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bagelbright-tok · 3 years

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Aspire To be

Hi honey!! I saw that your request were open and I had an idea. I really liked the imagine about Malcolm Bright and having an aunt. I was wondering if you could do more of that, but maybe this time Malcolm does know her and they actually like each other and maybe she helps him on a case instead or with Martin? If not it’s completely okay, I love your work tho!! Thanks sweets ❤❤

Requested By: @atjafshelby

A/N: Thank you so much for your support! I really appreciate your comments and request! That aunt fiction is one of my least popular fics. I hardly expected anyone to enjoy it and even be inspired by it! Again, thank you! I decided to do a similar thing I did for that last imagine. This is a one-shot and does not really correlate with any other Prodigal Son episode. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for your patience as well! I apologize if it seems sloppy at the end. I just wanted to get this out for you and tended to get sidetracked. _

Finally getting themselves a line of suspects for this crime, Malcolm realizes he might need more than his own profiling skills. Malcolm also has a person in mind who could help… Gil doesn’t agree with Malcolm’s decision, especially when the profiler’s mind has been altered recently. How could Malcolm Bright not go to the person that inspired him?

Malcolm Bright/Whitly x Aunt!Reader [Platonic]

Word Count: 3289 Warning(s): Mentions of murder, mind fog, insomnia, mentions of trauma, attempted murder, drug abuse, swearing, did not double check anything __

Some Good Things in Life __

“Whaddya got kid?” Gil nodded towards Malcolm, hands on hip, and a grin plastered on his already smug face. Gil was already confident in Malcolm’s ability. This would be a piece of cake for the profiler.

Malcolm shook his head. He was confused. This murder took two weeks to have suspects. Even then, they only had four suspects. There was something wrong, though. Malcolm couldn’t get a read on any of them. Their tones and words led Malcolm to many different directions. Malcolm also did not have the right state of mind, having skipped almost a week’s worth of sleep. “Nothing..”

Even he was surprised by his incompetence.

Gil lightly extended his head out towards Malcolm, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What?” He crossed his arms and returned his head to his shoulders. Gil’s eyebrows were now knitted together in concern and were no longer widened. “What do you mean?”

“I… I can’t get a read on them.” Malcolm finally admitted, his shoulders falling down in defeat. He left out a deep sigh and brought his hands to his eyes to rub. Why couldn’t he think straight? “It’s like my mind is just- just covered in fog.” Malcolm motioned to his head, wildly using his index of his right hand to press into his temple.

Gil sighed, looked down at the floor, and unfolded his arms. Taking a few steps towards the NYPD Profiler, Gil placed his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Go home, kid. It’s late and you need to sleep.” Gil was always the father figure that Malcolm needed. Malcolm understood the lieutenant’s concern, but couldn’t help not sleeping. Especially as of late.

Malcolm couldn’t say no. He shrugged his shoulder and peered into Gil’s eyes with his own tired and hazy blue ones. He nodded lightly, closing his mouth and shaping it into a half smile. “Alright..”

*** And with that, the insomniac ventured restlessly to his humble abode. Despite his hazy mind, he drove himself back to his place. On the way over, going through New York’s evening traffic, Malcolm had an idea. Recklessly, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he reached who he wanted. Tapping and putting the phone up to his ear, waiting for them to answer, he shook his leg anxiously. “Hello?” The voice came through, asking curiously.

“Hey! Long time no talk.” Malcolm was smiling, but the person on the other end couldn’t possibly see it. However, it was obvious that they could hear his happiness to be talking to them. “Malcolm? Hey! Where the hell did you disappear to?” They chuckled. “Thought there was a new Bermuda triangle only taking the cool people.” They stated sarcastically.

Malcolm laughed at their joke, shaking his head. “No. I actually got back in New York a couple of weeks ago. Sorry I forgot to tell you.” Malcolm cleared his throat and before the person on the other end of the call could respond, he continued. “Anyways, I could use some help…” “O-Oh? Help? Of course, what do you need?” Malcolm could hear them move from one spot to another. “Some… Some advice. You are still a body language specialist, right?” “Yeah. Need me to do some interrogating?” They chuckled, joking.

“Uh- Yes. Yes, actually..”

“Oh-”

“Could you meet me at my place? I’ll send you the address. If you get there before me, you can let yourself in. There’s a spare key buried in the plant outside.” Malcolm explained, stopping at yet another red light. Traffic had been bad due to another accident happening nearby.

“Of course!” It was obvious that Malcolm and this person were besties and hadn’t encountered one another in a long while. “I’ll get my bag and head out once I have the address.” “Thank you, so much. I’ll see you in a bit.” Malcolm gave a quite breathy chuckle. “Cya!” And with that, the call ended. Malcolm felt a little better. His mood improved, for sure. Malcolm’s shoulders were no longer held up but instead were slouched down. His neutral and tired face was now a happier tired face. Malcolm took note of how he would just have to tell Gil when he got home that he’d be getting some help. Help from someone they both knew. ***

Damn this headache. Malcolm could feel a dull pain in his head as he entered his home. Despite the pain being dull, he felt it making him weaker and even slightly dizzy. Malcolm simply shook the pain away and shut the door behind him. He tried to reach the door, but couldn’t. When he looked behind himself to see why, the door was already shut. His eyes burrowed in confusion. Again, he shook away the confusion and began to text Gil about what he was doing. Now, though, Malcolm couldn’t just shake off whatever was happening to him. He felt nauseous and he felt out of breath. He tried getting back to his phone to call Gil instead. Malcolm instead found that his vision had blurred. He blinked and blinked, even rubbed his eyes, but his blurred vision only got worse. He began to panic now. Something was definitely wrong. Malcolm tried to identify what could be going on, but still, his mind was elsewhere. Malcolm could barely even hear as someone entered his home.

“Malcolm?” The familiar voice could barely be heard as it echoed in his house and in his head. “Malcolm!”

This exclamatory statement of his name was not that of excitement. It was of concern, confusion, and despair. As far as Malcolm knew, he was standing. As far as his visitor was concerned, he was on the ground, unconscious. ***

“What did you do?” Gil asked angrily and accusatorily. He pointed at [Y/N], who responded by leaning back away from his finger. “Me?! Excuse you. I called an ambulance! Maybe next time, I shouldn’t?” [Y/N] argued back, leaning forward into Gil’s finger and raising her hands to her sides, palms up and fingers spread out. Her face was scrunched with anger. Her usual glowing and calm [E/C] orbs were now burning a hole into Gil. Her graying [H/C] hair was standing up due to the sheer frustration she was feeling. This wouldn’t be the first time someone accused her of something horrific due to her past. [Y/N] Bright [L/N]. Also known as [Y/N] Whitly, younger sister to Dr. Martin Whitly. In other words, Malcolm’s favorite aunt and the individual he had called for help in the case. The lady that had found him unconscious in his own home and called authorities. It was because of [Y/N] that Malcolm was in a hospital and not dead. It wasn’t just Gil there for Malcolm, there was also Jessica and Ainsley. Jessica had refused to talk to [Y/N], she never understood how or why Malcolm had taken a favorability to her. Ainsley wasn’t anything but rude to her, and made it clear she did not like her. Summary; All of [Y/N]’s fans were gathered in one place where they were called in an emergency because someone dear to them had almost died. “What were you even doing in Malcolm’s place?” Ainsley’s hollow eyes stared at [Y/N] with pure hatred. Like someone with unlimited darts, trying to get a high score.

“He called me to come over. Sent me his address and told me about the spare key in some weird ass plant outside his place.” [Y/N] swiftly explained herself, keeping her arms open. Her feet however, were closed and pointing away from both Gil and Ainsley. She really did not want to be there, being questioned. “He wanted me to help with some interrogating.”

“You-?” Gil erected his index again at [Y/N], now eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re the help Malcolm called for?” “Why would anyone go to you for help?” “I feel extremely uncomfortable right now!” [Y/N] declared, slapping her hands down to her sides. “I am just here to help with whatever Malcolm needs!” “Just drop it you three!” Jessica finally whisper yelled at them. “My son could have died and you are worried about-.. Her.”

The disdain in her voice as she referred to [Y/N] really set it in for the body language specialist. Nothing she could say would make them think any better of her. Not even if Malcolm were to explain the same thing she did. So, [Y/N] easily decided it would be easier to just sit down and give up the arguing. She felt like a kid once again, forced to keep quiet when faced with authority. She hated it. Gil would never allow for her to help unless Malcolm really made a good pitch to the lieutenant. Then again, when would Malcolm wake up? *** Malcolm was given a diagnosis fairly quickly. Carbon Monoxide poisoning that had been going on for over a week. It was a miracle he had gone so long without anyone noticing the symptoms. Despite the supposed long sleep he was to be put under, Malcolm found a way to wake himself up with his own brain. Waking up with a loud scream as a nurse ran out to get a doctor, and Gil and [Y/N] rushed in with concern. “Malcolm!” Both older individuals shouted at the once unconscious profiler. While the relief was mutual, so was the concern.

“Gil? [Y/N]? Where am I? What happened? How-” Malcolm was confused but mostly scared as well. One moment he was home and the next he was isolated by white walls and repetitive beeping.

[Y/N] made the first move. She steadily and smoothly moved closer to Malcolm’s bedside. She took a deep and obvious breath, straightening her back and lifting her hands with her as she inhaled. A similar action was taken during the exhale; obvious, she lowered herself back onto her feet, and lowered her hands. Although Malcolm was not having a panic attack, it could escalate and [Y/N] wasn’t having it. Gil followed afterwards. Malcolm mimicked [Y/N] in taking deep breaths and calming down. “Are you okay, Malcolm?” [Y/N] asked in a calmer voice.

“Yeah. I mean, I feel okay.” Malcolm buried his face into his hands. “Was I poisoned?”

With his brain working fine, he was able to remember his symptoms. It was unnatural.

“Yeah, in a sense.” Gil responded this time. “A week long exposure to carbon monoxide.”

“A week?” Malcolm removed his hands from his face and peered at Gil and [Y/N]. “Isn’t that around the time this case started?”

Now both Gil and [Y/N] were horrified. What was thought to be an accident, a simple leak in the home, now was a potential case of attempted murder. Whoever was the murderer in their case, knew Malcolm would be a problem and so tried removing him as an obstacle. [Y/N] and Gil took a glance at each other. Despite their… awkward relationship, they knew they had to work together on this one. Malcolm couldn’t leave the hospital, and couldn’t work on the case. His life was in danger and the safest place would be where he was.

***

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” Gil told [Y/N] with a threatening tone.

“Why not two?” [Y/N] chuckled, entering the observation room sat right next to the interview room. Gil just gave a harsh squint. “Not a time for jokes, got it.”

“It was hard to get the suspects back. We’d released them last night because we had them held for too long.” Gil changed the subject swiftly, viewing into the room where they had the suspects. “We were only able to get them back in because Malcolm almost died last night, when he released them all.”

“It’s clear that all of them are upset that they are back. No profiling is needed for that.” [Y/N] noted this behaviour. “All of them are anxious and nervous. Crossed arms, tapping feet, rapid blinking.”

“All of them are suspicious?” Gil pondered curiously.

“Not necessarily. They are just nervous about being back. The idea of being falsely accused looms over them.” [Y/N] continued to scan the room, finally noticing some odd behaviour. She pointed at a man slightly separated from everyone else. “He, however, is a lot more confident than everyone else.”

“His arms are crossed too.” Gil pointed out, looking at [Y/N] with suspicion.

“Yes, but he is leaning against the wall. He is more relaxed. His lips are slightly parted, unlike everyone else’s compressed or pursed lips.” [Y/N] began her analyzing out loud, forgetting anyone was in the room. “His breathing patterns are very alike to everyone’s. Their breathings are picked up due to their nervousness. His picked up pace is because of excitement, though.”

“He’s leaning against a wall. How in the hell did you get all of that off of him?” Gil was just as curious as he would be if it were Malcolm profiling. It was just as mind boggling as when he profiled Carter Berkhead.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Gil.” [Y/N] chuckled. “Was Malcolm in the interrogation room when they were all interrogated?”

“Yeah. He wanted to be close to profile.” Gil answered, not as confused now knowing that every question and answer would help.

“Splendid. This will make it far easier.” [Y/N]’s [E/C] orbs glimmered in amusement. Her smile was one that Gil had seen before. It was Malcolm’s smile, but it was one he’d seen on Martin’s face too. “I need you to repeat what you did yesterday. Question them in the same order with the same questions.”

Gil nodded. Just as he was warming up to her, some thought came in and set him back to his place. First and foremost, officers came and rounded everyone up. The interrogation began again. This time, it was just Dani, JT, and Gil. Malcolm wasn’t there. If [Y/N] was correct, the one she was suspect of most would give off more of a reaction than the others. Answers would likely remain the same from each person as well. They all want to get out as soon as possible. If Malcolm’s current profile was correct, the killer was arrogant and would show it. If the killer saw that Malcolm wasn’t there, they’d have some sort of mention or bodily reaction to this.

In the case scenario that she was wrong, [Y/N] was sure to make note of everyone’s reactions. Most did not even acknowledge Malcolm’s absence. Their moods had remained the same, anxious and nervous. Finally, it came to the man that [Y/N] came to know as James Lukai. Most of his answers remain the same, worded slightly different than before. [Y/N] compared his last interview, to this interview. The first showcased this man as nervous and anxious. Now, he wasn’t as much anymore. He looked around, as if to make sure his suspicions were right. He gave a quick smirk when he saw that Malcolm wasn’t there. His answers had remained mostly the same, but the tone had drastically changed. It was clear as night and day, it was this man. Just to prove a point further, [Y/N] straightened herself out and left the observation room. Much to Gil’s dismay, she entered the interrogation room afterwards.

“Heya Gil! Sorry I’m late. The call to replace Malcolm was just too soon!” [Y/N] announced with a large grin on her face.

Gil looked at [Y/N], only to respond by rubbing his face. “Don’t let it happen again.” He played along.

The man in question- James- was now shocked. “I thought you didn’t have a profiler anymore.”

“And what would make you say that, James?” [Y/N] immediately jumped on it. “Malcolm is just taking a little break. Family business.”

“What? He-?” James caught himself before he could say anything more.

“You’re too obvious, James.” [Y/N]’s smile immediately dropped.

“What’re you doing, [Y/N]” Gil questioned, only to get an answer through the raising of the lady’s hand to silence him.

“Want to know how we know, James?” [Y/N] confidently asked, not waiting a moment for his answer. “You are far too confident for this. You thought you had gotten rid of Malcolm, the only one who would have caught you.”

The man was speechless. He was caught. He rested his elbows on the table and put his hands through his brown hair. He was hunched, unsure of what to say now.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Gil wasn’t angry, but just extremely confused.

“Caught the bad guy. My job, Gil.” As confident as before, she exited the room.

Soon after, James confessed to the murders and the attempt on Malcolm’s life. Another day saved by [Y/N] Bright [L/N].

***

“Did you get him?” Was the first thing to exit Malcolm’s mouth that night when [Y/N] went to visit him. Fortunately for Malcolm, he had gotten the all clear, so was able to return home.

“Nice to see you too.” [Y/N] chuckled, entering his home. “Yeah. It was obvious. That poisoning really fucked with your brain if you couldn’t see it.”

“Speaking of which, the place was aired out and my heater was fixed.” Malcolm shut his door. “Inspectors had a nifty device and gave the okay.”

“That’s great!” [Y/N] clapped her hands together. “You plan on trying to get murdered again any time soon?”

Malcolm chuckled again, and sat down at his counter. “Ah, no. I don’t plan on it.”

“Good. Shouldn’t have to attend your funeral when I’m older than you.” [Y/N] glided over and sat with him at the counter. “So- Malcolm Bright. When did you change your name?”

Malcolm gave a small, “oh,” and nodded his head. “Several years back when I went to Quantico. You know, to become a profiler..”

Though [Y/N] knew the story, Malcolm felt obligated to tell her how much she inspired him.

“Couldn’t think of a name until the lady there suggested going with someone who I aspire to be. Then I remembered.. You.” His smile was soft and genuine.

“Really?” She smiled back, surprised by her effect on Malcolm. “I.. I’d never guessed I’d have that sort of influence.”

“I hardly say this, but you’re probably one of the more normal and stable members of this family.” Malcolm gave a light laugh, instigating a laugh from [Y/N] as well. “You prove to me that there are some good things in life.”

“I think there is more than just me that does that, Malcolm.” [Y/N] smirked. “You have all those folk at the NYPD! You have Gil, Dani, JT, and Edrisa.”

“Of course. They’re my friends. I trust them.” Malcolm explained. “But you were the first. You helped a lot when Dr. Whitly was arrested. I still remember that day. Even when mother yelled at you, it didn’t stop you from helping me.”

[Y/N] could only nod lightly. “Yeah, Yeah.. I- I remember that day too. I remember the days before and after that day too. I felt like I had to apologize for my brother. He couldn’t be there, so I tried to be. But Jessica never had a good opinion on me, even before Martin was arrested.” She chuckled at that sentiment. “Then Gil got caught up in all the gossip that I had something to do with Martin. At least Jess was skeptical towards all of that.”

It was dead silent after that until Malcolm decided to clear the air. “Anyways, you want some water, or something?”

“Sure!”

Boy. What an odd and bizarre family.

___ E N D

A/N: So sorry for taking so long! Hope you enjoyed it. I had a bit of a hard time trying to get an end for it. Sorry if it is abrupt.

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years

Text

Conference Call

Bucky Masterlist

Part of the Calling Series

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, loads of fun smut

You sang along with Gaga as you barreled down the open road until the ringer cut in with Bucky’s ringtone. Tapping the button on the steering wheel, you greeted him with a pleasant “Hey handsome!”

“Where are you?” Bucky grumbled, almost whining. “Why aren’t you here yet?”

“I’m about two hours out.” You glanced at the speedometer. “Okay, maybe an hour and a half.”

He chuckled. “You’d be here already if you would have let me pick you up in the chopper.”

“You have work today, and really wanted this car.” You ran your hand over the steering wheel of the rebuilt 1969 Chevy Camero. You’d seen it while working with a colleague in Boston. A mechanic Stark recommended checked it out and said it was worth the money, so you decided to buy yourself a very special gift. You sighed with delight.

Bucky chuckled. “Baby, do I have competition?”

“Well, she is really sexy.” You purred. “Fuck, and the power.”

“Easy, Doll. Don’t want to wrap it around a tree your first time out. Need to stay safe so we can break in those leather seats.” Buckly rumbled.

“Oh, most definitely.” You grinned. “We’re breaking in the seats. You can bend me over the hood. God, this car just begs to be fucked on.”

He hummed low. “Sounds like a road trip is in order. Maybe get you to wear that blue summer dress, the one that’s all stretchy on top.”

“Just the dress and nothing else.”

“M-hm, so I can just set your ass on the trunk fuck right in the open. Take you out in the woods someplace, find a place in the sun. Fuck yes, watch the sun shine on that gorgeous skin. Taste your sweat. Taste your honey.”

“Damn,” you breathed.

“Get home safe, Doll. I can’t wait to see you.”

“I’ll be there soon, but will you be free by then?”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, “I hope so. I don’t mind the work, but I hate these fucking meetings.”

Stark built the compound in upstate New York and began inviting specialist from all over to come train with the Avengers teams. The concept was sound, instruct the support troops and first responders how to work with the team if an emergency occurred in their area. However, their guests quickly began asking for more.

“Not so keen on being an instructor, baby?” You tried to sound sympathetic, but you thought it was cool.

“It’s not like they’re asking me on the most efficient way to kill an enemy with a butter knife.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “They want me to set up a course on hostage extraction.”

You giggled.

“Doll...”

“Sorry, I just think of you up front of a classroom, one those pointer sticks in hand. Makes me want to bring you a shiny apple and ask if there’s anything I can do to earn extra credit.”

He laughed, rich a deep. “Baby you show up in a school girl’s uniform and pig tails... mmm, I’ll give you something alright.”

Just as the heat began to spread between your thighs, you heard Bucky grumble. “What?” He sighed heavily. “Doll, I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Aw,” you whined. “I was just picturing you pulling up my little plaid skirts and smacking my ass pink before making me suck that gorgeous cock for extra credit.”

“Dammit, Doll.” He sighed, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m going to fuck you hard for sending off to a meeting with that image in my head.”

“I’ll be there soon and you can do just that.”

“Drive safe, beautiful.”

Xxxxxxx

You parked in the resident’s garage and grabbed your overnight bag from the truck. A whistle echoed across the floor. You looked over to see Barton strolling toward you. You shut the trunk and leaned presented the classic car with your best Vanna White flourish.

“That is sexy, mama. Did you just get it?” Clint came closer and gave you a brief hug before throughly examining the car.

“Yeah. I wasn’t planning on it. Living in the city for so long, I never needed a car. Now that Buck and I took a place up here, well, I don’t like borrowing the fleet cars.” You ran a hand over the shiny black surface. “It’s just like the one my granddad had. No, it’s nicer than that. But he had a black ‘69 and I have really good memories of it. I know it’s frivolous.”

“Are you kidding. It’s a classic and you work your ass off. You totally deserve. Good choice. Has Barnes seen it?”

“Not yet.” You felt a little giddy.

“You’re going to have to hide the keys from him. He’ll love it.”

“You’re probably right. In fact, I’m going to head up. I’m anxious to show him.” Clint gave you a farewell peck and headed back towards his truck. You went straight to your quarters.

Your place at the Compound consisted of an outer living room with an office alcove and bedroom with a large en suite. You shared a large living space and kitchen with three other units occupied by Steve, Sam and Natasha. It was a comfortable arrangement.

Stepping inside, you could hear Bucky speaking. He looked up at you, eyes smiling. You could hear at least three other voices. You mouthed ‘how much longer’ at him. Bucky wrote something on a pad of paper as he answered a question about what he thought the minimum qualifications of attendees should be.

The paper said 10 minutes. You grinned, kicking off your shoes. A wicked idea come to you. Standing where the computer camera could not see, and just out of Bucky’s reach, you began removing your clothes. Bucky tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes kept darting over to you.

When you cupped your bare breasts in your hands and wet your lips with your tongue, his jaw clenched and he locked his eyes on the computer screen. The discussion continued.

You crawled under the desk, running your hands up his thighs. He tensed. You palmed his hardening cock through his sweats. Bucky’s hips rocked forward.

“I just don’t think, um, they need to have some experience. I’m about to start things at a basic level.” Bucky’s voice stayed level, but his hand slipped down and he lowered his chair a bit. His eyes flicked your way, seeing you on your knees. His nostrils flared.

As someone else droned on, he watched you pull him free and stroke him. You slipped on hand between your legs, running fingers through your folds. It was so hot. You collected wetness on your fingers before bringing them to his slip your hand over the head of his cock. Slippery and wet, his hips lowered closer to you. Edging closer, you licked the under side of him, not having quite enough room to take him fully in your mouth.

“Barnes, what do you think?”

“Ah,” His eyes snapped back up. “As long as we can confirm the certification and the course checks out, sure.” He watched himself on the monitor and lowered his chair a little more. He swallowed hard as your mouth closed over him. Bucky gripped the pen on the desk in front of him to keep from reacting as he felt the back of your throat.

You worked him with your tongue and hands. Slick with slobber, deep and firm. His thighs quivered with the effort to hold still. It was so naughty. You were dripping wet.

“Sounds like you guys can wrap this up. Email me the final proposal. I’ve got something here needing my attention. Thanks.” Bucky bit out before slamming his laptop closed. “Doll, fuck!”

He pushed back his chair. You followed. His hand tangled in your hair as his hips rock up. “Oh, shit, baby I’m...” Your hand clenched his hip. You weren’t stopping. Cupping his balls, pumping with slicked hand, your tongue swirled over the tip. He growled low when you swallowed him deep again.

His fingers tightened and hips jerked. “Ah, holy shit, yes....”

Bucky came hard as you swallowed him down, slowly licking him clean.

You looked up with a wicked smile. He shivered. “That was so unfair.”

“What?” You blinked up at him with mock innocence.

“You think you’ve made up for your bad behavior?” His eyebrow arched.

“But, baby...”

“You are in so much trouble.” Bucky smirked. He lunged but you scurried away with a squeal. He caught you before you made it all the way to the bedroom. His strong arms wrapped around you, his laugh in your ear.

It was the best kind of trouble.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes

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fatehbaz · 4 years

Note

where can i read more about the devegetation of north africa? (reliable sources that you prefer)

Hey hi.

So just wanna be very clear that this is not really my “area of expertise.” (More focused on North American environmental history; most reading on North Africa limited to megafauna distribution range.) More like a fun side-interest that I revisit from time to time. And these resources are mostly just about the Sahel, specifically. Including the environmental history of the Holocene (past 10,000 years in the Sahel), and also the dynamic and drastic ecological change that took place between 1895-1960, during colonial and post-independence land management schemes. But some of the resources here also deal with the geography of the Sahara. (There is also an interesting history of the Sahara during the Holocene, when the desert was full of lakes and river courses. Up until the 1970s, there were still isolated populations of hippo and crocodile in remote Sahara lakes and oases.)

I’ll recommend some of the older “classics.” As usual, I’d try to recommend writing from local people who are explicitly willing to share their ecological knowledge. But a lot of my recommendations are unfortunately from academics. And I’m sorry for that.

Assuming you’re referencing this:

When searching online for environmental histories or local environmental knowledge case studies of the Sahel, I see a lot of stuff sponsored by NGOs, the UN, and US academia, which will emphasize “rediscovery” or “utility” of “using” traditional knowledge for “combating climate change,” and many mentions of the “green wall” proposals. I’ll also see “white savior complex” kind of stuff, which talks about “crises” and “civil wars” as if they’re “endemic” to the Sahel. But (just my opinion), I don’t like those resources. They engage in cultural appropriation (”acquiring” local Indigenous knowledge), superficial posturing (Euro-American academics using cute language about “local knowledge” without holistically contextualizing the devegetation), weird culturally-insensitive elitist chauvinism (continuously talking about “religious conflicts” and “civil wars” in North Africa and the “urgency” to use “agriculture” to establish stable economics and therefore “law and order”), and reductionism (talking about importance of halting southward desertification and expansion of the Sahara, without acknowledging role of World Bank, IMF, etc. in continuing to use lending/debt to hold West Africa hostage.) Part of my skepticism of these sources is because I’ve met and/or worked with agricultural specialists from institutions in the Sahel and environmental historians who had worked for many years in the region. (They’ve shared some really cool anecdotal stories about the sophistication of dryland gardening in the Sahel, and how local horticulturalists would laugh at the Euro-American corporate agricultural agents and USDA staff sent in with their special “space-age chemically-coated super-moisture-retaining” seed supplies after independence.)

Fair warning: Most of my recommendations are a little old, from the 1970s and 1980s. Two of the main drawbacks of these “outdated” sources: since their publication, scholars have since greatly expanded lit/research about both imperialism and traditional ecological knowledge. (West Africa had only been “independent” for a short period of time, and the hidden machinations of neocolonial institutions weren’t as clearly visible as they are to us, today, I’d imagine. And some academics, writing about the Sahel in the 1980s, weren’t as willingly to openly call-out major institutions.) But I think they provide a brief background for Sahel’s ecology and agroforestry/horticulture.

So both of these are available free, online, through the New Zealand Digital Library. (Don’t wanna link them here, but you can find them online pretty easily.)

Firstly, from 1983/1984, there is this summary of desertification, traditional environmental knowledge, traditional land use systems, and agroforestry in the Sahel: National Research Council. 1983. Agroforestry in the West African Sahel. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press.

Something that was always exciting for me ...

Despite how dry and hot the Sahel is, fruit trees and gardens are actually very fertile and productive, for many reasons, mostly related to sophistication of local ecological knowledge of nutrient-replenishing relationships between different plants. An excerpt:

“Today, a number of agro-silvicultural systems appear to be practiced in the Sahel. Gardens are found within settlements where water is available, usually with a tree component that provides shade and shelter and, often, edible fruits or leaves. The same holds true for intensively managed, irrigated, and fertilized gardens near urban centers. Both subsistence home gardens and cash-generating market gardens are highly productive. Fruit and pod-bearing trees, shade trees, and hedges or living fences are the "forestry" components, sometimes supplemented by decorative woody plants. Mangoes, citrus trees, guavas, Zizyphus mauritiana (Indian jujube), cashews, palms, Ficus spp., and wild custard-apples are prominent kinds of fruit trees. Shade is often provided by Azadirachta indica or similar species, while fencing is provided by thorny species of Acacia and Prosopis, and by Commiphora africana, Euphorbia balsamifera, flowery shrubs such as Caesalpinia pulcherrima (paradise-flower), and other species.

Close to the settlements is a ring of suburban gardens, often irrigated, in which cassava, yams, maize, millet, sorghum, rice, groundnuts, and various vegetables are grown, for subsistence as well as sale, depending on the ecozone.”

---

Then this sounds more like what you might be looking for? Basically, a history of environmental knowledge and the ecological trends of the past 10,000 years in the Sahel.

National Research Council. 1983. Environmental Change in the West African Sahel. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press.

Though this report from 1983 is now kinda outdated, and has some iffy elitist and vaguely-chauvinist language at times, but it is still accessible, generally easy to read, concise, and it goes out of its way to say that 1970s drought and current environmental crises in the Sahel cannot be understood without addressing the early Holocene ecology of the Sahara/Sahel.

So the report emphasizes the importance of context, by addressing the drying of river courses and lakes in the Sahara of the Late Pleistocene, the early domestication of crops, the emergence of cattle and goat over-grazing, the importance of gum arabic and acacia trees in maintaining moisture in gardens, early trans-Sahara caravan travel, medievel geographical knowledge of the Sahara, etc.

“Because climatic change and variability are regular features of the Sahel, the native plant and animal communities of the region are generally well adapted to the range of climatic variation existing in the region. [...] Many efforts in "development" or modernization have also contributed to their plight. [...] In order to provide a better understanding of the role of human activity in modifying Sahelian ecosystems, this chapter briefly explores nine agents of anthropogenic change: bush fires, transSaharan trade, site preferences for settlements, gum arabic trade, agricultural expansion, proliferation of cattle, introduction of advanced firearms, development of modern transportation networks, and urbanization. These agents illustrate the breadth and diversity of the human impact on the region.”

----

Then there is this: Jeffrey A. Gritzner. The West African Sahel - Human Agency and Environmental Change. 1989.

And I also recommend the work of Jeffrey A. Gritzner. He’s American, but respectful and knows what he’s talking about. Gritzner works with dryland ecology; human ecology, especially relationships with plants/vegetation; environmental change during the Holocene (past 10 to 12,000 years); and traditional environmental knowledge. And he’s especially knowledgeable about the Sahel, North Africa, and Persia/the Middle East, where he worked with region-specific horticulture in the 1970s in Chad, Senegal, etc. during the peak of the drought, and had personal observations of post-independence neocolonial mismanagement and continued corporate monoculture from World Bank, IMF, etc. His writing contrasts local/traditional gardening/plant knowledge with imported corporate/neocolonial agriculture.

---

Beginning in about the 1990s, it seems to me that Euro-American geography/anthropology departments were much more willing to use words like “empire” and “neocolonialism” and more willing to call-out corporate bodies and institutions, so there are many better articles from after that period.

Keita, J. D. 1981. Plantations in the Sahel. Unasylva 33(134):25-29.

Winterbottom, R. T. 1980. Reforestration in the Sahel: Problems and strategies--An analysis of the problem of deforestation, and a review of the results of forestry projects in Upper Volta. Paper presented at the African Studies Association Annual Meeting, October 15-18, 1980, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA.

Glantz, M. H., ed. 1976. The Politics of Natural Disasters: The Case of the Sahel Drought. Praeger, New York, New York, USA.

National Academy of Sciences. 1979. An Assessment of Agro-Forestry Potential Within the Environmental Framework of Mauritania. Staff Summary Report, Board on Science and Technology for International Development, Washington, D.C., USA.

Huzayyin, S. 1956. Changes in climate, vegetation, and human adjustment in the Saharo-Arabian belt with special reference to Africa. Pp. 304-323 in Man's Role in Changing the Face of the Earth, William L. Thomas, Jr., ed. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, Illinois, USA.

Vermeer, D. E. 1981. Collision of climate, cattle, and culture in Mauritania during the 1970s. Geographical Review 71(3):281-297.

Smith, A. B. 1980. Domesticated cattle in the Sahara and their introduction into West Africa. Pp. 489-501 in The Sahara and the Nile, M. A. J. Williams and H. Faure, eds. A. A. Balkema, Rotterdam, The Netherlands.

Again, these resources are mostly just about the Sahel.

Then, since the early 1990s, for better or more specific case studies of local-scale environmental knowledge, I think it might be easier or more fruitful to search based on subregion or specific plants. My perception is that, though much of the woodland and savanna ecology might be similar across the region, the Sahel is still spatially/geographically vast, stretching from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea. And so, there are so many different diverse communities of people, with long histories situated in place, and there are diverse local variations in approach to horticulture. So, if you’re more interested in traditional ecological knowledge and local food cultivation, it might be easier to pick a specific subregion of the Sahel, or to pick a favorite staple food, and then to search those keywords via a university library website, g00gle scholar, etc.

(About the distribution range and local extinction, in the Sahel, Sahara, and Mediterranean coast, of lion, cheetah, elephant, giraffe, rhino, desert hippos, the “sacred crocodile,” etc. More my cup of tea. I’ve got some maps and articles, I’ll try to put them into a list of resources, too.)

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dategetmy802 · 3 years

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Well, to be fair, I didn’t.

When Sheena suggested going speed dating, it’s not like I leaped at the idea. I thought of the whole thing as very old-school and riddled with horny old men.

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Several men had already gathered outside the bar where we were supposed to meet, an unremarkable Irish pub in the Financial District. A couple of Russian women were talking about their plans to get green cards out of the night.

That's a starter, I thought. At least the women will be just as sad as the men.

Before the official speed dating began, we began chatting with two men wearing business casual. They introduced themselves as Samuel* and Camden*.

Camden, who was Australian, made a beeline for Sheena. I talked to Samuel, but his gaze kept flitting around the rest of the bar, as if he were scanning for other prospects.

I couldn't believe he was rude enough to make his boredom known. I also can’t remember the last time I finished an entire glass of wine that quickly.

Speed dating is either a fantastic idea or a terrible one. If you don’t have the balls to approach men at a bar (or if you don’t have the patience to wait it out until they do), this is a sure-fire way to buy five minutes with any man in the room.

On the flip side, there’s nothing quite like speed dating to make you realize just how long five minutes can be.

When seven o'clock struck, we began settling in booths and tables that had been set aside for us. Women stayed in the same seats throughout the night, and the men moved counter-clockwise. It felt a little like musical chairs, and I was betting that most of us would strike out.

My first real “date” was a man named Reggie*. He was obviously the oldest man in the room and clearly way over the 30-something age cap. In fact, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t in his 50s. Sir, why are you still here? Why can't you follow instructions? This is why you're single, Reggie.

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Seriously -- this guy bought an entire bouquet of roses so that he could sweeten up his predictably mundane dates. He also took notes, like an overeager kid sitting in the front row in class.

No one likes a teacher’s pet, Tom.

Vishnu* followed. Poor Vishnu. He was short, and he spoke in such a soft, thick accent that I had to ask him to repeat himself after almost every sentence. His palms were visibly sweaty. I felt so bad for him that I almost wanted us to be a match.

Mitch* was the only one who truly irritated me. He could have been attractive -- with his dark complexion and his broody eyes -- if only he didn’t tell me to “be calm in (his) presence” after I mentioned that I was tired from work.

People like this exist, ladies, and they’re hiding in plain sight, waiting to pounce on your unsuspecting, single ass.

Ricky* gave me his phone number after our conversation (illegal in speed dating). “I don’t care about the rules,” he said.

The fact that I have dogs was more than enough to get his engine revved. He had a farm -- a f*cking farm -- and was looking for someone to help run it. I mean, there's a great pickup line on its own: 'Hey, girl, want to run my farm with me?'

Let's be honest -- I probably would have said yes.

I can’t remember the next guy’s name — Paul? David? Ellis? — but our exchange was memorable enough to make my night.

I asked him a simple enough question: 'So, what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?'

He responded with a typical list: hanging out with friends, the gym. Oh, and traveling. He loved to travel. Emphasis on travel.

The most rational follow-up question to this declaration was where his favorite places were to jet off to. He responded back, in total seriousness: “Florida. I love Florida. I’ve been to all the theme parks.'

I was waiting for a follow-up, a “just kidding. I’ve been to Timbuktu, and it changed my life,” but none came. He really f*cking loved Florida.

“Have you been anywhere else besides Florida?” I asked, hoping for a way to salvage this conversation.

He looked back at me meekly. “No. Just Florida. Well, I’ve been to Jersey, if that counts.'

By the time Sheena and I left (with Ricky and Samuel hot on our trail), I was horrified.

This was dating these days? Had we come to this -- to treating matchmaking like job interviews, with the same asinine questions and even more asinine answers?

I used to make fun of the girls who turned their noses up at everyone and thought they were too good for dating. But I slowly felt myself becoming one of them.

It took a few hours for the guilt to hit me.

In making fun of the try-hard Vishnu or old-fashioned Reggie, I realized I was acting like a majorly stuck-up bitch. Many of the men I met that night were simply too busy to meet women organically, like at work or a party.

Who am I to judge? I thought. I basically live my life on dating apps, and who’s to say those are any better?

Ricky texted me the next day, all smiles and excitement. I still haven’t responded. I mean, I'm not sure I want to run off and start my farm family with him.

I think I’ll still try my luck on Tinder.

*Name has been changed.

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captainofthebrokentides · 5 years

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Briefcases and Blood Splatter Benny Colon x OC - Chapter 1: In the beginning

Hello! This is my first Benny Colon fic, I don’t think there’s enough out there for him, so I thought I’d give it a crack. This first chapter is essentially introductions to get us off the ground running, so please dont judge too harshly!! :) Thanks for reading. 1622 words

Olivia Byrne looked up at the towering mirror like building and straightened the creases out of her jeans. Her work bag felt heavier today than it had in a long time, she hadn’t worked for an independent company in a long time – she’d been getting comfy in her position with the police, let alone provided evidence to a trial analysis team. She’d heard great things about Dr Jason Bull and his team, but that didn’t make the uncomfortable swirl of nerves go away.

“Come on Liv.” She told herself encouragingly. Olivia had always been a bit shy, and the personal letter and request from Dr Bull that she attend and help them with this trial had not helped to cure her of that.

With a deep breath she put on a bright smile and entered through the main doors. A bored looking receptionist at the main desk pointed her towards an elevator and informed her she needed floor 22.

Olivia clipped her visitor’s badge to her blouse and gave herself an affirming nod. She knew she could do this.

TAC was huge. Olivia hadn’t been quite prepared for the size, or modernity of it. Every wall was glass, and people milled around, talking loudly and pointing at large monitors made up of multiple screens. She was in awe as she looked around, her palms feeling a little over warm with nerves.

“Olivia Byrne?” A sophisticated blond woman made her way over, a kind smile on her face.

“That’s me.”

The blond lady’s smile brightened, and she offered a perfectly manicured hand, “I’m Marissa, I work closely with Dr Bull. We’re really glad you were willing to help us with this case, we’ve never had to bring a forensic pathology specialist in before, it’s quite exciting really.” Her eyes sparkled kindly.

Olivia wiped her palm on her jeans quickly before shaking Marissa’s outstretched hand. “Hello, please call me Liv, I’ve never been one for formal, which is why I usually spend all my time in a lab. I’m a little nervous, but I hope I can help.” Marissa looked faintly surprised at her outburst. “And I’m babbling a lot aren’t I? I do that when I’m nervous, I’m sorry.”

Marissa chuckled lightly and shook her head. “Don’t you worry, there’s no one to be nervous of here. We’re all like a big family. I’m sure you’ll fit in while you’re with us. How was your flight?” Marissa started walking down the corridor, motioning for Olivia to follow along with her.

“Uh long, but good, thank you. It’s nice being away from London for a while.”

“I can imagine, but I’m afraid New York is no less chaos. I did like London when I visited there though, there’s something about it.” She stopped at a frosted glass door and swiped her ID card, there was a beep and the door opened an inch. “A few of our techs are setting up your lab for the case, just down the hall.”

Olivia’s eyes widened as she stared in disbelief at the petite blonde lady, “You’ve built me a lab?”

Marissa opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut off by a deep masculine tone coming from inside the room. “Of course you have a lab. We need you to do your best work while you’re here.”

Marissa bobbed her eyebrows and grinned good naturedly, as she pushed the door open and stepped aside for Olivia to enter.

Two men inhabited the room, one at a desk – he was blonde with glasses and a typical psychologist’s cardigan. Internally she smirked, this must be Dr Bull.

“I’m Dr Bull, and welcome to TAC, Miss Olivia Byrne. I’m glad you could make it. I’ve heard a lot about your work for Scotland yard. I took a look at the Parson triple murder case you worked on a couple of months ago. You’re very good at what you do.”

“Thank you, Dr Bull.”

“Bull or Jason” Bull cut her off waving his hand. Liv nodded and started again.

“Thank you, Jason.”

“You’re honoured to be given the choice, you must be good.” A deep, almost lyrical voice said from the other side of the room. Olivia turned to look at it’s owner and her heart skipped a little beat. He had perfect dark hair, olive skin that looked incredibly smooth and the darkest, most intense eyes she had ever seen. He sat in a large leather arm chair, his hands resting casually on his thighs. The expensive looking three piece suit just added to his suave charm.

Bull sighed and gestured toward the other man “Benny Colon, our in house council.”

Liv swallowed down her nerves and offered him her hand, acutely aware that she wished she’d repainted her nails. “Hello, lovely to meet you.”

He took her hand in both of his and gave her a firm handshake, his fingers giving her a reassuring squeeze. “The pleasure is mine.”

Liv couldn’t fight the dusky pink flush that threatened to burn her cheeks, and turned her face away quickly.

“So,” Bull started, regaining her attention. His eyes flicked momentarily between her and Benny, Olivia could almost see the cogs turning in his head as the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. “How much do you know about our current case? I gather it’s not reached the news in good ol’ England?”

“It hasn’t, but I sent Liv a file on the case to look over on her flight. It laid out all the details we have for her.” Marissa said, offering her one of the spare chairs in the room.

Olivia shook her head, deciding to remain standing after such a long flight. Between plane seats and the three cabs she’d had to take since she left home yesterday, she had begun to lose the feeling in her backside. “Thank you, but I feel like I’ve been sitting for a lifetime, I need to get my blood flowing again.” She did however, place her work back on the ground and crouched next to it, retrieving out the folder she had been sent. “Let’s see … rich boy turns 18, uses daddy’s money to host a big bash on board his, or daddy’s yacht. Does what teenage boys do, and has sex with a pretty girl, only problem is, the pretty girl is found strangled and washed up on the beach …”

Benny nodded his head appreciatively, and smiled at her “Well, that was concise.” Olivia couldn’t help but smile back, his dimples were one of the most attractive things she thought she’d ever seen.

“Thank you, Mr Colon”

He held his hands up and continued to smile at her reassuringly, his chocolate eyes sparkling with mirth. “Benny, please.”

“Benny” she repeated, nodding and smiling back. She held his gaze for a couple of seconds before directing her attention back to her temporary boss. “So what would you like me to do? If you have a lab I can probably run all manner of tests, I could even pull a tox screen if you feel it’s needed, my inhouse results might not be as clear cut as a designated tox lab, but I can do my best. I can test for outside or internal factors as well, judge whether anything triggered her body to shut down prior to the strangulation …” Bull just sat back, watching her with an amused look on his face, twirling his glasses around in one hand. Olivia looked back to Marissa, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marissa laughed gently and nodded, reaching out to pat her hand.

“You tend to over think when in unfamiliar situations. You speak whatever is going through your head in those moments, like you can’t control it. It’s a nervous tick. And here you are, in a new building, in a different country, surrounded by people you don’t know. Your brain is going into overdrive.” Bull analysed, looking smug.

“In other words.” Benny soothed, standing up from his chair, “You’re nervous and that’s ok. We’ll have you settled in before you know it.” He came to stand beside her and placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder blade. “I need to get down to mock court to go over the opening statement, let me show you to your lab, you can get some peace in there.” He smelled amazing, and with every subtle movement a waft of expensive came her way. Sandalwood, leather and citrus assaulted her nose.

“A good plan.” Bull also got his feet, nodding at her. “We’ve manged to secure some blood and hair samples if you could look them over for any abnormalities or anomalies.”

“Sure” Olivia smiled reassuringly, and nodded, blood and hair follicle analysis were easy, her bread and butter back home. She went to pick up her work bag, but as her fingers closed around the handle warm, soft fingers collided with hers. Benny, being the gentleman Liv could already tell he was, picked up her bag for her and gestured for her to leave the room, him following closely behind her.

Marissa watched the pair go, a contented look on her face. With a little sigh she turned to her boss who was also watching his old friend and new employee leave.

“She seems sweet. If a little nervous.”

Bull nodded and put his glasses on to look through some paperwork on his desk.

“She’ll warm up. Benny will look after her.”

“But Benny can be a bit … aloof … sometimes …”

“When have I ever given you cause not to trust me, Marissa? Believe me, she’ll have him eating from her palms in no time.” Marissa scrunched her nose up and looked at Bull. “Figuratively speaking.”

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panditshivaraj · 4 years

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malecsecretsanta · 5 years

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Merry Christmas, @forensicsisabelle!

Dear giftee!

Hope this gift will give you a smile and a giggle over the festive period! Merry Christmas! <3

Read on AO3

******

There's Something Magical About Christmas!

Chapter 1 - Christmas Eve

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surely it couldn’t be time to rise and face the day already, Magnus thinks, burrowing deeper into the furry warmth of his husband’s comfy chest, stubbornly refusing to let the light stealing through the curtains rob him of his contented bliss.

The answering purr he feels beneath his cheek makes him smile though..

“You’re turning into Chairman, Alexander,” he mumbles, scrunching his nose at the delicate licks it’s now being treated to.

Muffled giggling has Magnus cranking one bleary eye open to see it was indeed the magnificent Meow providing him with a perfect pillow, while the highly amused trio of his nearest and dearest were huddled together on the other side of the bed, laughing at his expense.

Once again, Magnus silently congratulates himself for suggesting they all wear brand new festive pyjamas every year as a Lightwood-Bane family tradition, because seeing Reindeer Rafe, Mince Pie Max and Angel Alexander had already made his Christmas as far as Mistletoe Magnus was concerned.

A grin tugging at his lips, Magnus subjects all three of them to lazy tickles, reserving a nuzzle for the unimpressed pet, who promptly vacates the bed in a huff over all the jostling noise, the void quickly filled with eager bodies scooting closer to get their morning cuddles.

“Snuggles,” declares their youngest, heaving a contented sigh when everyone’s limbs are entangled enough to barely allow any breath and his parents’ arms reach across to lock them in tight.

“How long have you three been awake?” Magnus rasps, dropping a kiss on the boys’ heads before crushing them briefly when his husband seeks one for himself.

Whispering into Rafe’s dark curls, Alec replies, “Someone forgot to turn their alarm off this morning and woke us up.” Hazel eyes peer mischievously at him through ridiculously long lashes. “Well, most of us.”

Magnus savours it, lips curling in tandem with his handsome husband’s as they patiently wait to give each other a proper kiss good morning.

“What can I say, family of mine?” he sighs, propping himself up on his elbow to see their faces better “Those of us not blessed with a Nephilim glow or the magic of youth, require all the help extra sleep can give.”

“As if,” snorts Alec, rolling his eyes in unison with their eldest, while big blue ones crinkle in delight at his papa’s silly words.

“I think you SPARKLE!” Max declares, his eager arms reaching to wrestle Magnus down for a flurry of loud, wet kisses to his face, both boys oblivious to the dopey smiles exchanged over their heads as they nestle deeper under the covers.

Hearing the mouthed words, “You’re beautiful,” because they’re voiced loud and clear on an almost daily basis by his very complimentary partner, Magnus absorbs all the affection in a languid state of happiness as he watches Alec rise to go make breakfast, asking over his shoulder what everyone wants to do today.

Everything from trips abroad to board games are discussed over the kitchen table as they wolf down Alec’s expertly-made crepes, but before they even have a chance to clear the dishes, an unwelcome security issue requiring Alec’s immediate attention threatens to breach their cheerful mood.

Rafe, proud of his dad’s position as the Head of the New York Institute and keen to take any opportunity to observe him in action, is the only one excited by the news.

“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” Rafe chirps, scrambling off the chair and running to get dressed without waiting for Alec’s permission to go with him.

With a fond shake of the head, Alec crouches next to where Max is now pouting on Magnus’ lap and takes his hand.

“I hate to leave, Max, but I’ll try and make it quick, then we’ll do whatever you boys want, ok?” Alec promises, kissing his 5-year-old’s button nose and getting rewarded with one back before going to change.

Determined to remain upbeat, Magnus suggests helping Max practice the magic trick he plans to use to impress their friends later, flicking his wrist to fill the loft with music from Max’s favourite Harry Potter film, trying and succeeding in bringing the joy back to his little one’s face.

By the time his angelic duo are ready to leave, everyone’s mood is restored, except Alec’s.

“Go do your job, Shadowhunter,” Magnus tells him between quick, chaste kisses that will have to do for now. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The lop-sided smile he receives makes the wait for their return much easier.

*********************************

Given the mutinous look on his 7-year-old’s face, Alec’s half-expecting his son to dig his heels in and refuse to leave his side while Underhill delivers his security report, but Rafe’s need to make his father proud of him overrides his annoyance at being temporarily dismissed and he trudges over to Aline without another word, letting her cajole him with offers of bo staff training and peppermint fudge until he caves with a dimpled grin.

“Thanks for offering to look after him, Aline. Appreciate it.”

A knowing smile accompanies her nod, and with a quick wave, she closes the door behind them.

“He’s a chip off the old block, you know,” says Underhill, eyes darting to the handful of papers at Alec’s elbow that Rafe had just been practicing his memos and perfecting his tricky signature on.

If it was what Rafe wanted, his son was going to head up his own institute one day, Alec was sure of it. Pride softened his voice. “Actually, I think he’s got a lot of Magnus in him too,” Alec replies, capping the embossed fountain pen Rafe had been using and twirling it in his hand. “I offered him crayons but apparently they’re not good enough for cursive writing.”

Underhill chuckles, taking a seat and opening the file. “He’s a credit to you both. Max too.”

Warmth fills Alec’s chest at those words. “Thank you. We’ve been very lucky.”

Clearing some space for them to study the data, Alec’s remembering the cleverly-timed kiss that allowed Magnus to persuade him to add some ‘yuletide joy’ to his austere surroundings, having to reign him in on the six-foot tree but unable to resist the fibre optic family-of-four snowmen sharing a rainbow scarf that stood beside a framed photo of them all.

The glamoured one secreted away in the bottom drawer of his desk, offering a digital slideshow of Magnus at his most alluring, was for his eyes only when he had to work late. That is a gift that truly keeps on giving.

A discreet cough brings him back to the present.

This time, warmth flooded Alec’s face. “Sorry. Shall we get started?”

Ever the gentleman, Underhill focuses on showing him their security status, assuring him that Keller, a specialist from the Tokyo Institute, would be a competent stand-in for himself when he took some long-overdue leave after Boxing Day.

Genuinely happy for the man who’d become a sympathetic friend over the last few years, Alec wishes Underhill good luck with his proposal plans, sure in the knowledge that Lorenzo will give him the answer he hoped for.

And equally sure they’ll be receiving an invitation, in portrait form, to the grandest wedding Spain will ever see.

Eager to retrieve his son and gather his family around him, Alec’s in the middle of locking drawers, switching off screens and filing the practice memos away for safe-keeping, when Rafe returns, sporting a megawatt smile as Aline and Helen regale Alec with how much progress the young Shadowhunter’s made with his posture and composure since he last visited.

Heart melting, Alec drops a kiss on Rafe’s head before giving him a piggyback and messages Magnus to say they’re ready to come home and need a portal, never more grateful for his favourite warlock’s pioneering ability than when it brings them all back together again.

“Will you both be on duty over Christmas?” Alec asks, once Rafe’s high-fived his chaperones goodbye.

“We are,” Helen replies, taking Aline’s hand and kissing it sweetly. “But we have each other for company while we do some heavy-duty…research.” The shared look between the girlfriends doesn’t escape Alec.

“Oh, research? Is that what we’re calling it now?” he teases as he heads for the portal that’s appeared behind him.

“We might even check the perimeter now and then,” Aline calls after him. “ I’ve heard it can be fun with the right company.”

Flipping them off behind his back, their laughter sends him home smiling and eager for a kiss from his husband.

*************************************

“Once more, my little blueberry. You’re so close, I can taste the cappuccino,” Magnus urges, heartsore about how defeated his little boy looks over the absence of lasting magic from his hands and wishing all the ley lines would converge beneath penthouse one to help Max complete his sorting spell.

The teary expression on Max’s face tells Magnus he’s not convinced he can do this.

With a soothing hand between shoulder blades stiff with tension, Magnus kneels down and cups his other one beneath both of Max’s which hold a small hill of coffee beans, and continues his encouragement. “Believe in your ability to do this, Max. Picture your magic roasting them, changing what the beans can do. Feel it in your gut and guide it to your fingertips, just like we talked about. Okay?”

Tilting his face up for a ‘positivity peck’ on the cheek, a more focused Max nods and prepares to try again, reciting the simple charm with more conviction than before.

Ready and waiting to provide a boost if needed, Magnus watches with incredible pride as the pale blue sparks don’t splutter and die, but grow stronger and brighter, rippling across the childish palms and engulfing the beans in a painless fire that ensures their new ability before clearing in a puff of white smoke.

Casting a quick reinforcement spell to preserve Max’s hard work, Magnus stores them in a sack stamped with the Hogwarts School emblem and flings his arms open for a hug, happy tears and giggles filling the room.

“Oh Max, you were wonderful!” Magnus tells him once they recover themselves, standing to swing the boy onto his hip. “Just wait until your dad and Rafe find out that you controlled your magic this time. Let alone see what we’ve done with the kitchen.”

Casting a critical eye over the lavishly-decorated roleplay cafe it had become thanks to both Max’s fertile imagination and his creative genius, Magnus has to admit he’s pleased with the results.

Shrugging his shoulders, Max is confident his father will love it. “This is fun. Dad said we could do what we wanted today.”

“He did indeed,” Magnus agrees, feeling warm and fuzzy about how, even at this tender age, Max is secure in the knowledge that his father will want to spend time having fun with him and his brother, because he loves them, and that Alec’s promises mean something.

Magnus wishes he’d known such certainty of affection growing up, been able to believe in the words spoken to him by the two men who’d held paternal roles in his life, but today was not to be spoiled with thoughts of fathers past, only enjoyed with a dearly beloved father of the present and the future. He’d found the perfect man to raise kids with.

One of many, many reasons he loves Alexander Gideon Lightwood.

“We have the stage, but not the costumes. Any thoughts?” Magnus asks, watching a slideshow of ideas come and go on Max’s face, giving it the serious consideration it deserves.

“Mmm, I want to be…..Draco. No! Dumbledore!” Bouncing with infectious excitement, Magnus needs both arms to contain his wannabe Albus, heading for the walk-in closet when a message from Alec comes through.

“Is that Dad? Are they coming back?” Max asks, crossing his fingers.

Magnus happily confirms that they are. “No time to waste,” he decides, magicking them both into costumes befitting their characters.

Max’s ecstatic smile, almost hidden by his new silvery beard, surely means Magnus chose wisely.

Activating the requested portal, they take up their positions just in time.

Gratifying gasps meet their ears when Alec and Rafe step through and spy their handiwork. Rafe takes in the bright red exterior framing the kitchen doorway as he slides to the floor, while Alec’s eyes rake over every inch of Magnus in his Lockhart finery, from his golden hair and make-up to the hem of his elaborately embroidered cape-coat.

“Papa, can I dress up too?” Rafe asks hopefully. “I want to be Ssssseverus Sssssnape!”

Dragging his eyes away from Alec’s frank appraisal, Magnus gives Rafe a thumbs up. “Certainly, ssssssunshine.” And with a flick of his wrist, Rafe becomes the head of Slytherin House.

Turning to Alec, Magnus issues a silent challenge to choose a character, lips quirking at the devilment he saw in those eyes. Watching the expressive slideshow of thoughts, an uncanny repeat of their youngest when he’s thinking, Magnus finds himself intrigued.

“How about Hag-?”

“No chance.”

“Alastor-”

“Nope.”

“Vol-”

“Don’t say his name!” exclaim the boys, pointing accusing fingers at their dad for forgetting.

Alec holds up his hands, suitably chastised, and turns a knowing smile on Magnus. “Let’s go with Sirius Black.”

“Excellent choice,” Magnus beams, all set to conjure the most raggedy and revealing prison clothes he could in the presence of the boys, when Alec spoils his fun with, “Minus the handcuffs.”

“As you wish,” he sighs, still creating a masterpiece with Alec’s velvet frock coat and fob chain, the false moustache and day-old stubble wreaking havoc with Magnus’ imagination until Max, equally resplendent in a silk robe and tasseled cap, clears his throat and lifts his arms.

“Welcome, Severus! Welcome, Sirius! This is the Elephant House coffee shop.” Pausing to check with Magnus that he’d said it correctly, Max continues. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”

Bowing, Alec replies, “We’d be honoured, Professor,” causing Max to dissolve into giggles.

Rafe, however, staying wholly in character, gives his brother a dismissive look and strides inside, much to everyone’s amusement.

But before Magnus can follow them, Alec steals a surprise kiss as busy hands roam over the flowery cravat and waistcoat Magnus is wearing. Alec uses the voice usually reserved for the bedroom. “I just want to say that all of this works for me in ways it really shouldn’t.”

Similarly undone, Magnus tugs him even closer by his lapels. “Your whiskers have the same effect as my cat eyes, Alexander. You might have a hard time finding your razor from now on.”

The slow grin he receives is pure filth.

“Good to know.”

Magnus leaves him go with a grin of his own and shoos him inside the cafe.

Based mostly on Dumbledore’s office, the transformation looks amazing, if Magnus does say so himself. Bookshelves have replaced the cupboards, an ornate desk stands in lieu of the kitchen table, portrait paintings cover the walls and a grand chandelier graces the ceiling. In pride of place is a candle-lit lectern in the shape of an owl which holds a beautifully-styled coffee menu, next to which is a big wooden, globe-shaped drinks cabinet that houses a coffee machine with four spouts, each one forged into the head-shape of the animals representing the Hogwarts houses - a lion, a badger, an eagle and a serpent.

“You’ve outdone yourself in such a short space of time, Gilderoy,” Alec declares, taking in all the little details.

“‘Spooky how the time flies when one’s having fun,’” quotes Magnus, preening like a peacock at how thrilled everyone is with his efforts. “Care to take a taste test with our newly-qualified warlock-in-residence? Or am I spilling the beans too early, Max?”

Alec and Rafe turn to look expectantly at Max, who’s bubbling over with his need to share his news.

“I made magic coffee beans ALL BY MYSELF!“ he cries, quickly disappearing beneath a two-fold attack of bear hugs and congratulations that has Magnus joining in.

“What do I have to do to sample these special beans?” asks Alec, radiating with pride at his son’s first magical triumph.

“Sit and we’ll show you,” answers Max, fetching the sack of beans and opening it so his dad and brother could take one each, leaving his papa to explain the rest.

“These beans have been magically roasted by my good friend, Dumbledore, so that they’ll tell us which type of coffee you’ll enjoy drinking the most, based on the colour it leaves on your tongue when you chew it. Temporarily, of course.” Elegant hands draw their attention to each of the available beverages on the menu and their corresponding colour.

“Scarlet for a Grounded Gryffindor, yellow for a Hot Hufflepuff, blue for a Rich Ravenclaw and green for a Smooth Slytherin.”

“I love that,” Rafe chuckles.

“It’s actually really sweet,” Alec agrees, winking at a proud-as-punch Max.

“Now you can eat the bean,“ announces Magnus. “It tastes of Lucky Charms because Max wanted Rafe to like the taste.”

“Nice one,” Rafe says, high-fiving his little brother before popping the bean into his mouth. Alec followed suit.

When they reveal their matching green tongues, Rafe takes it to mean he’s definitely following in his father’s successful footsteps and glows as Max puts a goblet under the snake’s spout and pulls the spoon-shaped handle for the coffee to pour.

“Remember to put extra milk in Rafe’s goblet please, Max,” says Magnus, smirking at the eye roll this earns him from his offended son.

Moaning with pleasure over how satisfying his coffee tastes, Alec sets down his cup and draws them all in for a group hug.

“Gentlemen, you’ve just given me the perfect blend of family, fun and fantasy that I could ever hope to enjoy. Thank you.”

Forgiving his husband the terrible pun, Magnus knows he couldn’t agree more.

Chapter 2 - Christmas Day

***************************

“I think our presents were a success, Alexander. Would you agree?” asks Magnus as they attempt a waltz around the loft, but Alec’s trying to focus on avoiding all the trip hazards that litter the floor, such as Persian rugs, Chairman, randomly tossed cushions and the odd discarded toy.

“Uh, yeah. They seemed over the moon with them,” he smiles. Mostly, it’s relief at having just negotiated the coffee table without incident, but there’s also the memory of how elated the boys had been, despite the early hour.

Having arranged for their friends to visit them for a late breakfast, he and Magnus had decided to let the boys dive straight into opening their gifts after being rudely woken up with their ear-splitting cries of, ”Merry Christmas,” and clambered over by their reckless limbs. There’d been many to get through but, as always, their own special ones had been revealed in an unconventional way, as befitting his unconventional husband.

Already overjoyed with all the smaller items they’d been lucky enough to receive from their parents, the boys had been watching the film, Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, a tradition they’d adopted ever since Max had discovered the scene where Violet Beauregarde turned into a giant blueberry, when Magnus had reminded them that their festive stockings hadn’t been emptied yet.

Suspicious but eager to seek out more possible rewards, both had taken the Wonka chocolate bars inside to be exactly that, until they’d removed the wrapping and discovered the golden tickets with news of their bespoke gifts written on them.

Private singing and dancing lessons for Rafe and a prominent pirate role in an upcoming blockbuster movie for Max, both courtesy of Magnus’ close personal friends, Beyonce and Baz.

Chairman was still recovering from the screams that had rocked the entire apartment, hence why he was nowhere to be seen now, despite the number of familiar faces that were here this afternoon. Though the volume in here could have something to do with it too.

In honour of one of their generous donors, the Moulin Rouge! soundtrack had been selected as something they could all dance to, and glancing around him, Alec thinks it’s an inspired choice. How else would he be able to bask in the timeless fun of seeing Simon lip-sync a love medley to his adoring boyfriend, with Raphael’s heart eyes in full effect whenever it’s his turn to join in, with gusto. Probably for her own protection, Madzie was out on the balcony learning how to cha-cha with Catarina, while Ragnor’s frequent offers to teach them the gavotte or the jive fell on purposely-deaf ears.

And then there was their precious sons, too busy eating the last of the penguin-shaped pretzels Catarina had brought to take an active part in the chaos, but cheering loudly from the sidelines in between bites.

Alec’s sigh is filled with bone-deep contentment. One Magnus recognises instantly, dipping him into a martini-flavoured kiss Alec never wants to end.

Alas, someone has other ideas.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake man, put him down. You still have guests, you know?” Ragnor chides as he passes by on the way to Magnus’ apothecary, port in one hand and shortbread in the other, having clearly taken the hint that his skills weren’t currently required.

“You’re just sour that I christened you after the Hufflepuff ghost on account of your tongue. ‘The Fat Friar’ actually suits you,” Magnus shoots back with a pointed look at Ragnor’s stash, claiming another kiss out of spite before restoring Alec to an upright position.

Far too soon, for Alec’s liking.

“At least you weren’t ‘The Bloody Baron,’ that was way too convenient, if you ask me,” Raphael chimes in, letting slip a private smirk when Simon questions the accuracy of having been dubbed ‘Nearly Headless Nick.’ “Close enough,” he replies, utterly deadpan.

“Well, I still think Tessa should’ve been here to claim the title of ‘The Grey Lady’ but I’ll take it with grace,” Catarina says, a breathless Madzie on her hip as she rejoins them from outside.

“On that ridiculous note, I will take my leave, and my surplus-to-requirement dancing skills, to the den next door, in peaceful tribute to the fantastical badger aligned to my Hufflepuff House,” declares Ragnor, taking three steps before jabbing a finger in Magnus and Alec’s direction. “And you, my boys, better not disturb me with your caterwauling when the final song comes on.”

“The Hogwarts School motto is ‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon,’ my dear cabbage, so you’re quite safe,” Magnus counters, laser-quick, to a chorus of giggles and a solitary, unamused groan. “My work here is done,” his wicked husband chuckles, before declaring everyone needs refreshments ahead of the grand finale.

Watching him go, Alec thinks about how he’d never wanted to celebrate Christmas growing up in the stale environment of the Institute, but as with so many things, Alec had only known what he wanted since Magnus Bane had come along. The best gift Alec could’ve asked for.

***********************************

Sipping his cranberry margarita in the doorway of the balcony, Magnus takes a much-needed timeout from his duties as co-host for the evening and surveys the scene before him.

Thanks to everyone’s high spirits and all the party debris they’re accumulating, the loft is an absolute mess. Yet to Magnus, it’s never looked more perfect a home than it does in this moment.

Against a colourful backdrop of Christmas lights and mirror balls, family and friends are strewn across couches, rugs and cushions in varying states of sobriety, each one enjoying the company of those around them and managing to drown out the muted background music with their lively chatter and carefree laughter.

The now-familiar feeling of being home that Alec’s always given him, is only strengthened by the bonds that have been forged between their families, both biological and chosen.

A sigh escapes him as he imagines how different his life might have been had his mother lived, but there’s no other universe in which he sees himself being happier than he is here, with Alec and their sons. So he raises his glass in a silent toast to the mother whose loss he still feels to this day, and rejoins the party with a genuine smile for some of those people he’s happy to have found.

He’s barely taken two steps before an excitable Max is summoning him across the room to where Clary’s impressive face-painting skills are transforming his son into Frosty the Snowman, his beautiful horns, only unglamoured in the presence of those he trusts, just like his blue skin, have been turned into carrots and his blue hair is a riot of glitter and snowflakes. Conjuring a cashmere scarf to complete the look, Magnus takes a photo before messy hands have a chance to undo all the hard work.

“Just when I think you couldn’t look any cooler,“ Magnus quips, smitten with the groan and eye-roll combo that meets his embarrassing ‘dad’ joke. He still gets his cuddle though. “I think you both deserve a snow cone. Agreed?”

“Absolutely!” Clary chimes in. “But maybe make mine a little more Black Russian than blackcurrant, please?”

“Your wish is my command, biscuit,” Magnus replies, sweeping a bow as he delivers their rewards with a finger snap and giving them both a paternal pat on the head, moving on swiftly at Clary’s glare.

He spies Luke barely managing to hide his mirth over yet another argument between those notoriously fiery lovebirds known as Maia and Jace, unaware he now embodies the ‘jolly old elf’ on his gloriously ugly Christmas sweater, and decides to find out why.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks his friend, from a safe distance away. Then he overhears his hapless brother-in-law misquote Dickens’ famous introduction to A Tale of Two Cities in a bid to prove he knows his Shakespeare, and Magnus thinks he already knows the answer.

“Oh dear.”

“Yep, it’s that bad,” Luke confirms, shoulders shaking with the effort it’s costing him not to burst out laughing. “Nine months in and the boy still hasn’t learned there’s nothing that riles our well-read warrior more than the desecration of her favourite classics.”

“And compounding it by confusing the writers?” Magnus shudders. “I always knew his self-preservation skills were minimal, but she’ll tear him to shreds if he keeps this up.”

Luke swigs his beer and slaps a paw on Magnus’ shoulder. “Fifty says he’s sleeping on your couch tonight.”

“A hundred says he isn’t.”

“Deal.”

Parting on a fist bump, Magnus winks at his admiring husband in passing and locates Isabelle in the newly-restored kitchen. Unsupervised.

Worse still, she’s engrossed in that cookbook from Idris that Robert gifted her years ago, but when she begins her feverish search for ingredients, that’s when fear grips him, thanks to a deeply unpleasant memory.

Throwing back his cocktail, Magnus knows he has to try and stop her before someone gets hurt.

“Isabelle, my dear, care to help me devour the last cream cheese bagel from Sadelle’s before Alexander gets his hands on that thing?”

She hits him in his weak spot with those luminous Lightwood eyes and devastating smile, and before she’s even finished her sweetly-worded request for permission to cook, he’s giving her carte blanche to potentially poison them all.

Oh well, he tried.

Spinning on his heels, Magnus initiates plan B, first seeking out Clary to deploy her best distraction tactics on her girlfriend and secondly, heading for his apothecary to prepare the potent werewolf fangs they’ll all need to consume.

Glimpsing a terrified Jace as he emerges from the kitchen, Magnus cuts him off with, “I’m on it,” to which Jace nods in relief.

Minutes later, he’s just bottling the preventive potion when Alec steps inside and closes the door with a look of intent that holds more danger than anything his sister’s cooking could.

“Finally,” Alec whispers, grabbing Magnus to him by his waist and crushing his mouth like a starved man finding a meal.

Magnus allows himself a few minutes of mind-blowing kisses and handsy exploration, then detaches himself reluctantly to explain his need for haste in delivering the elixir to their guests, but Alec simply shrugs and pulls him back in for more.

Both freeze mid-action when an apologetic Jace, hands raised to protect his eyes from any scenes of near-nudity, grabs the bottle and leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Damn it,” Alec groans, both taking a steadying breath as they restore their clothes to a reasonable state of tidiness, rejoining the party after one last chaste kiss.

After dosing themselves up and with new drinks in hand, Magnus settles within Alec’s embrace to watch Rafe and Maryse sing the Spanish lullabies Alec’s been teaching their son from his childhood, When Luke joins his wife to lend his voice, it draws everyone else into the impromptu concert.

Magnus closes his eyes to savour his husband’s soft baritone and burrows deeper into his arms, grateful beyond measure for the loved ones that make his life this beautiful.

***********************************

“I don’t want to disturb them,” Alec admits as they lie sprawled and overlapping on opposite ends of the too-comfy couch, their sons’ adorable snores the only sound to break the well-earned peace they’re finally able to enjoy.

Magnus sighs, running gentle fingers through Rafe’s hair as he watches Alec nuzzle Max’s, both children curled into their chests with half their face-paint still on. “I don’t either, but we’ll all be sorry if we wake-up with stiff necks and headaches.”

Reluctantly, they gather up their sons, few protests made as they’re carried to their beds, where Magnus’ magic wipes their faces clean and dresses them in their festive pyjamas. Feather light kisses and moon-shaped night-lights, don’t disturb them.

Grateful for the day they’ve had, but more than ready for this time alone together, the husbands hold hands and head for their room, exchanging ‘love you’s’ and sharing kisses until they’re both sated and asleep.

And neither could wish for a more perfect way to wrap up Christmas than that.

#forensicsisabelle #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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