up with you. It was after sixth period on the last day of the semester, and the last few stragglers filtered through the hall on their way to the sweet freedom of winter break.

“Yeah, I guess we did alright, didn’t we?” you said noncommittally, refusing to look up from organizing the inside of your locker.

“Alright? Pretty sure Weathers jizzed his pants when you brought up biblical allegory,” Phillip let out a bark of a laugh.

“Only you could make academic achievement sound vulgar, Altman,” you said, trying but failing to hide the smile that broke across your face.

“It’s not as hard as it seems. All of those stuffy writers were pervs. You know Mary Shelley fucked Lord Byron on her mother’s grave? And that horny bitch wrote Frankenstein!” His smile lit up the corner of your vision and you looked up, blushing at how cute his stupid crooked teeth looked all of a sudden.

“She fucked Percy Shelley on her mother’s grave, not Lord Byron, you idiot,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Phillip’s eyebrows had shot up and his smile had grown wider.

“Well, well Miss Perfect. Never took you for a girl who reads the naughty books, too.”

“Shove it, Altman.” You punched out at his arm, but he successfully dodged, finally demonstrating fast reflexes for once after years of similar assaults from you.

“Well either way, we did it! We made Lit our bitch – up top!” He offered up a hand which you high fived reluctantly. Before you could pull your hand away, his large one wrapped around yours and he yanked you forward. Your body crashed into his and before you could flail, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug.

You were too shocked by the action to move, too surprised by the feeling of his strong arms twisting around your back and his hard body against your breasts. You’d always known Phillip was hot, it was one of the things you hated him for. But feeling the evidence of that hotness against you? You felt the knot in your stomach from earlier drop a little lower.

Phillip ducked his head down to the crook of your neck, his warm breath blowing on your ear. You became hyper aware of the silence in the empty hallway, marveling at the fact that there was no one there to witness the sudden intimacy of this weird moment. Was there a memo you’d missed about a Christmas Fair that everyone had rushed off to? Damn. You took a breath to speak but Phillip cut you off, the vibrations from his rumbling voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Sorry about your personal bubble.”

You bit your lip, not trusting yourself to speak during this odd experience that balanced precariously in a space between uncomfortable and enticing.

“It’s just that…” Phillip began, but trailed off. Your heart beat in your throat, and somewhere lower, as he began swaying your bodies a little in place. This couldn’t be real, though nightmare or dream you couldn’t decide how you’d classify it. You felt his ribcage expand against you as he went to speak again, barely aware that your own breath was held captive in your chest in anticipation.

“I, too…jizzed in my pants when you brought up biblical allegory.”

It took a few seconds for his words to register in your mind before you reacted. Your hand connected with his face so hard you scared yourself with the volume of the sound. Both of you stood frozen and staring at each other for a moment after that. Him with his hand on his cheek where it had flown to shield his stinging skin and you with your hand suspended in air where it had reverberated back after impacting with his face.

Then Phillip began to laugh.

It was a full sound that echoed off the walls. Your face screwed up in response, immediately feeling shame heat your ears and cheeks. But then you noticed that his smile held no derision, no malice. He was genuinely entertained by the fact that, after all these times slapping him, you’d finally hit the mark dead on.

Your hand flew to cover your lips, dozens of emotions dancing on your features as you began to register the humor of the moment as well. However, you also felt foolish. Not a second before he’d let loose the comment that broke all your physical self-control your mind had been toying with the idea of losing physical self-control in a very different way. The hot, knotted feeling in your lower belly had not gone away with this turn of events, it had merely intensified. Your palm tingled where it had made contact with Phillip’s cheek.

The rush of emotions, so many and so dissonant, overwhelmed you. So you did the only thing you could. You slammed your locker door, ducked your head down, and ran for the door, leaving a very confused Phillip still chuckling to himself in your wake.

~*~

That night, laying in bed, you had chastised yourself for feeling what seemed to be every feeling but your usual hatred toward Phillip. This wouldn’t do. You were the top of the class. You hadn’t gotten this far for this long by having twisty turny feelings for stupid beautiful boys with crooked teeth and lots of charm.

Somewhere in your self-admonishment, however, your thoughts turned back to the feeling of his hard body against yours. His arms, large and muscled, containing you with such ease and solidity. The planes of his large chest as they pressed into your soft curves. Without even thinking much about it, your hands moved under your sheets, squeezing those curves.

The knotted feeling from before returned, but this time it was less of a knot and more of an ache. You knew the feeling. Had willed it away while watching movies where hot actors sucked too convincingly on the necks of their leading ladies. Had clumsily tried to remedy it with fumbling rubs and twisting legs on nights when the tension got to be too much.

But that night as you’d thought about Phillip Altman’s arms around you, your pointer finger moved to your clit, rubbing small circles around the sensitive nub. As you thought of Phillip Altman’s lips as he rambled confidently in front of a crowd, and Phillip Altman’s big nose scrunching as he winked at you across a classroom, and Phillip’s dimples as he laughed at one of your personalized insults, and Phillip Altman’s dick as it could be seen outlined in his athletic shorts during gym….

The ache inside grew and you felt your pussy clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled by something you hadn’t known you wanted. Haphazardly you thrust a finger inside your folds, the hand not preoccupied with circling your clit reaching up to grab one of your breasts.

You tried to imagine Phillip’s large hands replacing yours. Tried to imagine how he’d fill you, how he’d squeeze you. You could almost hear the way he’d put that already dirty mouth of his to good use.

“You want to cum, Miss Perfect? Hmm?” You imagined him saying. The vibrations from his deep voice rang through your mind, left over from when it had caused you to shiver earlier. “Want me in your personal bubble now?”

You whimpered in the darkness of your room, speeding up the friction on your clit and thrusting two more fingers in your slick heat. You imagined his lips at your neck, at your clavicle, at your sternum, sucking at the skin and tickling you with the stubbling facial hair he’d only been sporting since last summer.

“You’ve always been such a good girl,” the Phillip in your mind practically purred. You felt yourself reaching a precipice you’d never quite attained before. The muscles of your legs quaked and your squeezed your nipples, needing more of something.

“Why don’t you be a good girl for me and cum?”

Your whole body convulsed against the mattress and your muscles seized, your fingers trapped inside your pussy as it contracted over and over. You felt absolutely euphoric for a moment, almost nothing passing through your mind but the image of Phillip, smiling at you with that same, familiar, cheeky smile.

But as you came down from your high, your sweat ran cold with a realization. It had been your first orgasm. Phillip had caused your first orgasm. A mixture of shame and anger flooded your system as you curled into yourself. It wasn’t enough Phillip Altman was the golden boy of the school, it wasn’t enough that he could – and did – have any girl he wanted, he had to have your orgasm, too?

You felt silly but you also felt indignant. You had prided yourself on not being affected, on being above him. After all, why go after the boy who had it all and who only teased you because it felt like an accomplishment to make the smart girl squirm under his gaze?

No. You hated Phillip Altman and you wouldn’t let him have this. You silently thanked whatever militant non-secular whacko had pushed the Christmas agenda on the school system so hard that you had two weeks off now to help distance you from any interactions with the boy who plagued your mind.

You had drifted to sleep that night, unaware that several streets over, in a room very much like your own, Phillip Altman was tugging at his hard cock, groaning over thoughts of the girl who challenged him, the girl who yelled at him, the girl who slapped him. The one girl he was so sure he’d never get with, but who he wanted most.

~*~

Now, twelve years later, you wander down the baking aisle of the local grocery store, praying to all that is holy that you won’t bump into someone from your high school. After graduation you had peaced the fuck out, leaving for college on the opposite coast. You’d spent years convincing your parents that you were too busy with undergrad and then grad school and then publishing deadlines to ever make the crazy trip back to your hometown, instead baiting them into visiting you for warmer holidays that smelled of the beach and your new life. Two consecutive shitty breakups on your part and one knee replacement surgery on your mother’s part combined to turn this into the year that your parents insisted you finally made the pilgrimage home.

Which is how you find yourself on a winter night browsing the alternative flour selection, having been sent to look for the perfect gluten-free option that will make your mom’s gastrointestinal system “not blow up like a friggen balloon.” It was funny how not even a medical diagnosis could deter that woman from her festive baking habits. You’re deep in thought over the differences between coconut and almond when a deep voice rumbles out from your deepest memories, reverberating right into aisle four.

“You know I read your latest book.”

You look up and almost drop your two flours to the ground. Instead you fumble, gripping them tightly to your chest and causing vaporized coconut and almond to puff into the air in front of you.

As the powder settles out of your line of sight you see him. Phillip Altman. Twelve years older, with more facial hair and a couple laugh lines, but it’s him alright.

“Hey there, Miss Perfect.”

His nose crinkles as he winks at you. You intake breath sharply.

And choke on some flour.

It tastes like coconut. And you know then that you should have just trusted your gut and gone with almond.

You also know that you’re in trouble.

~*~

Tagging some very kind people who have been very welcoming: @mariesackler @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @sacklerscumrag

#Phillip Altman #Phil Altman #This is Where I Leave You #Phillip Altman x Reader #fanfic #smut #Adam Driver #Writing #Roanniom

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lawful-evil-novelist · 4 years

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Rogue Holiday Headcanons

While Drury does not celebrate any holidays in December as he is Muslim, he does help Garfield decorate and buys him a gift every year.

Jonathan, Selina, and Bane attend Mass together on Christmas Eve. Jack Napier joins them when he and Joker split into separate entities.

Harley celebrates Hanukkah and Christmas, as her parents always did. Since Ivy celebrates Yule, they hold their holiday party on the 21st.

Cosmo bakes cakes for his friends, like a lot of cakes. The cakes are from a Japanese tradition to eat cake on Christmas Eve. Cosmo also eats fried chicken on Christmas, also a tradition his parents taught him. He is fully aware non-Japanese people find it weird.

Julian always commits the same heist on Christmas Eve. He goes around to all the public trees and steals the stars, then makes a clock out of them for Will. He's doing his best.

Julian also always buys Will a kitschy Christmas clock as a gift. Will gets Julian a snow globe. They sit on matching shelves.

To get a bit sad for a second, on Christmas Eve Roman visits his girlfriend's grave. A lot of his favorite memories surrounding her are Christmas related (aaaand she also died near Christmas which is painful for him, you know).

Penguin, Roman, and Bane ban violent crime on their turf from the first night of Hanukkah till January 10th. Violators will be shot on sight. Penguin got threatened into this.

Jonathan spends Christmas with whoever he’s dating at the time. The first Christmas he spent with Constantine, Constantine spent a week panicking because he felt obligated to get him a gift and had no idea what to get him. Jonathan found it very cute and got Constantine a new lighter because he kind of destroyed his old one.

On a related note, the week-long panic of Jonathan’s significant others is not exclusive to Constantine, Edward did the same exact thing on their first Christmas, so did Selina. Jonathan is just really hard to shop for.

Garfield spends the whole month wearing Christmas jewelry and an antler headband. He cannot be convinced to take them off.

Lonnie and Neil bake Christmas cookies together and deliver them to hospitals around Gotham. They also have their own small gift exchange with a few of their friends.

Ivy and Harley hold a Secret Santa, every year. It had a penchant for ending in chaos until they removed Joker from the gift pool.

#headcanons #lawfulverse

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carmenlire · 6 years

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Color Me Blue Final Chapter

read chapter one

read chapter two

read chapter three

read chapter four

read chapter five

read on ao3

Standing, Alec shrugs into his coat. It’s in the single digits and as he pulls his gloves on, Alec’s gaze snags on the picture on the corner of his desk.

He reaches out, only one glove on, and brings it up to him, studying it.

What a difference a year makes.

In the frame is a picture of him with Magnus. It’d been taken just a couple of months ago when they’d gone on vacation to the Dominican Republic. It’s a selfie Magnus had taken and he’d surprised Alec, turning at the last minute to kiss his cheek as he hit the shutter button.

It’s one of Alec’s favorite photos of the two of them and whenever Alec is stressed or work seems impossible, he can come back to his office and spend a few minutes calming down as he looks at his boyfriend.

With a sigh, Alec sets the picture back down and finally puts his other glove on. He debates for a minute but ultimately shakes his head, leaving his briefcase next to his desk.

He refuses to take his work home with him. This upcoming week is just for Magnus and Alec won’t ruin it preoccupied with patient files and the latest paper he needs to submit to the New England Journal of Medicine.

Shutting the lights off, Alec is just locking up when he hears a voice behind him.

“What’s this,” Catarina asks, shocked. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving at a reasonable hour.”

Turning to face her, Alec just pockets his keys and grins. “It’s 4:59 on Christmas Eve. I promised Magnus I would be home by 5:30.”

“Whoever thought we’d see the day,” Cat marvels. “Dr. Lightwood not only leaving for vacation but cutting out early. I’m impressed.”

“It’s only a minute,” Alec says, rolling his eyes.

Catarina laughs before her face turns serious. “I’m happy for you, Alec. It’s nice to see that you’re not chained to the hospital anymore. I was starting to lose hope,” she ends dryly.

“Well, it helps that I’m not in the ER anymore. I’m able to keep much better hours since I accepted the lead pediatric consultant position.”

“Yeah,” Cat sighs. “You got away from the daily insanity of the Emergency Room.” She considers him. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Sometimes,” Alec admits. “But not as much as I thought I would. I love working with kids more and Magnus is happy that I’m not working thirty hour shifts anymore.”

He shrugs. “It’s a win-win.”

Laughing, Cat shoos him out of the corridor. “Well, don’t let me keep you from Magnus. I hope you have a great week away from here.”

“I will,” Alec says with a firm nod and turns on his heel to leave.

The commute home isn’t bad at all. He'd moved into Magnus’s loft and it was close to the bakery and the hospital. Fifteen minutes later, he’s putting his key in the door, swinging it open to see a sight that’s more home than the building around them.

Magnus is in the living room. He has a record on, something smooth and slow, and he’s pouring a glass of wine, hips swaying lazily to the beat.

Taking a drink, he looks up as Alec toes off his shoes and starts unbundling from the cold outside.

“Alexander,” he exclaims. He looks down at his watch. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least.”

“I told you that I would be home by 5:30 and it’s--” he takes a quick glance at the wall clock behind Magnus. “5:22.”

Waving that away, Magnus reaches for another glass, pouring a generous amount of Merlot. With both glasses in hand, he starts walking toward Alec.

“Sometimes you get distracted from work. Especially since you have the next ten days off,” he says, equal amounts of surprise and delight in his tone. “I thought you would work until the janitors told you to leave tonight.”

Accepting the glass Magnus holds out to him, Alec says, “It’s Christmas Eve. There was no way I was gonna miss it. Not when I have you to come home to,” he says softly, smile gracing his mouth.

Magnus’s own lips turn up as he reaches out with his free hand, smoothing down the lapel of Alec’s suit jacket. “Aren’t you the charmer tonight,” he murmurs. “Are you after something, Dr. Lightwood,” Magnus asks, teasing lilt in his tone.

Laughing, Alec wraps his hand around Magnus’s waist, bringing him closer. “And if I am,” he asks with a raised brow.

Curling a hand in Alec’s hair, Magnus replies, “Then you should know I’m pretty much a sure thing for you. Though compliments will get you everywhere, darling.”

Magnus grins before leaning into Alec further and lays a kiss on him that’s warm and familiar but irresistible all the same.

When Magnus pulls back a few minutes later, he opens his eyes to see that Alec’s are still closed. His boyfriend looks warm and happy and it’s Magnus’s favorite look on him.

He’s really just a giant puppy, Magnus thinks, and gives him one last peck on the lips before taking a step back and pulling Alec with him to the couch.

Alec goes willingly and as they settle on one end, Magnus relaxes into him as Alec throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer.

The loft is decorated for Christmas and has been since the day after Thanksgiving. Christmas was their favorite holiday and they’d made a special effort for their first one together.

The tree is trimmed, looking bright and chaotic, and there are string lights around the balcony railing. There’s a dozen festive touches around the apartment and Magnus couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun decorating.

The two of them spend awhile on the couch, talking about their days and anything else that comes to mind in between stretches of quiet that’s as content as it is affirming.

Magnus never gets used to it. He can’t believe that he just met Alec a year ago. It seems both like so much longer and a blink of an eye. Alec comes over to the bakery a few times a week and Magnus has surprised him a time or two at the hospital. Even the shitty cafeteria food wasn’t as bad as long as he could spend an hour with his boyfriend.

Well. Magnus smiles to himself as he turns his head up, kissing Alec’s jaw. He hasn’t said anything-- of course not-- but Magnus thinks of the little black box he’d stumbled across when cleaning their bedroom a few days ago and it takes everything he has not throw his arms around Alec and never let go.

He'd known his answer the moment he realized what he'd found.

He doesn’t want to ruin Alec’s fun, though, so Magnus just listens as Alec talks about the patient he’d had this morning, a boy who’d broken his leg while sled riding. He makes appropriate noises to show that he’s listening but all the while, he’s thinking of the past year and how much his life had changed.

Looking back, he was definitely in a rut. He’d had his bakery and his friends but there had been something missing. Then Alec had walked through his door one December afternoon and everything had turned just a little brighter.

Magnus still feels like that a year later and distantly he hopes that he never loses that sense of wonder when he thinks of the man beside him.

It takes Magnus a minute but he realizes that Alec’s stopped talking. He zones back in only to see Alec looking at him with a bemused expression.

“What’s going on?”

Clearing his throat, Magnus takes a sip of wine before smiling up at Alec. “Nothing, darling. I was just thinking about my opening next month.”

Humming, Alec kisses the top of his head. “Are you all ready for it?”

“I am,” Magnus confirms. “You know me though, always running through contingency plans.”

"Brooklyn won't know what hit it," Alec says easily. "You picked the perfect spot for the second location of Bane's Bakery."

"Thank you, darling. I'm excited to get to work and finally open in a few weeks."

Alec makes a noise of agreement while taking a drink from his own glass. Magnus silently breathes out a sigh of relief that he’d averted that potential disaster and the two of them continue with their evening.

The lights are low-- all the better for their Christmas tree to glow merrily-- and the fire’s died down a little when Alec abruptly stands, reaching a hand out for Magnus to take.

Resting his hand in Alec’s outstretched one, Magnus doesn’t move from the couch quite yet. He raises a brow in silent question.

Grinning, Alec tugs on his arm a little. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he says gravely. “You know what that means.”

Magnus thinks for a minute before giving Alec an incredulous glance. “Darling, I don’t know how to break this to you but we don’t have to go to bed early so Santa doesn’t pass our apartment--”

Magnus breaks off as Alec laughs bounces off the walls.

“We have to make cookies for him, don’t we?’

Alec’s looking at him with guileless eyes and Magnus sighs a little to himself as he gets up, though he he can’t resist his boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

Magnus wonders whether the cookies will be burnt or not done enough and decides that he doesn’t care. Alec might be an unmitigated disaster in the kitchen but the next few hours promise to be fun, if nothing else.

Magnus is disgusted later in the evening when the sugar cookies manage to be both burnt at the edges and gooey in the middle, the decorations making the cookies look even uglier, if that was even possible.

But Alec seems content enough and Magnus loves him, so he lets him have his delusions as Alec eats a cookie like they’re the best things he’s ever tasted.

Magnus doesn’t have the courage to ask if Alec prefers his own sugar cookies or the bakery’s.

They order late night takeout and eat it in the living room, glasses of wine at their elbows and a fire roaring in front of them.

Magnus wakes up Christmas morning with Alec wrapped around him like a particularly stubborn octopus and relaxes into their bed, his heart fit to bursting.

He wonders if a heart is supposed to be this happy, this overwhelmingly content. They go over to Maryse’s for Christmas brunch and spend the afternoon at home.

Later that night, Magnus is surprised as Alec abruptly stands from the couch and takes his hand, leading him out of the living room. He pauses in the middle of the hallway and looks up pointedly.

Magnus looks up, too, and almost laughs at the newly hung mistletoe before he looks back at Alec and his heart goes to his throat. He starts grinning even as the first tear spills down his cheek.

Because Alec’s in front of him on one knee, little black box open to reveal a stunning ring.

#i hope you guys liked this story!!!#it was fun to change it from a one shot to an actual fic #color me blue #malec fic #malec christmas #malec christmas fic #my writing

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starbound-surviivxr · 5 years

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Dossier

Name: Vynera Race: Uldarik’an Gender: Female Age: 413 (Equivalent of 20-21) Height: 7′7″ Weight: 293lbs Voice Claim: Katy Townsend (Suvi; Video) Affiliations: N/A Family: Sun-Sha (Mother, Deceased). Tekhra (Father, Deceased) Sexuality: Hetero-romantic, Demi-Sexual Relationship status: Verse dependent Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Theme songs:

Thomas Bergersen - One Million Voices Thomas Bergersen - Creation of Earth KPM Music - Written In The Stars Adrian von Ziegler - Queen of the Gaels City Of The Fallen - Seraphim

Personal History:

After a long war against a powerful alien military force called The Exodus, Vynera has found herself as one of less than 500 surviving Uldarik’an. She’s taken to hiding as well as she can in hopes of falling under the radar and keep safe from any Exodus forces. She keeps and maintains a small airship capable of short FTL jumps if she ever needs to escape, but it’s old and somewhat unsafe to fly in its current condition. Still, she makes due.

>Personality<

Vynera is extremely shy and doesn’t approach strangers unless she absolutely has no choice. She’s paranoid about being found by someone loyal to the Exodus and so she travels in public places with a hooded cloak and tinted eyewear to blend in with the other less-than-good people that live and travel around her.

However, if she sees someone in need, she’ll attempt to help them in any way she can. She’s not much of a fighter, but usually her size comes in handy when she needs it to. Otherwise, she’s a smart little cookie and can often trick anyone hunting her down or fighting her.

>Other<

Around her neck, she carries her father’s old necklace that was blessed with High Fortune before he and his wife were hunted and killed. Vynera was rather young at the time, but the amulet has worked for her in many ways. In short: she has become extremely lucky and can always use that luck to get out of dangerous situations with minimal damage.

Despite being lucky, Vynera is actually a bit clumsy in her youth and is also rather naive. She always wants to help others if she thinks they need her aid, whether their intentions are good or not. There have been a few occasions were someone has stolen from her, but she’s never been one to hold a grudge over it for long. (Just as long as they don’t steal her ship or her amulet).

Basic Race Information:

The Uldarik’an are a race of peaceful giants who value spirituality above all else. They are typically very religious and worship four main Gods (see: Spirituality). Height wise, females stand anywhere between 7ft and 9ft, and males stand between 7ft and 12ft. Females are a bit more slender and not as hunched while males have very broad shoulders and chests and are hunched over nearly all the time.

Their bodies are somewhat humanoid in structure, however they sport bipedal legs and sweeping tails that can get to be as long as their arm span, sometimes longer. Fur colors come in all sorts of variations with the rare exceptions of black and green, and patterns vary widely across the species.

Their faces are usually somewhat elongated with two large, long ears and equally large eyes. Their eyes are bio-luminescent and their pupils are typically a lighter shade or white compared to their Sclera.

Spirituality:

The Uldarik’an worship four main gods: Sephyr, Lykyll, Tysal and Kylphar.

Sephyr is the goddess of Life, Air, and Joy. She resembles their springtime season in which her power brings life back to the planet. She is also known as “Kylphar’s Bane” and many Uldarik’an like to plan to have cubs during her season as it’s viewed as good luck and that the children will live healthy lives. Offerings are given to her various shrines in hopes of plentiful crops and good weather.

Lykyll is the god of Light, Fire, and Bravery. He represents the summer season and many Uldarik’an will host bonfires with lots of food, music and dancing. On the night of his holiday, the day will end with thin lanterns being crafted and sent into the air followed by more dancing well into the night. Anyone born under his season make the hardiest warriors and have the bravest hearts. Some even say that cubs born during the season know no fear in any forms.

Tysal is the god of Growth, Rain and Change. His season represents fall, as the days start to grow shorter and the air colder. He gets a holiday in the form of remembrance and offerings are sent in small boat-like objects onto the largest body of water. Some travel days to celebrate the holiday with friends in neighboring clans. This is their sort of ‘new year’ celebration, in which many will make promises of change, much like new years resolutions. Those who are born in Tysal’s season are known to be calm and perceptive individuals, but tend to be quiet and shy as well. They bend easily to change in their lives and are careful planners who always seem to be prepared for any situation.

Kylphar is the fallen-god of Death, Pain and Betrayal. His season represents winter, where the cold settles in and chases away the crops until spring. There are few surviving Uldarik’an that still worship him as a god, but those who still celebrate his holiday have taken to a sort of “day of the dead” holiday, where offerings are sent among their family’s graves to remember them fondly. As such, Kylphar has become a sort of “grim reaper”-esqe figure and is charged with helping souls cross to the other side to repent for his sins.

History:

It is said that the Great Four once lived as mortals of the “first generation”. They were each rulers of the four clans and lived in peace for a long time. However, Kylphar grew bored of the peace and attempted to court Sephyr so that they could merge clans and he could become more powerful. Sephyr, however, rejected him. In his rage, Kylphar declared that he would then take her people by force and started a war between his clan, and the three others.

Anticipating this, Kylphar became known as the god of Death and Pain as he’d discovered a way to resurrect the dead and was able to wage war against the Three for a long time, simply reviving any fallen soldiers to do his bidding.

This sort of dark magic has since been lost to the Uldarik’an over time, however at the moment, The Three had managed to figure out what he was doing, and decided to discover their own sort of magic. Together they managed to defeat Kylphar in a great battle. However, the magic that was expelled proved to be far too powerful for them all to handle. Legends state that to keep the unstable power from destroying their planet, the Three used the last of their power and forced Kylphar into space. Then, they gave chase to ensure that he would never come back. The four main stars in their system are aptly named after the gods, with Sephyr and Lykyll being their two suns, and Tysal and Kylphar appearing as stars further away, but could easily be seen at night.

Culture/Other:

>Spiritual Objects<

The Uldarik’an people often spend whole years crafting trinkets and jewelry to match those of the god they worship and/or were born under. Many of these take the form of necklaces, but some have also come in bracelets, ear piercings, or tail rings. Often, when one is completed, they are taken to the clan’s head shaman or any available head of religion to be blessed. Many items are blessed with protective spells and incantations, others are blessed to lift and clear moods, some provide comfort, dispells pain, and give spiritual protection so long as the user is wearing them. Some items, if passed down from older generations, can even hold onto bits of previous wearers’ souls and enables the ancestors to look after the younger generations.

If one of these articles is ever stolen and worn by someone who is not Uldarik’an, the effect of which can actually be reversed. For example, if an amulet is crafted to drive away nightmares, and is stolen, the thief may experience the worst nightmares of their life. If these objects are instead broken, then their effect is dispelled completely. However, it is considered a great tragedy if one is broken and is the biggest insult one can do against an Uldarik’an.

>Marriage/Courting<

Marriage happens in a very similar way to how Humans wed. One of two proposes, and a party is prepared over the course of some time, depending on when the two would like to marry. However, there is an added effect to it in the form of what would be considered “soul-mates”. When a soul-bound pair find each other, they immediately know it. (If one side is not Uldarik’an, then the Uldarik’an one of the two will know it, but the other may not).

A marriage between a soul-bound couple brings about the highest of celebrations, sometimes the party even lasts over the span of four or five days involving nearly the whole family on both sides of the marriage and even friends and neighbors.

Marriage can happen between people who are not soul-bound as well, through love in its purest form. It’s still a grand celebration, however if one or both of the pair locates their soul-bound, they can choose to separate, or remain together. It has no physical or emotional pain if they don’t marry their soul-bound, they can live their lives happily, but it will never feel as natural or whole as it would be with a soul-bound pair.

As for courting, it normally comes in the form of dates, and mutual trust. Gifts are a good way to start it, and if one would like to propose, an offering of a blessed item is usually a good way to do so. Bonded pairs usually end the marriage ceremony by exchanging matching tail rings.

>Biology<

Uldarik’an typically live for about 2,065 earth years. Their planet’s years usually take about 20 earth years, in which each of their seasons lasts on average about 5 earth years.

Uldarik’an females can only have one cub before her body disables her ability to conceive all together. However, if the mother is only half Uldarik’an, then it’s rare but possible for her to have more than one child.

#Dossier #About

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punishandenslavesuckers · 6 years

Photo

Magnus needs to do warlock-related grocery shopping and Alec volunteers to help. It’s a little weird, but it’s all part and parcel with the whole ‘dating an immortal’ thing. Right? Takes place sometime between Season 2 and 3. (ao3 link here)

Alec can always tell when Magnus is working on new magic because the apartment door is dirty with warding and he can hear, faintly, the rumbles of house music vibrating through the doorjamb. The average noise muffling charm doesn’t work as well when you put your hands right on the edge of it. Alec knocks for a good thirty seconds before he nears the music volume drop. He knocks again.

Magnus answers the door looking a bit distracted – barefoot, wearing sweats, a soft sleeveless hoodie, and a great streak of white oak ash across his forehead. The air around him smells vaguely of orange juice and ozone. The warlock blinks at him.

“Alexander,” he enthuses, lighting up, then seems to remember he was in the middle of something. “Uh.” He starts to reach for the ash with some intention of cleaning it off, stops, looks mildly exasperated. “You have terrible timing. I’m not really presentable and I’m engaged at the moment.”

Alec raises a hand with a bag of take-out hanging from it.

“Dot said you’d been working on a new spell and you never eat when you do that, so...”

Magnus contemplates the take-out bag. “Very well. You’re allowed.” He snaps his fingers and Alec feels something pop in the air directly in front of him. “Come in. Come in.”

Magnus vanishes from the door, disappearing into his apartment. Alec steps carefully across the threshold, feeling the on-skin slide of whatever Fuck Off enchantment lies passively across the open door, dragging across his shoulders like fingers. Magnus’ magic has a certain texture to it, familiar as the smell in the man’s clothes. Alec shrugs it off with a physical roll of his arms then feels the ward pop closed behind him again, the door swinging shut of its own accord. The house music grumbles quietly near the floorboards somehow.

Magnus is clambering onto a large wood table in the centre of the living room. Alec has never seen this particular table in Magnus’ apartment before and all the furniture has been shoved into the corners of the room to make space for it.

The table is choked with half-used candles fused to the wood with melted wax, dozens of protection charms iron-nailed into the side of the table, ribbons twisting in tangles of knot wards. Magnus crouches on top of the table, glaring down at the alchemic circle half drawn there, twiddling a length of chalk between slender and extremely dusty fingers. His nail polish is chipped.

“How long have you been at this?”

“I’m not sure, I jostled a few temporal lines to speed things up and lost some time.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Magnus grins at him. “Did you really come out here just to make sure I’m fed and watered?”

“I used to own a cat when I was a kid, so I need to give you at least that amount of attention.”

Magnus presses a hand over his breastbone. “Be still my beating heart. The romance.”

Alec sets the food down on the couch, then approaches the table and the warlock crouched on top. He peers cautiously at the designs Magnus is putting down.

“What are you working on?”

“A new kind of protection spell.” Magnus brushes chalk dust from a mark. “One to employ as a backup when dealing with demonic entities. If done right, it should generate a kind of barrier making it impossible for a named entity to exact physical harm.” Magnus’ gaze is on the tabletop as he speaks, gears visibly spinning behind his eyes. “It is a difficult challenge. It can be done, has been done in the past, but recreating the method…”

“You gonna come down and eat or do I have to come over there?”

“Just a moment,” Magnus says, leaning down to scribble something.

Alec takes a seat on one of the couches shoved to the side of the room. He takes the moment to study Magnus, absorbed in his work, still in a way that was seldom true of Brooklyn’s high-energy High Warlock. He seems to have forgotten his promise of ‘just a moment’ and drops his weight onto knees, reaching across the table to fill in a blank space. Frowning. Erasing it with his thumb and trying again. The candle-light shifts warm gold across the lines of muscle in his arms, glowing against the planes of his cheekbone when he ducks his head to mutter at something.

“I can feel you looking at me,” Magnus says, not stopping in his writing.

Alec props his chin in his palm. “You’re fun to watch when you’re working.”

Magnus snorts, sitting back on the balls of his feet, one hand braced against the table. “You mean when I’m covered in dust and in need of a shower?”

“You could snap your fingers and not be dusty.”

“That would ruin the creative process.”

“Get off the table and come here.”

“You’reruining the creative process,” Magnus mutters, but without a trace of meaning it.

Alec stretches a little, casually. “For a five-hundred-year-old warlock, you’re very easily distracted then.”

“Nice try. I’m not telling you how old I am.”

“Eight-hundred?” Alec hazards.

“Rude.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” A pause. “But, honestly, is there a reason you don’t tell anyone your age? Like, beyond the fact you find it kind of funny to lie outrageously to confuse people? Other warlocks seem to have no problem bragging about their actual years.”

For a moment, it seems like Magnus is going to ignore him.

Then:

“To lay a spell on someone, the more intimate and complex of curses, you are best armed with knowledge of your target. The more I obfuscate, the more difficult it is for more powerful enemies to arm themselves against me. I am Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, but that is only the most shallow facet of my identity and the older I get, the more obscure the Truth of me is buried.” He looks up. “It’s just safer for me to keep details hazy.” He grins to break the beat of sobriety. “Annoying others is just a perk.”

Alec is working up a sarcastic answer when all of the ribbons hanging from the table jolt and start spinning wildly, caught up in a wind that does not blow on the same plane of reality as the apartment they hang in. Magnus, seeing this, goes, “Oops,” and quickly swipes away a mark on the table and extinguishes a candle between his thumb and forefinger. The ribbons stop spinning and hang peacefully again.

Alec frowns. “What was that?”

“Hmm? Oh. My signal wards? They tell me visually when there’s something encroaching on my spell work.”

“What?”

“Means I’ve attracted the attention of a spirit or entity and it’s best to pull back.” Then, when this vague explanation gets him a look, Magnus says, “This particular spell invokes protections from higher but non-angelic powers. But setting anchors for it is somewhat like throwing a dart at a board in another dimension, hoping it will stick.”

“Except someone might throw the dart back in your face?” Alec hazards.

“Yes, precisely.”

“So that was… something thinking about attacking you?”

“Oh.” Magnus sees where he’s errored in Alec’s worried tone. “Oh. No, Alec, not necessarily,” he says, hopping down from the table. He crosses the room to take a seat beside him, gesturing emphatically. “The wards don’t detect intent. They just tell me when entities of a certain nature and size are… turning their awareness to my casting spell. It would be very difficult for one to reach me here. They could sever my enchantment, which would be a setback but not physically dangerous. It’s safe.”

Alec quirks a brow. “Your idea of safe and the average idea of safe don’t always align though.”

Magnus lays a hand on Alec’s shoulder and squeezes a little. “I promise I don’t plan to blow myself up in my own apartment.” He animates brightly. “I haven’t done thatsince the 1920s and only because I was drunk.”

“Reassuring.”

“I’m sober as the grave. Now stop fretting and hand me the chow mien.”

Five minutes and three entire take-out boxes later, Alec glances at the man wolfing food next to him. He has bedhead, raccoon eyes, and there’s ash in his hair. His skin gives off a faint metallic ether somewhat specific to magic-use and usually masked by an expensive cologne. His hoodie is rumpled, like he’s been sleeping in it. It’s… interesting. Alec tries to study his partner in a state of zero presentation because, really, Magnus has presentation down to second nature. This side of him is rare enough it needs cataloguing.

“What?” Magnus says. He’s giving Alec a side-eye.

Alec clears his throat, looking back to the food. “Hmm? Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I can’t stare at my boyfriend?”

Magnus tilts his head. “Your flattery goes a long way. Continue.”

Alec shrugs. “I dunno. I don’t… get to see you doing this very often. That’s all.” He takes a bite of dumpling. “It’s kind of hot.”

Magnus arches a brow. “You’re a man of puzzling preference, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Look, Magnus. Do you need any help doing some of this stuff?”

“I appreciate it, but I’m okay.” Magnus says this around a mouthful, reaching for a water bottle.

“Well, I’m off the clock for a bit. So if there’s something you want company doing, I’d love to help.”

“Oh, it’s a lot of boring errands.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s basically warlock grocery shopping and homework.”

“That’s fine.”

Magnus eyes him. “I can’t tell if I should be suspicious or delighted you’ll tolerate grocery shopping to be with me.”

Alec maintains his conversational pointedness. “I am just taking an active interest in my boyfriend’s professional life. Which is, like you said, totally safe and boring grocery shopping so there’s no reasonI wouldn’t be okay coming along.”

There’s a silence.

Magnus grabs the fortune cookies. “I’m taking these,” he says with more performance than necessary, then stands up and walks into the kitchen.

Alec tosses his hands up. “Whatever it is you’re doing, I want to help. You are constantly volunteering to help me and the Institute. Let me help you with your work for once.”

“Hmm,” Magnus says, banging around in the kitchen.

“You think I can’t handle it?”

Magnus pokes his head back in the living room. “No, I just think it would be somewhat unpleasant when I’m quite capable of doing things on my own. I’ve had, literally, centuries of practice.” He ducks back in the kitchen. “I’m perfectly safe.”

“I know, Magnus. You throw fireballs.”

“Damn skippy I do,” Magnus says flipping on the garbage disposal for some reason.

Alec frowns and stands up, following Magnus’ path to the kitchen.

“What,” says Alec, “the hell is that?”

There is a… well, it looks like a grubby white radish in Magnus’ fist except it’s shaped somewhat grotesquely like a doll. The moment Alec lays eyes on it, a dark knot in what would ostensibly be its face begins to hiss and then, horrifyingly, to scream. Magnus seems largely unaffected by the wailing and stands contemplating the sink and the screaming vegetable one after the other. Alec tries to say something, but the screaming emitted from the vegetable is vibrating in his bones, sending crawls of gooseflesh down his spine.

“A mandrake root,” Magnus says airily. “A big one too. It’s mad that it’s not under my sink anymore and I don’t think it’s going to fit down the disposal.”

He points to the cabinet to Alec’s left.

“Can you get the blender out?”

Slowly, his teeth pulsing weirdly in the bones of jaw, Alec get the blender out and sets it up on the kitchen island by the stove range. Magnus plugs it in and pops the top off, then starts cramming the thrashing root into the top with both hands.

“So…” Alec says slowly. “You need this for…?”

“A binding element for one of my potions.”

“Should I be worried about that scream?”

“No. I’ve extracted the deadliest part of its wail already. At most your ears might pop a little. Just plug your nose like you’re on an airplane.”

“Wow. Okay. This seems…”

“Like weird warlock shit?” Magnus says helpfully.

“I mean, yeah,” Alec says, expression like a man watching a trainwreck but unable to look away from it. “Uh, I guess I knew you’d have to get ingredients for your work but I… thought you had people who did that for you?”

“I do,” Magnus says, perfectly reasonable, not at all like he’s shoving a howling mandrake root in a blender. “But some things you just do yourself. Like dragon charming. You should really just do that personally, not fair to ask an errand boy to risk it. Not cheapeither.”

“Like whatcharming?”

“Aha!” Magnus gets the lid on the blender and hits ‘puree’. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the compound blender whine and the screaming. “They aren’t REAL dragons, you walnut.”

“Right,” Alec says, looking unnerved.

The screaming is done and there’s a gross mulch in the blender. It’s still kind of… moaning? No, kind of growling? Magnus pops the container from the stand and gets a Tupperware. Alec watches him pour the lot into the Tupperware. The Tupperware has a binding sigil on the lid and Magnus snaps his fingers and the sigil flares briefly, then settles. The Tupperware sparkles a little.

“Not everything is ancient tomes and goblets,” Magnus says when he catches the face Alec is making.

“I know that,” he says.

“Do you?”

“Yes. Of course. The Institute is the definition of magi-tech. I get it.”

“Okay,” Magnus says, still clearly amused. He stows the mushed mandrake in the fridge. “If you really want to accompany me, I have a few more ingredients that I need before I give this spell a test run. It’s somewhat unpleasant work and you, honestly, do not have to come.”

“I want to come,” Alec says with emphasis.

Magnus sighs. “Masochist. Very well.”

He snaps his fingers and a jacket drops out of the air into Alec’s arms. Magnus is suddenly wearing what appears to be a brown wool overcoat but Alec can see about a dozen anti-evil wards sewn into the lining and hem. The jacket in his arms hums similarly with protection. Magnus flips the hood over his head and zips the front all the way up. The collar is so high it stops just beneath his eyes.

“Uh,” Alec says.

“I told you it would be unpleasant,” Magnus says, muffled.

Alec puts on the jacket. It’s just a touch too small for him, suggesting it’s one of Magnus’ but as he flexes, he feel the fabric shift, the threads un-sewing then re-sewing themselves to let out the shoulders and waist. By the time he zips it up, it fits perfectly. The hem appears to have lengthened about half a foot. Magnus crosses the room and brushes the shoulders and lapels of the jacket with his fingers, lining it with an infusion of extra magic that makes Alec’s nose itch.

Magnus studies his face for a moment. For what, Alec isn’t sure, but he suspects a look of doubt so he just glares at the warlock for effect. Magnus smiles. Then he turns at the waist and twists his palm out toward the living room. Blue light sparks at his fingers and the air before the foyer siphons open, dimensions splitting along a magical fault line and tunneling through reality and crackling with quantum energy. An otherworldly wind kicks up, whipping their clothes and air.

Magnus offers him his elbow in gallant kind of way.

“Oh boy,” Alec says, sighing. “You’re going to make me regret pushing this, aren’t you?

“Nooooo,” Magnus soothes in a way that is downright threatening.

Alec glares and takes Magnus’ arm. He immediately presses his hand over Alec’s, pulling his elbow in tight against the side of his body.

“Don’t let go of me.”

“What happens if I do?”

“Well, nothing fatal of course, but you’d have a bad time.”

“Are you being dramatic or serious?”

Magnus pouts. Alec can’t see his whole face, but he knows the warlock is pouting. “Can’t I be both?”

“Let’s go, tough guy.”

Magnus beams and together they step through the portal.

When they reach the other side, the air hits Alec like a physical blow. It knocks him back a step before his grip on Magnus pulls him up short and he catches his balance against the warlock, grabbing his shoulder. The wind is roaring around them, so strong it beats the long grasses flat around them, waves of red grass rippling in crimson and silver beneath a hazy moon. The air stinks like iron. He can feel the wards in his jacket flaring as they deflect… something in the wind. Snapping randomly a bug zapper assailed by gnats.

“Are you alright?” Magnus’ voice is only just loud enough to be heard over the roar.

“Yeah!” Alec squints into the horizon, a ragged blur of dark shapes about 400 meters out from the centre of the field they stand in. “What is this place?”

“The Wailing Forest,” Magus shouts back. “It’s on the edge of Seelie territory! Stay close!”

Alec slips his palm down Magnus’ arm, grips his hand tight, feels a surge of heat that suggests Magnus is using some kind of charm to hold them bound. Then they hiked forward into the howling head wind. The gale is so powerful, Magnus is leaning all the way into it, like he’s pushing against a wall. Alec suspects without their jackets, whatever malevolence rides on the air would be biting at them. A literal biting wind.

“Almost there!” Magnus says. He has one arm up, shielding his eyes.

Alec squeezes his hand. “I’m good!”

Magnus nods and they stomp determined forward until, at last, they reach the edge of the gnarled treeline… and the wind immediately dies. Magnus stumbles slightly, over balancing in the sudden lack of resistance and this time it’s Alec that grabs his partner’s arm, pulling him upright. Magnus makes a gratified ‘oof’ sound and tugs his hood down. He beams at Alec.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Alec slowly tugs his own hood down. “So where did the wind go?”

“Oh, it only manifests outside the forest, to keep out living things.” Magnus gestures a little to the canopy around them. Ash white branches arch delicately, creaking softly in a gentle wind. “The Wailing Forest is otherwise quite peaceful. A sanctuary for fey things. I think it’s quite beautiful, actually.”

Alec points. “That fucking tree is bleeding.”

Magnus looks over his shoulder and, indeed there is a tree, many trees in fact, that are oozing fleshy red fluid from the knots in their trucks, hemorrhaging red at the roots. The bark is split like wounds, glistening with fresh gore and where they bleed, thousands of silvery butterflies gather. Feeding and fluttering lazily at their strange veins.

Magnus turns back to Alec, nose wrinkled somewhat.

“It’s… still very peaceful,” he hazards. He lifts his shoulders. “Peacefully bleeding?”

Alec gives him another look.

“Fine. I admit, it’s a little unnerving.”

“Well,” Alec says, looking around. “The butterflies are pretty.”

“Hmm,” Magnus says.

Alec deadpans. “They’re super dangerous aren’t they?”

“Oh, well…” Magnus waves a hand. “Only if you have an open wound.”

Alec gives his warlock companion a more pronounced look.

“I’ll just…” Magnus gestures. “I’ll just get this bark and we’ll be on our way.”

They portal back to the apartment where Magnus puts the bleeding bark in a Ziplock bag which he also fills with red wine, various herbs, and then scribbles spells in Sharpie. Alec isn’t sure how he feels about watching his boyfriend write spells in Sharpie. He knows technically, it’s not the medium but the caster that makes all the difference but that fact Magnus can make magic work via Sharpie on Ziolock bags is… well, it’s something.

“Don’t tell people I do brewing this way,” Magnus mutters. “I’m older than most warlocks and they still want to use cauldrons and scales for everything.” Magnus makes a face. “We have electric kitchen scales now. They’re lovely. I’m all for a nice set of traditional balance scales, but c’mon.”

“You’re worried,” says Alec slowly, “that the other warlocks will be snobs about Ziplock bags?”

“Being a snob about things is fifty percent of being a warlock. So yes.”

“You’renot a snob.”

Magnus shoots him a look. “That’s a filthy lie and you know it.”

“Fine. What’s next on the list.”

“A tricky one. Siren hair.”

“Siren, like mermaid siren?”

“That’s the kind. Yes. I have a relationship with a few siren clans in the pacific rim so I can probably ask them, but the majority will be migrating into deep sea this time of year. I need a group that will still be in shallows and amenable to a drop-in.” Magnus is scrolling through his phone as he says this. “Local weather looks… ooh. Okay. That’s promising.”

“What?”

“Storm front near some favored hunting grounds near Somolia.”

“Is this dangerous?”

“Not for a Shadowhunter or myself. Only mundanes can be pulled in by a siren’s call.”

“Not sure how I feel about interacting with sirens. They hunt people.”

“Yes, they do, but to be fair: there aren’t many sirens in the world and this particular batch hunts commercial fishing vessels that are stealing from locals.”

“Still.”

Magnus shrugs. “You wouldn’t feel as bad if you knew the suffering these people cause. Sirens feed on ill intent. They get nothing out of killing the kind-hearted. That said, they’re more likely to try and seduce the kind-hearted into being one of their own, so mind that. You’ll be like candy to them, I imagine.”

Alec arches a brow.

Magnus is too busy pulling on rainboots to notice. The rainboots came from nowhere and he notices a second pair has materialized on the floor next to his feet.

“I might drop us in a tide pool,” Magnus explains.

“Okay.” Alec pulls on the boots. “Let’s go meet some sirens then.”

Magnus waves a hand and another portal roars open. They walk through together.

They do, indeed, come out in a tide pool of sorts. Alec’s boots hit ground on an uneven batch of wet rock studded with barnacles and bird shit. He can hear the scream of gulls all around and a wave crashes against the face the shallow cliff behind them, throwing sea water up his back. He peers around. They seem to be on a kind of jagged island in the middle of the sea. He can’t see any land. Just the curve of the earth against the blue sky.

The rocks descend down into a flatter bowl of tide-pool and half-submerged stone and there, among the jagged edges of the rocks, lounging in the waters and sunning themselves on the smoother stone, are most definitely sirens.

Slender and silvery, more snake than fish, their long black and steel-colored tails coil endlessly, slithering and bristling with spiny fins. Their ostensibly human parts are only just so – serpent frame giving way to an androgynous waist, torso, and arms. Their ribs are gashed by massive gills. Hands webbed and clawed. Their hair, long and black, is too thick at the strand to be anything like actual hair. It’s oily and writhes a little when they comb razor sharp fingers through the mass of it.

Magnus picks his way down the rocks toward a trio of them near the shallows.

When they notice his approach, the strange creatures immediately animate. Not in… a human way exactly. The begin to hiss and scream. Their hair ripples and bristles like the hackles of an animal off their heads and now that they’re facing forward, Alec can see their massive black eyes take up inhuman portions of their skulls, that their pretty human lips spilt back at the corners into eel-like hinges, full of needle teeth. They reach eagerly for the warlock.

“Magnus…” Alec says slowly, a touch of fear in his tone.

“Hullo, dears,” says Magnus, ignoring him.

The three sirens scream in what must be delight. Magnus kneels down and receives three… relatively normal human hugs, except that the sirens’ hair coils in in prehensile masses around the man’s shoulders and head, like a thousand feelers sliding along his clothes. Magnus, for his part, seems comfortable with it all and kneels there with the three strange creatures who sit back to look him up and down while he talks.

“I know. It’s been forever. I’m sorry. How’s your work?”

More horrible screaming.

“Really? That was you three? Impressive.”

One of them preens a little. That, Alec recognizes. They continue to hiss and hack at Magnus, who seems to have no problem understanding them and for a time they discuss the weather, the state of the oceans, something about the Titanic, and then one of the sirens looks at Alec. She (it?) elbows the warlock in a decidedly human way and he looks at what she’s looking at – Alec perched somewhat awkwardly on a rock, watching them.

“Oh, yes. This is Alec. He’s with me.”

All three of them hiss and paw excitedly at Magnus’ jacket.

“Yes. He’s is. Don’t start.”

Delighted hissing.

“No. I’ll be very cross if you try any of that.” Magnus digs in his pocket and produces three metal compacts. He holds them up, pops one open to reveal a mirror inside. “I seem to recall that you were running low on these?”

The sirens clap their spiny hands in glee and accept the bribery. Alec’s skull is starting to ache from listening to them scream. One of the sirens leans in and drops a kiss on Magnus’ cheek then goes back to playing with the compact, admiring herself in the reflection. Alec notices that the image in the mirror… looks absolutely nothing like the creature holding it. There is a man peering into the mirror, golden-skinned, dark-eyed, and beautiful. Hypnotically beautiful in fact and familiar…

Alec blinks.

The siren is looking at him now.

She smiles, baring a thousand needle teeth.

“So that’s what you like,”she says.

She’s still definitely screaming. Alec can hear the hissing, creaking, horror of her voice, but overlaid in that is a man’s voice as well. Warm and teasing, weirdly familiar. He realizes, a little slowly, that the human voice she’s speaking with sounds somewhat like Magnus sounds when they’re in bed in the morning and he’s not – the siren is suddenly in his face, coiled around the rock he was crouching on like a boa constrictor, and her hands cup his face.

“You could come with me,”she says. “You could both come with ussss.”

“Stop that,” Magnus is saying somewhere.

Alec is vaguely aware the Magnus is trying to extract himself from the other two sirens who are clinging playfully (he thinks?) to the warlock’s arm. They’re nuzzling his face and neck. They’re baring needle teeth. Alec feels a dull wriggle of worry, which is odd, because he feels like he should be way more worried about this. About how Magnus is trying to pull them off but they just kind of keep hissing and holding on.

The worry is enough to break through his distraction. He leans back from the siren, presses a hand against her shoulder to get space… which is when he realizes the creature gripping him is hellishly strong. Much stronger than him. She’s steel. Her fingers around his neck are sinew and bone and she’s smiling, lips splitting at the corners and he imagines that sea serpent body coiling and crushing a small boat. Easily. He imagines, suddenly, that these three are much younger and smaller and how their sisters must be…

“Thank you,” Alec says, “that sounds nice. But I have to get back to work.”

The siren pouts.

“Okaaaaay,”she hisses and slides boredly away from him.

The other two let Magnus go and slide into the water and just like that, they’re alone again. Magnus stands up. In his hand is a fistful of worm-like black fibers, still wiggling like separate living organisms and Alec wrinkles his nose.

“Siren hair?” he says.

“Yes. Sorry about that. I didn’t think they’d get a hint of glamore over you.”

“Well, they didn’t exactly…” Alec says, standing up straight.

“No. They were just teasing, but still.”

“So when a mundane looks at a siren… they see a person they want?”

“Not a person necessarily. Just anything they want.”

“Huh,” says Alec.

Magnus smirks. “What did you see?”

“Not sure,” he says. He thinks about it. “For a minute, I think I saw you…”

Magnus blinks. Then laughs. “Good answer.”

Alec isn’t sure if he should insist – no, really, the person I saw in the glamore was definitely some version of you– or if that would be embarrassing. So, he just smiles while Magnus pulls open another portal and, again, offers Alec his hand. They walk back through together.

Magnus finishes bagging and tagging ingredients and takes a shower to get siren slime out of his hair. By the time he gets back, he seems to have given up on being productive and climbs over the back of the couch to lie down next to and somewhat on top of Alec. His hair’s still damp from the shower, dark and unstyled. He smells like soap and the clean cotton in his T-shirt and Alec tries to ignore the dumb surge of happiness that rolls through him when the warlock settles his weight against his chest like there is no question that’s where he should be.

“Thanks for running errands with me,” he says.

Alec smiles. “Thanks for letting me.”

There’s a comfortable a silence for a while.

Magnus is picking at his shirt a little. “You know,” he says, “I still worry from time to time you’ll finally really realize you’re dating a warlock.”

Alec snorts. “Magnus, I think if I hadn’t figured that out –”

He waves a hand and Alec quiets.

“Hear me out.”

Alec moves his arm, so it’s looped more easily around his boyfriend’s waist. Magnus makes no move to sit up, so he intends to have this conversation while lying down. Specifically, not looking Alec in the face. So, he’s anxious about the conversation. Alec keeps his tone even.

“I’m listening.”

“Right now, things are… normal. In a sense. You’re young and pursuing your career and doing your duties for the Clave. Things work. We make them work. Like any other couple with bizarre, dangerous jobs like Shadowhunting and being a warlock.” He pauses. “I just think about… later.”

“Is this the immortal talk?” Alec says.

“Excuseme?”

“The talk where you point out I’m going to get old and you’re not,” Alec says. “That I’m mortal and you’re not? That I can spend my whole life with you, but it’s going to be a blink of an eye for you? That I might resent you for that when I get older for some reason?”

Magnus sits up, so he can look Alec in the eyes. “Don’t make light of it, Alexander.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, I’ve thought about this.”

“Thinking about it and living it are two very different things,” Magnus says quietly. “Not to be cruel, but it’s easy to say that when you’re young and beautiful and you don’t feel time, but I feel time. Not like a mortal feels it, but I’m old. I know what it does to people, not just physically but emotionally and I just…” Magnus looks away, like there’s something in the room that might give him a way to say what he’s trying to say. “I just dread the day, you feel time like I know you will. Feel how it’s not equal between us.”

Alec moves a hand, slowly, tucking it up behind Magnus’ head, his thumb set behind the curve of his ear. Gently, he guides Magnus’ gaze back to his.

“I’m not gonna say that I won’t feel some kind of way about that,” Alec says softly, soberly. “Like you said, I’m young and stupid.”

“That’s not what I –”

Alec waves his other hand and Magnus quiets this time.

“We’re going to have to deal with it one day. Yes. For sure. It’s going to happen and when it does, it’ll be tough and we’ll have to have awful adult conversations about what makes us uncomfortable and how we deal with it. Personally, I feel like it’s going to be much worse for you having to deal with…” He grimaces. “You know, when I get old. When I stop looking like I should be withyou and more like I should be your dad or something.”

“Alexander –”

“Ah, let me say this.”

Magnus settles, his gaze patient but anxious.

“I’m just saying… right now I’ve thought about it. A lot. I over think everything. You know that. And I’ve definitely over thought the logistics of dating an immortal, being with an immortal, you know, forever. If that’s where things went.” He clears his throat. “And I’m just saying I think I’m good with all that as long as you’re good with all of it. As long as you are okay with the fact I… I’m just not going to be around as long as you.”

Magnus’ hands tighten in his shirt a little. His face is hard to read and that is like a hand closing in his stomach and twisting.

Alec runs a thumb nervously along Magnus’ jaw. “Are you okay with that?”

“Of course I’m not ‘okay’ with it,” Magnus whispers. “Every time I think about it I…” He stops. Shakes his head. “But I would never let my fear of eventually losing you be the reason I lose you now.” He swallows visibly. “And you should know… if we get years or decades down the road and it does turn out to be too much for you… if being with an immortal is too –”

Alec immediately brings both hands up, gathers Magnus’ head in his hands, and pulls his mouth down against his. The warlock jerks briefly in surprise before relaxing into it, relaxing against him, body to body and for a moment everything they were talking about slides into the background noise of thought. Alec is a little proud of the fact that he manages to derail a centuries (millennia?) old being with the correct application of hair pulling and tongue, but it’s a temporary respite.

Eventually, he pulls back, settling in with Magnus’ forehead pressed to his. So, he can speak as directly as possible.

“I’d never do that to you,” Alec whispers. “I’d never let it get that far and leave you.”

“It’s okay if you did –” Magnus starts to say.

“Stop that.”

“I have so much time.” Magnus is breathless, an underlain anxiety in his words. “You only have so much time, Alexander. If you change your –”

Alec leans up and kisses his forehead.

“No. No, I’m not going to do that. I’ll stop before it gets that far. I swear.” He kisses Magnus again, on the nose, on the mouth, down his throat, pulling his head down so he can say it in his ear, “I won’t do that to you. I promise. I love you and I’d never do that to you.”

Magnus shivers and it seems to go through Alec too.

“Okay,” he says.

Alec pulls closer. “Okay,” he says.

Things are quiet after that.

#shadowhunters #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #malec #shadowhunters fanfic #shfic #100% stupid magic boyfriend bullshit #and mild magical angst #but mostly cramming screaming vegetables down the garbage disposal #while your bf looks on in horror #shadowhunters fic #rae writes #raewrites

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