#but it also came with a sense of dread (many times empty worlds or muted colors that just looked sad like that one 3d pigeon game)

[basslinegrave]

can we go back?

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

“Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely”

Character parallels between Stiles and Peter that prove how power corrupts character (also, why it would make sense if Derek was the main character).

I’ve seen this post going around a lot lately and I love the parallels between the two characters, but then I realised that as similar as Stiles and Peter are, they are also drastically different.

 1 - 

They both have the same determination when held at gunpoint, but Peter faces it with anger in his eyes, and again without a care in the world when Sheriff Stilinski aims his gun at Peter after killing the Mute, and Peter just walks away. Peter feels unstoppbale, like his powers mean he’s untouchable.

Stiles, however, faces the Chemist and is held at gunpoint becasue he refuses to tell him where his friends are. He is well aware of his mortality, but is willing to die in order to protect his friends.

 2 - 

Despite threatening the same thing, the difference is Stiles would never go through with it; Peter would.

Stiles is talking about torturing the Surgeon (one of the Dread Doctors), and despite wanting revenge for what the Dread Doctors have done to the people he knew and a lot more people he didn’t know, he wouldn’t actually go through with it; it’s just an empty suggestion that he puts out there to vent it.

Peter, however, is talking about torturing Jenifer (the Durach), and has every intention of following through with his threat.

 3 - 

Whiles both can be a bit overly dramatic when they’re frustrated, the difference lies in where their frustration is. Peter gets mad at people, Stiles gets mad at inanimate objects (in this case a printer). Another example is when everything came to a head in season 5; Stiles was overwhelmed with everything that had happened and he couldn’t tell anyone, but he didn’t take his anger out on anyone, he took it out on an inanimate object--his Jeep--becasue he would never intentionally hurt anyone.

Despite how many times Stiles has been frustrated with his friends (especially Scott), it’s very rare that he ever gets angry at them.

 4 - 

In this case, both of them are helplessly reaching for the thing they care about most. Stiles is unable to move and desperately reaching for his father--the last piece of family he has, and the person he cares about most in the world. Peter’s reaching for his family wealth. You can see the desperation in his face, the tears as he realises he’s helpless; he’s terrified of losing his dad and there’s nothing he can do.

Peter, however, is reaching for the Hale family fortune. You could argue that it’s way of holding on to his family, but in the scenes that follow, he does nothing but complain about being without money. He prioritises his wealth over his family, while Derek is outside the vault fighting Berserkers.

 5 - 

The difference here is Peter’s trying to convince the others that he’s okay and that they can trust him, whereas Stiles is trying to convince himself. Being possessed by the Nogitsune really took it’s toll on Stiles and when asked what he is now, he hesitates for a moment and his voice is quieter when he answers, “Better.” as if he is unsure of it.

 6 - 

While both are gentlemanly gestures, they have seriously different motives. Peter is trying to win over Melissa and use his relationship with her as leverage over Scott to convince him to join his pack. Stiles, however, is being sincere to Lydia. He just stood by and watches as Jackson verbally attacked her and has been with her every other time that Jackson has abused her, and wants to walk her into the dance like the queen she is--no ulterior motives.

[GIFs by prettiestcaptain]

Despite the parallels, the motives behind the characters and the delivery of lines are so drastically different. Stiles is still human, and he’s a devoted friend who wants to protect the people he cares about, and is scared of the shadows in his mind. Peter was corrupted by his power: ever since the fire, he’s been power-hungry, selfish, aggressive--and even more so after he killed Laura to become the alpha.

The only time Stiles began to act like Peter is when he’s possessed by the Nogitsune and corrupted by it’s power.

And it all comes back to Stiles’ line: “I don’t want to be like you.” (s1 ep12).

So, why would Derek make a better protagonist? Because Peter and Stiles are the two most prominent people in his life after Laura’s death, and they stand as the examples of what Derek is - Stiles: a good man, devoted friend, and a little bit sassy - and what he could have been - Peter: power-hungry, selfish, destructive. For a while, Derek began to follow in Peter’s footsteps, when he began an alpha, 

But later learnt he could be a better alpha and a better person if he stopped trying to gain power.

(It kind of makes sense for Scott to be the main character too since it shows the divide between his human side and his werewolf side--but then they brought in that ‘true alpha’ shit and threw it all out the window)

[fancyharry]

third time’s a charm

hello! this is a little prequel to my niall series “Mother’s Day”, which you can read here!

I am planning to write some more about this little universe, and would love to hear feedback and some more concepts that you come up with! i’m so glad I felt mentally better to finish a piece of work and I'm so excited to share this little world with you all :) Enjoy!!

word count: 3k

trigger warning: miscarriage, grief, loss.

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

The warmth of the mild June morning seeps through your skin as you stretch out in bed. You have plenty of room, given that it’s gone eleven o’clock and so your husband will already be halfway around the local golf course with his mates from the pub. He has pulled back the curtains already, knowing how fond you are of waking up in a warm glow with the sun beaming down on you. Sitting up, you smile, gazing out of the nearby window to the somewhat never-ending countryside, seeing grassy hills, lochs, and farms in the not-so-distant landscape.

The peace of the surrounding nature was just one of the reasons you love living here - another being the freedom to do as you liked, as you and Niall are simply locals and nothing more to the people in this little village you now call home. You purchased the house 3 years ago and now, fully decorated, there’s no place you’d rather live with Niall in the whole world. 

Usually, you’d be able to relax, or tidy the kitchen from the night before, perhaps even sit outside to soak up some of the glorious sun. But no. Today, circled on the calendar in a bright red ink it is noted that you have a doctors appointment. Meaning that you have to leave your cosy little haven and discuss your health. Something, as of late, you’ve been keeping an eye on. 

While this was just a regular three month check up, you know that the words which still weigh you down so heavily, are bound to be mentioned - loss, grief, miscarriage. Even the soft and caring “so how are you doing?” was going to be tough to get through. Despite your recent troubles, your doctor has remained good natured and kind during your appointments. She respects you and your situation, and has been of great assistance medically and emotionally in the past year or so. You don’t mind the company, but rather dread the conversation awaiting you.

                                                            oOo

You head out the door after making minimal effort to look better than you did earlier. What need was there to get dressed up when were just going to go to the doctors, come home, and cry? As per usual. You would laugh at the routine you’d accidentally twisted yourself into, but it’s hardly a laughing matter when your husband has to console you for the rest of the week.

Your appointment is 12.30 sharp, and you’re ten minutes early, focusing on the list you’d written in haste a few days prior which had been stuffed into your jacket pocket. It was easier to bring up your list of concerns to the doctor, if it meant you didn’t have to talk about them. This month? Feeling faint, headaches, little energy, irregular periods. All part of the grieving process, maybe.

Maybe not.

“Y/N Horan?” you hear your name called, and tuck the list away back into your pocket before standing, smiling briefly as you follow the doctor through to her office.

“Hi there Y/N...no Niall today?”

“No he...he’s out this morning. He doesn’t know, doesn’t like to check the calendar any more than once or twice a month so...it’s just me” you admit. You didn’t need Niall cancelling his plans and getting uptight and worried about you. It’s better this way, you reckon.

“Well then, it’s your appointment and this of course is all confidential. I hope he is still being supportive?” She speaks calmly, but with a hint of speculation in her tone.

“Yes! Absolutely. He’s great. Just wanted to do this myself. He had plans this morning and I’ve been doing better so...” you tail off, wondering how on earth you will handle this when you return home. You halt that thought with a quick smile directed at the woman sitting opposite you at her desk. “Yeah. He’s the best.”

And he is. Through the last year he’s been nothing but heaven-sent. Holding you close, making sure you rest, eat, and get out of bed on those days that just seemed too hard. You know how much he has suffered too and yet he’d been your rock.

You know that he’s cried at night while he thinks you’re asleep.

Losing one child in the early stages of pregnancy had been bad enough. You’d taken so many tests which had turned out negative, until one finally stated “positive” and “3 weeks”. You only carried that baby for two more weeks before you lost them. You’d cried, he had cried, you took a break from trying, praying that you would heal together and that next time you’d be luckier.

And barely 5 months later you fell pregnant again. You’d thought you were out in the clear at 7 weeks, getting ready to start telling your closest family and friends. 

However, instead of calling people to tell them the good news, an ambulance was called, and your bloodied bedsheets were thrown out. In the space of 6 months you’d lost two babies. Two tiny baby Horan’s, who you had promised to give the world to. Both ripped from you in some sick twist of fate. 

It wasn’t fair.

“Well good!” Your doctor chirps, dragging your from your thoughts. “I’m glad. It seems you have a great support system at home. Now, are there any queries you-”

“Yes!” you blurt out, before cringing at your own eagerness. You fumble with your list before handing it over. She reads it, taking her time to smooth out the crinkled paper and thinking over every possible symptom and diagnosis she can make from what you’ve written. For you, the silence in the room is deafening.

“Okay...so from this, there’s a couple of tests i’d like to run...would that be alright? I could always schedule you in for another t-”

You stop her again in her tracks. “Now is good. Whatever needs done, I can do it now.”

                                                           oOo

You take 3 different types of tests, each taking only a few minutes to register results. The thought that whatever is wrong with you is so tangible and potentially serious that your doctor asks for you to take three tests right then and there, is doing nothing for your nerves. You’re sitting alone in the office as the doctor prints through the results, and you wish - for the first time since you first sat in the waiting room - that you’d at least told Niall. And just maybe, that you’d brought him here, too. He always knew how to make you feel better, safe, and calm, even if he was facing the same outcome.

Your thoughts are interrupted as your doctor walks into the room - luckily with a smile.

“Well, one positive result came up for you”

Your heart just about stops with her news. Positive? A diagnosis about something today? Right now? 

Without Niall?

“Oh”, is all you can muster up the courage to say “oh, right”.

“Well I know we spoke earlier and you gave me that list to look through...I thought one of the samples you gave could be used for a pregnancy test.”

Okay, now you really needed Niall here.

The doctor evaluates your reaction and pauses. She shuffles her chair closer and smiles, a true genuine smile. It almost makes you feel better.

“Y/N, you said something about having irregular periods, a couple of near-fainting spells...I wanted to double check just to rule it out but the pregnancy test...it came back positive. I believe that you've just been spotting a little, and you’re not getting the right vitamins you need.”

After hearing the word “positive” you’ve gone blank. You don’t hear much else. It’s the third time you’ve heard this news, yet you’re childless. You swallow back a mix of saliva and bile as it rises in your throat.

“it says you’re between 7 and 8 weeks. I think it’s important we discuss this.”

                                                           oOo

Heading home, you clutch the steering wheel, trying to ignore the small pile of paper on the passenger seat in your peripheral vision. Pregnant. Well, you hadn't seen that coming. And your husband definitely won’t either. Your mind is between driving, and wondering how on earth you’ll do this, how you’ll prepare, how you’ll even go about telling Niall because you know the moment you see his face, you’ll break.

It’s a long 15 minutes home. The radio is muted, while the country landscape provides some form of comfort blanket as you worry through each scenario racing through your mind. It’s only 2pm, but you just want to go to bed and sleep away the fogginess of whatever hallucination you're living in. Dream it away and wake up to clearer skies and a sense of understanding.

You roll up the driveway, right next to Niall’s land-rover. You remember when he bought it, not even needing much of the car salesman’s persuasion; “it’s perfect for rural areas, plus big enough to take up to 7 people. Can also fit in any size of child carrier, which we also stock.”

Niall was sold, and at the time, so were you. Now you just see the car and its emptiness. Even if you filled the back seats with shopping or luggage, there was only just the two of you travelling. Well, maybe three now.

                                                          oOo

Stepping into the house, you can’t help but already feel your eyes start to brim with tears. Your favourite candle is burning, and you can faintly hear music from down the hallway, coming from Niall’s home studio. You didn’t even mind that it was only 70% soundproof - his talent was unfathomable and you enjoyed listening to him create music as if he was pulling the melodies and chords straight from the sun and stars above.

You shuffle your shoes off, heading over to the studio just to be near him for a moment - just before you fully break. You want to remember him like this; not knowing. Not worrying.

He has headphones on and is scribbling words and chord progressions down. Whether it comes to fruition or not, he thrives on the process. He bashes out a few more chords while you go to take off your coat and move away from the door, when he looks up through a sliver of the window in the door.

He’s surprised, to say the least. Of course, given that he hadn't seen you all day, he’s delighted that he’s finally able to embrace you and spend the rest of his day with his favourite person.

Niall had in fact, been a bit worried when he arrived home to see that you had left in the car. Nevertheless, he decided that spending time in the studio would ease his mind. He’d also been entertaining the possibility of having a pet, a new life inhabiting the beautiful 4 bedroom home you lived in. A puppy, he was thinking - or a kitten if it’s what you’d want instead. He just wants you to be happy, knowing that your true purpose in life is to care for others. It hurts him that you’re barely managing to care for yourself, and that he hasn't been able to give you a child, a little love created by the two of you. 

“There’s m’lover, where ya been?” he opens the door and steps out just in joggers and a casual t-shirt. His eyes are pure sunshine, his embrace warm, open, and loving, until he sees you’re trying to hold back tears. In an instant, his eyebrows furrow as his face deepens with worry. His embrace is softer, kinder, now afraid that one wrong word and he’ll have lost you for the rest of the day. 

Tentatively, he whispers, stepping much closer to you.

“...What’s happened? hey c'mere”

You can only shake your head silently as the overwhelming mixed emotions build up, and so he pulls you in even closer, hoping that it will make things even a little bit better. You can’t be in his arms for long though, and he realises as you weaken against him. The sofa in the studio is already pulled out and he makes sure you're stable enough to sit you there, before kneeling before you.

“you need to sit, Ni. Please, for me.” And this time it’s not just for the sake of his bad knee.

So he sits, taking your hand to hold, rubbing your thumb with his as he faces you waiting for you to stop nervously biting your lip. 

“Baby c’mon, you’re scarin’ me...” Niall prompts you, his own voice shaking now as you both wait for you to get your words out properly.

“I was at the doctors Ni...I, somehow I, I know we weren’t trying but....I’m pregnant” 

Your breath is now held, time ticking by so slowly it feels, as you sit there waiting for his reaction. The wind had most certainly been knocked out of you when you were told. The terrifying prospect of having another chance after the trauma of losing two in just a few months prior, is extremely daunting, and causes for a true silence to be better able to come to terms with the news.

“And i’m scared, we stopped trying because we can’t lose another one...not again.” Your voice breaks as you finally let the tears fall. 

The whole time, he’s been frozen still, his mouth parted slightly and blinking every few moments when another stream of information floods his brain with possibilities - both positive and negative. He can’t quite believe it, all this news coming to him at once leaves him utterly speechless. He’s surprised, not only that you went to the doctors office alone, but that you’re expecting his baby, too. 

He finally breaks the dam of deafening silence as he sees you cry. Your words had previously been muffled in his head ever since you had said “pregnant” when his mind began racing a mile a minute. But now you’re in front of him, crying, and scared of losing yet another baby, something that has broken you twice before, back when he world felt against the two of you and when soft touches and intimacy were coated with what-ifs, and an unmistakeable tension between the two of you.

You weren't sure you could face that for a third time.

“Darlin’, oh darlin’ it’ll be okay...” he comforts you, immediately by your side and holding you close “Did the doctor say the baby was healthy?” 

Seeing you nod through your tears was enough for him, his face lighting up as you confirm that you’re growing a healthy baby.

“Yeah?” he smiles softly “Please don’t cry. I can’t see ya like this. Can’t see the mother of m’child like this...we’re gonna be parents” and in his wonderful charming way, he’s finally able to get a small smile from you. He squeezes you and kisses your temple as he sees this. “This is gonna be it, I can feel it. We deserve this. S’gonna be alright this time. M’gonna look after ya.”

“But what if it’s not alright again Ni..I can’t lose a third...I can’t put us through that again...what if I can’t carry a baby full term and I only ever get to be 8 weeks along! I-” You burst out, confirming Niall’s thoughts that the pressure of a healthy pregnancy was weighing you down already, your past already threatening you with the worst before you even get to envision the best. He’s about to console you further, explaining that you’re just early, you can take it slow, and he’ll be there for you regardless, as he promised when he married you all those years ago.

It’s not until you say 8 weeks, that he halts his words before he’s even begun, and his mouth falls open in surprise.

“8 weeks...8?! Already?! You’ve definitely had a drink or two love, and we’re not exactly tame in the bedroom...’v’never made it this far before...does it not make ya think....that this one is already so strong?” Niall reasons with you, tenderly. Your tears have run down your cheeks and your face remains red and slightly puffy but for now, you’ve stopped crying, considering his words carefully.

“Yeah i guess..it’s just terrifying Ni, I can’t-” you start off strong, but continue your thoughts with your head bowed in shame, whispering “it’s like I’m scared to love them...’

He shushes you, heartbroken that you feel even the tiniest bit of doubt that this time, it won’t happen. That this is just another set up for a certain loss. He kisses your temple, his arm wrapped around your waist protectively.

“Whatever happens, we have each other. we’ll do what we have to do. But ya gotta know that i’m gonna start loving on this baby from this very moment, ‘cause i know we’ve got a little fighter in there.”

And he means it. He intends to keep that spark of hope alive for the both of you until you feel like perhaps there is a happy ending, and that the third time is the charm after all. He takes you upstairs after he’s able to lift your spirits, the studio soon filled with soft laughter and so much love. When you go to order some dinner, he absolutely insists on you making an appointment to see the baby. 

He’s with you through all of your fears as you candidly discuss them together that evening. It’s something that your doctor had recommended, and it means that you’re both on the same page. He can soothe your worries, and you get to tell him everything you know about the baby. It makes it much more real and far less scary when you look at things together. 

                                                          oOo

You head to bed together that night. He’s soothed almost every little worry you have for hours and in turn, he’s now an expert on the tiny little love inside you. 

“Gonna get ya some vitamins tomorrow. Gotta keep ya strength up for this little lover” Niall whispers in the darkness of the bedroom. 

“Little lover is a cute nickname,” you muster up the courage to hope and dream, “we can write that on their crib, too.’

Niall grins.

The curtains are shut as you both lay there, talking about all the possibilities you have now as three. He’s pressed against you in the middle of the bed, his hand with his wedding ring on your barely-there belly. You feel safe, comfortable, and most surprisingly of all, excited. The love between you and Niall in this very moment is tangible and deeper than you could’ve ever imagined. 

You may be in the same room as you woke up anxious and alone in that morning, but here, now, in that very place, you realise that home is a person, not a place.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Five

Chapter: 5/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings:  This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

Previous

CHAPTER FIVE

  Rosemary couldn’t remember the journey home, though she knew she had to have gotten there somehow. She could remember walking out of his house and the click of the gate behind her; it was a sound she didn’t think she would soon forget, loud and final in the cold winter air. The next thing she could clearly recall was pushing open the door to her flat then shutting it firmly behind her. But not matter how she tried she had no recollection of anything in between.

 Her mind was overcome with an agonizing dread at the realization that she had finally succeeded in pushing him away. She’d been angry with him, so ridiculously angry. It had surprised her just how deep that anger had gone. She had been so certain she had worked through it, had moved past it. And maybe she had, but then he had come back and her stupid, weak, hopeful heart had let him in without her express knowledge or consent. And he’d fallen right back into the patterns that had crushed her. She’d been so angry at him and so disappointed and furious in herself for trusting him again. So she’d lashed out and hurt them both in ways she didn’t know could ever truly be forgiven.

 Outraged with herself, she blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill over. This mess was ultimately her fault, what right did she have to cry over it? But knowing that did little to make a difference. The tears still came and rather than keep fighting them, she simply gave in.

 It was nearly full dark by the time she had calmed. The faint glow from the street lamps shining in through the living room window had been her only source of light in the flat. She fumbled feebly for the lamp beside the couch. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the soft, bright light. She felt drained, both emotionally and physically. Her limbs felt heavy and her head pounded. She wanted to sleep and to forget.

 With great effort, she forced herself to her feet and into the kitchen, downing two bottles of water before pulling a take-away container from the fridge. She sniffed the contents and reassured nothing smelled off, mechanically ate. Full, she went through the motions of her bedtime routine; cleaning her teeth and scrubbing her face, before collapsing onto the bed and falling into fretful, restless dreams.

 If she’d harbored any illusion about the previous days’ events being anything more than a horrid nightmare they’d been dispelled by first light. The guilt, muted in sleep, roared to life with a vengeance as memory crept slowly back into awareness. Rosemary covered her face with her pillow and cried, not quite sure what else to do. She wanted to apologize, wanted to make it right. But that wasn’t an option, not anymore.

 It was early yet, not quite six in the morning according to her bedside clock. She rubbed her swollen eyes and sighed, there seemed to be little hope of her falling back asleep. Resigned, she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled into the shower. Water turned as hot as she could stand, Rosemary climbed inside and groaned. Her shoulders were stiff and her head ached, she wanted nothing more than to disappear into herself. But that wasn’t an option, she couldn’t fix this and she couldn’t take it back. There was nothing she could do. The thought choked her. Shaking those thoughts away she reached down and grabbed her bottle of shampoo. Stop it, just fucking stop. Crying wasn’t going to fix anything. But that didn’t seem to stop the tears.

 Once she was clean, she dried and dressed quickly, making her way into the kitchen and fixing a cup of instant coffee. She grimaced as she drank. She hated instant but it was all she currently had and she desperately needed the caffeine. Cup in hand, she made her way into the living room and turned on the television, hoping for a distraction.

 The third time through the channels, she gave up, throwing the remote back onto the table. Her mind was jumbled, running through everything that had happened in the past 36 hours and everything she wished she had done differently. She wanted to scream; she couldn��t focus, couldn’t think. She knew if she stayed in her flat a moment longer she’d drive herself mad. I have to get out of here.

 Keys in hand, she locked the front door and headed towards the Underground station. The carriage was crowded with morning commuters, each locked in their own world. She paid them little mind, counting the number of stops until her own.

 The shop was empty when she arrived; Hanna wasn’t due for another hour and a half and Max and Alex twenty minutes after. Perfect. She locked the door firmly behind her and headed towards the back office. If she could lose herself in the work, maybe just maybe, she could work through this.

                                                         ___

  “Remind me again why you dragged me out for lunch?”

 Rosemary sat straight backed in the wooden chair, arms crossed at her chest, staring pointedly at the woman sitting across from her. She ignored the bustle of the street outside that carried in through the thin glass wall beside them, focusing instead at Jules and wishing she was, somewhere, anywhere, else. She was anxious to get back to the store, where a fair stack of receipts and forms was waiting for her. Anxious to be doing something that she could lose herself in.

 Jules laughed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her water. “Because Hanna called and all but begged me to drag you out of there.”

 Rosemary’s glare darkened. “Nice.” She fought to contain the steady rise of irritation and anger that coursed through her.

 “Seriously, she did.” The smile fell from Jules’ face. She leaned forward and rested her arms in the table. “She said you’ve been there every day, open to close, for the last week. You’ve been breathing down her neck, getting snarky with Max and Alex…Rose, honey, what’s going on?”

 “Nothing. I’m fine.” She dropped her gaze from Jules’ face and forced herself to focus on the menu before her.  The words made little sense with the way her mind ricocheted from thought to thought. But she pulled a valiant effort nonetheless.

 “Yeah, I’m not buying that.” Jules reached out and placed her hand on top of Rosemary’s, squeezing it gently. “Talk to me, Rose. Please.”

 Rosemary snorted in derision, pushing her menu to the side and raising her eyes to shoot a quick glare at her friend. “Yeah, because that worked so well last time.”

 Jules blinked rapidly in confusion. “What?”

 The flood of anger that rushed through her was irrational, Rosemary knew that. But it didn’t make it any less real. She also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t her friend she was truly angry with. Yes, it had been Jules’ stupid, drunken idea but Rosemary had been the one to follow through. This was her fault, all of it. She pulled her hand from beneath Jules’ and ran it through her hair, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

 She shook her head at Jules. “Nothing…Just…never mind.” She took another deep breath. “It’s not anything that you need to worry about. I just…It’s been a rough week and I’m tired.”  

 Please drop it.

 Jules studied Rosemary’s face skeptically, her head cocked slightly to one side. Rosemary fought a grimace, knowing that Jules wouldn’t drop the issue. Not when she scented blood. True, she may let it fall to the wayside for a time, but without fail, she would bring it up once more. And usually when the person in question least expected it. And Jules had known Rosemary far too long to simply take her at her word.

 “You’re a shit liar, Rose, you know that right?”

 Or she would just keep poking it with a stick, waiting to see when her quarry yipped in pain. Damn the woman.  

 “And you’re a nosy bitch, what of it?” She tried to keep her tone light, teasing, but the underlying tension and irritation were not so easily masked. God, her emotions were all over the place lately and half the time she didn’t know what to expect herself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, that was completely out of line.” She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her eyes. “I’m piss poor company right now.”

 Jules snorted and took another sip of her water. “Like that’s ever stopped me before.” She placed the glass back on the table and reached her hand out, gently rubbing Rosemary’s shoulder. “But seriously, are you okay, Rose?”

 She shook her head slightly, a watery smile on her face, She wanted to lie and say that she was fine, just tired. But the lies were wearing on her and she didn’t think she could keep up the façade anymore. “Honestly, no…” She threw up her hand to stop Jules’ inevitable folly of questions. “I don’t want to talk about it. So please just let it be.” She swallowed thickly. “I will be okay.” She ignored the incredulous look Jules shot at her. “I just need time to work through it.”

 Rosemary watched as Jules’ green eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

 She knew there was more Jules was dying to ask but was grateful at her friend’s attempt at restraint. “As sure as I can be.”

 The appearance of the waiter put paid to any further remarks or questions. Once the food had been ordered, Rosemary did her utmost best to ensure that the conversation remained indefinitely on hold. It wasn’t that she had no desire to talk about what had happened. It was just she had little desire to discuss it with her.

 She loved Jules dearly. She’d been like a sister to her, someone she knew would listen and not judge her too harshly, but Jules could be less than objective at times; especially when Tom was involved. She’d gotten better over the years, but it was still a sore spot and Rosemary couldn’t deal with it. Not with all that had happened. And, a less charitable part of her chimed in, talking to her about him last time played a hand in getting you firmly mired in this mess.

 When the food arrived both women ate in silence; aside comments about their respective meals and the weather notwithstanding. Jules had opened her mouth several times during the meal but seemed to decide better of it and kept whatever comment or question she’d had to herself. For that, Rosemary was eternally grateful.

 As they gathered their coats to head back into the winter chill, Jules at last seemed to come to a decision. She straightened her shoulders and turned to face Rosemary. “This is about Tom, isn’t it?”

 Rosemary froze and her eyes drifted closed for a moment.

 She’d been stupid to think that Jules had truly dropped the subject. Stupid and ridiculously, idiotically hopeful. When would she ever learn? Pain and misplaced anger warred within her. “Yes,” she answered curtly, her eyes locking on Jules. “But it looks like you got what you wanted. And I guess, in a way, I did too.”

 A look of momentary confusion spread across Jules’ face.

 Rosemary ignored her and carried on. “At this point I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again. I’ve finally run him off.”

 Without waiting for Jules’ reply, she walked out of the restaurant. A shiver ran down her spine at the sudden burst of cold that enveloped her. She tightened her coat around her and carried on down the crowded pavements. She wasn’t sure where she was going, only that she didn’t think she could handle heading back to the shop. She wasn’t sure she could face Hanna or Max or honestly anyone else, not in her current frame of mind. Not with the way she’d been over the last week.

 Rosemary didn’t know what to do anymore. She’d thrown herself into work and it wasn’t helping. Nothing seemed to be helping. She couldn’t shut her mind off nor could she truly accept the consequences of her choices. Accept that Tom was gone, likely for good this time. And that nothing she could do or say would change that. She’d been acting like a bitch. She’d been short tempered and unpleasant; she knew it, everyone knew it. She’d been taking her anger out on all and sundry and that wasn’t right nor was it fair. But she didn’t know how to stop it. She needed to do something, needed to fix this before she dragged anyone else down. It was her problem, her fault, she needed to figure out a way to deal with that. To live with it. She just wasn’t sure how.

                                                           —

  The train slowly rolled to a stop, Rosemary quickly gathered her carry-on bag and followed the line of passengers out onto the open aired platform. The sky overhead was darkened with the promise of snow. Just bloody perfect.  

 She pulled her coat tightly around her and hurried inside. The lobby of the station was relatively empty, not completely surprising given the fact that it was midweek. She found a taxi easy enough, rattling off the address to the driver and settling into the backseat.

 She watched without really seeing as the scenery sped past. If the driver spoke to her, Rosemary didn’t hear him. Instead she allowed her mind to drift back. She liked the city, Hereford was a great deal slower paced than London. She had fond memories of wandering the cathedral grounds with her friends, drinking and laughing until the early hours of the mornings. She’d spent almost every Christmas in recent memory here, had been here almost three months prior. And here she was again.

 Coming back felt a bit like backsliding, but Rosemary couldn’t seem to hold herself together anymore. Her lunch with Jules had been the last straw. She was angry, far angrier than she knew she should be. But she couldn’t seem to let it go. She fucked up, been terribly cruel, and she couldn’t take it back. Throwing that anger at everyone around her wasn’t helping. So she’d done the only thing she could think of, she’d gone home. Even if they couldn’t help her at least she wouldn’t be judged.

 The taxi slowed to a stop in front of the familiar two story house. She laughed softly when she noted the Christmas lights still around the windows. Her father hadn’t bothered to take them down yet. Some things never changed. Rosemary paid her fare and walked slowly up the stone path.

 She knocked lightly on the front door. The red paint that covered it was still faded and chipped in places. Her father always swore blind that he would repaint it but never seemed to find the time. Doubt crept into her mind. She probably should have called ahead, she realized, given some warning. But it was a touch too late for that. After several moments the door opened. She offered the woman standing in the doorway with a threadbare smile. “Hey mum.”

 Josephine Mathews stared at her daughter, “Rosie?” She pulled her daughter tightly into her arms. “Oh my dear girl, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

 Tears streamed down her face as she let herself be held. “Oh mum.” She broke down. Wordlessly, Josephine pulled her daughter into the house, closing the door behind them. They settled on the couch, Rosemary hiccupping through her tears, trying to calm herself. She was scaring herself and most likely her mother. She needed to get a grip.

 “Rosie, darling, talk to me. What’s happened?”

 Tears rolling down his cheeks, Rosemary raised her head, her hazel eyes locking with her mother’s light brown. “I messed up, mum. I messed up badly.”

 In starts and stops, she stumbled through the story, telling her mother everything. She told her about Tom, not who he was, but what he’d done. How she’d loved him, how he claimed to love her only after he’d lied and broken her heart. How she’d fallen into her relationship with Bryan despite knowing that it wouldn’t last. He was a wonderful guy but he was everything that Tom hadn’t been and she’d clung to that. How Tom had come back and how she’d let him in again, not really meaning to. Not really realizing what she had done. How he’d let her down again and how angry she’d been. She told her about the phone call, the terrible things she’d said. How she’d hurt him purposely.

 “I hurt him, mum,” she whispered, hands clenched tightly against her knees. “I used things he’d told me, things he trusted me with, and I threw them in his face. I fucked up and I can’t fix it.” She paused, viciously wiping her hands across her eyes. “And I’m just so angry. I’m so angry, mum. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

 “Oh sweetheart.” Josephine rubbed Rosemary’s back, making softy shushing noises. “It’s okay. It will be okay. Just let it out, darling.” She held her until she could feel Rosemary’s breathing returning to normal with only the occasional shudder. “Better?”

 Rosemary pulled back and nodded slightly. It wasn’t a complete lie but it certainly wasn’t the truth. She ducked her head her mother’s knowing look. “No.”

 Josephine smiled softly and squeezed Rosemary’s hand, rubbing her knuckles in reassurance. “I know, dear one. I know. You’re probably not going to be for a while and that is okay.” She squeezed her hand again. “I wish I could tell you that it will all work out that he will forgive you and you can set it right.” She reached up to brush a tear from Rosemary’s cheek with a small, warm smile. “But I can’t. Sometimes we do things that we cannot fix. And if that is the case we have to try to accept our failings and move on.”

 Rosemary nodded, wiping the residual tears from her eyes. “I know. I just don’t know how.” She allowed herself to be pulled back into her mother’s embrace.

 “You will,” she whispered, kissing Rosemary’s hair. “You will.”

                                                         ___

   The journey home was blessedly uneventful, Rosemary had slept off and on in the three hours between Hereford and London. She jerked awake as the train pulled into London Paddington, momentarily disoriented. Bag in hand, she slowly made her way from the train towards the escalators leading to the underground.

 Settled on the train home, Rosemary pulled her phone out of her purse, muttering a curse. She’d turned it off sometime the night before and hadn’t bothered to switch it back on. Dammit. She pressed the power button and watched as the familiar start up animation played. Three messages. Fuck.

 Two were from the store, well both stores. Hanna letting her know that the latest shipment hadn’t arrived behind and Jules letting her know that she’d told Hanna that the shipment had arrived at the original store. Rosemary rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. Perfect. The third had been from a number that she hadn’t recognized. She tried to shove done the part of her that both feared and prayed that it was Tom. But it was all for not. A bloody sales call. She groaned in frustration and threw her phone back into her bag.

 Just get a grip, Rose. He isn’t going to call. It’s done. Just let it go.

Next

[winterisakiller]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Five

Chapter: 5/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T (for now)

Author’s Notes/Warnings:  This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username: winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER FIVE

 Rosemary couldn’t remember the journey home, though she knew she had to have gotten there somehow. She could remember walking out of his house and the click of the gate behind her; it was a sound she didn’t think she would soon forget, loud and final in the cold winter air. The next thing she could clearly recall was pushing open the door to her flat then shutting it firmly behind her. But not matter how she tried she had no recollection of anything in between.

Her mind was overcome with an agonizing dread at the realization that she had finally succeeded in pushing him away. She’d been angry with him, so ridiculously angry. It had surprised her just how deep that anger had gone. She had been so certain she had worked through it, had moved past it. And maybe she had, but then he had come back and her stupid, weak, hopeful heart had let him in without her express knowledge or consent. And he’d fallen right back into the patterns that had crushed her. She’d been so angry at him and so disappointed and furious in herself for trusting him again. So she’d lashed out and hurt them both in ways she didn’t know could ever truly be forgiven.

Outraged with herself, she blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill over. This mess was ultimately her fault, what right did she have to cry over it? But knowing that did little to make a difference. The tears still came and rather than keep fighting them, she simply gave in.

It was nearly full dark by the time she had calmed. The faint glow from the street lamps shining in through the living room window had been her only source of light in the flat. She fumbled feebly for the lamp beside the couch. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the soft, bright light. She felt drained, both emotionally and physically. Her limbs felt heavy and her head pounded. She wanted to sleep and to forget.

With great effort, she forced herself to her feet and into the kitchen, downing two bottles of water before pulling a take-away container from the fridge. She sniffed the contents and reassured nothing smelled off, mechanically ate. Full, she went through the motions of her bedtime routine; cleaning her teeth and scrubbing her face, before collapsing onto the bed and falling into fretful, restless dreams.

If she’d harbored any illusion about the previous days’ events being anything more than a horrid nightmare they’d been dispelled by first light. The guilt, muted in sleep, roared to life with a vengeance as memory crept slowly back into awareness. Rosemary covered her face with her pillow and cried, not quite sure what else to do. She wanted to apologize, wanted to make it right. But that wasn’t an option, not anymore.

It was early yet, not quite six in the morning according to her bedside clock. She rubbed her swollen eyes and sighed, there seemed to be little hope of her falling back asleep. Resigned, she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled into the shower. Water turned as hot as she could stand, Rosemary climbed inside and groaned. Her shoulders were stiff and her head ached, she wanted nothing more than to disappear into herself. But that wasn’t an option, she couldn’t fix this and she couldn’t take it back. There was nothing she could do. The thought choked her. Shaking those thoughts away she reached down and grabbed her bottle of shampoo. Stop it, just fucking stop. Crying wasn’t going to fix anything. But that didn’t seem to stop the tears.

Once she was clean, she dried and dressed quickly, making her way into the kitchen and fixing a cup of instant coffee. She grimaced as she drank. She hated instant but it was all she currently had and she desperately needed the caffeine. Cup in hand, she made her way into the living room and turned on the television, hoping for a distraction.

The third time through the channels, she gave up, throwing the remote back onto the table. Her mind was jumbled, running through everything that had happened in the past 36 hours and everything she wished she had done differently. She wanted to scream; she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. She knew if she stayed in her flat a moment longer she’d drive herself mad. I have to get out of here.

Keys in hand, she locked the front door and headed towards the Underground station. The carriage was crowded with morning commuters, each locked in their own world. She paid them little mind, counting the number of stops until her own. 

The shop was empty when she arrived; Hanna wasn’t due for another hour and a half and Max and Alex twenty minutes after. Perfect. She locked the door firmly behind her and headed towards the back office. If she could lose herself in the work, maybe just maybe, she could work through this.

                                                          ___

 “Remind me again why you dragged me out for lunch?”

Rosemary sat straight backed in the wooden chair, arms crossed at her chest, staring pointedly at the woman sitting across from her. She ignored the bustle of the street outside that carried in through the thin glass wall beside them, focusing instead at Jules and wishing she was, somewhere, anywhere, else. She was anxious to get back to the store, where a fair stack of receipts and forms was waiting for her. Anxious to be doing something that she could lose herself in.

Jules laughed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her water. “Because Hanna called and all but begged me to drag you out of there.”

Rosemary’s glare darkened. “Nice.” She fought to contain the steady rise of irritation and anger that coursed through her.

“Seriously, she did.” The smile fell from Jules’ face. She leaned forward and rested her arms in the table. “She said you’ve been there every day, open to close, for the last week. You’ve been breathing down her neck, getting snarky with Max and Alex…Rose, honey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She dropped her gaze from Jules’ face and forced herself to focus on the menu before her.  The words made little sense with the way her mind ricocheted from thought to thought. But she pulled a valiant effort nonetheless.

“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” Jules reached out and placed her hand on top of Rosemary’s, squeezing it gently. “Talk to me, Rose. Please.”

Rosemary snorted in derision, pushing her menu to the side and raising her eyes to shoot a quick glare at her friend. “Yeah, because that worked so well last time.”

Jules blinked rapidly in confusion. “What?”

The flood of anger that rushed through her was irrational, Rosemary knew that. But it didn’t make it any less real. She also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t her friend she was truly angry with. Yes, it had been Jules’ stupid, drunken idea but Rosemary had been the one to follow through. This was her fault, all of it. She pulled her hand from beneath Jules’ and ran it through her hair, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

She shook her head at Jules. “Nothing…Just…never mind.” She took another deep breath. “It’s not anything that you need to worry about. I just…It’s been a rough week and I’m tired.”  

Please drop it.

Jules studied Rosemary’s face skeptically, her head cocked slightly to one side. Rosemary fought a grimace, knowing that Jules wouldn’t drop the issue. Not when she scented blood. True, she may let it fall to the wayside for a time, but without fail, she would bring it up once more. And usually when the person in question least expected it. And Jules had known Rosemary far too long to simply take her at her word.

“You’re a shit liar, Rose, you know that right?”

Or she would just keep poking it with a stick, waiting to see when her quarry yipped in pain. Damn the woman.  

“And you’re a nosy bitch, what of it?” She tried to keep her tone light, teasing, but the underlying tension and irritation were not so easily masked. God, her emotions were all over the place lately and half the time she didn’t know what to expect herself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, that was completely out of line.” She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her eyes. “I’m piss poor company right now.”

Jules snorted and took another sip of her water. “Like that’s ever stopped me before.” She placed the glass back on the table and reached her hand out, gently rubbing Rosemary’s shoulder. “But seriously, are you okay, Rose?”

She shook her head slightly, a watery smile on her face, She wanted to lie and say that she was fine, just tired. But the lies were wearing on her and she didn’t think she could keep up the façade anymore. “Honestly, no…” She threw up her hand to stop Jules’ inevitable folly of questions. “I don’t want to talk about it. So please just let it be.” She swallowed thickly. “I will be okay.” She ignored the incredulous look Jules shot at her. “I just need time to work through it.”

Rosemary watched as Jules’ green eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

She knew there was more Jules was dying to ask but was grateful at her friend’s attempt at restraint. “As sure as I can be.”

The appearance of the waiter put paid to any further remarks or questions. Once the food had been ordered, Rosemary did her utmost best to ensure that the conversation remained indefinitely on hold. It wasn’t that she had no desire to talk about what had happened. It was just she had little desire to discuss it with her.

She loved Jules dearly. She’d been like a sister to her, someone she knew would listen and not judge her too harshly, but Jules could be less than objective at times; especially when Tom was involved. She’d gotten better over the years, but it was still a sore spot and Rosemary couldn’t deal with it. Not with all that had happened. And, a less charitable part of her chimed in, talking to her about him last time played a hand in getting you firmly mired in this mess.

When the food arrived both women ate in silence; aside comments about their respective meals and the weather notwithstanding. Jules had opened her mouth several times during the meal but seemed to decide better of it and kept whatever comment or question she’d had to herself. For that, Rosemary was eternally grateful.

As they gathered their coats to head back into the winter chill, Jules at last seemed to come to a decision. She straightened her shoulders and turned to face Rosemary. “This is about Tom, isn’t it?”

Rosemary froze and her eyes drifted closed for a moment.

She’d been stupid to think that Jules had truly dropped the subject. Stupid and ridiculously, idiotically hopeful. When would she ever learn? Pain and misplaced anger warred within her. “Yes,” she answered curtly, her eyes locking on Jules. “But it looks like you got what you wanted. And I guess, in a way, I did too.”

A look of momentary confusion spread across Jules’ face.

Rosemary ignored her and carried on. “At this point I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again. I’ve finally run him off.”

Without waiting for Jules’ reply, she walked out of the restaurant. A shiver ran down her spine at the sudden burst of cold that enveloped her. She tightened her coat around her and carried on down the crowded pavements. She wasn’t sure where she was going, only that she didn’t think she could handle heading back to the shop. She wasn’t sure she could face Hanna or Max or honestly anyone else, not in her current frame of mind. Not with the way she’d been over the last week.

Rosemary didn’t know what to do anymore. She’d thrown herself into work and it wasn’t helping. Nothing seemed to be helping. She couldn’t shut her mind off nor could she truly accept the consequences of her choices. Accept that Tom was gone, likely for good this time. And that nothing she could do or say would change that. She’d been acting like a bitch. She’d been short tempered and unpleasant; she knew it, everyone knew it. She’d been taking her anger out on all and sundry and that wasn’t right nor was it fair. But she didn’t know how to stop it. She needed to do something, needed to fix this before she dragged anyone else down. It was her problem, her fault, she needed to figure out a way to deal with that. To live with it. She just wasn’t sure how.

                                                        —

 The train slowly rolled to a stop, Rosemary quickly gathered her carry-on bag and followed the line of passengers out onto the open aired platform. The sky overhead was darkened with the promise of snow. Just bloody perfect.  

She pulled her coat tightly around her and hurried inside. The lobby of the station was relatively empty, not completely surprising given the fact that it was midweek. She found a taxi easy enough, rattling off the address to the driver and settling into the backseat.

She watched without really seeing as the scenery sped past. If the driver spoke to her, Rosemary didn’t hear him. Instead she allowed her mind to drift back. She liked the city, Hereford was a great deal slower paced than London. She had fond memories of wandering the cathedral grounds with her friends, drinking and laughing until the early hours of the mornings. She’d spent almost every Christmas in recent memory here, had been here almost three months prior. And here she was again.

Coming back felt a bit like backsliding, but Rosemary couldn’t seem to hold herself together anymore. Her lunch with Jules had been the last straw. She was angry, far angrier than she knew she should be. But she couldn’t seem to let it go. She fucked up, been terribly cruel, and she couldn’t take it back. Throwing that anger at everyone around her wasn’t helping. So she’d done the only thing she could think of, she’d gone home. Even if they couldn’t help her at least she wouldn’t be judged.

The taxi slowed to a stop in front of the familiar two story house. She laughed softly when she noted the Christmas lights still around the windows. Her father hadn’t bothered to take them down yet. Some things never changed. Rosemary paid her fare and walked slowly up the stone path.

She knocked lightly on the front door. The red paint that covered it was still faded and chipped in places. Her father always swore blind that he would repaint it but never seemed to find the time. Doubt crept into her mind. She probably should have called ahead, she realized, given some warning. But it was a touch too late for that. After several moments the door opened. She offered the woman standing in the doorway with a threadbare smile. “Hey mum.”

Josephine Mathews stared at her daughter, “Rosie?” She pulled her daughter tightly into her arms. “Oh my dear girl, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Tears streamed down her face as she let herself be held. “Oh mum.” She broke down. Wordlessly, Josephine pulled her daughter into the house, closing the door behind them. They settled on the couch, Rosemary hiccupping through her tears, trying to calm herself. She was scaring herself and most likely her mother. She needed to get a grip.

“Rosie, darling, talk to me. What’s happened?”

Tears rolling down his cheeks, Rosemary raised her head, her hazel eyes locking with her mother’s light brown. “I messed up, mum. I messed up badly.”

In starts and stops, she stumbled through the story, telling her mother everything. She told her about Tom, not who he was, but what he’d done. How she’d loved him, how he claimed to love her only after he’d lied and broken her heart. How she’d fallen into her relationship with Bryan despite knowing that it wouldn’t last. He was a wonderful guy but he was everything that Tom hadn’t been and she’d clung to that. How Tom had come back and how she’d let him in again, not really meaning to. Not really realizing what she had done. How he’d let her down again and how angry she’d been. She told her about the phone call, the terrible things she’d said. How she’d hurt him purposely.

“I hurt him, mum,” she whispered, hands clenched tightly against her knees. “I used things he’d told me, things he trusted me with, and I threw them in his face. I fucked up and I can’t fix it.” She paused, viciously wiping her hands across her eyes. “And I’m just so angry. I’m so angry, mum. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh sweetheart.” Josephine rubbed Rosemary’s back, making softy shushing noises. “It’s okay. It will be okay. Just let it out, darling.” She held her until she could feel Rosemary’s breathing returning to normal with only the occasional shudder. “Better?”

Rosemary pulled back and nodded slightly. It wasn’t a complete lie but it certainly wasn’t the truth. She ducked her head her mother’s knowing look. “No.”

Josephine smiled softly and squeezed Rosemary’s hand, rubbing her knuckles in reassurance. “I know, dear one. I know. You’re probably not going to be for a while and that is okay.” She squeezed her hand again. “I wish I could tell you that it will all work out that he will forgive you and you can set it right.” She reached up to brush a tear from Rosemary’s cheek with a small, warm smile. “But I can’t. Sometimes we do things that we cannot fix. And if that is the case we have to try to accept our failings and move on.”

Rosemary nodded, wiping the residual tears from her eyes. “I know. I just don’t know how.” She allowed herself to be pulled back into her mother’s embrace.

“You will,” she whispered, kissing Rosemary’s hair. “You will.”

                                                         ___

 The journey home was blessedly uneventful, Rosemary had slept off and on in the three hours between Hereford and London. She jerked awake as the train pulled into London Paddington, momentarily disoriented. Bag in hand, she slowly made her way from the train towards the escalators leading to the underground. 

Settled on the train home, Rosemary pulled her phone out of her purse, muttering a curse. She’d turned it off sometime the night before and hadn’t bothered to switch it back on. Dammit. She pressed the power button and watched as the familiar start up animation played. Three messages. Fuck.

Two were from the store, well both stores. Hanna letting her know that the latest shipment hadn’t arrived behind and Jules letting her know that she’d told Hanna that the shipment had arrived at the original store. Rosemary rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. Perfect. The third had been from a number that she hadn’t recognized. She tried to shove done the part of her that both feared and prayed that it was Tom. But it was all for not. A bloody sales call. She groaned in frustration and threw her phone back into her bag.

Just get a grip, Rose. He isn’t going to call. It’s done. Just let it go.

Next Chapter

[reivenesque]

[Malec/Post 2x20] Hurt!Magnus

It was over. They’d won. Valentine was gone and the Downworld was safe once again. It was supposed to be over…so how did he end up there—kneeling on the ground in some filthy alley, holding his lover in his arms, watching in almost numb fascination at the blood that was seeping through his fingers, dripping down to pool at his knees on the cold, unyielding pavement.

Magnus was dying and Alec couldn’t do anything to save him.

AO3

Marred by Poison, Purged by Magic Chapter 1: Blood

There was blood on his hands, dripping through his fingers, staining the beds of his fingernails and pooling on the pavement like a molten red mirror.

He wasn’t unused to blood—there was so much of it—and he wasn’t unused to being drenched in it. Most of the time it was his and that was okay, because that came with the territory. He and his kind fought demons for a living and often times they got hurt, other times they got hurt badly and sometimes they died, but that was just part of the job.

But this blood—it wasn’t his, it had no place being on him, staining his clothes and saturating the pavement under his knees. It had no place being on anything other than inside a person’s body, this person’s body, and yet it was leaking out the three deep, jagged wounds in his chest; wounds that had ripped through skin and muscle and tendon and torn through a lung. It was streaming out without stopping and seeping through his fingers and there was nothing Alec could do to stop it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be home, relaxing, holding hands and cuddling, trying to forget the bad memories of the past week and the feel of the cold lonely room and the bed that all of a sudden felt far too large and far too empty. Things happened in the past week that Alec wished he could forget, but in comparison, he’d relive that awful week over and over again for eternity if it meant that he could have avoided finding himself in that position:

Holding his lover close to his chest and trying to keep him conscious and trying to keep him from bleeding out in the darkness in that cold dark alley in the middle of the night; watching unsuspecting mundanes meander back and forth past the mouth of the alleyway without a care in the world, oblivious to the fact that someone was dying just a few feet away and one of the two people who loved him most in the world could do little more than beg him to stay conscious and to stay with him.

They were supposed to be home; they left the party for that sole reason. Valentine had been defeated, the traitors had been killed; annihilation of the Downworlders had been averted. Jace died but then he didn’t, and even though he kept saying that nothing happened out of the ordinary and that everything was alright, Alec knew something was definitely not right with him. But he’d give him the benefit of the doubt and confront him in a few days about it, and if that didn’t work; he'd have to do it the old fashioned way: by beating it out of him during sparring.

They’d made up; Alec had mustered up the courage to say everything he wanted to say and everything that was on his mind and he was prepared for Magnus to shut the proverbial door on him for the second time that day, but he hadn’t, if anything he’d opened it even wider than before and Alec couldn’t have been happier.

He didn’t tell anyone they were leaving, so no one would be out looking for them and his phone had been crushed in his pocket when he was sent flying into the wall. He could tell a couple of ribs were at least fractured, if not broken, but the blame of that was all on him, on his absent mindedness and his stupidity and his carelessness; just because one war had been averted, it didn’t mean that many more weren’t waiting just beyond the horizon, ready to take its place and he’d been caught out in the open, unprotected, without his bow, without his parabatai at his side; only one seraph blade to protect himself with and his warlock boyfriend at his side, who, despite his earlier statement, was only labouring at barely twenty percent strength.

“Should have had that steak beforehand,” Magnus had said, just as Alec drove his sword into a Shax demon’s back, eradicating it and in the same swipe took out two more that were coming at him from the side.

Alec tried to force a smile at Magnus’s effort to lighten the situation, but he found himself unable to.

Magnus’s magic was barely a red flicker in his palm, but still he was manipulating the air around him, his fingers almost dancing, obliterating the demons into ash with a flick of his wrist.

But Alec could already see the perspiration beading at his forehead and the way his breathing was becoming laboured and shallower. The way his movements were becoming less fluid and more hesitant and he could see the shudder that ran up his spine. Alec could see the way he tried to hide the way his hands were shaking in his effort to keep up his magic and utilize his power—Magnus has so much power and he used it all up to help them—and the only thing Alec could do was watch Magnus’s back and take out any demon that came within striking distance of him and Magnus.

He longed for his bow, and he’d stupidly let his guard down and ventured out into the city unarmed and unprotected and he’d put himself and Magnus in danger. If anything were to happen to Magnus, Alec would never be able to forgive himself.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind that he felt, rather than see the way the red swirling flames in Magnus’s palms started to sputter and fizzle out of existence before the warlock himself dropped to a knee, one shaking hand stretched in front of him, keeping him from tipping over onto the ground now saturated with demon ichor mixed with ash. His head bowed and his breath shuddering and laboured; his other hand hanging limp on his knee.

Alec could only call out his name, distress clear in his voice and his eyes desperately trying to look at Magnus to make sure he was okay, but he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the hoard of demons still swarming them like locusts. He could only settle on taking out as many demons as he could, while desperately trying to fight his way closer to Magnus’s side.

Magnus’s voice was weak and trembling when he said, “Alexander, watch your back—I’m okay.”

But he didn’t sound okay and he didn’t seem okay and that was the last thing Alec expected to happen when he woke up that morning. He expected to still be on bad terms with Magnus that day; he’d been prepared for it. Even Magnus’s cold indifference when he went to ask for help wasn’t unexpected, ultimately, it hurt, but he’d expected it.

What he hadn’t expected was to lose Jace without warning and to suddenly get him back.

He didn’t expect the night to end with him and Magnus walking back towards their apartment, hand-in-hand, with Magnus smiling up at him with his eyes sparkling, the way Alec remembered; the way he thought of fondly in his mind before he went to sleep at night alone in his too cold room at the institute. He hadn’t expected it, but it was a surprise that was more than welcome.

He hadn’t expected to be fighting a hoard of Shax demons by himself, with Magnus barely hanging on—his powers depleted because of them, because he once again helped them—without his weapons and without backup.

Frankly, Alec was pissed.

All of a sudden there was no pain; no aches in his joints and throbbing in his muscles from overexertion. There was no bone-deep tiredness or weariness. There wasn’t any fear or dread of what was to come. There was only the rush of blood pounding in his ears and the way his heartbeat was hammering in his chest. The surrounding sounds were muted; the glare of the streetlights in the distance was brightened.

All his senses were heightened; he could hear the sounds of the Shax demons coming at him from behind, the sound of their footsteps scurrying across the walls and the ground. He could smell the stench of ichor mixed with curdled garbage in the dumpster at the other end. He could taste the bitter tang and ashy residue of the dead demons lingering in the air on his tongue. He could hear the sound of his own laboured breathing like it was being projected through a loudspeaker and all of a sudden the demons coming at him seemed like they were moving in slow motion.

He took the first and second demon closest to him out simply enough; with just a single strike right through the middle. The muscle joints in his shoulders were screaming at him but he was deaf to their suffering. He could only think of Magnus, in his mind he could only see Magnus kneeling on the ground, struggling to push himself to his feet but crumpling to the ground on his hands and knees in a frustrated cursing heap.

He took out the third, fourth and fifth demon without stopping for a breath. The burning feeling on the back of his head told him that Magnus had his eyes on him, his gaze undoubtedly intense and focused, because that’s the kind of person Magnus was under all the put on frivolity. He was also kind and beautiful and he had so much love to give for someone who lived through so much pain for so many years, and it only made Alec love him all that much more.

Magnus put himself on the line for them over and over again, and Alec wasn’t going to let him down in that moment when he needed the same in return. That was his promise as a Shadowhunter and as the Head of the Institute. That was his promise as someone who loved Magnus beyond words.

But the demons kept coming and whatever strength he’d managed to amass through his anger and his frustration and his fear, it was slowly running on empty.

There was a mountain of ash at his feet and billowing in the air, he was drenched in ichor and sweat but the demons kept coming.

And all of a sudden, there was an inhuman roaring screech unlike anything he’d ever heard before, except that he had. He’d shot one down in the street just earlier that day and another one that almost got to Magnus before Magnus took it out while he was in the process of closing the singularity on the beach.

It came swooping out the sky like the embodiment of a nightmare; all talons and fangs, dripping with poison and leathery wings flapping in the wind.

Alec could barely keep his hands up or the seraph blade clutched between his fingers, but he put himself between the Asmodei demon and Magnus and was ready to accept what was to come.

He could hear Magnus screaming his name somewhere in his periphery but he couldn’t think of that, otherwise he’d get lost in the sound of Magnus’s voice. Instead he planted his feet and raised his blade and took stance; his eyes steely and his resolve stern and resolute. He needed to hold off the demons for as long as he could, he knew the institute would have detected the demonic presence by then; he just needed to hold them off until backup arrived. He knew there was a high chance that he wouldn’t walk out of that alleyway in one piece, or even at all, but that was his duty and he needed to uphold it. Deep down he wondered whether Jace would feel his loss as painful as he’d felt his. He wondered if Jace would mourn him as much in his heart as Alec did for those long, terrible minutes when he’d been a piece of Alec’s soul that had just been ripped away.

His family would mourn. Izzy would be devastated, but they were all Shadowhunters, they knew the risks that came with the job. They’d be sad and they’d grieve for him, but ultimately they’d accept that he went out doing what he did best, fighting demons and protecting those he cared about the most and that was enough for Alec.

Magnus would mourn; perhaps Magnus would mourn most of all because he’d been there to watch Alec die. It was a terrible prospect and pain he’d hoped to spare the warlock he loved so much, with a ferocity and a need he never knew he’d be able to love another man with. But he had and at the end, he was glad that it was Magnus.

Magnus was still yelling his name, sounding more and more distressed each time.

The demon was closing in. It was in the alleyway, gliding through the air, its large batwings folded up against its side and closing in fast on Alec’s position.

The only thing Alec could think about was that he was going to take that demon out even if it meant that the demon would take him out at the same time. He was prepared for it. His heart was no longer thundering inside his chest. At the end of everything, he was at peace.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the bellowing roar behind him and the flash of red that exploded like a beacon, illuminating the entire alley, showering him in blinding redness causing the demon to screech in agony.

In the next moment, just as the demon came within a hair's width of his position, Alec could smell the rotting stench of its breath on his face; the taloned claw extended in front of it, aimed directly at Alec’s heart, all of a sudden he felt himself being lifted off his feet, the talons tearing through the material of his shirt, scratching the upper layer of the skin on his chest. He managed to jab his blade forward but didn’t have time to see whether it found its mark before it was again flying through the air, out of harm’s way. He hit the wall hard and with no protection or a chance to shield himself and dropped to the ground in a heap.

In the back of his fuzzy mind, unable to focus on anything besides the blinding pain that exploded through his body, he heard the demon’s screeching, the thump of a body colliding into another and the sound of a sharp, painful inhale, followed immediately by the sound of stones cracking and crumbling as the bodies crashed into the wall at the opposite end of the alley.

He struggled to clear his mind and to will the pain away. He didn’t know where his stele was, he lost track of it early on in the battle so there was no way to apply an iratze.

There were a few broken ribs, he could tell almost immediately and he knew he’d definitely done something unfavourable to his collarbone and shoulder, but all that had to wait. He pushed himself up into a sitting position to find where the demon had landed, or to find Magnus, but his eyes scanned the immediate surrounding area and found neither.

His heart had begun pounding against his ribcage once again which didn’t help the agony in his chest and he struggled through his lungs being unable to expand properly to inhale the breath he needed to call out Magnus’s name.

The sound of his voice was barely a whisper and it was agonizing, but there was no answer.

The first thing he noticed was that there was not one demon in sight anymore, as if they’d all scurried off even though it would have been the most opportune time for them to attack. It wasn’t a demon’s modus operandi to coordinate their attacks, but this was starting to seem more and more like one.

Alec attempted to regulate his breathing, trying not to let his spots in his vision from the lack of oxygen get to him. Breathing was hard, moving was hard, trying not to give into the alluring arms of unconsciousness was hard. But it wasn’t as hard as not knowing where Magnus was or whether he was alright, so Alec persevered. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying more than standing when he finally got himself upright, using the broken wall behind him for leverage as he attempted to steady himself.

He took one painfully slow step after another, putting one foot ahead of the other, painfully and slowly, trying not to pass out when the dark spots blinded his vision momentarily and the sound of his own heartbeat started pounding in his ear.

He needed to find Magnus. He needed to get to Magnus.

That was the mantra he chanted to himself to keep himself moving.

The mouth of the alley was empty except for a few mundanes that periodically walked past, so instead Alec turned his blurry gaze towards the opposite end.

The sight stilled him where he stood.

Standing among a large pile of still smoking ash with his seraph blade lying flat on its side right in the middle of smouldering heap, leaning heavily against the wall, panting, was Magnus.

He was breathing. That was the first thing Alec noticed.

The second thing Alec noticed was the blood pooling at his feet and the ripples in the mesmerizing red liquid from the blood still streaming down his left arm.

Magnus’s eyes were barely open, but the moment he noticed the presence of the person standing against the backdrop of the light from a lamp post in the street, he lifted his head up and smiled a relieved smile when he registered the familiar face.

“Alex—” he started but was unable to finish the name when he pitched forward, his legs no longer able to keep him upright, his smile dropping with his slow and painful descent.

With the absolute last bit of energy he could muster, Alec rushed forward, catching Magnus in his arms just before he could land with his entire weight on the hard, unyielding pavement. Magnus let out a painful groan when his chest landed squarely on Alec’s outstretched arm. It wasn’t a sound Alec had ever heard coming from Magnus and it wasn’t a sound he ever wanted to hear coming from him again.

He bit his lip when he slowly turned Magnus onto his back, still holding him tight against his chest; Magnus’s moans of pain didn’t cease and Alec felt his heart absolutely shattering.

Only once he was in a position where Alec could begin to assess his injuries did Alec notice the true, grave extent of it.

His black coat was torn, ripped right through the middle. His shirt underneath was barely hanging onto his torso—

—and there were three deep puncture marks right in the middle of his chest where he’d been skewered by the demon’s long, poisoned talons.

Alec didn’t have to turn him around to see that the talons had pierced him straight through and out the back.

The least grave thing about his injuries was the fact that it had somehow missed his heart, but Alec knew that injury so close to that area didn’t mean that it couldn’t have somehow nicked an artery or worse.

“Al—ex…” he heard the choked voice and turned his gaze to find Magnus’s unfocused, half lidded eyes on him.

“Magnus,” he cried. He could already feel the prickling of tears behind his eyes when his gaze landed on Magnus, seeing the golden cat eyes staring back at him, the first sign that Magnus’s magic really was completely depleted, if he couldn’t even keep up that bit of glamour. “Don’t try to speak,” he said, “Please…please just stay with me.”

Magnus spared him a small, weak, lopsided smile. “Shu—ld ‘hv stayed…” he choked out, breathing hard through his pain, unable to breathe in deeply through the wounds that had punctured his lung, “—at th’ par—ty,” he said.

Alec tried to force a smile and perhaps a small laugh, but he nearly choked on his sob instead.

“We’ll get help,” he said, adjusting Magnus in his arm so that he was holding him more securely against his chest before he reached up with his free hand to brush the hair off his forehead, trailing down to stroke his cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’ll find help—I’ll save you, Magnus—please…please just hold on.” He moved his hand down to apply pressure to the wound, eliciting a cry of pain from Magnus.

Magnus coughed once with a moan and inhaled painfully, his breathing was coming out wet and thick; blood staining the inner part of his lips and trickled down the side of his mouth. “L’ve you…” he said, his eyes slowly drooping.

“No-no-no, Magnus, please,” Alec cried; reaching down with his bloodied hand to pat his pockets, to find his cell phone—something! Anything! He needed to do something or Magnus was going to die right there in his arms. He shrugged his jacket off at the same time to use it as a compress and pressed it firmly over the injury with his other hand.

Finding himself at his absolute wits end, with Magnus’s life slowly seeping out of his body, trickling down and splashing onto the cold ground; with no one to turn to and nothing to help him, Alec yearned for the only person he could think of that could find him and could save Magnus.

He screamed.

“Jace!”

And his screams dissolved into sobs when Magnus’s breath hitched and his eyes fully closed.

Alec didn’t know how long he sat there on his knees clutching Magnus’s limp body to his chest, his head cradled in the crook of his elbow, holding him tight; feeling the warm blood still dripping out of the gaping wound in his chest soaking through the jacket compress he was still pressing on the wound, dripping to the ground and saturating the knees of his pants and drenching his arm holding Magnus tight against his body completely red.

There were sounds coming from the mouth of the alley, footsteps, and Alec thought that he should get up; he should find his blade and he should protect Magnus from whatever new threat was approaching, but he just couldn’t find the strength to.

The agony in his side had subsided to a dull throb that he neither felt nor worried about. Magnus was hurt worse and it was all because of him; Magnus protected him and now he was hurt, possibly dying, and Alec couldn’t do a thing to help him as he couldn’t do a thing to protect him back during the fight.

The footsteps were getting nearer and he finally registered the sound of a voice yelling out incoherently. What was it saying? He couldn’t understand. The only thing he could feel, the only thing that felt real to him in that moment was the warmth of Magnus’s body against his chest, the warmth that was slowly seeping away, and the warm comforting feeling of his parabatai rune throbbing against his side.

Jace was close; his rune could sense the connection getting stronger and stronger the closer they came to each other.

The feel of a hand on his shoulder, a familiar comforting hand, that brought him back from the brink so many times before and brought him back once again, spurred him to react. He turned his eyes upwards, looking away from Magnus’s ashen face and the blood splatters on his cheek, the blood that still trickled down his chin and trailed down the side of his neck, to find Jace’s comforting gold and blue eyes staring back at him; his eyes were rimmed red and damp, and he looked worse than when Alec had left him drinking the darkness hovering over him away at the bar.

How long had it been since then? It felt like ages.

He felt Jace’s hands cupping the sides of his face; the palms of his hands were cool, not hot like the feel of Magnus’s blood still seeping through his fingers. Jace’s face was one of abject horror and fear; his eyes were wide and his pupils dilated, making his eyes seem black instead of blue and gold.

Jace was speaking but Alec couldn’t understand a word he was saying, if he was even speaking English, but Jace was there in front of him. Jace had found him and Jace would save Magnus. Alec latched onto the comfort his presence provided and he allowed himself to cry. He leaned down to rest his forehead on Magnus’s as he wept.

He could hear Jace yelling something to someone he couldn’t see, but he wasn’t looking at anything other than Magnus.

“We have to get him help,” Jace said. Alec could understand the words but he couldn’t decipher what they meant.

In the next moment, there were more bodies converging on him, reaching for Magnus and grabbing at him. Alec refused to let go until Jace’s voice once again pierced through the smog surrounding him, calling his name worriedly and all of a sudden he smelled the familiar scent of Old Spice body wash mixed with a combination of alcohol and sweat and the soothing voice of Luke saying, “It’s okay, Alec. It’s okay now. You can let go, we’ll take care of him.”

Alec felt his arm loosening the death grip he had on Magnus at Luke’s beckoning; he didn’t fully understand what was happening but all he knew was that Jace was there and Luke was there and they wouldn’t let anything happen to Magnus or him. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of them further. He had faith in that.

Soon Magnus was completely out of his grasp; he reached for his limp body just as Jace knelt down in front of him, pulling him into a firm hug. “I’m sorry, Alec. I’m so sorry. I felt that you needed help, but I couldn’t find you. There was something blocking our bond, but I looked—so hard,” he said; his hands grasping a handful of Alec’s sweat soaked shirt behind him, holding him close. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Alec latched on just as tightly. His ears listened as Jace’s teary voice spoke to him, but his eyes were unable to look away from Magnus’s still form being cradled protectively in Luke’s arms, his head resting on Luke’s strong shoulder; Izzy stood beside them, applying pressure to the wound just as Alec had been doing. Clary was hovering near, her hair in disarray and her eyes wide and glistening and she was frantically scribbling a rune into the palm of her hand with her stele before she motioned to Luke and Izzy to step out of the way, allowing the golden rune to hover in mid-air between her and the mouth of the alley, before shoving her open palm right through the middle, rippling the air with electricity until a swirling golden vortex opened up in the middle of the narrow alleyway.

Luke, still cradling Magnus’s limp body close to his chest like he weighed nothing, stepped through immediately with Izzy close at his side.

Clary kept her arm outstretched in front of her, her hair billowed around her head from the strength of the portal that sent the metal dumpster and everything in the alley flying around like it was caught in the eye of a hurricane.

“Jace! Alec!” Clary yelled. “We have to go now!”

Alec didn’t remember moving, mainly because he didn’t. He couldn’t find the strength to get his feet under him to stand up and instead found himself being lifted up by Jace’s strong arms around his waist; pulling his arm across his shoulder and taking all of Alec’s weight onto himself. His arm circled around Alec’s waist, pressing against his painful ribs but Alec couldn’t concentrate on his own pain in that moment.

He and Jace were both moving on Jace’s strength alone. He managed a glance at Clary who was shaking under the stress of keeping the portal open for as long as she was, her brows furrowed in concentration.  At the very last moment before they stepped through the shimmering vortex, he heard himself ask, “Where are we going?”

Jace turned to look him seriously. “Magnus’s,” he said, “Luke sent Raphael to fetch another warlock, a healer. He stands a better chance there than at the Institute,” he said and Alec didn’t answer before they stepped through, feeling the familiar pull at their navel and the strange sensation of being pulled apart and put back together in the very same instance. He felt another presence stumbling in behind him and Jace before the power of the portal behind them fizzled out and disappeared, leaving the immediate area of Magnus’s apartment in messy disarray.

Magnus wasn’t going to like that, Alec mused momentarily before the memory and the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks that were also on fire.

He felt his knees buckle under him and this time even Jace was caught too off guard to stop his sudden descent as his arms slipped out of Jace’s hold.

“Magnus,” he found himself calling out the moment he landed on the floor on all fours.

“He’s here, Alec.” It was Luke’s voice coming from Magnus’s bedroom and Alec latched onto it.

There was a faint shimmering in the corner near the doors that led to the balcony before the air began swirling around before a whirling, pulsating black hole ripped through fabric of reality and a dishevelled dark skinned woman in green scrubs, her hair pulled up into a messy bun came rushing out. She looked around apprehensively for a split second before Luke’s voice once again rung out, “Over here!” from the bedroom and the warlock sprinted over in that direction without a word.

The portal blinked again before Raphael’s concerned form came stepping through immediately after; much like the woman before, he made an immediate beeline for the master bedroom.

Alec couldn’t find the strength to get his feet to work and the moment he tried to push himself up he ended up sprawling into Jace’s awaiting arms.

He couldn’t muster the energy to do it again after that and just allowed himself to sag in the protective embrace of Jace’s arms.

Magnus needed him, he needed his strength but Alec had none left to give.

“It’s okay, Alec,” Jace said into his ear; he could feel Jace’s hand stroking the back of his head. “The healer is here and Clary, Izzy, and Luke are in there with him. Just…Just try to breathe.”

But Alec couldn’t breathe, his lungs refused to expand and his chest felt like it was caught in a vice. He couldn’t stop playing the scene of the fight over and over again in his head. He couldn’t stop seeing Magnus falling to the ground over and over again on a loop; the feel of his blood on his hands, the blood now crusty and dried and tainting the air around him with the smell of copper that invaded his senses. He couldn’t stop looking into Magnus’s eyes, seeing the gorgeous cat eyes that he loved looking into when it was just the two of them cuddled in bed in the morning before one or both of them had to leave for work. He couldn’t stop hearing Magnus saying the words ‘love you’ while he was trying not to choke on his own blood. He couldn’t stop feeling like his entire world just crumbled at his feet twice in one day.

Alec didn’t think there was enough left in him after feeling Jace die, but after seeing Magnus almost die in his arms; after watching the life slowly seeping from his eyes, Alec thought that it wasn’t possible for a human being—regardless of blood—to be broken so many times and to be able to put himself back together again without the cracks being irreparable and permanent.

He felt the prickling of tears behind his eyes and it washed away all the aches and pains that were gnawing at his body.

His parabatai rune was warm, not hot or burning, but warm, like sitting by the burning embers of the fireplace when a snowstorm was raging outside. The feeling was flowing throughout his whole body, activating his iratze and spreading over all his aches and his pains. He could feel his broken ribs slowly mending, the bones regenerating and being moulded back together. He could feel the torn muscles in his shoulder entwining together and healing. He could feel all his injuries being fixed, except the injury to his heart that had shattered it into a dozen different pieces.

He mustered up the strength to look down and found that Jace wasn’t using his stele; he’d activated his own iratze and healed Alec through their bond.

Alec released the hold he had around Jace’s torso and allowed him to pull back so that they were face to face again.

“Better?” he asked. His eyes were still stormy, like there was a dark cloud hovering just out of reach, but his gaze was kind and caring and he looked at Alec like he meant the absolute world and to Alec that was all he needed in that moment. He needed to get to Magnus; he needed to be with Magnus. “Go,” Jace said, motioning towards the bedroom with his chin. Alec got to his feet but Jace didn’t move from his position still kneeling on the floor. “I’m okay, I just need a minute. Go be with Magnus,” he said.

Usually Alec would have argued, Jace was his parabatai, but Magnus was also important to him and he found himself torn between the two.

All of a sudden Jace reached up to grab his hand, holding it tight and his eyes spoke volumes without him saying a word. Instead he just nodded and Alec nodded at him in return and quickly made his way towards the bedroom where he could hear a multitude of raised voices from behind the half closed door.

Alec had his back turned to Jace and didn’t see Jace drop down onto the floor heavily and resting his head, eyes closed against the armrest of the chair behind him; as if he’d been carrying the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and had only just found respite.

Alec found himself pushing open the door, using the second he was afforded before it swung open to take a deep breath to prepare himself for what he was about to see.

Nothing could have prepared himself for the sight of Magnus’s favourite luxurious Charlotte Thomas bespoke gold sheets—Alec only knew the name because Magnus once spent an entire morning reciting an ode to it as if it were a revered former lover—completely drenched in blood and grim and the bloody fingerprint covered pillows discarded to the side.

Luke was sitting up against the headboard holding a restless yet still unconscious Magnus in his arms, pulling him against his own blood soaked chest. Raphael and Izzy were on either side of the bed, trying to hold his arms down on the mattress but he was struggling against their hold, and Clary was standing apprehensively beside the healer looking like she wanted to help but not knowing how to—Alec assumed it was Catarina; he’d never met her before but Magnus used to speak of her with such fondness and awe. Her face was one of intense concentration, as if she wasn’t at all perturbed by Magnus writhing on the bed. His eyes clenched tightly and his teeth gritted against the obvious pain.

Magnus’s shirt and coat had been removed and he was lying on the bed in only his pants; his necklaces had been removed, hurriedly because Alec could see them strewn on the floor beside the bed.

His chest…his chest was one giant gaping wound; as if the three small wounds had festered sometime between the alley and them arriving at the apartment, the surrounding skin was sloughing and mottled and bruised red, blue and black with small throbbing veins trailing across his shoulder and down his stomach.

“Alec!” Luke’s voice shook him out of his thoughts and he looked up to find his concerned gaze locked on him. “Are you okay? We could use some help.”

Alec didn’t need to be told twice. He could feel Catarina’s eyes on him as he sprinted over to the bed, crawling across the short distance and reached to take Magnus’s body off of Luke.

Luke seemed hesitant, but a single look from Catarina convinced him to relent and he easily surrendered his hold on Magnus to Alec, helping Alec slide into the spot he vacated and lowering Magnus’s hand down to rest on Alec’s chest. Alec wrapped his arms loosely around Magnus’s shoulders, careful to avoid the horrific wound and the even more horrific stench it was giving off from up close. Instead of trying to hold him down, he motioned to both Izzy and Raphael to let go and bent down to whisper into Magnus’s ear. He didn’t even know if Magnus could hear him, but even with his energy depleted and gravely injured, Magnus was still the most powerful person in the room. No one would be able to hold him down if he wouldn’t allow them to.

Instead Alec said, “Magnus, it’s Alexander—you’re okay now. You’re in safe hands. We’re just trying to help you, please—please just let us,” and he reached up with his still dirty, blood covered hand to stroke Magnus’s cheek with his thumb, resting his forehead on Magnus’s, closing his eyes as he synced his breathing to Magnus’s painful laboured breaths. He felt the moment Magnus finally calmed down, his restlessness ceased and his hands dropped back down to the mattress.

Alec finally opened his eyes to look at Catarina, only to find her already staring back at him, a sad yet grateful smile on her face.

The blue, almost glittering magic disappeared from her hands for a moment as she crawled across the bed and leaned down close to Magnus. “Magnus,” she said softly, “It’s Cat. I’m going to heal your injury, but I’m going to have to siphon the demon poison from the wound first—I won’t lie, it will be painful, but just listen to my voice, just listen to Alec’s voice and just remember that we’re only doing it to help you, okay? We’re all with you; Raphael and Luke and the pretty Shadowhunter girls you’re so fond of.”

Magnus didn’t answer. His brows furrowed when he took a deep shuddering breath.

Alec latched on tighter, holding Magnus by the shoulders, his cheek resting on Magnus’s forehead, now nearly scorching hot because of the infection and the demon poison coursing through his body.

He thought back to earlier that night—a glance at the clock told him that it had been barely an hour since the first attack. How was that even possible? It felt like he’d been living and reliving that nightmare for days. He tried to latch onto the better memories of fonder times; seeing Magnus smile for the first time in what seemed like weeks, the way it brightened up his whole face almost immediately. Alec noticed long ago that Magnus smiled often, but he seldom truly smiled. His smile rarely reaches his eyes and the sparkle it ignited was not often seen, but Alec had seen them more than once, and this evening behind the Hunter’s Moon, the moment he came to the realization that he couldn’t imagine his life without Magnus, the moment he realized he needed Magnus in his life, and Magnus reciprocated with his own heartfelt emotions, seeing him smile then was like a balm on his already fractured soul.

But Magnus was not smiling now. He had a look of pure agony on his face that Alec had never seen before and would be glad to never see again.

“Ready?” Catarina asked. “This is going to be very painful, but it’s a very delicate procedure so I need you to keep him as still as you can. If I don’t get all the poison out, the wound will continue to spread beyond my healing capabilities.”

Alec swallowed hard but nodded. Catarina exchanged looks with the four people standing around the bed, Luke and Raphael standing in position on either side; not touching Magnus but there just in case their presence was needed. Izzy and Clary seated on the mattress at the foot of the bed, ready to leap into action or offer energy, which ever service Catarina needed of them.

Catarina was perched on the side by Magnus’s right hand, her eyes closed for a moment, taking measured breaths in and out in preparation; blue sparks zapping around her finger-tips absentmindedly and she played around with the jolts, passing them from one finger to another.

Alec usually found that kind of display of magic absolutely captivating, but in that moment, he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Magnus; the way his breath hitched as if he could somehow feel what was coming.

And then Catarina began.

Alec thought it was hard seeing Magnus so injured and so helpless, seeing the strong man whose heart and kindness and compassion was twice as large and twice as strong as the power he possessed. But it was nothing compared to seeing him screaming his voice raw and writhing in pain the moment Catarina’s beautiful blue magic touched the pungent, smouldering wound on his chest.

Luke and Raphael immediately leapt into action, grabbing his wrist and holding it down on the mattress. Alec wasn’t looking at Luke, his face was turned towards Raphael and he could see the vampire looking away, staring at absolutely anything and everything besides Magnus. In that moment, Alec related to Raphael more than he ever thought he would.

Izzy and Clary were both quick to grab Magnus’s legs while keeping close to Catarina in the very likely case that she’d need extra energy and fast.

Alec’s parabatai rune tingled suddenly and even though he wasn’t looking in the direction of the door, he could sense Jace walking slowly into the room. Alec finally turned to look at him when he felt the mattress dip slightly when Jace crawled across it, placing his hand on Clary’s shoulder as if to tell her to leave it to him and to focus her and Izzy’s energy on helping Catarina with her magic.

Catarina was already sweating, and it had barely been a few minutes since she started, though half of her distress could have been because of the stress of trying to keep her oldest and closest friend alive.

Alec saw Clary reach over to place her hand on Catarina’s outstretched one and Catarina spared her a split second glance and a small smile that said everything that needed to be said. The grimace on her face eased before her magic blossomed right before Alec’s very eyes.

Magnus’s magic was beautiful to look at, powerful and strong, able to heal and destroy in the same breath, like fires that were constantly licking at the surface, not really burning but never truly extinguished, powerful and beautiful but terrifying, and yet the pulsating thrum of the power always seemed contained and restricted, never really allowed to just burn. That was the impression Alec always got.

Catarina’s magic was completely different; where Magnus’s magic swirled and seared like flames of red and yellow, sometimes royal blue with a hint of white; Catarina’s was mostly a light powder blue that glimmered like an iridescent on the surface; it glinted and sparkled and would occasionally send up bursts of energy like small fireworks in her palm.

The sparks sizzled when it landed on Magnus’s blackened skin, leaving behind charred residue that got blown away by the air.

Eventually Magnus’s screams stopped and he collapsed limp into Alec’s arms. A glance at Catarina didn’t show her any more concerned than she already was so Alec tried not to panic. Instead he hugged Magnus closer to his chest and stroked his cheek with his thumb.

The rest had also let go of the limbs they were trying to hold down. Both Luke and Jace were panting hard from the effort, Jace more than Alec would have expected, but Raphael let go of Magnus’s wrist and immediately stepped away, keeping his back to them as he walked over to the dresser and leaned his side against it, facing the wall.

The sight of the poison leaving Magnus’s body was something Alec couldn’t look away from. The miniscule droplets of solidified, smouldering black crystals that rose into the air and hovered threateningly over the wound, hissing and spitting every time it came into contact with the spark from Catarina’s magic.

Alec could see Clary slowly swaying on her feet because of the amount of energy she was channelling into Catarina.

Without anyone saying anything, Catarina’s magic dimmed considerably and she pulled Clary’s hand off of hers. “Go sit down, you’ve done more than enough.” Clary looked ready to argue, but she only managed a feeble ‘but’ before Catarina pointed towards the two seater carved Javanese chair in the far corner with a commanding, “Go.”

A frowning Clary had barely taken a reluctant step towards the opposite end of the room before Izzy stepped up and without waiting for word or instruction, not even looking at Catarina before she placed her hand over hers the same way Clary had just seconds ago.

Catarina’s magic sputtered for a beat before coming to life once again, perhaps even brighter and more powerful than it had been with Clary. Even Catarina seemed surprised and Alec caught Izzy’s intense, concentrated gaze staring at Magnus before she looked up at him and he mouthed an appreciative, “Thank you.”

Izzy nodded but didn’t say a word. Instead she reached over with her free hand to grasp onto Magnus’s limp hand resting at his side.

The healing continued until Izzy also started swaying slightly where she was sitting by Magnus’s hip. By then, Catarina had managed to extract every single drop of the solidified and coagulated poison from Magnus’s veins with just the contributed energy from Izzy and Clary.

By the time the last crystal rose up into the air and was disintegrated by Catarina’s magic, Izzy was barely sitting up. When she slipped off the side of the bed, it was too sudden even for Jace’s quick reflexes and especially for Alec who still had his arms around Magnus. But before she hit the floor hard, a third figure had swooped in and scooped her up gently into a cradle in his arms as he got to his feet.

Raphael stared at the barely conscious, bleary eyed Izzy in his arms. She seemed too exhausted and drained to even realize what had happened, but before anything Raphael turned his gaze to Alec, asking with his eyes whether it was okay for him to take care of her in his stead.

Alec exhaled once but nodded. Raphael returned his nod appreciatively and carried Izzy out into the hallway towards the sofa in the living room to rest.

Alec could only watch them go with his eyes. He had no choice but to trust Raphael in that moment, but the instinct of a big brother was something that was hard to break.

“I’ve gotten all the poison out,” Catarina announced, almost as if to break the tension in the room. “Normally this kind of poison wouldn’t have affected a warlock this badly, especially this type of poison and especially on Magnus—” Alec couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by that, but he didn’t think it was the right moment to ask, “—but because his magic had been completely exhausted—I say completely exhausted; it’s a wonder he didn’t die from the magic depletion itself, I have never in my long life seen a warlock this drained of power. What actually happened?” she asked, looking Alec straight in the eye.

The wound on Magnus’s chest was still open and raw, still seeping blood, but it had finally turned a regular red and pink colour, spotted with yellow bits of muscle and tendon that had been ripped through like paper. It was no longer black, veiny and mottled and malodorous.

“Shax demons,” he said, “A hoard of them attacked us when we were walking back from the bar. Magnus had helped us out with an aberration that evening which siphoned a lot of his power and he had to portal us between the beach area, the Institute and Alicante multiple times around that time. We were caught right in the middle, basically unarmed and Magnus with barely enough magic to keep up his glamour.

“But then one of the Asmodei demons showed up—we thought they’d all disappeared, but this one came out of nowhere and…” Alec trailed off reluctantly, looking away. “And it would have gotten me instead if Magnus hadn’t pushed me out of the way.”

Catarina exhaled exasperatedly. “You fool,” she whispered under her breath. “You damned fool.”

“I’m sorry,” Alec said, thinking the comment had been directed towards him but Catarina shook her head instead.

“No, Magnus did right,” she said. “The poison itself is grave on a warlock, even on Magnus, but on a Nephilim, especially this amount and this severe, it would have been almost instantly fatal,” she said. “Did the demon cut you at any point?”

Alec tried to think; he distinctly recalled a burning feeling across his chest before he was flung roughly into the wall. He reached up to his shirt, torn to ribbons across the chest and popped the button, pulling the collar to show the scratches, extending from the middle of his chest almost to his armpit, to Catarina.

The injury hadn’t hurt when he received it and it didn’t hurt now, not as much as it should have given the state of the wound against his pale chest.

The three scratches, barely scraped across the surface of his skin were now black, the skin was peeling around the edges and small black veins were creeping from the wound spread out about an inch in either way.

Catarina exhaled but didn’t seem overly panicked so Alec tried to take his cue from her.

“It’s not too serious,” she said, “It doesn’t seem like it broke the epidermis. I’ll heal you once I get done with Magnus,” she added and Alec could only mutter a short thank you.

This time it was Jace who scooted up higher up the bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress to Alec’s right. He reached over to grasp Catarina’s hand in his larger one before levelling her with an intense look. “Take whatever you need to heal Magnus,” he said, “I’ll still have plenty left over for Alec.”

Catarina shook her head slightly with a sigh though she had a small impressed smile on her face. “Impulsive, self-sacrificing Nephilim fools, the lot of you,” she said, but the words didn’t come across at all as an insult. “I suppose you all really found each other.”

Alec decided to take that as a compliment because from what Magnus had told him of Catarina, it was one.

Healing the wound was easier and took considerably less effort than extracting the poison. Magnus actually looked calm and contented in his arms and Alec adjusted himself a little so he’d have a better grip on Magnus resting with his back against his chest.

Jace at his side looked completely mesmerized by his energy being channelled through Catarina’s magic.

Alec realized suddenly that he hadn’t heard a word from Luke in a while. A glance around the far end of the room proved unhelpful but eventually he found him sitting on the other half of the Javanese chair in the corner near the window with Clary curled up on her side facing away from the bed, sleeping with her head rested on Luke’s lap. Luke wasn’t looking at them; his eyes were focused completely on Clary as he ran his fingers gently and intermittently through her hair.

Alec turned back from the sight and watched as Catarina’s magic weaved through the gaping wound, like a master seamstress, healing the jagged puncture in his lung and stitching up the muscles and tendons and reconnecting the arteries. It was absolutely spellbinding watching the way a master healer went about her craft; the intricate way in which she worked and navigated around the tiniest aspects of the human body. The way she could tell which artery and which vein and which blood vessel went where; the way she reconnected the tissues and nerves. Alec couldn’t look away from the way her fingers and her hands danced in mid-air like a puppeteer controlling the string of his puppet. It was so similar to Magnus and yet so different.

Catarina was precise in her movements where Magnus was elegant. Catarina had a meticulous sort of beauty to her gesticulation where Magnus almost danced in his. Catarina’s magic was ethereal whereas Magnus’s raged like burning embers.

Alec never really gave that much thought to the possibility that all warlocks performed their magic differently, he had no reason to. But he realized that perhaps he’d been too pre-programmed by the Clave’s influence that he never would have questioned aspects beyond everything he was already taught to know.

But he knew better now and he knew to be better and he owed it to Magnus and Luke and even Raphael a little, for forcing him to open his eyes and really see the world as it was, not as he was taught to view it.

The world was much more beautiful on this side of the fence and so were the occupants.

He looked down to Magnus’s closed eyes and his head resting comfortably on his chest. The way his eyelashes almost brushed the top of his cheeks, his makeup smudged beyond salvation and his lips parted slightly in breath. But compared to the Magnus that had been a screaming agonizing mess not too long ago, this peacefully slumbering Magnus was a blessing. His temperature was still far too high and his pulse was still far too shallow, but at least he wasn’t in pain anymore and that was all Alec could have asked for.

Catarina continued until the wound had completely mended, and not a trace of it was visible to the naked eye bar the almost silvery scar that spread across one side of his chest like a flower. By that point Catarina was already almost dead on her feet, but she persevered, calling Alec to her instead of having to drag herself up to get to him.

Alec gently moved Magnus to the bed, reaching for one of the discarded pillows on the side and fluffing it up slightly before lowering Magnus’s head slowly onto the soft pillow. Magnus didn’t stir once which Alec didn’t know whether to count as a blessing or otherwise.

But he approached Catarina who was half lying across the foot of the bed, propped up on one elbow. She beckoned him closer with two fingers and both Alec and Jace moved as one closer to her.

His healing took almost no time at all in comparison, and experiencing the feel of Catarina’s magic flowing through his body was as soothing and as gentle as he imagined.

When his wound was clear of the blackened veins and the rancid smell of poison, when the shallow scars had healed to nothing, only then did Catarina allow herself to flop down onto the mattress on her back, her arms splayed out beside her head.

“Magnus will owe me an entire winery after today,” she said.

Jace hadn’t said anything the whole time, he just pushed himself further back and leaned his back against the bedpost while Alec took a seat on the edge of the mattress at Magnus’s side, reaching over to grasp the limp hand and holding it tight in his own.

Alec looked back over at Luke only to find him snoring slightly, his head leaning back and his neck slightly extended in a way that promised that he was bound to wake up with a stiff neck in the morning. Clary was still asleep and Catarina looked about half way headed towards slumber land herself.

Eventually it was only Jace and Alec left to their privacy in the room. Alec wasn’t tired; he didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to sleep again, and Jace’s eyes kept drooping but he kept forcing them back open.

“How did you find us?” Alec asked without turning; his eyes locked onto Magnus’s serene face, still completely lost in the throes of unconsciousness. His face was still speckled with dried blood and his clothes were covered in ichor and demon ash but he was alive; his chest was red and raw and still had remnants of bruising from the fight but he was alive. His heart was still beating and his lungs were expanding and contracting every time he inhaled and exhaled. “You said you didn’t know where we were?”

Jace leaned back heavily against the bedpost, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His bare arms were stained with the blood that came off of Alec’s blood drenched clothes. “I…I guess…I heard you calling me,” he said, but his mind was elsewhere like he was concentrating hard on trying to remember exactly how he managed to do what Alec had asked ahead of everyone else. “But not your voice in my ear, more like…I heard you inside my head and somehow—suddenly I just knew where to find you. I could smell the stench of blood and ichor and the rotten garbage in that alley but as if I was smelling it through someone else’s nose, like my brain had already registered the stench even though there was no garbage anywhere near me. I don’t know how to explain.”

Alec didn’t really understand and yet he did. Ultimately it all had come down to the power of their bond; Jace had experienced it all through him, there was no real explanation to it and there probably would never be. The only thing that mattered was that he needed Jace in that moment and he was there.

“Did you feel…” he started asking but trailed off uncertain.

“Every single thing,” Jace said seriously. “It was different before because I could always feel you there, but it was like the bond was blocked somehow. But now…I don’t know, it’s like everything just suddenly started flowing through. I felt that deep inside my gut suddenly at the bar, something told me that something wasn’t right, that you were in trouble. I was on the way out looking for you when the pain started. And then…well, you know the rest.”

Alec could only nod. His eyes fixed on Magnus’s face. He wanted—he needed to clean him up somehow; Magnus would hate waking up looking so unkempt and dirty and surrounded by people looking at him in his most wretched state, but he couldn’t find the energy to move from his position. He needed to clean himself up somehow; his clothes were covered in filth and ichor from the battle, he was sweaty and dirty and covered in so much blood he felt like he’d need the sharp end of a seraph blade to scrape all of it off him.

Magnus’s room was a filthy disarrayed mess and Alec couldn’t have that.

He looked over to his side and found that Jace had already dozed off, his arms crossed and his chin resting on his chest.

Alec gently placed Magnus’s hand back on the bed beside him, reaching over to plant a soft chaste kiss on his cheek and pushed himself to his feet with a pained groan. Just because he’d been healed by both Jace and Catarina, it didn’t mean that he still didn’t hurt down to his weary bones.

He limped over to Magnus’s bathroom, trying to be as quiet as he could so not to wake everyone else who were sleeping in the room and the first thing he did after locking the door behind him was find the mirror. He was almost too afraid to look at himself when he stepped up to the sink, allowing his gaze to look over all the different bottles of soaps, perfumes and toiletries Magnus had meticulously arranged on the large marble sink area spread out wide before him.

His reflection in the mirror was—horrifying.

He couldn’t tell where the grime and filth and the crusts of dark red blood ended and where he actually began. His eyes were rimmed red and puffy and his clothes were a complete loss.

Alec shed each article of clothing slowly, painfully, feeling the hardened material of his shirt almost crackling in his hand when he reached back to pull it off. All of his clothing, or what was left of them; he dropped immediately into the waste basket beside the door, except for his boots that he set aside to clean later and he took a breath, steeling himself before he stepped into the shower.

The feel of the hot water was like heaven on his tired and beaten body and he found himself just standing there under the cascading waterfall just letting the divine liquid wash over him, rinsing the filth form his body. The water at his feet ran completely black with bits of red swirling into the mix. Only when the bulk of the filth had been rinsed off did Alec reach for the soaps and the shampoos and conditioners.

He used to be the one bottle of soap for multiple uses and every occasion kind of guy, back before he met Magnus, back when he was still living in fear of his true self. But ever since then, he’d come to appreciate the small joys that came along with the simplest things, like a newly opened bottle of body soap and the feel of his face after using a cleanser that was actually made for facial use. The softness of his hair and the scent even he could smell wafting off him after a long, satisfying bath.

Magnus always smelled good and that was one of the things Alec loved most about him. Being around Magnus was always pleasurable in more ways than one.

But now he couldn’t stop thinking about how Magnus had smelled like death and it was a scent that didn’t belong on him at all. It made Alec’s heart break to see him so weak and so helpless, to see him in Luke’s strong arms, looking so lifeless that he feared that Magnus had somehow slipped away in the few seconds he’d been pulled from Alec’s arms.

The Magnus he knew, the Magnus he loved was strong and beautiful. He was powerful but also kind and compassionate. He’d lived a terrible life and survived a horrific childhood and somehow he’d come out of it as someone who still believed wholeheartedly in love, and that was one of the qualities Alec admired most about him.

The pain of peeling and scrubbing the clumps of dried blood in his hair was a welcome relief from his thoughts and he could taste the bitterness of the blood running in the water as it streamed down his face.

He would have stayed forever in that shower if he could, but instead he remembered that Magnus still needed him, he still needed to be at Magnus’s side, so he finished washing up quickly after that, towelling himself off and finally found a familiar face staring back at him in the mirror. He pulled out a pair of black pants and a black t-shirt from the cupboard in the bathroom where he kept some spare clothes in case of an emergency. Magnus had provided him a section in his gigantic walk in closet for his clothes, but Alec still preferred to have at least a spare pair within reaching distance especially in the bathroom. And it was a decision he never appreciated more than at that moment.

He found a ceramic bowl and one of Magnus’s face towels hanging to the side; filled the bowl with warm water, slung the cloth over his shoulder and walked back into the bedroom.

Nothing had changed in the time it had taken him to get cleaned up. Luke and Clary were still sleeping, cuddled together on the chair beside the window. Jace still had his arms crossed and his head bowed low, his chin resting on his chest, snoring softly. Catarina was sprawled on her back at the foot of the bed, her head almost in Jace’s lap and she too was lost to the world.

Alec placed the bowl down on the side table and quietly made his way towards the door to check up on Izzy.

His eyes met Raphael’s almost immediately when he stepped out. The vampire’s expression was unreadable but his eyes compassionate. Izzy was curled up against his chest sleeping soundly and he had a hand running through her hair, smoothing it out between his fingers.

Alec didn’t comment; he just spared Raphael a small nod which was reciprocated respectfully.

He returned to Magnus’s side, grabbed the cloth, dipped it in the warm water and wrung out the excess. He pulled back the dirty section of the sheet he’d been sitting on and took a seat on the clean part, hesitating slightly before he reached over and gently dabbed away the grime and the blood splatters from Magnus’s face.

He didn’t know how long he kept at it, at least long enough until Magnus’s face was no longer covered in dirt and blood, until his face was clear of the smudged make up and the ash remnants that stained his cheeks; until he finally looked like Magnus again. Then Alec leaned back where he sat and just looked.

Everyone was asleep, the air was stale and silent in the room but to Alec it felt like it was only him and Magnus in that moment, he could only see Magnus clearly in front of him, everything else was just a blurry haze standing off to the side. He reached over and gently placed his palm on the side of Magnus’s face, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

Then the mattress shifted slightly and broke the illusion like a shattering mirror.

Alec turned around to find Catarina sitting up, leaning against the bedpost closest to him. Her eyes were trained intently on him and her face expressionless.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, turning around sheepishly to place the bowl and the towel back on the side table, rubbing the palm of his hands on the knees of his pants absentmindedly.

“Long enough,” he heard her say.

The mattress shifted again and dipped slightly behind him, indicating that Catarina had stood up but he didn’t dare turn around. He could sense her stretching her limbs and was proven right by the moan he could hear. She rounded the bed and walked over to the opposite side, mimicking Alec when she pulled back the dirtied sheet and took a seat on Magnus’s left.

“Magnus will be pissed that we ruined his sheets,” she said. “He has a very unhealthy attachment to his collection of bed sheets.”

Alec tried not to laugh but he couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out. He readjusted his position slightly, bringing his right leg up on the mattress, his ankle tucked under his knee and he scooted a little closer to Magnus, reaching to hold his hand. Magnus’s hand was warm to the touch and Alec didn’t know whether it was cause for concern. Magnus’s touch was always slightly cooler than others—while Jace burned almost hot—so the feel of his hand so warm in his grasp felt very out of place.

Alec didn’t think he said that out loud until Catarina answered. “It’s the infection. It’s normal with these types of wounds especially considering his state when he suffered the injury. We’ll have to keep a close eye on him for the next few days.”

Alec just nodded.

He paid Catarina no mind after that, feeling his imagination starting to drift off again until he felt a cool hand on his and found Catarina on the other end, pulling his hand close to her and clasping it tight between her own, sitting cross legged facing him and Magnus.

Alec watched her as she ran her fingers over his, turning his hand inside hers, gently caressing his palm down to the ball of his thumb. He could feel a shudder running through his body at the touch.

“Hardened, calloused fingers—” she muttered, still surveying his hand intently. “You must be an archer,” she said. Alec raised a surprised eyebrow, until she looked up at him with just her eyes and a wide grin broke spread across her face. “I’m just kidding. Magnus told me that bit, but even if he hadn’t, I think I probably would have guessed,” she added. She lifted her head up to study him after that, still holding his hand in both of hers, running her thumb over the back of his hand. “These are strong hands. Hands that seem like they work hard and they put in a lot of effort into everything they’re doing.”

Alec swallowed when he returned her gaze. He knew this was a line he needed to tread carefully. “They do.”

Catarina didn’t answer for a long while. She just kept her eyes on him, her gaze intense and focused, almost like she was seeing straight through his very soul. “Good,” she said eventually. “Because…well, because it’s what he deserves—effort. Very few people have put in the effort to be with him in the past. They take what they can and the moment everything becomes too hard or too complicated, they leave. He deserves more than that,” she said sadly, this time looking at an unconscious Magnus still completely lost to the world. “He deserves absolutely everything.”

Alec mimicked her action, his one hand still holding Magnus’s and his other clutched in Catarina’s tight grip. “I know.”

“I heard about what happened between the two of you,” she added suddenly, attracting Alec’s attention once again. “Because of that Seelie Queen brat—” the comment came out of the blue and with such vehemence Alec almost snorted with laughter, “—she may or may not be one of the oldest Downworlders, but she is certainly the most petulant. But…I just wanted to ask you not to take it to heart. Magnus loves easily, and because of that he’s gotten his heart broken over and over again. Sometimes the fear of that happening again drives him to do stupid things—this being one of his stupider decisions, mind you—but it’s only because he cares too deeply, and it makes him do foolish things,” a small smile curled at the corner of Catarina’s lips as she seemed to recall a fond memory of something that had happened in their past. “He once got into an argument with Ragnor, this was in the late seventeen-hundreds if I recall correctly, somewhere in South America—or was it one of the Borneo islands—anyway, he fought with Ragnor over nothing really, got upset and joined a cult.”

Alec truly did laugh then, trying to even imagine the sight. “What?”

“Yes, a very dumb decision on his part and between that stupidity and Ragnor acting like a petulant child, they’re lucky I didn’t kill them both right there,” she said.  Her face immediately turned sombre after that. “My point is…don’t let this—façade, fool you, Alec. Magnus hurts just like the rest of us, perhaps even more, and sometimes that hurt makes him do and say things that he doesn’t mean and do things he never would have done had he been in his right mind—”

Alec shook his head quickly, interrupting her. “You don’t have to explain, I already know all that,” he said and Catarina looked visibly surprised. “I realized while we were apart that…that I can’t live without him—and I said to him before that relationships take effort and maybe saying those words was easier than actually sticking to them, but regardless, I have no intention of breaking my promise. Not now, not ever. And if it’s effort that’s needed, it’s effort I’m willing to put in.”

Catarina smiled at that and Alec reciprocated.

“Good,” she said and it was all Alec really needed her to say.

The silence resumed until she lifted Alec’s hand that she was still holding and placed it on top of Magnus’s chest, covering the back of it with her own. Alec could feel the sensation of magic being channelled through him, not just through his hand but throughout his entire body. It was a tingling feeling that wasn’t unpleasant, only strange. But he could see the blue iridescent magic creeping over Magnus’s body, over his chest and neck and down his arms; across his face and through his hair, and quickly as it spread, it disappeared, leaving Magnus completely free of the filth that had dirtied his body. His arm and hands were clean; his hair was soft and splayed out on the pillow behind his head, his dirtied pants replaced by a clean pair of red silk pyjama bottoms and the sheets on the bed had been completely magicked clean.

Catarina removed her hand from the back of Alec’s and with a flick of her wrist, magicked a blanket over Magnus, pulling up to his stomach.

“We need to keep an eye on the injury,” she explained without Alec even asking. “To see whether there’s still remnants of the poison that I’d missed. It would usually become active again within a 24 hour period, so we need to watch out for that and fever from the demonic residue. He may be healed, but he isn’t out of the woods yet,” she said and Alec could only nod.

It probably wasn’t going to be easy, but looking at Catarina looking at Magnus with such relief on her face, and looking at Magnus who looked so pale against the golden hue of the pillowcase behind him; his lips cracked and bloodless and dark circles under his closed eyes; Alec couldn’t stop thinking back to earlier that night, before everything that happened, actually happened. The smile on Magnus’s face that he yearned to look upon again and the relief in his eyes the moment Alec had said that he couldn’t live without him. The relief he knew was mirrored in his own when Magnus said the same equivalent back to him.

How that moment went from being so good and so happy, to how it turned out, it was something that would probably continue to haunt him for ages, perhaps forever.

But looking at Magnus, looking so pale and so absent, not at all like the effervescent and charismatic warlock he’d come to know and love, it was scary and unnerving and Alec had to ground himself back into the moment and not allow himself to get too caught up in the ‘what ifs’. But Magnus was alive and Catarina and Jace were by his side; Izzy and Clary, and Luke and Raphael, they were all there; they had all played a part in saving Magnus’s life and for that he would be forever grateful and he knew Magnus would too.

…after he chewed them all out for getting blood and dirt all over his priceless bedsheets.

Alec didn’t know how long he sat there unmoving, hours, just holding onto Magnus’s hand as if he could keep him anchored to the world with just that bit of reassurance that he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Catarina had gone out into the living room a while ago no doubt to raid Magnus’s liquor cabinet with impunity. After all she’d more than deserved it.

Clary had woken up sometime during the night—or was it already morning? Alec couldn’t be sure— and carefully untangled herself from Luke’s embrace; her flaming orange hair dishevelled and her eyes bleary with sleep and the remnants of exhaustion. Through the window, in the distance Alec could see the dawning of the new day as the brightness began illuminating the tops of the buildings in the horizon.

“How is he?” she asked, walking over to his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“The same,” he said.

Magnus hadn’t stirred once during the night. His injury hadn’t gotten worse, but his fever had spiked about an hour ago and small droplets of sweat had started beading at his forehead, trickling down his neck and chest. His breathing was laboured and his Adam’s apple bobbed every time he swallowed painfully as he continued to be trapped in the throes of his nightmares.

To Alec’s right, Jace was surprisingly still asleep, though he’d slipped down from his original position of leaning against the bedpost and had curled up on his side on a small section of mattress near the foot of the bed. It wasn’t characteristic of Jace to sleep so long and so deeply, especially in the presence of so many people in a place that was unfamiliar, but perhaps helping Catarina to heal Magnus and Alec had taken more out of him than Alec had thought. He didn’t think of disturbing Jace’s slumber, though he couldn’t quite rid himself of the feeling that something was definitely not right with his parabatai and Alec was going to get to the bottom of it one way or another.

“Luke’s still sleeping?” he asked, if nothing else just to change the subject and to get his mind off of all his worries that were shouting at him at once.

“Yeah,” Clary said, looking over at the still snoring Luke, sprawled out almost across the length of the uncomfortable wooden chair. “He had a bit too much to drink last night. It was half in celebration and I think half of it was to drown out the feeling of Valentine’s dea—” she bit her lip before she stopped talking suddenly. “Even though their parabatai bond had been severed long ago, I think his death still affected him deep down. He doesn’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to push him.”

Alec knew first-hand the pain that accompanied the loss of a parabatai—of half a person’s soul. He couldn’t imagine how it was for Valentine and Luke in the past to have their bond shattered in such a grotesque way, perhaps it had affected Luke more than Valentine, considering their history but Alec wouldn’t have been surprised if Luke still felt the loss to some extent deep down. He sympathized with Luke more in that moment than he thought was possible.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready,” he said. “Just give him time.”

Clary smiled at that. “What about you and Jace?” she asked. “Have you talked?”

Alec could only shake his head. “No. There just hasn’t been time, between when it happened and…” he trailed off but Clary understood what he meant.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Just give him time.”

Alec spared a small mocking glare at the teasing. “Touché, Fray,” he said.

Clary gave him a two fingered salute, the grin still wide on her tired face.

She stepped closer to the bed and reached across to place her hand on Magnus’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” she said, her grin immediately dropping.

“Catarina said it’s to be expected considering the severity of his injury,” he said.

Clary exhaled once, spotting the bowl of dirty water on the side table that he’d used to clean Magnus’s face earlier. Without word, she grabbed it and the towel and walked over to the bathroom in the back, emerging a few minutes later with a bowl of fresh cool water and the towel now cleansed of dirt.

“Have you rested at all, Alec?” she asked, placing the bowl back down on the table. Alec’s silence obviously said everything. “Get some rest, I’ll stay with him,” she said.

Alec didn’t answer, he just looked at Magnus’s face, remembering all the mornings waking up to see Magnus’s eyes already open and staring at him, like he’d been doing it for hours while Alec was blissfully unaware. He wished his eyes would open now. He wished Magnus would wake up and be mad at all of them infringing on his space and looking at him without him saying that they could. He wished he could see Magnus’s smile and hear his laugh and listen to him talking for hours about the health benefits of sleeping on Egyptian cotton. He wished Magnus was present in that moment, instead of his being there in the physical sense. He missed Magnus.

“Alec?”

Clary was staring concernedly at him when he turned to look at her. “I’m okay,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” she replied. “Get some rest. I’ll watch over him while you do. Don’t make me get Catarina.”

A chill suddenly ran through his body, almost like Clary had channelled Catarina’s spirit into the room by just mentioning her name.

Reluctantly, Alec relinquished his grip on Magnus’s hand and stood up; feeling every single ache and pain in his body the moment he was upright again. Perhaps Clary was right, a nap wouldn’t hurt.

Perhaps it would be agonizing.

Instead of finding a spot somewhere in the room, Alec walked out into the hall; he didn’t want to leave Magnus but he felt like he needed to step away, even if it was just for a few minutes. He needed to breathe and to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t had a moment to just process everything that had happened, not just the attack that night, but anything that had happened since the moment he woke up that morning.

The living room was dark when he walked out, pulling the door half closed behind him, and after his eyes adjusted to the sudden loss of light, he found Izzy and Raphael on the couch in the same position he’d left them that night. Izzy was awake and leaning against Raphael’s chest, her knees pulled up and the back of her head resting on his shoulder. Her hands were intertwined with his and the other hand weaving comforting patterns in between the bony area of his knuckles.

Izzy’s eyes soon noticed him standing there but she didn’t rush to move out of Raphael’s embrace and Alec didn’t even think to ask her to.

“How’s Magnus?” she asked. Her question caused Raphael to glance up in his direction as well and he looked far more apprehensive by the situation than both Izzy and Alec combined.

“Still unconscious,” he said with a sigh, walking over to the sitting area without making such a big deal about the sight of them cuddling on the sofa.

There were so many things he could have said, most of the words echoing in his mind sounded more like his mother’s voice than his own, but he was just too tired to make it an issue. He wasn’t happy with how the thing between Izzy and Raphael had started; mainly because Izzy hadn’t been in her right mind at the time and neither was he. But they were both clean and sober and Alec thought that Izzy had more than earned the benefit of the doubt and Raphael had shown him that what he felt wasn’t all about the addiction, so Alec thought that it wasn’t his place to say anything beyond what he’d already said. He needed to trust his little sister and he did.

Raphael visibly relaxed when he took a seat on the sofa in the far corner and leaned back heavily in it with a sigh.

“Where’s Catarina?” he asked, looking around at the empty and still apartment and not seeing a hint of her presence.

“She went back to get a change of clothes,” Raphael said, “And apparently some real alcohol. Magnus’s collection was apparently too extravagant for her taste.”

“She said that he was in good hands, so she didn’t have to worry,” Izzy added with a smile. “Speaking of, how are you doing, big brother?”

Alec just sighed. “I’m fine,” he said. He knew that at this point everyone had realized that it was his not so secret code for ‘he was definitely not fine’ but he couldn’t muster the strength to convince her or anyone otherwise. “Clary’s watching him for a while. Jace and Luke still haven’t woken up.”

That piqued Izzy’s curiosity but she didn’t comment.

As if on cue, the door to the bedroom opened slightly and out walked a frumpy, dishevelled Jace; his hair plastered flat on one side of his head and sticking out every which way on the other, rubbing at his sleepy eyes with the balls of his palm.

Alec was on his feet before Jace was half way in the living room, stepping up to him almost immediately and before Jace could even half notice there was someone standing before him, Alec had reached across his shoulders and pulled him into a firm embrace.

“Thank you,” he said into Jace’s ear. “I didn’t get a chance to say that last night so—thank you, my parabatai,” he said sincerely. He was referring to Jace finding them, saving them, saving Magnus and healing both of them more than once; for being there by Alec’s side the whole time—for not dying and leaving him all alone. He hoped the unspoken words came across the way he wanted.

It took Jace a moment to gather his thoughts before he returned the embrace wholeheartedly. “It was nothing you wouldn’t have done,” he said earnestly. “It’s nothing you haven’t done a thousand times over. Thank you, for being my parabatai.”

Alec found himself getting lost in the comforting embrace in Jace’s familiar, strong arms. He closed his eyes, just inhaling the scent of Jace that invaded his nostrils, remembering a time in the not too distant past when he would have done anything to be in that position with one of the most important people in his life.

That was until the ancient glass vase on the small table beside the bedroom started to shake in its place all of a sudden without anyone or anything being close to its position. It vibrated for a few seconds; Alec had opened his eyes and was staring at it but the sight wasn’t really registering in his mind. No one else seemed to notice so Alec thought it was just a figment of his imagination.

Until it suddenly exploded, raining water, drenching the table and the carpet underneath, and sending the disintegrated flower petals billowing around from the vibration in the air.

Alec and Jace leapt out of the embrace, Izzy and Raphael were on their feet before any of them could even say anything, until a frantic voice from inside the room was shouting his name.

“Alec!”

Alec rushed in immediately, almost tearing the door off its hinges when he flung it open.

Clary was half draped over Magnus in an effort to hold him down. Luke who had at this point woken up to the chaos, was trying to hold down one of Magnus’s arms and Magnus…

It was as if Magnus was seizing on the bed. His chest arched almost completely off the mattress, his head nearly planted into the pillow behind him; his fists clenched painfully, faint red jolts of electricity around his hands were flicking in and out of existence. His eyes were clenched shut—a far cry from the serene expression Alec had seen on his face not a moment before—his mouth downturned in a painful grimace and his teeth bared.

There was a sound, an almost agonized whimpering rumbling in the back of his throat that Alec could hear even from that distance. It was a terrible and frightening noise to hear.

Suddenly the priceless vases arranged meticulously on the desk by the window shattered to pieces, sending shards of broken glass zipping into the wall. Then the mirror by the makeup table fractured and crackled before tiny web like cracks spread across the surface; it affected the window soon after.

Alec didn’t wait for another thing to get affected by the waves of magic radiating off Magnus’s still unconscious form. He ran over and threw himself onto the bed, using his body weight to try and hold Magnus down all while screaming his name desperately.

Clary was still there, tears streaming down her face. Alec could feel Jace and Raphael’s presence sidling up beside him but he could only concentrate on Magnus.

“Magnus!” he yelled, hoping that his words would somehow manage to break through the haze and pierce through the veil surrounding Magnus. Magnus didn’t seem to be able to hear him so he shouted once more, even louder into his ear. “Magnus!”

This time Magnus stilled momentarily, before his eyes flew open and Alec was met by the sight of his cat’s eyes, but unlike all the times he’d seen them in the past, this time, his pupils were dilated, blown up until the gold colour was barely a ring around the black. Alec didn’t know much about cats, but he knew dilated pupils meant that they were angry or felt threatened.

But his eyes were unseeing; open but almost looking straight through him at something that only existed in his delirious state.

“Magnus?” he tried again, calling his name gently, motioning to everyone else to step back as Magnus slowly started to calm down; his magic was still sparking dangerously at his fingertips.

Alec saw the exact moment his pupils contracted; narrowing, allowing most of the gold to seep through once again when his eyes finally focused and he found Alec almost immediately.

“Alexander,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper and his eyes half lidded, though the relief in them was apparent.

It was as if he’d used up what little energy he’d managed to recover in that moment; his eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids closed and he fell back against the pillow, unconscious.

Alec exhaled and almost collapsed onto the bed himself.

“Damnit, Magnus. Stressin’ us out like that. It has got to stop,” Luke said as he collapsed heavily onto the seat he’d no doubt jumped up from before he could even fully wake up.

Jace stepped around the bed and circled his arms around Clary, hugging her tightly from behind; she reached up to hold his hand, grasped tightly around her front, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

Alec heard Izzy saying Raphael’s name and turned around just in time to see him stalking out the door; Izzy looking hesitantly between himself, Magnus and Raphael before rushing out to follow him.

All of a sudden there was the familiar swirling of air in the corner by the door before a vortex tore through and out popped Catarina hugging a paper bag full of clinking glass bottles to her chest and a half eaten hot dog in one hand.

“I feel like I just missed out on something monumental happening,” she said with a slight furrow of her brows.

Luke let out a groan but Alec couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the day followed a similar trajectory. Magnus would stir suddenly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration and his mouth in a pained grimace, but he never fully woke up. It seemed like he’d be on the brink of consciousness before getting dragged back down to the depths.

Alec tried not to get his hopes up every time he saw the way Magnus’s eyes were shifting behind his closed lids and the way his lips would part as if to say something. The next moment all the little actions would stop and his face would become lax once again.

Clary was a constant presence beside him, as was Catarina. Izzy split her time between being in the bedroom with him and Clary by Magnus’s side and out in the living room with Raphael who hadn’t come back into the room even once after Magnus’s last fit.

Luke had claimed one of the bottles of alcohol Catarina had brought from her own collection, much to her displeasure, and Alec noticed the way he kept ignoring the calls that were coming into his phone.

Alec didn’t have to see Jace to feel him hovering close by, whether he was in the room with them or out in the hallway with Izzy or brooding in the corner by himself.

Alec was glad that his mom and dad were at the institute with Max and was more concerned than angry when he called to inform them where he was and why he wasn’t going to come into work that day. He knew it was irresponsible of him; it was different for Jace, Clary, and Izzy and it was different before he was Head of the Institute. It wasn’t just responsibility to himself, it was his responsibility to every single Shadowhunter in the New York City area. He had a duty to all of them, not just himself and his problems.

But his mom had assured him that it was okay, and told him to stay as long as he needed to; and even though Alec thought he was beyond longing for his mother’s approval and her praise, hearing her say those words made his heart soar inside his chest.

Catarina popped in and out of the room so often, her sudden appearance would sometimes almost give Alec whiplash.

Alec didn’t leave Magnus’s side even once after what happened.

Eventually he could see the light slowly dipping out of existence as a blanket of darkness was cast over the city.

It had been almost 24 hours since the attack, since the fight; since he almost lost Magnus, bleeding to death in his arms. Alec didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget the memory of that night or the feel of Magnus’s blood seeping through his fingers.

Clary was on the floor by the wall, playing with one of the cats Magnus fed that had made its way into the apartment, so it was just him at Magnus’s side, holding his hand tightly in his grasp. His fever had lessened considerably over the last couple of hours which was at least a bit of positivity they all so desperately needed.

Magnus’s absence was felt by all of them. The room they were in felt just a little bit smaller and a little bit duller. The air felt a little bit staler than when Magnus was there with them, smelling of vintage perfume and countless years of experience and knowledge. Everything just felt less full of life, and it was such a painful and noticeable difference.

Alec wasn’t really paying attention, his eyes staring out at a spot in the corner but not really seeing what his gaze was looking at. He didn’t notice it at first, the way the fingers in his grasp suddenly twitched until they slowly curled around his hand, latching on weakly.

His eyes immediately snapped to attention, turning his head to look down at the occupant of the bed beside him only to find the gorgeous pair of golden cat eyes, the pupils normal, not blown out in fear, the golden hue of his irises shone like the memory of a happier time in his life. Magnus’s eyes were open and he was looking at Alec, not through him seeing a ghost of his past instead of the person sitting in front of him, but actually looking at him; seeing him, knowing that he was there at his side; real and present because Alec loved him and he needed Magnus to know.

There was so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted to confess everything, all his feelings and his emotions and his worry, he wanted Magnus to know everything that had been festering inside him for so long; the sadness and the fear he felt when he thought Magnus was dying; his anger at not being able to stop him from getting hurt or help him when he was. He wanted to say everything in all the languages of the world, but instead, he just said;

“Hi.”

But it seemed to be the right thing to say because Magnus levelled him with a weak, half lidded look before a small smile tugged at his lips; his mouth opening slightly and a weak, hoarse voice came out.

“Hi,” he said, and it was the most beautiful sound Alec had ever heard.

tbc.

Next chapter  →

[ladyslounge-blog-blog]

If you're bored, you're boring

Dear Jennifer June, I follow you on Instagram, Facebook and twitter. You seem so down to earth and fun, even now, during this global disaster. I don't know how you do it! Sorry for writing about something so depressing, I'm sure you have more interesting things to do than read this, but I'm having a hard time coping with this whole Corona Virus thing and you're basically my idol and there's nobody's advice I would cherish more than yours at a time like this. It's hard enough living alone in this 3 story house, with nobody to talk to but my extraordinarily independent, mute, non-shedding, hypoallergenic cat, and nothing to do but play my baby grand piano, cook in my Wolfgang Puck inspired kitchen, and watch the plants in the solarium grow, without having to try to make sense of all the contradicting political and public service announcements on the news - on top of it all. How do you stay so grounded and levelheaded during this crisis? Anxious and alone, with nobody to share any of my wine with, Samantha P.S. I love your hair like that. You’re so pretty. Dear Samantha, Thank you so much for following me, and for your very kind words. I know that times like these can be very trying for anyone, and I honestly can't imagine how hard it must be for you to have all that empty quiet space to occupy all by yourself. The solarium alone sounds dreadful. I don't know if they will be of any use to you but here are 10 of the tools that have kept me calm, reflective and mentally grounded over the last few weeks. Regular exercise - At least 4 times a week (weight training, cardio, stretching etc.) Ritual - meditation, prayer, lighting candles, manifesting and projecting feelings of love and positivity for others, iChing, vision cards, visualizing acts of kindness etc... Weekly check-ins with a fabulous therapist who reminds me to honour all of my feelings and be true to myself. Minimum of 90 minutes daily gentle hand-picking of individual cat hairs out of every single inch of fabric/carpet/my body that I can find. Poking my lettuce seedlings with a chopstick several times a day to "check" if they're growing. Robert Mondavi Private Selection Cabernet Sauvignon Bourbon Barrels Sartori Valpolicella Superiore True Zin Puglia Boisseaux-Estivant Réserve de la Chèvre Noire Bourgogne Santa Julia Biologique Cabernet-Sauvignon Mendoza Hope this helps!  JJC Dear Jennifer June, I've been to pretty much every single show you've ever done, and I love how funny you are. Everything you say on stage is so relatable even though you're obviously cooler, smarter and prettier than me. I got 3 cats and 1 dog because of you and I named them Phoebe, Flo, Willow and Nina, just like yours! But not in a creepy way. Anyway, enough about me, but not really because I'm writing to you about me, because this quarantine vibe has me so down, I can't take it anymore. Ugh, Montreal is supposed to be the city of lights, or the city that never sleeps or whatever but I'm so lonely and bored, I literally almost thought about inviting my pharmacy delivery guy in for a drink yesterday when he came to deliver my topical rash ointment. You post the coolest stories on IG and you seem to be actually having fun. What do you do all day? How are you not dying of boredom right now? PS Prescription guy - cute a f Bored Becky  Dear Bored Becky,  Thank you so much for the kind words. I'm so glad you enjoy the shows. I'll be honest with you Becky; I have never once been bored in my adult life. I am actually fortunate enough to be able to work from home at the moment. I also have many projects on the go at all times.   I love spending time with my family, listening to music, reading, and cooking. I also try to truly  savour the rare moments that I get to just sit back and relax, whether it's in an Epsom salt bath, in a pile of blankets and cats (hair) on the sofa, or in a pool of my own nap drool /cry-orgasm-tears at the foot of the basement stairs. I think that first, it's important for you to ask yourself, are you truly bored? Or are you feeling something else. Possibly, what you're feeling is avoidant. Maybe you're trying to procrastinate.   Perhaps you're simply paralyzed with terror because the whole world has the fucking plague and people are smashing into each other in the streets like a swarm of contagious germ feast zombies. Or maybe you're truly bored, Becky. And if you are.... Well, I don't want to be the jerk who says "If you're bored, you're boring" but I am, and it's true. Seriously Becky, there are 22 different species of squirrel (in Canada) to post photographs of on Instagram, 165 shows on Netflix, over 100 knitting stitches you can learn, 19054 different red wines at the SAQ, millions of bananas that have not yet been baked into loaves of bread, and 64 editions of Guinness World Records, compiling thousands of really fun, super safe feats for you attempt to break, from the comfort of your own home, including heaviest weight lifted by human beard, most apples crushed with the bicep and longest fingernails grown by a woman. Hope this helps! JJC Dear Jen, First: You’re hilarious and I LOVE your dog. Second: I have a never-ending to-do list that I always say I don't have enough time to tackle. Thanks to the global pandemic, I am currently unemployed and under quarantine, which means that I have all the time in the world. I don't know why, but for some reason, I can't seem to get my shit together and do any of the things on my list. I basically just scroll through Instagram, watch television, drink wine and bake cookies. I feel so lazy, I'm even embarrassed to be sending this to you. I mean, I know that this kind of life changing event is enough to cause anybody trauma and make them feel creatively blocked, if not paralyzed. And I get that I should try to be self-compassionate and realistic about what I my limitations are under these times of great stress, but I can't help but feel a little bit guilty for not being able to do more. Is there something wrong with me? Shauna Dear Shauna, I think it's super important to remember that despite all the extra time you might have on your hands, it can be difficult to find inspiration for anyone right now. The fear of the unknown, being inundated with a storm of anxiety-inducing news and so much contradicting information that leaves us entirely confused as to whether to go for walks or not go for walks, wear masks or not wear masks, stay 6 feet from people or 6 meters from people etc... It's a lot and can be really demotivating and even completely draining. That having been said... Get off the damn sofa and do the shit on your god damn list. If months go by and you come out of this with nothing done but 15 new pounds gained on your lazy ass, you're going to fucking hate yourself. Study your damn Italian, post the dumplings on your vegan web site and do those stupid stair push-ups every stupid day or you will keep crying every time you can't do more than 10 of them. Oh! And write your book already!!! You have time to send 86 memes back and forth with your kids and post pictures of squirrels on Instagram every single day, sew 4 pairs of pyjamas, bake cookies you don't want to eat, watch every single episode of Game of Thrones in under 2 weeks, set up a photography corner in the basement that you don't use, and try all 19054 different red wines they sell at the SAQ, meditate, pray, light candles, manifest and project feelings of love and positivity for others, throw the iChing, pull vision cards, and visualize acts of kindness, and write not 1, not 2, but 3 drippy whiney love songs that you'll never let anybody hear because they're "not funny", "not done", and "not good enough", but you can't write a single chapter for your book? Are you kidding me right now? Jen seriously! Get it the fuck together. Hope this helps! PS My dog smells like rotting Doritos. JJC   Read the full article

[its-just-like-the-movies]

The Killing of a Sacred Deer (17, C)

The absolute best thing I heard going into The Killing of a Sacred Deer was the specific, Ohio-based dread it possessed to one critic who knew that Yorgos Lanthimos had shot the film in Cincinnati. He also lives in Columbus, close enough that I could theoretically run into him at the Wex, and it was his comments I remembered as Lanthimos’s camera somehow made the architecture of the hospital Dr. Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) works at seem even sharper and more angular. Just as quickly, another review calling the film hollow sprung into mind, as we see Murphy and his anesthesiologist friend discuss watches, a conversation we see as the characters briskly walk towards us while the camera tracks away from them. Already the director’s style and mannered dialogue ring odd somehow, and not in the way he surely is hoping for. My friend Jack and I spent the film’s entire run time scouring for anything worthwhile it had to say and came up empty, which feels even more dismaying given how much we got out of The Lobster after one sitting, let alone multiple viewings. But the ideas here are buried under the inflexible stylization of its writer/director, some unplayable scenes, and a tenuous connection to the world at large that makes the unreality Lanthimos is going for seem out of place and poorly contextualized. Congratulations to Lanthimos for being able to sustain a truly unique tone, but it feels restrictive on a story that badly needs a reason for being.

We spend about half an hour - at the very least - with these characters before the plot itself kicks in, as the odd son of a dead patient of Steven’s says that his wife Anna (Nicole Kidman) and his children Kim and Bob (Raffey Cassidy and Sunny Suljic) will die unless Steven kills one of them himself, all as their bodies starting shutting down along the way. Until now, we’ve seen Steven as this boy Martin (Barry Keoghan) interacting with the closest thing to warmth the film or the cast can conjure up, only for the relationship to degrade once Martin begins following Steven and violating personal boundaries, acting even weirder while he does it. Wife and children are met with all of their bourgeois non-peculiarities, and no one is either given or seizes a chance to make any of the film’s protagonists something more than muted ciphers for ideas about Cruel Fate and Comeuppance and Righteous Vengeance that Cape Fear does with so much insanity and gusto. Worse than that, the film has a hard time clearing up or enunciating these ideas. If we can laud Sacred Deer for being somewhat unpredictable on a scene-by-scene even as the blueprint can only point us one way, we can criticize it for the way Anna is never ever, for no explained reason, afflicted by the strange malady that is killing her children and should frankly be killing her. Longer scenes veer into increasingly unplayable dialogue, and the lies and enigmas swirling around Steve in particular never grow the ironic resonance that Lanthimos wants. Declarations of loyalty and partnership from Anna, bickering among the children as to who will die, a continued insistence on Bob’s status as the favorite and additional prominence from being the first to fall ill, all seemed to point me fruitlessly in the direction that either mother or son will die, while Kim’s romance with Martin seems specifically to combat how little she’s really present in the family unit. I never thought she was going to die, because the film itself seems to think of her as an afterthought.

In terms of unplayable scenes, what would be worse: Telling your son about a horrific childhood sexual exploit with a sleeping relative? Having to jack off a colleague in close-up for information the film undermines as he tells it to you, even if it is true? A story about how people eat spaghetti while you’re wearing cheap boxers and covered in meat sauce? The many horrific stories and absurd statements that litter Sacred Deer have none of the firepower that they’re clearly meant to, and we are left watching the actors not so much struggle with these lines as watch them push them out without any seasoning or creativity beyond what this admittedly unusual tone has to offer us. Alicia Silverstone, cat-grinning and slurring her way through her only scene as Martin’s widowed mother, is the only performer who creates more than one mood or emotion at once while still attuning themselves to the film’s style while everyone else does the one thing that’s asked of them capably and with barely anything else to offer. Meanwhile, no one moves their facial muscles and struggles to maintain their American accents for more than ten words at a time. Raffey Cassidy’s stiff heaving of herself across the floor and somewhat emotive line readings kept me at her attention compared to her other scene partners. I spent whole scenes imagining the actors pitching their characters at a higher volume, trying to actually make them people until certain lines sank the scene completely. As I said earlier, no one else manages to rise their character above anything but a cipher to expound on ideas I don’t think Sacred Deer ever articulates, makes vital, or does anything remotely interesting with. Maybe finding a human person in this script is a futile effort, but why did only Silverstone seem to try?

It doesn’t help, I think, that the world of Killing of a Sacred Deer is so ill-defined in its relation to the world at large. The Lobster’s oppressive rules on coupling and outlandish locations helped create an atmosphere where Lanthimos’s style doesn’t just make sense but utterly thrive, and contextualizes the world so fully that trips to “the city” do nothing to dissipate the film’s tensions. Here we have nothing to go on in terms of where this is, what kind of reality we’re in. Yes, it’s one where a young boy can cast curses without any explanation, but he seems to be an outlier overall. What kind of world are we supposed to take this as, if our protagonists cannot count on anyone to believe their story? Maybe I’m being unimaginative to balk at this, but this is not the stilted camera of The Lobster, nor are our protagonists trapped against the frame like insects stabbed into a display with pin needles. The camera follows them and is followed by them, the world expansive and open even with the angular geometry of every building seeming so much sharper and confining than it would normally be. Instead of a relatively closed setting, we’re in an unnamed city, where this could happen to anyone, except the premise and execution are both too outlandish and too watery to have any gumption or blood or piss and vinegar to back up its convictions. I never cared much about Martin’s quest for vengeance, about Steve or any of his cursed family members. Nothing in Killing of a Sacred Deer is as funny as the incredibly awkward finale, where opera music blares at full volume while a surviving member of Steve’s absolutely drenches their fries in ketchup, without breaking eye contact with Martin, before the whole family just decides to not pay for their food and leave the diner rather than keep eating in the same building as that creepy fuck. The whole film feels like a hollow exercise for Lanthimos to flex his idiosyncratic style, and I wish there was anything for see in this except for how empty it ultimately is.

[otsenasportfolio]

I’d have a Picture but...

WORD ASSOCIATION DESCRIBING THE GAME:  colours influencing emotions, atmospheric, music, tranquilizing, tranquility, colourful, bright, moody, choir, surreal, fantasy, history, message?, beauty, peace, transition, change, evolution, nature, architecture, industrial, fish, shark, death, resurrection, friendship, bonding, spirituality, pray, mediating, Sumerian, Mesopotamia ( funny how you just look up one word and suddenly you realize you need to research more! I’m so excited to research the stories, culture, social norms, etc of the Sumerianians! It might just answer more questions about this game....), Egyptian feeling (but again because it’s Sumeranian...the earliest civilization that existed...) 

So let’s do the important thing first: research! 

First take away:

Sumerians were very well known for their innovative ways, bonus points given to them for having very few resources unlike their time-line neighbours the Egyptians were far richer. 

Sumerians worshipped hundreds of gods (this actually makes me wonder WHY we as human beings just began to worship so called Gods? HOW did we come up with this idea that there are larger forces than us and that we must worship them? Is this imbedded in the human DNA? If the Sumerians (the FIRST civilization!) were worshipping gods...then this idea of ‘a bigger force out there’ is just as old as time.  What’s interesting is that they believed that there were MAJOR gods and less major/smaller gods. They worshipped the MAJOR gods by worshipping the smaller gods, believing that the smaller ones will pass the prayers/worship to the bigger gods. 

Now let’s do some research on the very word used for this game ‘ ABZU ‘  Abzu or Apsû , is the name of fresh and pure water from the underground. The Sumerians believed that this water was what filled the lakes, the rivers, the ponds, and whatever other bodies of water on the surface.

The Abzu is what they believed to be an ancient sea underground that is deep, deep underground, past the underworld. 

Abzu’s were also tanks of ‘holy water’ in Babylonian temples which were used for rituals, which mean sthe water is possibly the most pure. 

“ABZU - I’m just going to write down the first thoughts that came to mind..while a little intoxicated and very tired. I’ll definitely be re-reading this again, lol. 

This is a gorgeous game, hands-down one of the most visually appealing games I’ve ever played. The use of colours enhance the experience of emotion and atmosphere. 

The graphics are so unique, for instance the character you play as isn’t entirely round. She/He/It is shaped by numerous geometrical shapes and angles but they are still so 3D you don’t notice how block-like their body is.  The music is so calming and nostalgic, Wintory did an amazing job at creating atmosphere within the msuci. As all games should be, the music should be an addition to the world that you see and interact with. It shouldnm’t take the spotlight and throw you off (unless it’s a horror game) and it shouldn’t be so dull that it wouldn’t make a difference if you muted it. The music of ABZU just adds..more to the game. It’s immersive and cinematic and it helps tell the story of this game..

The style of narration of this game is so, so cool (lack of better terms for now oops!). There is no script (other than the events) in this game. No dialogue other than the game telling you objectives/actions.... No one speaks in this world. Everyhting is just communicated through actions. 

For instance, there are these two little robo buddies that you find at the start of the game. They do not speak to you but they do have a similar communication style as your character (let’s call her Pip because that’s the first thing that came to mind and she’s as innocent as ol Pip from LOTR lol)....  But the two communicate in thesame way. They....chirp, and a little sound wave emits off their heads with a little golden light. And that’s it. You hit space bar (or one of te buttons on the game control) and Pip chirps in greeting while the robo-buddies chirp in return (and sometimes, fi you’re lucky, they’d do a little flip!).  Now this was interesting to me because it indicates that language in this world ...isn’t the same as ours. And this place...this world? Feels like a whole other planet (much like Subnautica is) where the whole space is made of JUST water and a bit of islands/lands.  However...When you enter one of the palaces near the end of the levels you see a big mural with figures that look like Pip dressed in togas/suits/dresses that resemble Egyptians....And all around them are what appear to be Hieroglyphics. So they MUST have some language, right? Or used to? Spoken? Unless each chirp, or frequency of each chirp is the equivellent to a syllable/word of a sentence ?  Either way, that was just really neat to see and it was a fantastic start at showing the world to the players at first.  Now another important thing to note about Pip is that she (or he but I’m going to stick with she since that’s how I’ve always seen Pip)  clearly has an affinity towards the sea creatures...and the sea creatures are connected to her somehow.  There is a speed boost you can activate by pressing a certain button (on PC it’s the LMB) and each time you do boost any school of fish near by would swoop by and join Pip as she turbo zips through the sea! I found myself grinning at that beautiful sight... I mean how many animal lovers would LOVE to have a whole school of creatures just follow you like that so sweetly?  And of course there’s the fact that Pip can hitch a ride on almost any creature (that is big/strong enough) around! THey’ll swim around and you can get from place to place much faster aaway. Not only a really REALLY cool game mechanic but another fascinating trait about our little deep sea diver!  There is something that’d I’d consider...almost spiritual within the bond between Pip and the sea itself. 

This is proved by the ancient (and empty) towers we discover throughout the levels and dive through their pool rooves to enter this galaxy world which I honestly believe is the underworld/upside down world of the sea world we normally swim in.  I did a quick search and found that ABZU means “fresh water from underground aquefiers” (yes, that IS very specific, lol)  but it is religious in Sumerian culture.  Next point (i’m trying to get everything I can remember down in one go!)  The stages you experience throughout the game....the shark, i mean. A really interesting character as at first you see it and you don’t know how you feel about it. You’re swimming around, minding your own business, enjoying the lovely music, still grinning after shooting out of the water like a dolphin and hitching rides with big fishes.....then all of a sudden Pip stops swimming and there before you is a FREAKING SHARK just chilling there, waiting for you.  At first you still think you’re controlling Pip since the transition to cut scene is so smooth. You spot the shark, the shark is swimming around..to the equivllence of pacing? and then wooooosh it aggressively swims through a bunch of kelp to disappear in the cavern away.  I remember I felt a sense of dread but also a lot of curiosity.  To me (as of right now) i believe that shark may represent the Unknown in life. 

More on this later!  Though one curious thing is the way Pip reacts to the shark....Which isn’t really easy to read...since Pip doesn’t react at all. She’s just willing to follow where you want her to go, go questions asked, no hesitation. 

Though the way she watches the shark, the way she looks at the shark an dthe way she runs to save it immediately makes me wonder if she has some sort of kinship with it. Like a soul mate, a connection?  It was a strange feeling to experience but that theory became more stronger when I found another one of those temples/palaces with murals. there was one with several hallways showing ...some kind of story from the past. The pip-people seemed to have worshipped the shark, and I believe that shark had something that sort of...controlled whatever in the sea? It was like the heart of the sea, almost?  I say this because there was little glowing sun that was attached to it and...and shark seemed etheral or very, very sacred because it was painted the same luminescent blue colour that the sacred Abzu was coloured in the pictures. That shark has a connection with that water, and perhaps with whatever spiritual compounds its made of.  

----shark=unknown in life that we chase?  definitely stages of living  life, dying and rescurrecting? or new life replacing? Not sure.. 

[the-record-columns]

Dec. 12, 2018: Columns

The gift of Patience...

               Max Ferree

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

As noted many times in this space, one of my favorite people in the whole world was the legendary attorney and judge, the late Max Ferree.

In one column, I admitted to having stolen stories from him for years, and, as his reply, he wrote me a beautiful letter which was vintage Max. In it, he acknowledged my sins, forgave me, then, as only Max could, admonished me to at least “Get them right from now on.”

To that end, he mailed me a three pound packet of stories which I have dutifully used off and on for years, and faithfully given credit to Max.

What follows is, to me, the one most special.

In the year 1899, a young daughter was born to Sarah and William Max Ferree in the south mountains of Burke County. She was the fourth child born to Sarah, the other three being named Arthur, Lola, and Mabel. The Ferrees’ named this child Patience, perhaps because Sarah died soon after the birth. This child was the pet of the family, even though William Max married Louise Morrison later on, who gave birth to H. Clay Ferree, the new baby of the family.

William Max Ferree was a south mountaineer, who had a small “jot ‘em down” store which probably measured no more than 20-by-35 feet. He had counters and shelves in there together with a big pot-bellied stove. It was a gathering place for south mountaineers—a combination of saw millers, red clay farmers, and whiskey manufacturers on the creeks and branches that left the south mountains of Burke on the way to the Catawba River.

William Max was really proud of a new addition in his store, the same consisting of a paper cutter and a twine yarn holder. Afterward, every package sold there that needed to be wrapped in paper could be, with just the right amount cut with a cleaver off of a big roll. He figured that the combination paid for itself with a little extra charge on the dry goods he sold.

One day in 1914, much to his consternation, he found that somebody had whacked off a bunch of paper on the rotary and messed up some string, allegedly in an effort to wrap something. He made inquiry of his entire family but all stood mute as to who has wasted loads of wrapping paper, which he sensed knocked the profit off quite a number of sales. Later on at Christmas, presents were being unwrapped and there for him was a package wrapped in such a fashion that he knew that the giver must of same must have been the culprit, who had messed up his string and wrapping paper earlier. William Max vamped a little bit and started taking the paper off the box and ream after ream came off.

As it did, he became angrier and he bellowed out, “You mean you used all of that wrapping paper, just to wrap this box?” He opened the box and it was empty. That added more fury. “You used all that just to give me nothing?” Then little Patience said, “But Daddy, what I gave you was all my kisses—I blew them all into the box, so it really took a big box to hold them and took a lot of wrapping paper. William Max held it up, hugged her, and took the box and left the room with tears in his eyes. Patience died during the flu epidemic of 1918-1919, Above all others, William Max took it the hardest.

In 1932, the old man passed on and left a Holographic Will, wherein he gave his old red clay farm to his wife, Louise, for life, the remainder over to his four children, H. Clay, Arthur, Mabel, and Lola. In his hand written will, William Max added this: “There is a box wrapped in paper and string on the upper shelf of our store back in the corner. Place this box in my coffin, because I’ve told Patience that I would bring the box to her when I came and I want to keep my promise and bring that box full of kisses, so that we might have it, God willing, through eternity.” Signed in the presence of God this the 4th day of March, 1919, by William Max Ferree – (Seal.)

To those interested, William Max’s mandate was carried out and the box was placed in the home-made white oak casket, the interior of which was lined with worn blankets, the lower body covered with an old quilt. But the big box with all of the wrapping paper on it was placed across William Max’s chest so that he might deliver it in person to Patience.

Max Ferree was born in 1924 to H. Clay and Hattie Poteat Ferree in Burke County, N.C.

Simple practices that bring peace

By LAURA WELBORN

Record Columnist

How often have we dreaded going to a family event because we know there is someone who will say something hurtful and inconsiderate?  

I found these Simple Practices that Bring Peace by Marc and Angel Hack life blog that made a lot of sense:

1.  Notice the story you’re telling yourself about the other person. Whenever you find yourself stressed out and irritated by how someone else is behaving, first notice that your mind starts to create a story of anger and resentment about them. It’s about how they always behave in this irritating way, and how you are absolutely sick of them!  This story is harmful.  It immediately stresses you out, it keeps you exclusively focused on the negative qualities of the other person, and it ultimately makes you someone you probably don’t want to be.  So, do your best to see this story for what it is.

2.  Interpret their negative behavior less personally. When you sense negativity coming at you, give it a small push back with a thought like, “That remark (or gesture, or whatever) is not really about me, it’s about you (or the world at large).”  Remember that all people have emotional issues they’re dealing with, and it makes them rude and downright thoughtless sometimes.  They are doing the best they can, or they’re not even aware of their issues.

In any case, you can learn not to interpret their behaviors as personal attacks, and instead see them as non-personal encounters that you can either respond to effectively when necessary, or not respond to at all.

3.  Take positive control of negative conversations.  It’s okay to change the topic, talk about something positive, or steer conversations away from pity parties, drama, and self-absorbed sagas.  Be willing to disagree with difficult people and deal with the momentary consequences. Some people really don’t recognize their own difficult tendencies or their inconsiderate behavior.

You can actually tell a person, “I feel like I’m being criticized.”  You can also be honest if their overly negative attitude is what’s driving you away: “I’m trying to focus on positive things.  What’s something good we can talk about?”  It may work and it may not, but your honesty will help ensure that any communication that continues forward is built on mutually beneficial ground.

4.  Model the behavior you hope to see. When someone insists on foisting their drama on you, be an example of a pure existence. Disregard their antics and focus on compassion.  Communicate and express yourself from a place of peace, from a place of love, with the best intentions.  Use your voice for good, to inspire, to encourage, to educate, and to spread the type of behavior you want to see in others.

All of this, of course, is easier said than done.  It takes practice.  Sometimes I catch myself being rude to people who are rude to me—I behave badly because they behaved badly.  And even if the situation is absolutely their fault, my behavior only escalates the situation. So, I do my best to take a deep breath and set a good example of how to cope with anger and frustration.  Try to be patient and compassionate with them to demonstrate a positive way of handling difficult people.

Biblical prophecy right on target

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Could it be we are living in the time the Bible talks about whereby Israel’s enemies to the north will form a coalition against her and attack?  While I’m no prophet, the circumstances and facts speak for themselves.

Iran is presenting itself on the world stage as a stabilizing force in the region when, in fact, the opposite is true.  In recent days, Iran’s President Hassan Rouhani held a meeting in Tehran with high level leaders and officials from China, Russia, Turkey, Afghanistan and Pakistan.  The meeting was supposed to focus on combating terrorism in the region however it was instead used as a forum for Iran to verbally attack the United States and Israel.  The free world should be laughing out loud that Iran, the world’s largest state sponsor of terrorism, would call a meeting about combating terrorism.  Iran’s goal is to rally forces against Israel and the West and to isolate the United States drawing U.S. allies in the Middle East into their corner.  The Middle East is becoming quite a “Peyton Place” whereby friendships and alliances are as fluid as running water.  Guess that fully explains the saying in the Middle East that…, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”  Turkey, Pakistan and Afghanistan are supposed to be US allies yet they attended Iran’s meeting.  Furthermore, in recent years, Turkey and Iran have grown closer despite the fact they are on opposite sides of the Syrian war – Turkey backs the opposition to Assad’s government while Iran backs Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. China and Russia are two of the world’s most powerful countries and they stand against the United Stated on a number of issues.  The fact that Iran was able to host such a high-level meeting shunning the United States and other Western powers ought to be worrisome.  It signals they may be gaining clout in the region which is something Israel is keenly aware must not be allowed to take root.

How does Israel factor in to this scenario?  For starters, Hezbollah is a terrorist organization headquartered in Lebanon with branches and fighting forces in Syria and elsewhere in the region.  Hezbollah has amassed an arsenal of approximately 200,000 missiles along the border with Israel all aimed to hit key targets and cities in Israel.  Unlike in years past where Hezbollah’s weaponry lacked accuracy, the missiles currently aimed at Israel are far more sophisticated thanks to the support Hezbollah receives directly from Iran.  Recently it was discovered that Hezbollah has taken a page from Hamas’s play book and dug terror tunnels well into the territory in northern Israel.  These tunnels were meant to be used in a surprise attack to cut off entire towns and murder innocent Israelis.  In one tunnel explosives were discovered which Hezbollah intended to blow up adding to the chaos and turmoil during a future invasion.  Iranian rhetoric calling for the destruction of Israel combined with their support of Hezbollah makes any growth of Iranian influence in the region very dangerous for Israel.  Israel’s Western allies have no clearly defined strategy for combating the spread of Iran’s influence in the region or Hezbollah moving in to Syria and setting up shop.  This leaves Israel in a precarious position of having to keep a close watch on Iran and be prepared to “go it alone” should Iran, either directly or through its proxy Hezbollah, make aggressive moves against the Jewish state.  What makes the Golan Heights so important is that it serves as a buffer between Israel and Syria to the east.  In fact, from the top of the Heights the Syrian capital of Damascus is visible being only forty miles to the north.  The Golan Heights is a relatively small piece of real estate measuring only 500 square miles – approximately 40 miles north to south and 27 miles east to west at its widest point.  While small in size, for obvious reasons The Golan is of huge strategic significance to Israel.  All those who are pressuring Israel to give up the Golan Heights are paving a road, more like an expressway, for aggression from Israel’s enemies to the north. Once again, Biblical prophecy is right on target.

 Local balance for the holidays

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

The idea of supporting small local business owners during our largest gift giving season is anhonorable notion. With busy schedules and the desire driven by highly effective advertising it’s not always easy to balance the budget and time requirements needed to shop local. What’s a person to do when time and money are in short supply and stress is not lacking?

Based on years of joyful and sometimes highly stressful conditionsI can assure you that a good balance can be accomplished. In fact, with patience it can done in such a way that we develop rewarding experience that in some cases produce new relationships that can last for years.

The Small Business Saturday campaigns started in 2010 and have helped bring attention to our small retail business owners. This occasion is promoted for the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The idea being that we should visit our local small retailers and give them an honest opportunity help us with some of holiday shopping.

We all get busy and need a reminder of the importance of supporting our local merchants. Many of which are our neighbors and friends. Now days it’s all too easy to simply go online and find just about anything we want. So why is local so important?

I recently visited with folk artist Charlie and Susan Frye at Folk Keepers Gallery in historic downtown Lenoir. Over the years I have gotten to know them, and I love the art they create. They have been part of some of our TV stories as well as the weekly column. I stop and see them anytime I am in the area because they have become friends. I enjoy doing business with them. Knowing that the holiday sales make up 30-40 percent of there annual business I want to do what I can to help.

I am setting beside the fireplace at Highlands Coffee shop just down the street from Folk Keepers as I write these words. The owners, Don and Sandra McDonald are wonderful people. The shop is a perfect stop for locals and travelers like me.  I enjoy my visits and always drive away with a smile and a nice memory. Sandra creates tasty treats and her seasonal pumpkin cake makes a great addition to any Christmas gift basket.

Charles and Susan Babb are next door at Charles Babb designs. Charles in always at the top of my list when thinking about a world class ring design. They are fine people who care deeply about doing a top-notch job and to me that matters a lot.

A few of the important things that these three business owners have in common is they are small business owners, they make things we can use and want, and they have become friends that I treasure. They are just a few of the good folks in the Lenoir, the list is long.

I could share similar stories from towns and cities around the Carolinas, it’s just a part of who we are and it’s important that we remember.

As a nation we love to consume. We are driven to have and have more. So, how about we do a good share of our shopping with people we can get to know and build a bit more social capital. Expand our extended families and be around to celebrate the little victories as well as the big ones. Truth be told we all need each other, life is not always easy, and friends are important.

We are blessed with many wonderful small and local business in the Carolinas. Some will make it, and some may not. If we all do a bit more to balance the scales, we can be a part of building our communities and making a few new friends along the way and that’s a good thing.