#clave nonsense

[buffyspeak]

the clave: surely if we teach our young nephilim that emotions are weaknesses/distractions/something to be repressed, they’ll stop having emotions and just be good soldiers, right? what could go wrong?

and they were SO wrong. because what happens when you train a group of people subject to emotion (bc they definitely definitely are! even if you think angels might not be, humans are, and shadowhunters are still half-human) is not that they STOP having emotions. it’s that they never learn to express them in meaningful and healthy ways which can be both detrimental to them and the people around them! (it is fundamentally what the clave wants still, though. people who can’t put what they’re feeling into words are going to have a way harder time questioning authority.)

it’s so interesting to see with alec! he’s not always a super verbal person anyway (#autistic alec ftw) and i think he’s a fairly internal processer. BUT in this scene in 3.04 with magnus, it seems very clear that he’s upset, knows he’s upset, and isn’t really trying to hide it from magnus. but the way he stutters around the words and grasps at them and cuts himself off, he’s not just trying to express how he feels, he’s trying to sort out WHAT he feels in real time.

it’s an interesting parallel to because from what i remember of 3.05 in their fight near the end of the episode, i think he comes off less unsure because he makes broader, more assured statements - he seems more articulated, i guess. maybe because he’s been brewing about it all day. but the conversation goes a lot of places because he struggles to understand, yet alone convey, what he’s actually upset about. and magnus in turn (and i think for fully understandable reasons) does not really get that this issue isn’t as simple or one-dimensional as jealousy, or even as familiar as the immortal-vs.-mortal conundrum. it’s about alec not having ever felt like a first-choice to anyone (which is a bit ridiculous and disasterish because i don’t think he quite grasps how much his siblings adore him, but there are reasons for that) and having finally felt secure and wanted with magnus and now starting to have that—shifted. compromised when the move-in question comes up because now he’s thinking about what exactly he even means to magnus. and he knows that it’s not magnus’s fault that he’ll one day ‘move on’ (a loaded term but i digress) when alec dies. and on a fundamental level, i don’t think alec wants him to Not do that! he wants magnus to be happy, to have a good life after him, to have had a good life before him! it’s just that all that can be true and it can still hurt to feel insignificant (which for the record, alec would be MORTIFIED to ever admit, which i think is why this emotional revelation is particularly hard to articulate) (magnus, for his part, knows that all love is different and would be shocked to hear that alec doesn’t understand remarkable and precious he is to magnus).

[belle-keys]

I'm really missing Cordelia right now and I know how much you adore her too. Do you have any interesting headcanons for her? How about songs that remind you of her? Anyway here's a pic of my Funko she's keeping me company while I work

Cordelia! That's my whole damn cousin! Here are my headcanons:

She lowkey loves to bullshit white Englishmen about her ethnicity. Sometimes they come up to her asking “What’s Arabia like?” or “ Which part of India are you from” or some nonsense lumping all brown people together because they’re ignorant like that. Instead of lecturing them about Persia, she starts playing along and saying things like “Oh yes, I’m actually the lost queen of Rajastan, third in line for the throne”. James wants to punch the men but Cordelia plays along and she and Alastair laugh about it later.

Her chai game is simply not as strong as Alastair’s because cmon, Alastair is the British-Persian king of chai! But they still have chai-making battles which they force Sona to judge.

She likes experimenting with various types of dance as a hobby. From traditional Persian dances to ballet to classical Indian dance. She finds it’s a great way to destress when her Clave duties become taxing. Plus, James thinks it’s super hot.

Her dream vacation destination (after Constantinople) is Petra.

Absolutely no one can beat Cordelia at chess but she absolutely sucks at card games (because girls weren’t really taught to play card games back in the day). However, Lucie happens to be good at card games because the Thieves taught her, and Anna is good at them too because Anna is Anna. Hence, Cordelia’s greatest secret goal is to get as good as them to beat James and Matthew one day and relish in their frowns.

She is deadly scared of bees and she will not hesitate to whip out Cortana and attempt to slay them… often to no avail. “What a great warrior,” mutters Alastair whenever this happens.

Some songs that remind me of her:

La Chute est lente by Alma (she’s a lovergirl)

Cupid by Victoria Monét (she’s a lovergirl)

The Great Mermaid by LE SSERAFIM (she will take absolutely no shit)

War of Hearts by Ruelle (she will beat your ass)

Anywhere But Here by PVRIS (jordelia)

Akasaka Sad by Rina Sawayama (breaking generational trauma)

[alexanderlightweight]

So I just reread your unicorn/phoenix Malec and I have to say I love it. And while I really do want know everyones reaction to the new soulmate duo in town I had this thought that made me giggle: Alec and the other baby shadowhunters in a sacred ritual observed by their dotting parents/any curios shadowhunter (lots) soul searching their form and it being announced to a lot of clapping/cheering one after another. Then Alec with the cutest smile: Unicorn. Cue everyone freaking out. Panic.

so i already wrote a bit where he first shifts *he kills his dad and a bunch of others* and so that doesn't quite work? but i loved the prompt so i kind of used it? and i'm hoping you still enjoy this

-

Unfortunately for the rest of Alicante, Alec’s presentation and shift is kept as quiet as possible until Jia Penhallow can gather as many adult members of the clave to Alicante as possible.

It becomes routine and Maryse watches with a hardened heart as Alec slowly gores his way through executing over thirty nephilim adults.

It’s terrifying how many people Jia introduces him to and how many people he kills and how he only gets bigger and stronger each time his horn pierces a nephilim and executes their soul. His secondary form is twice as big as it should be for his age, but it’s not hurting him, and he barely tolerates her interest when it’s valid, so she does nothing.

Sometimes, her baby is merciful and only kills them, other times he gores them viciously, splintering apart the golden tendrils of their soul and severing their tether to Raziel.

It takes weeks for it all to end and it’s when Alicante is finally purged from the filth that Alec takes offense to, Maryse is begging Jia to follow through on the original deal. Maryse cannot stay in Idris with two children, not when one of them is being used as a divine sword of execution and angelic justice. Not if she wants anything of Alec, her baby, to remain or ever be salvageable.

It’s hard, taking Alec to New York and intending to leave him there while she finishes getting things ready, but she wants him out of Alicante. Where all the nephilim watch him with fear and awe alike.

—

“Maryse Lightwood.” The hunter says, cool and detached and utterly uncaring which means absolutely nothing.

“Trueblood.” Maryse corrects with a tight smile, because she won’t have Alec wear his father’s name when he killed the man. He’ll be her heir because he spared her, he found her worthy in a way that he didn’t Robert, for all that he avoids and is rarely near her. “My son has shifted and been given his first runes. By Jia Penhallow’s orders, he’ll be staying here at the Institute by himself until I and his sister arrive.”

The hunter gives her a dismissive look but then grits their teeth into a fake but not unkind smile and looks down at Alec with a grimace.

“So kid, you have a good form then? Going to be a hunter?”

Alec smiles up at them, his small face too sweet for the monster of justice that lurks beneath and Maryse shudders at the sight.

“I don’t have to hunt.” Alec says, looking at the grizzled hunter curiously. “My prey will always find its way to me.”

“Oh?” The hunter asks, clearly trying to play along with what they think is childlike nonsense. "What kind of animal are you?"

“I’m a unicorn.” Alec says with a smile and the hunter misses their next step, pallor draining as they look down and finally recognize the glint of Alec’s smile for what it is. “My prey will always find me when it’s time to be put down.”

Maryse swallows hard and reminds herself that she can’t run her fingers through Alec’s hair, or even face him when he smiles like he is now.

Not when he’s looking at the people around him with something both hungry and divine in his gaze.

[faejilly]

a while ago i watched someone react to 1.03 and were praising izzy for being an ally and like i love izzy but almost every time she brought up alec’s sexuality it made me super uncomfortable bc who would really want to be constantly in fear that your sibling is going to out you in a very homophobic society while trying to be supportive? and like there’s no way that izzy doesn’t know that the clave is homophobic and she still brings up it up all the time, it just seems weird that she can understand that the clave is racist but can’t comprehend that it is also homophobic, and she never really dropped the topic despite alec being uncomfortable with it

#mood

HOWEVER

The question arises... was Alec uncomfortable, or were pretty much all the queer viewers uncomfortable?

There's a thing with most media, but TV shows & movies especially, which have so many people involved in making them, and so many constraints behind the scenes that we the viewers may or may not know anything about, that sometimes the way a scene appears to the viewer is NOT the way it was intended/the way the characters take it.

Shadowhunters is a particularly egregious example of this, being a (relatively) cheap YA melodrama on a third-rate network whose entire production staff got swapped out between seasons 1 and 2, so 'lol what is consistency or planning?!?' is visible everywhere.

SO.

Is Izzy in-universe actually clueless/dangerous Straight People™️or were the writers/showrunners clueless Straight/White People™️who had no idea that half of their 'rule of cool' / 'quick banter' / etc. came across as micro-aggressions to the audience?

You can go either way, it's all a question of which you think is more fun/interesting/necessary for your own peace of mind/enjoyment of canon. (Fandom is supposed to be fun after all.)

A lot of people settle on 'they are that bad in canon' and write a lot of fix-it fic or 'nephilim have to deal with CONSEQUENCES!' fanworks, and those are great! A lot of other people go with "clearly everyone else in canon acts like they have positive relationships, so this is a failure of execution and I'm going to write fic/make art assuming that these people are who they SAY they are, and figure out what that looks like to me" and those are also great!

Just decide which one you're doing when you start, because combining both in one fic gets... a little weird? Hard to follow, at least. 🤣

SO: Is Alec uncomfortable? How does he deal with that, what does that say about his relationship with Izzy, with other nephilim, with the Clave & Council & Alicante? How does that contrast with how he feels interacting with the downworld, which is canonically a lot more self-aware and accepting of queer people and minorities?

If Alec isn't uncomfortable with Izzy's behavior, if no one else seems to pick up on it, why? Do we go with other people's reactions in canon and assume that she is in fact very careful with what she says where and it seems overt to us the viewers because we're allowed to see it? (Much like inter-party banter over comms in heist movies or tv shows; no one else ever hears it or sees it, so we can see and hear it for storytelling purposes, not for 'reality' purposes.)

If that's the case, what does their relationship look like to people in public? How different are public-facing Alec & Jace & Isabelle from what we the viewers see of their private relationships to each other?

Do you want to assume some mish-mash of both? It's more subtle in the setting than it seems so we can see it, and also Alec knows she means well even if we don't? OR SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY?

IDK, I have no conclusions here. I mostly assume that the show is a disaster, and these people all seem to like each other, so how can I write them that fits the results rather than all the dumb-ass details? (I like a lot of authors/artists who go the other way though.) This is encouraged by the fact that the technical/magical worldbuilding is nonsense so I'm making up shit all the time anyway, might as well add characterization to that too! 🤣🤣🤣

[ladyhindsight]

TW: transphobia

this is that epilogue cob edit

original:

edited:

that is not a term i'm familiarized with. the word itself was translated as the latin american trans identity 'travesti' but it doesn't mean the same thing. so i can't speak on the wrongness of it, but i did notice that it was also used in draco dormiens chapter 4

i wouldn't judge people for terms they used +15 years ago, this is more a matter of recollection of stuff that isn't aknowledged than a matter of pointing fingers imo

Combining these two messages together since they're about the same thing, regarding this post. Here is Clare's post about TID covers that R linked where Clare wrote that:

"There is no real secret hidden meaning about who is on what cover, except that the marketing department didn't want a boy on Clockwork Princess. They may perhaps have been worried that everyone would think Will's dark secret was that he was a transvestite and was always stealing Jessamine's clothes."

Apparently the term belonged to Clare's vocabulary 10+ years ago, and I think that changing it in the newer City of Bones edition was a sensible choice. If Clare/Clare's editor did not know the offensiveness of the word, they probably would've otherwise left it unchanged. To add to stuff like killer and who molests cats, yyyikes.

I think the term 'transvestite' in nowadays is mostly considered antiquated and offensive, also because it was frequently used before (and in the recent years still is?) as a derogatory term and also rather interchangeably with anything regarding gender expression. For instance, people got terms such as transgender and transvestite mixed up or thought they held the same meaning, which they do not.

There are outdated and old fashioned definitions of the word which all add to the negative connotations because of the defamatory use. By definition it means cross-dressing but in my understanding 'cross-dressing' is the preferred term. There's also history with clinical use in psychology and psychiatry that I am not really familiar with.

As to the changes made into newer editions in general, I think is suspicious and sneaky not to acknowledge them. One of the major ones was the City of Bones one where Jace tells Clary that:

"it's only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities. They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently."

Which later on would not make sense as female characters in TID and TLH could not exist as they do today if this was the angle Clare kept in her series. Which was nonsensical to begin with because why would you incapacitate your already small fighting force by not letting half of your people fight?

These are fun to spot, though.

[zoyalannister]

Fanfiction Masterlist

Since I was asked about my fanfics and where to find them, I decided to make a Masterlist. Maybe it will be easier for you and myself.

The Last Flowers

A series which integrates and corrects TLH canon. It comprises four long fics, a collection of missing moments one-shots and three oneshots as epilogues. I'm writing this series with @fimproda (A_WriterInSTEM on Ao3).

This series has many delicate themes, so, please, read all the TWs before reading.

Here are the single fanfics of this series:

Hydrangea: the 1st longfic, it's mostly about Gracetopher (kind of). Set between Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron. [Complete]

Daisy: the 2nd longfic, it's mostly about Jordelia, but unlike canon they can talk to each other like normal human beings. Set during Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron. [Ongoing, 5/6 chapters]

Chrysanthemum: the 3rd longfic, it will be a correction of all the nonsense that happens in Chain of Thorns. It will be about Gracetopher and Jordelia, but also AriAanna and Thomastair will have a minor role. (Not published yet).

Petals: a collection of one shots of missing moments from the rest of the long fics. [Ongoing, 3/6 chapters]

Geranium: I like to call it Hydrangea AU, it starts with the same premise but it goes in a totally different direction. It's mostly about Cecily and Grace having a mother-daughter relationship, but Gracetopher is a secondary relationship and AriAnna will have a minor role later on. It's independent from the rest of TLF and can be read separately. [Ongoing, 4/8 chapters]

Levander: the Thomastair epilogue, set after Chrysanthemum. (Not published yet).

Acacia: the AriAnna epilogue, set after Chrysanthemum. (Not published yet).

Night-blooming Jasmine: the Gracetopher epilogue, set after Chrysanthemum. (Not published yet).

Gracetopher

Exothermic: a Bridgerton-like fanfic that starts from the premise "What if Cecily got Herondale Manor instead of Will?" [Complete]

How (not) to end a feud: a fanfic where the clave is tired of the Lightwood-Blackthorn feud and decides to settle the matter down with a wedding. [Complete]

It's always been you: a collection of short one shots (500-1500 words) for the Gracetopher Week 2024. Mostly sports-related AUs. [Complete]

Endless Sunlight: a fanfic set after ChoT where Grace is obsessed by the idea of finding Christopher in another dimension, but once she arrives there she finds out that Christopher isn't the same kind and caring guy he was in her universe. Or, the self indulgent villain!Christopher fanfic. [Ongoing, 16/21 chapters]

What happens in the lab... : a PWP fanfic.

What happens in the carriage... : another PWP fanfic.

What happens in the hotel room... : the return of PWP.

Gabrily

Still insists she sees the ghosts: Cecily is accused of something she didn't do and her tale goes through two different parts of her life. [Ongoing, 4/8 chapters]

Bad luck: Morden!AU, it should be a commedy but my humour is broken and I can't gaurantee other people will find it funny. (Not published yet)

Across the PWPverse: a series of 3 PWP one shots connected with each other, but that can be read separately.

That one time in Chiswick Manor: a PWP where Cecily goes to Benedict Lightwood’s party and meets an interesting person.

That one time in the Institute: a PWP where Gabriel owes a favour to Cecily.

That one time in Southampton: a PWP where Gabriel is forced to admit that he’s wrong about something.

Lightwood family (Gabrily)

Balance: Modern!AU, no plot. Just Cecily Lightwood trying to balance work, marriage, motherhood and life in general. It will be a collection of short one shots (about 500/1000 words each) independent from each other. [Ongoing, 4/35 chapters].

Extra

A collection of the extra of all my fanfics. These posts will delve into some aspects if my fics.

Endless Sunlight: The planimetry of Chiswick Manor; The gardens of Chiswick Manor, Playlist, Random facts about Matthias Greene, Random facts about Oliver Whisperford.

[khaleesiofalicante]

The epilogue has a lot of special and sweet scenes, but may I point out one of my favorites?

Their family trip to Switzerland. Seeing everyone so happy was so so so heartwarming. Seeing couples happy is really good, but a whole family? It's on a totally different level and something that warmed my heart a lot.

I can't wait to see those three generations again in LBAF V, loving and fighting together. Because the Lightwood-Banes can be a bunch of dramatic and unhinged bitches, but it's exactly that kind of unhinged love and protectiveness that turn them the strongest in battle. And I'm very sorry for whoever has to fight against Malec, Mavid, Rosewood, Arthur, Lance, Cami and Arjun together.

Ahhhh I love this. And yes writing the whole family together is so much fun and in lbaf v it's going to be even more fun and interesting because of all the complex dynamics and clave nonsense and what not.

So excited for you to see them all again!

[dialvgued]

☽  —  ››  [  ben barnes.  cismale.  he/him.  nephilim.  ]  –– –– ––  look  over  there  !  isn't  that  MALCOLM CRANE  ?  you  know  ,  the  FORTY  year  old  who  has  been  in  london's  downworld  for  FORTY YEARS  ?? i  heard  through  the  grapevine  that  they're  INTELIGENT  +  COMPASSIONATE,  but  also  a  bit  DISTANT  +  WITHDRAWN  !  they  also  remind  me  of  cashmere sweaters with mean mugs, leather jackets and combat boots, and no clear line of where he stands anymore.  apparently  they  enjoy  BTILL WE BECOME MONSTERS  a  bit  too  much  !  and  they're  never  seen  without  their  FAMILY CREST RING.  so  interesting,  right  ?  ~ 

Malcolm was born to Merriam and Gregory Crane, two shadowhunters who made sure to make names for themselves as strict and no nonsense shadowhunters. From day one, he was always meant to be what they'd thought would be the greatest era of shadowhunters. He at the age of six became the eldest brother to (FUTURE WANTED CONNECTION) and in the same year met his future parabatai, Henry, of another family well known in the downworlder world. For the most part, he was trained with the mindset of all downworlders are bad and that was it. He never questioned that. At the age of eighteen he took the parabatai test with Henry and actually passed. A rare feat, surely, becoming two halves of the same hole.

Six years ago, he woke up screaming out Henry's name when he felt the life drain out of him. The rune burned but that was nothing compared to the pain he felt losing his best friend and fated soulmate in a way. He quickly hunted down Henry's body, being told that for some reason, he went on a hunt without Malcolm. In his grief, he didn't question it... but he changed drastically. He became quiet and withdrawn from the world around him only to come out when needed. On one of these trips, he met a vampire who told him a tall tale surely... but her words rang in his mind over and over. It wasn't a vampire that killed his parabatai. It was another shadowhunter. Every part of him told him not to believe her but as time went on, he fell deeper into her words and world; coming to see not all downworlders are bad. He even went as far as to visit and escort her to the clave meetings often.

TAKEN / WANTED CONNECTIONS

The downworlder he has a strange connection to - (TAKEN)

His sister - (NEED TO SEND TO MAIN)

A previously friendly shadowhunter - (WANTED) They more than likely grew up together. They knew both Henry and himself, and they know he's changed since his death. Maybe they haven't called him out on it to his face. Maybe they try to but he shuts them down. Either way, they definitely know something is very wrong with Malcolm and he doesn't want to hear it.

Downworlders that hate him - (WANTED) he was bound to harm or kill someone at some point. Maybe he killed their lover? Maybe he nearly killed them? Let's go to blows, baby.

A downworlder who wants to use the fact that Malcolm's seemingly switching sides - (HELLA WANTED) but down to plot something out.

[beyondtheciouds]

A match was lit, and the struck stick was tossed carelessly into the fireplace long before the Consul arrived on the city's other side. The signs were all there; a mistake was sure to be made tonight as the rickety carriage moved down the quiet street into a neighborhood she knew far too well and had visited often. The night was young, and Charlotte had enough aggravation tonight to last a lifetime. Her temper had dissolved into something far worse, an anxiousness, a pettiness that Charlotte Fairchild feared would get the best of her.

Weeks of carrying on like her personal passions did not matter--dissolved her worth. The loneliness had finally caught up with the Consul. Parading around with baked goods for the less fortunate when she wasn't tossed into a shrewd sewing circle of gossipy crones had her wanting to tear her hair out by the roots. Weeks of listening to Henry go on and on about nonsense, how he might be necessary to the community one day, all the talk made her want to run away screaming. A pillar--how he might be more than a guy with few screws loose to their comrades. How his dream would never be.

Days spent being begrudgingly faithful--- helping Gertrude with Henry's baths and keeping a tidy house while her maids gossiped in the kitchen instead of doing what they were paid to do crept up on Charlotte's cold shoulder too fast. Gossip kept her awake most nights. Tending Henry casually turned into months of long hours spent slaving and staying away from her duties to the community. She became a hermit and spent the dragging daylight at home. Often ending up so alone.

Many apparent signs had passed her eyes in the months leading up to her career's demise. So many red flags waved in her face, yet she turned a blind eye as she internally accepted her fate. What did anyone expect? What did she?

Henry was usually out of sorts these days, bamboozled by his imagination and the imagery of science. Often, he sat undressed and oblivious in the sunlight at the breakfast table. He refused to eat until Gertrude took his plate of cold eggs and stale toast away.

Then, he would eat the jam right out of the jar.

After a frustrating lunch, the mid-afternoons were a chore; sitting with him in the lab or the library while he struggled to make sense became a game Charlotte often lost at. 

After supper, he was worse, moody, and intolerable at all-night hours. Sometimes, Charlotte dotted on him, reminding herself his destiny had been stolen from him like hers had. Like a thief in the night, her Henry had painfully drifted away into madness and had unwillingly taken her hopes along with him.

To Charlotte's relief, Henry preferred his own bed and usually slept downstairs in the unused study. The time after dark was hers.

Matthew was nowhere to be found most days, while others he spent tangled in his sheets with mistresses and mimes. Charlotte did not know what to make of his disappearance as he was often gone days at time without a word or sound.  Some days she had forgotten her youngest son existed.

She now wondered if his disappearance was unrelated to that of the Herondales and Miss Carstairs. If he had gone into hiding in Paris as his exploitations often found him in a source of trouble.

If he would turn up dead or in prison.

Charles was usually out, tending to business on Charlotte's behalf in the city during the daylight. He reveled in the fact that his mother had become a hypocrite and now strived to do far better and take on more responsibly in regard to his up and coming position. Unfortunately for Charlotte, the Clave agreed. The members had cited Charlotte was under far too much stress and gave her son the assignments she would have usually handled.

Charles was proud and did not speak to his mother about his work. He didn't want to offend her now that she had sequestered at home. In the evenings, he almost always seemed to have private dinner plans or spent long hours working at his new office so he would avoid any confrontations with her. He usually waited until he knew she was asleep to drag himself home.

That left Charlotte alone with Matthew's dog, Oscar most evenings.

Being dutiful, respectful of their vows, and mindful of their families all for nothing. To be alone with a madman, have a rebellious son on the loose, and, worst of all, a son who stole her happiness. She wanted to scream and cry and carry on like a child.

Pursuing her dalliances made her happy. Her work made her happy. Her family had once made her happy.

All these things gone, leading to a point of breaking.  The loss of oneself.

Tonight, the news of Matthew's and the others disappearances had been Charlotte's breaking point despite her best efforts to tell herself Matthew, of them all, was fine. Tonight, will be the beginning of an end she decided as she sat further back against the plush, green velvet. It was time the wolf emerged from the sheepish clothing regardless of where her son and his friends were taken.

The olive-colored carriage pulled to a stop in front of a large, overpowering brick mansion without the slightest hesitation. The golden wings painted on the panels of the carriage doors glistened like snowy dew drops under the overhead lamplight. It was as if they were stars themselves.

Imposing and threatening gates surrounding the mansion were iron encased in ichor; pickets and posts shaped as sharp arrows were meant to deter all visitors. The stained-glass windows were wide and dark; the heavy ceiling candelabras were unlit. There were no signs of life; no shadows stirred inside, but she knew he was home. 

Maurice was always home at this late hour.

Charlotte quietly scolded herself for dragging the Inquisitor into this mess and the chaos that would ensue such decisions a she waited to be let through. Time and resentment had erased most of what her and Henry had so she was not feeling guilty as her hands itched inside their gloves. What she was feeling, however, was nervous.

A man in a satin black frock coat and elegant top hat appeared out of the shadows, startling the driver for a moment. The driver hesitated before he handed the man a parchment, then whispered words were exchanged.  Charlotte studied his face. It was skeletal; gaunt in the cheekbones and bruised under the eyes, the mysterious man in the top hat.  He tried to peer in with his shadowed eyes through the frosted glass several times at her without success. The horses made obtuse sounds as Charlotte's driver informed the man of their business without so much as a smile or a tip of his hat under the moonlight.

A moment later, the gates opened, and they passed quickly through while Charlotte watched the numerous vacant gardens go by. Greek and Roman; the statues of maidens and goddesses were covered in blankets of pure snow. She heard the click of the lock; the clank of the gate shutting her inside his estate as the man's laughter chimed like a bell, following the carriage as the wheels chugged along in the dark.  Then the man was suddenly calling out behind them, shouting German orders to the few soldiers surrounding the house. Charlotte sensed that he was telling everyone that the Inquisitor had company. He was not to be disturbed.

The night, the open sky; stars as free as she felt.

Arriving at the door, an overweight butler had been waiting with an overly friendly smile. He tipped his bald head as if she were the matron of the house and not herself. The door to the carriage opened and he held out his hand to her.  She exited the small compartment with such grace that he was taken aback. Charlotte swiftly took the old man's hand and his smile widened unsteadily as if he knew her deepest secrets.

The reason for this perfectly timed visit.

Long days and longer nights had passed between tonight and the last time she was at the Inquisitor's estate. The last time had been deep in the summer when the roses were at their blooming peak. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the softness of the petals on her skin and smell the jasmine in the air.

The building had seemed to grow large and foreboding, it suddenly felt foreign to her eyes beneath the lenses of her glasses. She blinked, almost disbelieving she had returned to the Bridgestock Estate.

Warmth and heat filled her body so quickly that Charlotte thought she may have entered an inferno the moment she stepped over the threshold. She had half expected to see Flora hiding in the shadows, her face sharing all of Maurice's betrayals. Shaming them quietly.

The Fairchild carriage waited patiently outside, the old driver shivering as he read yesterday's paper under the dim light of the kerosene lamps. Charlotte knew she could leave. Pretend this was different from what she wanted. What she needed.

Instead of running away, she hastily clasped her shaking hands over one another, her oversized hat swaying like pendulum as she led herself down several narrow hallways and corridors toward the East Wing.

There is still time to leave, she thought. A deep breath and her fear gripped her like a forlorn lover as she passed open and empty rooms, closed and locked doors. I can still go home to Henry.

A glance in a hall mirror caught her by surprise; her round cherub face felt childish; brown eyes were wide, cheeks pink, and lips parted. Her skin glistened with sweat, and the small opal twinkled; the stone was dangling at her throat as it would have when she was young and naive.

Charlotte remembered when she dove headfirst into politics, not knowing where it would lead her as a female. She could not replace her father's proud look as she was first announced head of the London Institute.  How that memory rooted itself between the rocks, he formed in her heart.

The two maids scurrying about the unkept halls caught her attention. Both women knew her well by now. Charlotte was not one people tend to forget quickly, regardless of her title or position.

One of the women stopped, smiled, and greeted her by name. Then the maid had told her to go right in as Charlotte raised her hand to knock on the hardwood door of the Inquistior's Private Office. The door, she knew, would be unlocked. Charlotte had been expected.

Charlotte flatted her hand against the cooling wood as the maid vanished around a corner, singing some off-key ballard. Am I really doing this? Am I really doing this again?

Maurice had been waiting patiently for her. He opened the door before her bony knuckles hit the wood, his long face lit ablaze by the candlelight beyond him, and she swooned.

He was smiling, large, dark eyes alight with what Charlotte recognized immediately as longing. His thin upper lip held a glisten of sweat, and she could already taste the dry, dirty whiskey dripping from the corners of his curving mouth. The top three buttons of his starched white shirt were undone, exposing dark strands of hair plastered on milky skin. The sight brought Charlotte back to a time before she was a leader. A time when she was just a girl with a dream in her heart and a boy in her mind. This boy.

A long fur coat and matching gloves; a jeweled reticule and a pair of freshly shined ladies leather boots had become tangled in the furniture not long after she entered his office. Wedding rings and family Signas became discarded on an end table as if they were nothing more than heirlooms. A black robe and a periwinkle gown hanging on the coat rack next to the door blocked the light, casting the room in shadows. The hat, tossed carelessly to the floor.

Calming.

Maurice was the calming to the petrifying storm that raged inside her soul. He eased her as he was easing her now. The rush cleared her ears; voices she no longer wanted to listen to ceased.

"Draw from it, Charlotte. Let it pull the truth from you, clear your mind. Relax. You are safe here. Everything is off the record." Inquisitor Bridgestock smiled, his large mouth twisting, exposing yellowed teeth crooked and chipped. The white shirt he had worn now caressed the back of his chair. "There it is, dear. Inhale, exhale. Now, tell me what you know."  His long fingers tolled the servant bell as he watched her chest rise and fall beneath the eggshell chemise.

Charlotte did just that; she inhaled and exhaled, but the ugliness remained on the tip of her tongue. I am married. You are married. I am your boss. What are we doing? All her insecurities about her position had come flooding up from somewhere deep inside. Guilt and shame huddled together in the pit of her stomach. Acid buildup climbed her throat. The voice ridiculed her and called her a hypocrite, and it only took a fleeting moment to realize the voice was Matthew's.

 Consul Fairchild is a dream, a fraud.

Charlotte realized everything in and about herself was a calculated mirage set in place by her father. Life as she knew it was false: her marriage, her children, her career, and her very existence had been planned and staged by her father to keep the family name going after losing his heir. 

Her affair would undoubtedly ruin her career, ruining her family's name. Her downfall would leave Charles and Henry mortified. Her divorce would leave the public stunned. The community would be decimated. Her friends would be devastated. Scandal after scandal.

Her exile. Her death. Everything was now in jeopardy-- she dropped her life into Maurice's calming hands. His steady hands.

Her father would be so disappointed. Her mother highly mortified.

Matthew would laugh. Tell her she was a joke. She was just like him.

Matthew...

Charlotte lost focus, hiding her tears as a maid entered and began tending to her, rubbing intense smelling and weirdly warm spices on her bare shoulders and neck. The heat flowed into her as the woman whispered words in some misinterpreted language and moved her hands slowly in Charlotte's chestnut hair.

Hypnosis was a new age practice; one Maurice Bridgestock had just discovered in the recent weeks. One he had been dying to try out on the Consul particularly. A watch sat idly on his desk next to a black and white swirling box with a pull chain attached.  Two mugs of steaming tea sprinkled with a peculiar opaque powder were arranged neatly on the desk by another stone-faced maid who quickly left.

Maurice delicately sipped from his cup.

Charlotte lay on her back, her petite body set up on the chaise opposite the awkward Inquisitor Bridgestock who sat at his large, oak desk in a sea of smoke. His mouth was still oddly parched, and his lips puckered at the sourness of the steaming liquid coasting down his throat. Charlotte closed her eyes and tried for a third time to refocus her energy even though she imagined his clammy skin still against hers. Their bones entwined on the fur of some deceased mammal.

A fire beyond.

Maurice had waited so long to get Charlotte Fairchild under his spell. He swore to himself this time he wouldn't let her go. He had loved her from afar for so long and now here she was, delivered once more in the palm of his hand.

A gift.

The sage that was burning on the silver tray upon his desk was giving Charlotte a slight headache, leaving her feeling sluggish and faint. Her long hair felt like it was being untangled from the tight bun at the top of her head. "Maurice," she said, breathless. "Belial is back. He's taken the children. James and Matthew. Lucie and Cordelia."

Maurice Bridgestock did not blink at the name of the demon prince, or of the missing teens. The Inquisitor was callous towards the Herondales and Carstairs, but he did have a soft spot for Charlotte's son. So, he let his face remain neutral and just eyed Charlotte curiously as the maid wordlessly untangled her hair. Excitement coursed through his veins, light and giddy at the thought of finally using the Mortal Sword on Tessa Herondale.  He would kill her with the sharp edge after she told them the truth. He took a deep breath, slowly and casually said, "When Charlotte? Tell me when you knew."

Charlotte's cheeks reddened. "Well..."

"Go on dearie," he said sounding like the big bad wolf.

She looked as though she did as a teen, long before she took the long arm of the law's hand. Her hair now hung in loose curls down her back, cascading off her shoulders. Maurice's heart skipped an unexpected beat. He was still in love with her. She looked just as he remembered. It felt like only yesterday had gone by when he had known her as nothing more than Lottie Fairchild. Innocent, smart and sweet. The girl he thought he would one day marry.

His red riding hood.

A log in the fireplace spat ash furiously and the maid yanked a knot free as if the idea had been preposterous at the start, even in his youth. Maurice licked his lips, contemplating his next steps.

Charlotte took another breath, long and deep. "I... I was not told he was back until this evening. He could have been here for months while Tessa Herondale went on about her daily life. That is, until late this afternoon."

"Go on," Maurice said, a wicked smile on his face.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 7 April

I'm hurtling towards real time - or at least closer to real time than I've been for a little while with this project, and we're getting spring-like. Perhaps that's why we're getting songs about blossom?

Cherry Pink (And Apple Blossom White) - Pérez Prado (peaked at Number 1)

I'll let you in on a secret. I have known and loved this song for some time. So you are about to get a load of gushing. Because this song rocks. If you do not know it, go listen to it. I'll wait. I could listen to this song for days.

Pérez Prado, if the name didn't give it away, is a Latin musician by trade, a bandleader from Cuba, who picked up this song, originally a French track by French-Spanish songwriter Louiguy, who also wrote La vie en rose for Édith Piaf. So it's a song with an interesting history.

I listened to the original for contrast, and it's still got quite a Spanish / Latin vibe, with a clave rhythm throughout. And lyrics! I had no clue - it's a song from 1950 about young love leading to marriage and kids, laced through with a metaphor about two trees growing together. It's slinky, with its rhythm, but still reasonably sedate.

What isn't sedate is Pérez's version! Immediately we've got blaring horns, blasting out a few brash, brassy notes, before a solo trumpet cuts through, building to a peak before woozily coming down, slurring all the way and slowing down, just minutely, so that the song threatens to lurch to a stop before continuing. If you've ever wondered what a drunk trumpet sounded like, check this out.

And then we settle into a proper sexy Latin beat, with the trumpet taking over the lines that were sung in the original, and the horns forming a sort of response to the trumpet. There's also a deep, honking horn that sometimes cuts in underneath, in a way that should be comical but kind of works. I was about to say it reminds me of a bit of Mambo No. 5, and then I looked and guess who did the original Mambo No. 5 that the Lou Bega version was based off? You guessed it, one Mr. Prado.

There's one single vocalisation in the middle, which is just a man shouting "hyuurgh". Perfect energy for the song, which keeps throwing in other little, quieter segments, before coming back to its high energy, major-key refrain. It keeps you on your toes, and honestly, it's just some of the most in-your-face brass we've had for a while, and I love it.

This is a sexy song. Imagine dancing with somebody to this, doing something slinky with your hips, pulling in close to your partner on all those woozy trumpet bits and just lingering as it slows down, almost holding your breath...

Yeah, I don't need to explain myself. This is my blog.

Prize of Gold - Joan Regan (6)

Well. Following Pérez was always going to be a tough act. But Joan really makes it easy for me to have an opinion. Because this song, I hate to say, is lame.

I'm not helped here by my particular recording, which is fuzzy and low-quality, making Joan sound like she's singing in the rain. But I think even without the rain sound, she would sound kind of glum as she starts off. And fair enough, they're not super exciting lyrics. I would be glum too, if I was singing trite nonsense like this.

I mean, we open on Why do people crave for fortune, / Everything their eyes behold? / What’s the good of fame and fortune? / Love is the prize of gold. Which is a sentiment I am behind. I too think there are more important things than money. I too think that love is pretty important. And I do think good songs to get out of it - I'm thinking in particular of the Beatles with Can't Buy Me Love with its slightly garbled but definitely anti-materialist message, or even Lorde with Royals, if you want a more recent example. But those songs have one thing in common, namely that they're fun. And this song, sadly, is not.

It's just slow, and Joan sounds kind of staid and sad. She's singing about the joys of love, but she makes them sound kind of like a reliable investment, or something, as she sings about how You have to have a heart to sing to / After all your dreams grow old and how If we have our love to cling to / We have the prize of gold. I get it, it's supposed to be romantic. But dreams growing old and having to cling to your love is hardly a glittering advertisement.

It's all a very similar tune and dynamic throughout, too, and I think that's part of the issue. I liked Cherry Pink because it kept throwing different sections at me, with different moods and different speeds and different instrumentations. And you don't get that here. Here you have lyrics - which should theoretically be an advantage for this song over Cherry Pink - and yet somehow you've made a song that says less than the instrumental did.

I'm trying to see what people saw in this, and I do think that these kind of anti-materialist "money and fame isn't the answer" songs can come about in times of economic hardship. I'm thinking of the whole punk DIY ethos, here, as well as Royals, from the depths of the financial crisis. And I guess Britain was recovering from World War II, but there was maybe still a memory of financial hardship linked to the costs of war? I mean, rationing had only ended half a year ago, so maybe this is speaking to that. Or perhaps it's more of a universal theme, beloved by grannies everywhere, and I'm talking nonsense. Who knows?

I think I've made my stance clear, and the reasons for it. Not much more needs saying, except please go listen to Cherry Pink. It's so good, a genuine ought-to-be-classic.

Favourite song of the bunch: Cherry Pink (And Apple Blossom White)

[buffyspeak]

“the clave would declare you unfit you unfit for duty, you’d be deruned” ... so if a shadowhunter struggles with severe mental health issues that the silent brothers can’t??? somehow cure?? they get not only declared unfit for duty but deruned? a painful process that? is otherwise used as a punishment for severe crimes?? and that leaves them defenseless against demons that will track and find and kill them because they still have angel blood?? (also as far as i am aware shadowhunters who are deruned are typically not allowed back in institutes so they also get kicked out of their homes!)

[maia-roberts]

That’s fact

[alexanderlightweight]

First of all, how are you and your partner doing with the puppy? I hope you have a great day

Second, maybe for writing Wendsday some HOTI!Alec? So I have the belief that there is alot of extra classes and training along with experience to be a HOI that may be known to high up shadowhunters but not really talked about to anyone else (especially obvious siblings). That they have to know a bit of everything from politics to seduction to torture for information. Thus Alec shocking everyone with his knowledge and experience, but to him it is common. So what do you think?

hey! yes wednesday was a great day and today is also a good day, not a lot of sleep but more time to write! my partner is doing great except that @saeths keeps hitting their posting limit.

Nightshade finally has his pool back (it's a new one but don't tell him that, he popped the last one) and is relieved because it's rather hot here and we both dislike it. But he's very happy and snuggly now that he can cool off (which means damp cuddles but oh well, c'est la vie)

I completely agree with this and I have feelings especially because of a specific part in the show and it went a bit differently (i feel like i say this almost every time) but i hope you enjoy!

--

Alec scoffs, derision loud as Imogen pauses from where she’s proudly handing over the Institute to her grandson.

“A problem, Mr. Lightwood?” She asks, an insult because Alec is a commander, and she knows it.

“Has Jace Herondale completed his tests?” Alec asks calmly, “has he been ranked as a nephilim commander? Either by a test supervised by the clave, or during a mission led by our Elders?”

There is silence and Imogen glares at him, furious as she tries to figure out a way to shut him down.

“Now, Mr. Light—”

“I’m a commander, Imogen.” Alec reminds her, because while she is Inquisitor, she is not and never has been an active duty shadowhunter. Imogen has made politics the bed she sleeps in, and Alec isn’t nice enough to let her rest there. “Is there a reason that you’re ignoring that? The loss of my Institute doesn’t take away my rank, or were you hoping to ignore that as well?”

“Commander, then!” Imogen grits out, “this nonsense—”

“Is it nonsense?” Alec asks, interrupting her and he smirks, “what does your grandson know about running an Institute, Imogen? Or are you just hoping for a golden little angel attacking everything you point at? Because the boy you are trying to promote is a soldier. He’s not a leader.”

Alec gives Jace the look his actions and inactions deserve.

“Jace Herondale, have you completed your training to be a commander? Do you know how to run an Institute? Are you prepared to be responsible for the lives of almost four hundred shadowhunters? To keep the peace in the shadowworld? Do you have the strategic knowledge of how to form teams and how to hunt on the various terrains? Are you capable of holding your temper during negotiations?” Because Jace isn’t and they both know it, “I was raised as your brother, Jace Herondale and I know that you haven’t earned the rank of Commander, let alone to lead an Institute.”

Alec steps back and he nods to the hunters — some of them ones he handpicked and trained and so many more than slunk in on the tailcoats of Lydia and Aldertree.

“I see that my expertise is no longer needed or wanted here. I’ll see about my transfer or whether I’ll retire in a few days, be sure to tell Jia to expect my messages.”

“You’re leaving?” Imogen looks more shocked than Jace, “but you’re needed to—”

“To what? Run the Institute while Jace gets the credit? To stay in his shadow and behave, a little shadow commander for you to tug around and blame things on? I’m done.” Alec scoffs, “I have better options than lingering here while you try to tear the downworld apart. If you wish to talk to me, you can submit a formal request to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, it will be his choice if I can spare the time.”

Because Alec has to make a decision and he needs to make it now.

The one who needs him the most right now is Magnus and that is who Alec will stay by, remain by. So, he leaves, knowing that anything he needs Magnus will get him and that even the clave can’t keep his weapons from coming when Alec calls.

Alec sits on the balcony, because he’s tired and sore and his very soul and body feel battered and bartered with.

“Imogen still hiding the soul sword information?” Magnus asks him, coming out to run cool hands and rings over Alec’s face.

“I don’t know.” Alec shrugs, “I’m no longer an attaché of the New York Institute, Jace is it’s leader now.”

Magnus is staring at him, something soft and pained but also viciously gleeful. It’s not that Magnus enjoys seeing him exhausted and worn thin, but Alec knows that Magnus enjoys knowing that he’s right.

“Yes, yes. You told me so.” Alec manages to mumble out, faceplanting in Magnus’ chest and there’s a soft tut above him.

“Darling, I’d never be so crass as to point it out when you’re this upset. Though, if you’re bringing it up. How unattached are you, would you say?”

“If the Institute or the clave want to talk to me, they’ll need to request a meeting with you first.” Alec tells him, which is essentially saying that he belongs to Magnus’ now, in his entirety.

“Oh, sweetheart. You really do bring me the nicest presents.”

[softsan]

NCT WEREWOLF AU (taeyong)

🖇Fragile heart (pt.4)

MASTERLIST

PARTS: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 |

WOLF PROFILES | Y/N’S NAMES

GENRE: Werewolf AU, Angst

QUOTE: “You were his mate. After centuries of waiting, he refused to lose you to another.”

WARNINGS: Graphic scenes of violence, Blood, Humiliation, Misunderstanding, 

You were woken at dusk by one of your father's appointed lady's in waiting.  

"My lady," Her smile was as false as the sugary tone she spoke in. 

Your fiancé must have sent word to your father that you'd be joining in him on his journey to the outskirts of Northern state. You grimaced as you pulled away from the covers, your feet slipping into silk woven slippers. You bit inside your cheek, swallowing the sharp pain that radiated up your claves.  

"You ought to have told me you were spending time with your fiancé. I would have packed a trunk with all your belongings." She spun gracefully in her ribboned heels, heading towards a rack of dresses she had neatly prepared.  

"I didn't want to disturb you," You matched her likeness.

"Nonsense," She swatted her hand, her gemmed bracelet catching the morning light. "I'm happy to serve."  

You held back a snort. Raine was no maid. She was from a well-off family with ties to the nobility. She disdained, serving underneath you. As you had overheard her put it, you were the daughter of a filthy commoner who had unjustly raised the ranks alongside your common father.

You weren't of royal heritage. However, your father was the head of the council, an independent governing body to the monarchy. The council was initially created as a voice for the average folk. But in time, they grew corrupt with power. In fear of a rebellion, the monarch had little choice but to embrace the council and its members. Overnight, your father was gifted a seat beside the king, and you a title. You now ranked equal amongst the other princesses.  

You pushed yourself to your feet despite the protest from your legs. You glance towards the door. You wondered if your fiancé would allow you to summon a physician?

I need to make contact with Rosa.

"I suggest this piece," Raine thrust forward an apricot orange gown. Her fingers smoothed down the detailed amber beading that lined the waist.

"Whatever will do," You responded with disinterest.  

You needed to find out if the wolfsbane had worked. Otherwise, you'd have to find other means to protect your friend.

You tugged down the sleeves of your nightgown, letting the chiffon material pool around your ankles. Raine helped you bunch up the bottom half of the petticoat. Next, the orange silk of your day dress came overhead. You threaded your arms in it as Raine worked on securing your corset. It began below your bust, squeezing in your waist. She heaved on the peach binding, tightening it with every breath. Lastly, she made a knotted bow out of the leftover lace.

You watched her from the mirror as you held onto the golden brass for support. Raine's contempt was written across her features, silently cursing you under her breath.  

"All done," Her eyes catching yours in the mirror.  

"Thank you,"  

"Anything for my lady,"

"Anything?" You raised a delicate brow.  

You noted as her jaw clenched, her lips forced upward. "Of course."

"Tell me, where ever did you get such a stunning bracelet?" You gently reached for her wrist, twisting it forward. "It matches beautifully with the necklace around your neck." You used her hand to push aside the large pendant. Underneath it was a faint bruise, its outline resembled a pair of lips.

"It was a gift from a friend," Raine shook away your hand, "We should be going." She turned, flustered, "It is best we do not keep my Lord waiting."

You hummed knowingly, "You certainly do serve Lord Yoon well."  

───

Your movement was stiff as you climbed into your carriage. You took a couple of deep breaths as you leaned back onto the upholstery. The pain from your legs worsened as you moved.

You peered out of the small window, pushing aside the draping curtain for a better look.  

Yoon had organized two separate carriages, one for you, the other for him. He also brought along armed soldiers who rode ahead of the carriages.  

You passed through the bustling city—the crowds proving an obstacle for the horses. You slowly rode past the markets, the morning bringing along great trade for the merchants.  

As you peered outside, you noticed a bronze-colored headscarf, accompanied by oversize robes.

"Stop!" You called for the horsemen to stop the carriage. You banged your fist against the wooden door until they heard you.  

Once the carriage had come to a halt, your pushed opened the door ushering Rosa to come. Her eyes lit with recognition. She tried to limp closer with the assistance of her cane.  

"My lady," Her arms shook as she dropped her cane. She wobbled down, struggling to bend her knees.  

Your eyes widen with alarm, crawling out of the carriage. You crouched down, dirtying the orange silk. You grasped Rosa's hands, helping her back to her feet.  

"There is no need," You insisted.  

She flickered her eyes behind you, slow enough so you'd notice. Your fiancé was watching you understood.  

"Come," You instructed, urging her to go step foot in the carriage, "I am in need of your services."  

"Who is this?" Yoon's voice boomed. He approached, casting a shadow over the old woman.

Raine stood by his side, her arm linked with his. She stood proud, staring down at you.

"She is a local healer." You put forward your best smile. "Let her come along. I could do with the company..." You paused, "And my legs are in need of care."  

Lord Yoon grunted, "What could this old hag possibly know about healing?"

"She is famous for her night tonics. All the court ladies use her services." You prattled. Rosa wasn't at all known for such things, but you needed Rosa to fill you in about your friend.

"It cannot hurt," Raine rubbed Lord Yoon's arm, "Let us head back to what we were doing."

Lord Yoon wavered his hand, turning his back on you.  

"Come on," You encourage, holding Rosa's hand.  

You patiently helped her into the carriage, coming in afterward. You shut the door behind and pulled down the curtains.  

You waited until the carriage wheels starting spinning before speaking.  

"Flora? How is she?"  

Rosa stretched her arms overhead, masking a yawn before answering. "I spent all evening prepping the potion. I was able to spoon it to her at around dawn."  

"And? Does it work?" You tried the hide the desperation in your voice.  

"It appears so." Rosa nodded, "Her fever broke almost immediately, and the swelling around the bite mark went down."  

You let out a sigh of relief.  

"But," Rosa continued, "I suspect the potion will only be a temporary fix to the problem at hand."  

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, a wolf's bite is a powerful thing. You can only repel its effects for so long.”

You chewed on your lip. What would you do if the potion lost its effect? Flora could only hide in her chambers for so long. She had her own royal duties to take care of too. 

"Let us think of a solution another time, child," Rosa said, "You don't look too well yourself?" Rosa left her opposing seat, her wrinkled hand lifting the bottom of your skirt.

She clicked her tongue, pity crossing her face. She reached for her basket, digging through her supplies.

"Save your bandages." You shut your eyelids, laying back on the cushions, "There will be people in need of them more than I."  

"At least take this," Rosa held a small vial of blue liquid. "It'll numb the pain."

───

Taeyong glowered his eyes, the color crimson. He watched as you inched closer, whispering in the Lord's ear. 

He focused on your murmuring lips. 

You asked if you could set up a tent to aid the injured. The Lord harshly responded that you could do as you please as long as you stayed out of his way.  

From the outside, the two of you looked like the ideal couple. However, the tone between you both was insincere and filled with hostility. 

They don't appear to like each other very much. Taeil commented, also overhearing their conversation.  

That slightly eased Taeyong's jealousy. Still, he wanted nothing less than to rip off the lords’ arm that hovered around your waist. 

You were his mate. After centuries of waiting, he refused to lose you to another. 

Haechan, are you close by? Taeil summoned.  

Taeyong gradually tore his eyes away from you. They still had the job of bringing their packmate home.  

Haechan, respond if you can hear us. Taeyong tried. 

Taeyong? Are you here?  

An arrow pierced the air, Taeyong skidded out of the way, turning back in search of the one that had shot at them. Two soldiers had been behind them. One held a torch, the other a bow. 

Taeil went charging at the one with the torch. The man helplessly swung his weapon, missing Taeil's coat. Taeil's jaw came down, clamping around his neck. The other man with the bow fled on foot. He reached for a yellowing, bone horn made from an animal tusk. He blew into the funnel, signaling they had found a wolf.  

Taeyong went after him. More soldiers would surely come. They need to find Haechan as soon as possible.  

Taeyong caught up with the man with ease. The man had headed towards a water well, realizing his mistake as he saw the forest close by. The man climbed the wall of the well to gain the height advantage, firing the last of his arrows. 

Taeyong sidestepped, avoiding the silver arrowheads. He came face to face to the terrified soldier.  

The man stumbled backward, flailing his hands about. He instinctively grabbed anything he could, jerking the golden amulet you had gifted Taeyong from around Taeyong's neck. The necklace fell into the darkness of the well.  

The man managed to dig his fingernails into the cracks between the brinks, fear written across his features. The man would fall to his death, Taeyong acknowledge.  

Against his better judgment, Taeyong extended a paw. He barked, instructing the human to grab hold of it.  

The man glanced at the paw and back at the dark abyss, his demeanor hardening. He let go of the brick, refusing Taeyong's help. Taeyong shrank, the sound of the man's body colliding with the bottom of the well rung throughout the air.  

───

The sky was painted with stokes of grey. Clouds masked the fiery red sun as it set behind the burnt remains of the village. You step foot upon the ashes, advancing deeper into the ruins. Most of the fires had sizzled out for the day. 

According to one of the soldiers, they were after a brown wolf with white accents, and it's mate. After interrogating some of the surviving villages, they had buckled, stating it to be the woman who ran the local bakery.  

You traced your fingertips on a fallen beam, it crumbling at your touch. You had spent the entire day following Rosa's orders as she ran the makeshift hospital, which was more so a tent with blankets folded on the ground for bedding.  

Some of the soldiers had decided to help, dragging those still conscious to the clearing. Though, most chose to turn a blind eye.  

As the sun came down, Rosa had asked you to fetch a pail of water from the local’s well which, neared the rickety fence that separated the village from the wicked woods. You held onto the handle of the pail, your hand smeared with blood. You took no notice of the blood and soot that stained the front of your dress.  

You saw the bricked well. You approached, searching for the chain to scoop the water out. As you pried into the well, you saw something gold glitter. It almost looked like your crested amulet. You shook your head at the absurdity.  

 I gave it to Taeyong back in the woods. 

You stared deeper into the well. There was a silhouette of something else lying down there. You frowned, unable to make out what it was.  

You placed down the pail on the ground by your feet, pausing. 

Pawprints? They were in the dirt ahead.

You abandoned the well, following the trail. The pawprints stopped at the wooden fence. You glanced over, noting they restarted on the other side. Without thinking, you threw one leg onto the fence, swinging the rest of your body weight upward. Your calves screamed as they scrapped against the splintered wood. You took in a deep breath before jumping down on the other side.  

You continued trailing the pawprints until branches began to brush against your arms. You upturned your head, suddenly aware of how deep you had ventured. 

You were about to retreat when you heard the soft sound of whimpering. It was coming from behind the large oak trunk. On the other side was an injured woman.  

Your stomach turned.

Some of her hair had been fried from the flames. Her cheeks were covered in cinders. She was cradling a bleeding arm close to her chest. It appeared the fire had scorched off some of the skin off her hand.

A fierce growl broke the silence, a brown-haired wolf with white accents emerged from the shadows. It snarled, its forelegs bent, ready to lunge.  

You immediately threw your hands in the air.  

"I mean no harm," You spluttered. 

The wolf didn't move. It's hide legs were badly burnt, so was its belly.  

"Haechan," The woman murmured weakly. "Please, you're hurt."  

"We mark only once. It bonds us entirely to that person" Taeyong's words ran through your head. 

Your fear lessened. They had said the young girl was the wolf's mate. Her only crime being she fell for a beast of the night.  

With the image of Taeyong still lurking in the back of your mind, you leaned down, wrapping the end of your dress around your palm before tearing into the fabric.  

"Let me bandage her wound," You asked the wolf.  

You wolf hesitated but finally lowered its stance. You came forward, bending in front of the girl. She flinched as you lifted her hand. You apologized.  

"It's okay," She whispered.  

You gently smiled, covering her hand with the material of your dress. You tied a final knot at her wrist before letting go of her arm.  

She gazed up at you. "Thank you,"  

You nodded, "I should get back before they send someone after me," You rose back to your feet, "Don't stay here for long. Once they're done with the village, they'll start burning the forest too."  

───

Taeyong nudged Haechan's snout. They had found him unconscious upon the wet grass not too far into the forest. Taeil had helped Taeyong drape Haechan's listless body over his back. To their dismay, Haechan's mate was nowhere to be found.

We can't leave her here. They'll execute her. 

I know. Taeyong responded. 

They silently prowled through the village. Oddly, all the soldiers had seemed to have retreated. Taeyong dug his feet in the ash, stopping behind a half-charred structure.  

Something wasn't right.  

Taeyong told Taeil to look after Haechan while he found higher ground.  

───

"Wake up," Rosa shook you awake. You jumped from the corner of the tent. You had dozed off while standing against the pole.  

"One of the patients?" You queried, looking around.

Rosa grimly pointed behind your head. "Your fiancé found the girl."

Your blood pressure dropped. 

No.  

You took off running, pushing back the tent's flap. You scanned, searching for your fiancé.  

He was on the other side of the clearing. A crowd of soldiers had gathered.  

Your fiancé had the girl standing. She was still cradling her injured arm. Yoon kicked her ankles, making her fall to the ground. He then grabbed her by the front of her dress, raising her up. He ripped it forcibly, almost revealing her undergarment. She sunk to the ground, muffling her cries while trying to cover her chest.  

You squeezed past the cheering men. "Lord Yoon!" You shouted. 

He was toying with her. He wouldn't stop until she was utterly humiliated. Then he’d kill her.   

You had to think fast. You stole a dagger from a soldier's sheath, storming forward. 

───

Taeyong could make out a crowd in the clearing. His vision was sharper than most. Even at this distance, each face was clear. He watched as a young girl slumped to the ground clutching her chest. Fury burned inside of him. Taeyong could only assume it was Haechan's mate before the hollering men.  

He was about to jump down and come sprinting when he saw your figure push past. Once you made it in front of the Lord, you demanded the Lord moved aside.

You then flashed a dagger from beneath the sleeve of your dress. You yanked the young girl onto her feet.

Taeyong shook. You wouldn't. His mate wouldn't.  

Lord Yoon raised a brow, intrigued.

You thrust the dagger forward. The girl’s eyes enlarged—her mouth open. You leaned in, breathing into her ear. "Play along, please."

You lifted one bloody hand, cupping her cheek as she stiffened. You left a redden handprint as you fell with her, careful not to reveal her front. She curled on the ground, still.

Rosa hurried forward, placing two fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse. 

"Dead," She announced.  

A sinister grin broke on Yoon's lips. "My love,"  

A sick pride reflected from his eyes. It made you shiver. He hurled you off the ground, curling you in his crushing embrace.  

A blood-draining howl echoed. You swiveled with the rest—your chest tightening. 

A silver wolf was off in the distance. 

Taeyong?  

MONI’S NOTE: Werewolf Taeyong's fourth installment. I hope you all enjoy it. If you do, please consider reading the other member's parts. They are all a part of the same universe, and you may even notice some cross-over between them.

Taglist: @dawnfeather | @chckencarlyn | @liendoesja | @peachescherryheart | @milkteajuseyo | @wykynct | @jaeshatshop | @leetaesnow | @hoshitaro | @yiyi4657 | @markyongcore | @imlate1903 | @briefdinosaurmusic | @4-sun | @edgy-harrie | @2-cute-4-school | @lovestrucked-again | @changbinniez-princess | @joons-asscrack |

TAGLIST: If you’d like to be tagged in this fic please send me a message.

[cuubism]

An Institute Christmas 🎅

Despite Alec's stress about increasing demon attacks, Magnus is determined to get him to enjoy the Institute's first ever Christmas party. This has somewhat mixed results.

crack, some sexual content except stupid. basically just nonsense tbh 

(AO3)

❄

“Please save the date for An Evening Under the Mistletoe, the New York Institute’s first… Christmas party?” Magnus read, voice tipping up into a question. He briefly thought he might be imagining things, finally losing it, perhaps, but the vellum invitation remained stiff and real in his hand. “You didn’t tell me you were hosting a Christmas party.”

“We aren’t.” Alec spun around from the stove, leaving his eggs sizzling, and snatched the invitation out of Magnus’s hand, scowling at it. He scanned it quickly, then tossed it onto the counter, frown only deepening. “I’d bet your considerable fortune this is Clary’s doing.”

“It’s our considerable fortune, now,” Magnus said.

“I really don’t see how the crown you stole from Buckingham Palace in 1781 counts as my fortune. Or the five kilos of rubies you ‘finagled’ from that trader in Myanmar. Or—”

“Back to the point,” Magnus interjected before they could examine any more of his slightly questionable past, “I didn’t think Shadowhunters even celebrated Christmas.”

“We don’t.” The frying pan behind Alec crackled, and he turned back to it, but kept talking over his shoulder. “Not the way mundanes do. Religious holidays are meant to be solemn. They mark key turning points in the eternal fight against evil.”

Magnus could picture so vividly in his mind what a true, Clave-hosted Christmas might look like. He shuddered. “Okay, so what I’m hearing is the Institute could really use some cheer. Some decorations, perhaps?”

Alec grumbled to himself as he dumped some eggs on a plate and slid it across the counter to Magnus. “What it needs is to stay focused. Demons grow in strength when it gets dark and cold. We need to be training and preparing for the solstice, not spending all our time planning for a party.”

Magnus started picking at his eggs, ideas already swirling in his mind. He didn’t particularly care if Alec wanted to celebrate Christmas or not. But he was going to teach his grumpy, overly-serious husband to appreciate some fun, if it was the last thing he did. And this might just be the perfect opportunity.

❄

Magnus insisted on being present when Alec confronted Clary, because as much as he agreed that she shouldn’t have gone behind Alec’s back to plan something like this, he also didn’t want the poor girl to be completely eviscerated just for trying to bring some fun to the dreary Institute. He leaned against Alec’s desk, listening as Alec spoke.

“—And finally,” Alec said, “how on earth did you think you were going to pay for all this?”

Guilt flashed across Clary’s face. “I thought… well… I mean the Institute has some money, right?”

Alec just shook his head. “Those funds are for keeping the city safe and keeping our people alive. Not… frivolities.”

“If the Institute doesn’t have the budget for it, then I’ll pay for it,” Magnus offered before he even realized the words were coming out of his mouth. Alec glared at him, and Magnus just winked in response. “I can sell one of my rubies.”

Clary’s face lit up. “That’s amazing, Magnus, thank you! Oh, it’ll be so much fun!” She turned back to Alec. “Does that mean we can do it?”

Alec was still looking at Magnus. Magnus smiled hopefully at him, and watched Alec’s expression soften.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Clary whooped.

“On two conditions,” Alec added. “One, it doesn’t distract anyone from their work. Winter is the prime time for demon attacks, and that has to be our priority. Two, you have to find a way to spin it for the Clave. The fact that they aren’t paying for it will help, but they still aren’t going to like it.”

“Morale-boosting during a difficult time of year,” Magnus offered in response to the second condition. “Bridge-building between the Institute and the Downworld.”

Alec looked mildly annoyed at Magnus immediately having an answer, but he kept looking at Clary.

“I can work with that!” she said brightly.

Alec gestured for her to go, and she scurried out the door. Alec scrubbed his hands over his face.

Magnus laid a hand on his arm. “You know, if you really don’t want this to happen, it doesn’t have to.”

Alec took Magnus’s hands. “No, it’s fine. I just don’t want something to go wrong. Besides, what are we even supposed to do at this party?”

“Drink?” Magnus offered. “Eat good food? Dance?” He pulled Alec away from his desk and tugged him back and forth in an imitation of a dance, and was rewarded with a small smile. “Kiss under the mistletoe?”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Alec’s lips, and Alec softened. “You’re really looking forward to this, huh?”

“What can I say, I love a party. Although I’m not sure if it’s the party I’m looking forward to more, or getting to watch a bunch of grim, emotionally constipated Shadowhunters attempt to figure out how to enjoy a party.” He tapped Alec on the nose.

“I can enjoy anything so long as you’re there,” Alec said, unfazed, and Magnus smiled. Alec never failed to make him tremble with declarations like that. “Just don’t leave me alone with the children for too long or I might have to rustle up some demons just to avoid going insane.”

“They aren’t children,” Magnus said.

“They act like it. Speaking of which, you might have to get involved with planning this thing. If you leave Clary unsupervised she might just blow through all of your rubies. And no one else in the Institute knows anything about mundane Christmas, anyway. If anyone other than you takes charge we might end up with dead frogs hanging from the ceiling instead of mistletoe, and God knows what else.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure,” Magnus said, “You know I love to plan parties.”

“Good.” Alec kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll leave you to it. I have some Clave representatives to wrangle.”

Magnus also had some wrangling to do. Wrangling of Shadowhunter minions, and string lights, and tinsel, and oh, this was going to be fun.

❄

❄

Magnus should have known better than to think something like that. He cursed himself as he struggled to reach his phone, finally managing to grab it and dial Alec’s number.

He’d been trying very hard not to involve Alec in any of the planning for this event. Alec was already being a good sport letting it happen, and he had his hands full with the Clave and the increasing number of demon attacks that had been plaguing the city as it got colder. He didn’t need to deal with Christmas tree orders as well.

But now, Magnus didn’t have much of a choice. He was in a bit of a bind.

“Hello, Alexander,” he said when Alec picked up. “I find I’m a bit tied up at the moment. Are you free to assist me?”

“Did you get kidnapped?” Alec asked immediately.

“Um, no.” Though that might have almost been preferable.

“Oh, good,” Alec said, slightly calmer. “Then what is this, a sex thing?”

“Mournfully, no. Can you please just come to the hallway outside the training room?”

A few minutes later, Magnus heard the telltale sound of Alec striding quickly down the hall. His husband turned the corner, took one look at Magnus, froze—

—and then burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” Magnus moaned. “Help me!”

“It is so funny,” Alec retorted, wheezing. “Magnus, what the hell happened?”

Magnus plucked at the Christmas lights that were encircling every inch of his body in a tangled mess of glowing colors. He pouted. “I made the terrible, not-to-be-repeated mistake of recruiting a group of warlock children to help me decorate the Christmas trees. It was horrible. Have you ever seen a hurricane of Christmas decorations? Well, that’s what it was like. I think one of them thought I was a tree, too.”

Alec was still laughing. “And you couldn’t magic yourself free?”

“They tangled the cords so much,” Magnus whined. “Even my magic can’t seem to untangle it. Are you just going to stand there and watch your husband wallow in misery, or are you going to help me?”

Alec came over to where he was sitting and crouched down before him. “Yeah, hang on.” He started plucking at the cords. “Oh my God, you’re right, it’s so tangled. We’re going to be here for a while.”

“Well, at least I have my handsome rescuer now,” Magnus sighed.

Alec looked up at him and burst out laughing again. “You have an ornament hanging from your ear.”

Magnus closed his eyes in defeat, tipping his head back against the wall. “Just put me out of my misery.”

“Not yet, my love.” The smirk on Alec’s face was wicked as he started untangling the lights. “You have more party planning to do.”

❄

❄

“I didn’t know you actually celebrated Christmas, Magnus,” Clary said as they worked on cutting snowflakes out of pieces of paper.

“I didn’t grow up with it,” Magnus said, subtly replicating his snowflake into ten with magic so he wouldn’t have to keep cutting hundreds of the damn things. “But I’ve had enough close friends over the years who did that I’ve found enjoyment in it. And I believe in some of the Christian stories and myths—hard not to when one’s father was personally involved. But really, I never turn down a good excuse for a party.”

“It’s funny to think about some of it being real,” Clary said. “Angels and all. I guess I never really believed it, not seriously, before I met Jace. Do you think that means that— that non-Abrahamic religions aren’t real, or something?”

“I don’t think we can conclude that,” Magnus said. “In my experience, it’s usually a mistake to assume that because one mode of thought has seeds of truth, that others are inherently false. I think all the major religions have parts to them that are true. We can learn something from them all.”

“That makes sense,” Clary said, finishing another snowflake. As befit an artist, her snowflakes were exquisite and detailed. Magnus, meanwhile, was getting increasingly bored and frustrated with the repetition, and had resorted to summoning a laser pointer to burn designs into the paper instead. “You know, I was really surprised that the Shadowhunters don’t celebrate Christmas at all.”

“They do, but I think it involves a human sacrifice or something,” Magnus said. “I honestly don’t want to know more. But your mom celebrated it the mundane way?”

“Yeah, I guess she wanted us to appear ‘normal,’” Clary said. “Looking back, I think she was always terrified of us looking out of place in any way. And a human sacrifice Christmas, or whatever they do, would definitely have done that.”

“She had reason to be wary,” Magnus said, and they were both quiet for a moment, thinking of Jocelyn.

“I think she wanted to make it special, too,” Clary said, more subdued. “To give me what she never had growing up.”

“And now you’re passing it on to the Shadowhunters.”

“I didn’t think of it like that,” Clary said, then smiled. “But I like it.” She looked over as Magnus’s snowflake went up in flames and he hurriedly blew it out. “I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Don’t question your elders,” Magnus said, and squirted glitter glue all over the snowflake to hide the charred parts.

❄

❄

It was only when Magnus actually arrived home later than Alec that he started to think he might be overdoing this whole party-planning thing.

Magnus usually liked to reduce his schedule a little bit in the wintertime. Alec, on the other hand, had been swamped with the increase in patrols and demon sightings. So it had been at least a month since Magnus’s workday had ended after Alec’s.

When he got home, Alec was lying on the couch, knitting something that looked rather complicated, an unopened bag of takeout on the table before him. He raised an eyebrow as Magnus stumbled into the living room, stretched his arms up to try to relieve the crick in his neck, then plopped down face first right on top of his husband.

Alec chuckled, running a hand through Magnus’s hair. There was probably about a centuries’ supply of glitter there right now, Magnus thought absently. “Long day?”

“I vastly underestimated the number of doorways in the Institute,” Magnus mumbled into his shirt. “Do you know how many garlands we had to use? Do you know?”

“Actually, I do know,” Alec said, still petting his hair. “I have all of the Institute blueprints in my office. If you need information for decorating, you can just ask.”

Magnus lifted his head. “I was trying to leave you out of it. I know you’re busy, and you didn’t want to help with this thing, besides.”

“I want to help you,” Alec said. “Besides, think of it from my perspective. The quicker I’m able to help you decorate, the less time I have to spend untangling you from decorations. And the more time I get to spend with you at home after work.”

“You do make a good point,” Magnus conceded, laying his head back down on Alec’s chest.

“By the way,” Alec added, rubbing a hand up and down his back, “why didn’t you just magic the place decorated? That’s what I thought you’d do.”

“It’s hard to decorate a place as large as the Institute all at once,” Magnus explained. “Plus, I don’t know the building that well. But more than that, I like doing it partially by hand. I feel like it always turns out better that way.”

“Just don’t exhaust yourself,” Alec said. “You yourself said this is supposed to be fun.”

“It’s true,” Magnus mourned. “Perhaps I’ll take the day off tomorrow.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea.”

❄

❄

Despite his decision to take a pause from decorating, Magnus couldn’t help but drop by the Institute the next day to see Alec. A side effect of his single-minded focus on planning was that they really hadn’t spent that much time together recently. And that was unacceptable.

Magnus made his way to Alec’s office, two mugs of hot chocolate in hand. He knew there was a distinct possibility that Alec would be too busy for a true coffee date, but that was fine. Magnus could just as easily hang out on his couch, occasionally regaling him with useless trivia or inappropriately flirting with him while he tried to finish paperwork.

But Alec’s office was tragically empty when he arrived. Magnus frowned, leaving the hot cocoas on Alec’s desk as he went in search of his husband.

He didn’t have to look far—in fact, he almost crashed into him as Alec rounded the corner towards his office, his long legs carrying him at a rapid pace.

He caught Magnus by the shoulders to steady him during their near miss. “Whoa, Magnus! Jeez, I almost bowled you over.”

“I would like to be bowled over by you,” Magnus said, eyeing him meaningfully, and Alec scrunched his nose.

“How do you manage to make everything sexual?”

“I have a very enticing husband.” Magnus finally looked him over properly, and realized Alec was absolutely covered in ichor. This did not make him less enticing, unfortunately. “Are you okay?”

Alec waved a hand. “Just some kuri demons. We took care of it.”

“That’s the third time this week.”

Alec looked at him seriously. “The solstice is approaching.”

Magnus had never met anyone who took the winter solstice as seriously as the Shadowhunters seemed to. Sure, as a warlock he was well aware of the way power and magic shifted with the seasons, and he’d known since he was a young student at the Spiral Labyrinth not to perform any demon summonings during the months of December or January, as winter was when demons were most powerful and thus most likely to escape. But the Shadowhunters seemed religious about it.

“Do Institutes in the southern hemisphere venerate the summer solstice?” Magnus asked, struck by a sudden curious thought. “What with the seasons being reversed and all?”

Alec looked a little thrown by the question, but he nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Very interesting.” Magnus made a mental note to look into this more later.

“Did you need help with something?” Alec asked then. “I thought you were taking the day off.”

“No, I just came to spend time with you. And I brought you hot chocolate.”

Alec smiled. “I see. A personal appointment with the Head of the Institute?”

Magnus looked him up and down. “If you so desire.”

Alec grinned, taking him by the arm and leading him towards his office. Magnus disappeared all the ichor so it wouldn’t get on his jacket.

As they passed under the doorway into his office, Alec said, “Think fast, Magnus! Mistletoe!” and then pulled Magnus into a kiss.

Magnus was so shocked he couldn’t even manage to kiss back.

“Mistletoe?” he echoed when they parted. “Did you get possessed out in the field today?”

Alec laughed. “No, look. Clary hung it.”

Magnus looked up, and there was indeed a sprig of mistletoe hanging above Alec’s door.

“It wasn’t the presence of the mistletoe that I was doubting,” Magnus said. “I thought you didn’t like any of this stuff?”

Alec shrugged. “I know you like it,” he said. “I want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy so long as I’m with you,” Magnus said, and pulled him back down into another kiss.

❄

❄

Five days before the party was supposed to happen, and a day after they’d sent out their final invitations, Alec came storming into Magnus’s apothecary.

“Seriously, Magnus?” he demanded, brandishing an invitation. “Of all days to pick?”

Magnus took the invitation, feeling his heart sink as he read it over. He’d foolishly let Clary pick the date, and then even more foolishly neglected to check over the invite before she’d sent it. He’d been too busy straightening out an issue with the catering. And of course, of course, she’d chosen December 21st. She hadn’t known any better. And it was too late to change it, now—the invitations were sent, everything was booked.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said regretfully, placing the invitation back down. “I didn’t realize. I know the solstice is important to you all.”

“It’s not that,” Alec said, pained. “It’s dangerous to gather so much magic in one place on that day. And with so few people out patrolling…”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and Magnus got up from his desk and took him into his arms, rubbing up and down Alec’s shoulders. “I’ll ward the place within an inch of its life, I promise. And help you put up extra demon sensors around the city.”

Alec blew out a breath. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it.”

“It’ll be alright. Believe it or not, I’ve attended more dangerous parties than this in my day. I think we can handle it. I’ll warn the Downworlders, too, make sure everyone’s ready to help if need be.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Alec said. “Or anyone else, but especially you.”

“I can handle some winter-drunk demons, darling,” Magnus said. “Don’t you worry.”

❄

❄

The morning of the party, Magnus found a wrapped gift with his name on it on the kitchen counter, along with a covered plate of pancakes. He plucked off the note, which looked like it had been rapidly scrawled in Alec’s handwriting, and read it.

I wanted to give this to you in person but apparently there’s already some fucking demons terrorizing SoHo so I had to go in early. Fucking solstice. Anyway I hope you like it. I had to ask Clary what colors are associated with Christmas so you can yell at her if it’s wrong. And if it doesn’t fit I’ll consider myself a failure of a husband cuz I like to think I know your body better than I know my own.

Hope the rest of your party planning goes well today.

Alec

Magnus tore open the wrapping paper with relish and pulled out what he immediately recognized as one of Alec’s creations. And what a beautiful creation it was.

Alec had taken up knitting a few months back during a convalescence in which he’d been so restless with not working that he’d driven both of them into a frenzy. Magnus had portalled them to a craft supply store and told him to pick something creative to do before we both go insane.

The result was as many knitted creations as Magnus could ever dream of. Though he still didn’t know how Alec did it so fast.

He cradled the soft sweater in his hands, admiring it. It was knit of fine, dark red yarn that Magnus thought might actually be cashmere, a few different ribbed patterns intertwined throughout. The collar and shoulders were scattered with glittering knit snowflakes. Magnus knew mundanes liked their Christmas sweaters to be as ugly and garish as possible, and in some distant sense this seemed to take after that tradition, but at the same time it was the farthest possible thing. Of course it was, Alec had made it. He may not have had the elaborate taste and fashion knowledge that Magnus did, but he had an incredible ability to make the simple become sublime.

Magnus took out his phone and texted him, WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU LEARN TO KNIT SNOWFLAKES?????????

Alec responded almost immediately. Magnus must have caught him in his office. Two weeks ago.

You are INSANE, Magnus wrote. He thought, then added, I’m sorry, I should have led with gratitude. It’s beautiful, darling. Thank you. 🥰🥰🥰🥰❄❄❄

I’m glad you like it, Alec replied. I can’t wait to see you in it.

Oooh, was that flirting? 😜

Well I didn’t make it just to take it off you, but whatever my dear husband desires :)

Magnus was already thinking of several good ways to put this sweater to use. He had a strong feeling Alec’s reaction to seeing him in it along with a few… other clothing items would be absolutely glorious. Oh, he couldn’t wait.

❄

❄

Finally, the party itself arrived. Magnus got to the Institute early to make sure everything was in order, but nothing seemed amiss. They had spent quite a lot of time preparing in advance, after all.

“Everything looks so beautiful, Magnus,” Clary said, standing beside him in the foyer as they welcomed their first guests. “Thank you for your help.”

“I think that’s just your artistic sensibilities shining through, Biscuit.”

“No, we definitely couldn’t have gotten it all done without you. And did you even see the decorations Jace tried to make?”

They both thought back to Jace’s painted ornament, which had, typically, depicted a horde of demons being slain—while wearing Santa hats. They cackled.

“The Shadowhunters definitely need help with their holiday spirit,” Magnus agreed. “Well, let us hope that the evening is a smashing success.”

“Is Alec coming?” Clary asked, biting her lip. “He’s not actually angry about this, is he?”

“He’s not angry,” Magnus assured her. “And I’m sure I’ll be able to tempt him away from his work for a little while, at least.”

Magnus definitely wasn’t going to leave this party without getting at least one dance.

❄

Magnus wandered around for a while, saying hi to anyone he stumbled upon. Most of their collective friend group seemed to have come, which was gratifying. Magnus spotted Catarina, and Madzie in an adorable red party dress with a huge bow, and Maia with a few of her packmates. He said hi to Simon and Luke, who were talking to Clary—“I don’t celebrate,” Simon said, even though Magnus hadn’t asked and also already knew that, “but Maia said she gave her Bloody Mary recipe to the bartender. Couldn’t miss out on those unlimited Bloody Marys”—and Raphael, who smiled and gave him a pat on the arm, and he ran into Maryse, who Magnus half-expected to hold some lingering disapproval for the festivities but who only beamed and told him everything looked wonderful. Finally, he found Jace and Izzy, and was about to head over to them to scheme about how to get Alec to join in when he felt arms wrap around his waist and a familiar face press into the crook of his neck.

“Everything looks amazing, Magnus,” Alec said, and Magnus leaned back into the solid warmth of his husband’s body with a smile.

“I thought I would have to drag you out of your office.”

“You think I would miss all of your hard work? No.”

Magnus had kept most of the decorations—save those that might have been tripping hazards—glamoured throughout the weeks leading up to tonight, both to avoid distracting the Shadowhunters from their work, and to preserve the surprise. But he realized, suddenly, that that also meant Alec hadn’t seen much of what he’d been working on. “You like it?”

The both looked around at the decked-out ballroom. Magnus had filled the place with dozens of Christmas trees, garlands, hanging lights, poinsettias and other flower arrangements, platters of hors d’oeuvres and drinks, and towers of desserts. He’d also magicked the ceiling so glittering snowflakes and sparkles would fall down onto everyone’s heads, which he’d thought might be a little much, but hadn’t been able to stop himself.

“It looks beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Alec kissed the side of his neck. “And I like the sweater, too. Though I didn’t expect you to wear it tonight.”

Magnus grinned. He was wearing the sweater Alec had made him, paired with some skinny jeans because, well, a man had to show off his assets. “Oh, yeah?”

“It’s doing things to me,” Alec admitted.

“Does it do more things to you if you consider what I might be wearing underneath it?”

“Seriously?”

Magnus smirked even though Alec couldn’t see his face. “Perhaps you’ll get to see more later, unless you’re truly averse to taking this sweater off me.”

Alec nipped at the underside of his jaw. “How amenable are you feeling to staying up until some ungodly hour of the night when I’m finally released from the hellish nightmare of the solstice?”

“Pretty fucking amenable considering I’ve been too busy cutting one billion paper snowflakes to have sex with you for the past three weeks.”

Alec laughed and held him tighter. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he teased.

“Maybe I’ll come along and go kill some demons just to get you in my bed faster,” Magnus said.

“I think the thought of you waiting will already get me home as fast as the laws of demon hunting allow.”

They were fortunately interrupted from any continuation of this conversation—which likely would have turned increasingly inappropriate for a public setting—by Madzie running up to them. “Alecccccccc!!!” she screamed.

Alec let go of Magnus and crouched down to pick her up. “Madzie!”

Now that he was no longer completely enveloped by his husband’s body, Magnus could see that he was still wearing his work suit, which warmed Magnus’s heart a little. The poor thing hadn’t even taken a second to breathe after finishing work before he’d come right down to see Magnus.

“Now, I have a very important question for you, Madzie,” Alec said, looking at her with a mock serious expression. “Were you one of the ones that were so helpful in assisting your Uncle Magnus with decorating the Christmas trees?”

Madzie nodded and giggled. “I made him a Christmas tree,” she whispered.

“You sure did. Well, I just wanted to tell you that you did a very good job,” Alec said, and Magnus squeaked indignantly even as Madzie beamed. “He looked very pretty.”

“Alexander!”

“I especially liked the Christmas ornament earring,” Alec continued, unfazed. “That was an elegant touch.”

“Madzie!” Catarina strode over to them, sighing in relief as she spotted her daughter. “Oh, there you are. Please don’t run off again.”

“It’s okay, we were just discussing her decorating skills,” Alec said.

“Oh, yes, I heard about the lights incident.” Cat seemed like she was trying to be stern, but her expression quickly broke into a smile. “Not that you need much help to sparkle, Magnus.”

Magnus gaped at all of them. “Hey, I thought this was a Christmas party, not a make fun of Magnus party.”

“I’m sure we can multitask,” Cat said. “By the way, I like your sweater.”

Magnus immediately forgot his indignation in favor of beaming proudly. “Alec made it!” he declared.

Madzie gasped. “Make me one, Alec, please, please!”

“Coming right up.”

Magnus had no doubt that this sweater would be completed in two days flat.

❄

Later on, after he’d gone around the Institute making sure nothing had fallen apart, Magnus found Alec again—he was standing by the bar, nursing something that, knowing him, was probably just water, and talking on the phone.

Magnus caught his eye, and Alec smiled at him. Magnus sidled up to him, leaning against his side, and Alec said into the phone, “I have to go, keep me updated,” then hung up his call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

Magnus must remember to use this power only for good, he thought.

“Trouble in Christmas paradise?” he asked.

“There’ve been some inklings on a few of the demon sensors,” Alec said. “I have a patrol out keeping an eye on it.”

“These demons better not interrupt my party if they know what’s good for them,” Magnus said, and Alec chuckled.

“I’m sure they’re aware of the fate that will befall them.”

Magnus tugged on Alec’s arm until his husband stepped away from the bar, leaving behind his drink. “Can I trouble you for a dance, oh Institute head?”

Alec rested his hands on Magnus’s waist. “I could maybe be persuaded.”

Magnus snapped his fingers and the band stopped playing the upbeat song they were in the middle of and switched to a slower one.

“I see you’re the all-powerful god of this event,” Alec said, holding him close and starting to sway them to the beat of the song.

“I paid for it,” Magnus said. “They will play my favorite Christmas song so I can dance with my husband.”

“Whatever you say, dearest.”

Magnus let Alec hold him close and rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes. He trusted Alec to make sure they didn’t crash into a table or something. It was nice, just being close to him like this, surrendering to his husband’s touch. He was pretty sure he could stay here forever.

❄

A while later, Magnus got a text from Alec.

Come upstairs, I have a surprise for you.

Oh? 👀, Magnus replied. A sexy surprise?

Probably not what you’re thinking, but… sort of.

I will arrive posthaste.

Magnus portalled himself upstairs to the hallway outside Alec’s office. He would have portalled right in to the office, but he didn’t want to ruin the surprise for himself.

He knocked cautiously. “Alexander?”

“Come in.” Alec sounded slightly nervous. Magnus slowly pushed open the door.

When he saw what was inside, he actually shrieked. Magnus might have found it undignified, if he’d had even a shred of brain space left to think about that.

Alec was—somehow, someway—wearing a Santa outfit. Except this was a Santa outfit in the way Magnus’s sleep schedule was an appropriate form of self-care, which was to say, it was sexily, sexily incomplete. The outfit was made of red velvet and white fur lining, but—and Magnus blinked several times to confirm this, but his vision didn’t clear—it was composed of a mini skirt, and a crop top, and a hat which must have only been staying on his head through some arcane power, and, oh God, thigh-high boots that made his legs look even more insanely long than they already were, and fish-net tights—

Perhaps I drank too much, Magnus thought hysterically. Perhaps all the Christmas lights have irreparably scrambled my brain. Perhaps I’m just dead.

With that thought, his mind collapsed under the weight of what it was seeing, and he fell to the floor.

❄

“Magnus. Hey, Magnus.”

Magnus opened his eyes and looked up. Alec was leaning over him, cradling Magnus’s head in his lap. But he was still wearing that accursed outfit, which meant, oh God, Magnus really was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said. “I didn’t mean to drink so much eggnog that it actually killed me.”

“You aren’t dead,” Alec said, his concerned expression easing a bit. “By the Angel, if I thought you’d have such a reaction to this outfit, I wouldn’t have worn it.”

“I must be dead,” Magnus insisted. “How else do you explain anything that’s happening right now? Or are you just— did you hit your head? Is someone blackmailing you?”

“Why would someone bother doing that?” Alec asked. “No, I just— I asked Iz if she had any ideas to surprise you, since she’s kinda been getting into the Christmas stuff with Clary, and she sent me this. I’m pretty sure she was joking. But, I don’t know, I thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, I do,” Magnus said, now that he was feeling slightly more sure of his continued aliveness. “I do.”

Alec hauled him up to his feet. Magnus immediately latched onto the collar of his flimsy felt crop top and dragged him into a kiss. He definitely hadn’t kissed his husband enough today. He had to remedy that immediately.

Alec chuckled. “I guess you do like it.”

Magnus let his gaze travel appreciatively up and down Alec’s body. “What’s not to like? You’re a delectable Christmas dessert.”

Alec rolled his eyes even as he tugged Magnus closer by his sweater. “Are you going to do something about it?”

Magnus absolutely was. Or, he would have—

—if the Institute lights hadn’t flashed red.

❄

“Goddammit,” Alec said, striding down the hall towards Ops. “I knew this would happen.”

He was still wearing his outfit, with the addition of a seraph blade strapped to his thigh and his bow slung across his back, and Magnus wanted to choke every time he looked at him. They drew practically every gaze in the room as they reached Ops and made their way to the big holomap that was flashing with red lights all over the city. Alec didn’t seem to care that everyone was looking at him, he was completely focused on the task at hand. Magnus, meanwhile, was struggling with the urge to throw a sheet over him.

“It looks like there’s a huge outbreak by Rockefeller Center,” Alec said, examining the map. “Damn, they’re not usually so bold. Only on the solstice. Alright, Magnus, will you send a message to Jace and Izzy and tell them to meet us there? Blackwell, rustle up a patrol and approach from the west, we’ll take the east. Hawkstone, go deal with the outbreak in Queens.”

There was a pause while the Shadowhunters just stared at him.

Alec finally looked up at them. “GO!” he yelled.

Everyone sprung into motion. Magnus opened a portal as the Shadowhunters started running out of the room, and was about to step through it with Alec when he was interrupted by Luke arriving in Ops.

“I saw the demon sensors, I’m coming to help,” he said, coming to stand beside them at the portal. He looked Alec over and smirked. “If that’s alright, Santa.”

Alec sighed. “There’s a bottle of top-shelf whiskey in it for you if you never mention this ever again.”

“I will consider that offer.”

“Pretty sure that’s my whiskey you’re offering,” Magnus grumbled.

“Our fortune, remember?”

They stepped through the portal into the absolute chaos of Rockefeller Center at Christmastime. Mobs of people were everywhere, and Magnus quickly glamoured the three of them, knowing they would never make it through without causing a huge scene otherwise. He also didn’t want every person in Manhattan ogling his husband, sue him.

“The demons should be right by the tree,” Alec said.

“Of course they are,” Magnus griped. “No Christmas spirit.”

They made their way over at a rapid pace, weaving through the crowds. As they got closer, screaming erupted from the base of the massive Christmas tree.

“Fuck,” Alec said, and started running, pushing mundanes out of the way.

Magnus and Luke followed him. Magnus really tried to look where he was going instead of at his husband’s scantily-clad ass. He really did.

They burst out of the crowd at the base of the tree to find a horde of dog-like demons snapping and snarling at anyone who came near. Alec raised his bow and shot one through the throat, his shoulder muscles flexing with the effort. Magnus stared, and nearly got himself killed as one of the demons went for his leg.

He blasted it away, turning immediately to catch another one that was approaching. Luke shifted into a wolf and leapt into the fray, so Magnus stayed by Alec’s side, trying to watch his blind spot.

He shifted uncomfortably and plucked at his sweater, and Alec frowned at him. “Are you okay?”

“Uncomfortable,” Magnus said. “It’s a great shock even to me, but I’ve never actually fought in lingerie before. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“That’s not a helpful image to have in my head right now,” Alec replied, shooting another demon in the head.

“You have no moral high ground to stand on at the moment, darling,” Magnus replied, and flung a ball of magic at a demon.

“Oh, this outfit is distracting to you?” Alec said, smirking.

“I can see about ninety percent of your skin, so yes.”

“Oh my God,” said a voice. Magnus spun around to find Izzy and Jace on the far side of the square, armed to the teeth. Izzy howled when she saw Alec.

“Are you going to help or not?” Alec snapped.

“I’m just memorizing this moment,” Izzy said, grinning so wide, before her attention was dragged away by an approaching demon. Jace winked at them, then followed her.

Alec sighed. “I’m never going to live this down.”

Magnus didn’t get a chance to reply before they were surrounded by demons again. They just seemed to keep coming, and however much Magnus was appreciating the image of his half-naked husband destroying them, he didn’t know if they could last much longer without being overrun.

A demon leapt at Magnus’s arm, catching him by the sleeve of his sweater and tearing it. Magnus threw the demon off, furious. Oh, that was it, they thought they could destroy the sweater Alec made? He would show them. 

Magnus snapped his fingers and vanished half the demons in one go. 

He staggered in the aftermath of the magic use, vision tunneling. He must have burned himself out on the decorating more than he’d thought. That was kind of humiliating.

“MAGNUS!” Alec yelled.

Magnus looked over to him. Through his blurring vision, Alec looked like an avenging Christmas angel, ichor splattering him, his fishnets and crop top torn, seraph blade glowing in his hand and intense gaze focused on Magnus. Every muscle stood out in glistening relief. If Magnus hadn’t already been fainting, that would have done it.

“This is the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Magnus said, and then passed out.

❄

❄

“You know, going into this thing, I thought that if I had to carry you home, it would just be because you drank too much eggnog.”

Magnus blearily opened his eyes to find Alec sitting by his bedside, the expression on his face warring between amusement and concern. “I feel like it,” Magnus croaked, and Alec handed him a glass of water with a straw. Magnus sipped, then added, “I’m also consumed by regret that I didn’t get to peel that costume off you. I may never recover.”

“Well, there’s always another day,” Alec said. He squeezed Magnus’s hand. “That’s if you can find the magic to summon a new one. The last one was completely destroyed.”

“For this, I will sacrifice anything,” Magnus vowed. He tugged on Alec’s hand, and Alec obediently climbed into bed beside him, pulling him close.

“So what ended up happening with the demons after I checked out early?” Magnus asked. “Did you and your thigh-high boots save the day?”

“You took a lot of them out yourself, you know,” Alec said. “Though the fact that you used so much magic decorating that you drained yourself that quickly is astounding to me.”

“It was a lot of decorating!” Magnus exclaimed. Then pouted as he remembered another casualty of the evening. “I’m going to chase them down in hell for damaging that sweater.”

“I’ll fix it for you,” Alec promised. “And yes, we banished all the demons. Then once we got you situated, Izzy and Jace laughed at me for several minutes because of my outfit. I’m pretty sure Izzy took pictures, if you wanted to— actually, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. Never mind.”

Magnus was already thinking up a very tempting bribe for his sister-in-law.

“There’s quite a lot of cleaning up to do at the Institute,” Alec said, and his tone was just slightly wicked now. “I told them they’re responsible for it.”

“Alexander! What a cruel brother. Oh, I should probably go help them with it—”

“Nope!” Alec said, tightening his arms around Magnus. “Absolutely not. I told everyone that under no circumstances are you to help with cleanup. You already put everything together, they can take it apart.”

“And are you going in to supervise this no-doubt half-assed cleanup attempt?” Magnus asked, hoping the answer was no.

“No, I’m on vacation today. I have a sweater to fix, remember?”

“Just a sweater? That’s your concern?”

Alec ran his thumb along Magnus’s cheek, gaze flickering down to Magnus’s lips. “Maybe I have some other things I’d like to do as well.”

“We will need to replace the sexy outfit first,” Magnus told him seriously, and Alec smiled.

“Did you like the party?” Magnus asked. “Before the legions of hell descended upon us, that is.”

“It was nice,” Alec admitted. “I still don’t know if I get all these mundane Christmas things. But I liked having fun with you. And I liked seeing you so happy.”

Magnus smiled. He felt so warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Just tell me one thing. Do Shadowhunter Christmases really involve a human sacrifice?  Because that’s what I’ve been imagining—”

Alec burst out laughing. “Maybe we’ll do it our way next year, and you can find out.”

[seeker-of-stories19]

City of Lost Souls, Alec Lightwood

“You can feel it when your parabatai dies- like there’s a cord tying you to something and it’s snapped, and now you’re falling.”

Clockwork Princess, William Herondale

A sharp stabbing pain shot through his chest. It felt like being shot through his chest. It felt like being shot with an arrow, and Will jerked back. His wineglass crashed to the floor and shattered. He pitched to his feet, leaning both hands on the table. He was vaguely aware of stares, and the landlord’s anxious voice in his ear, but the pain was too great to think through, almost too great to breathe through. The tightness in his chest, the one that he had thought of as one end of a cord tying him to Jem, had pulled so taut that it was strangling his heart.

He gasped, his heart stuttering with a mixture of terror and desperation. Was this just the distance from Jem affecting him? He has never felt anything like this, even when Jem had been at his worst, even when he’d been injured and Will had ached with sympathetic pain.

The cord snapped. For a moment everything went white, the courtyard bleaching through as if with acid. Will jackknifed to his knees, vomiting up his supper in the mud.

He fetched up against the wall of the stables, beside the horse trough. He dropped to his knees to plunge his hands into the icy water- and saw his own reflection. There was his face, as white as death, and his shirt, and a spreading strain of red across the front. With wet hands he seized his lapels and jerked the shirt open. In the dim light that spilled from the inn, he could see that his parabatai rune, just over his heart, was bleeding. His hands covered in blood, blood mixed with rain, the same rain that was washing the blood away from his chest, showing the rune as it began to fade from black to silver, changing all that had been sense in Will’s life into nonsense. Jem was dead.

The physical pain of Will’s parabatai rune had faded, but his whole body felt dry and hollow, all the meaning sucked out of the center of him.

Will looked at the werewolves with an emotion bordering on hilarity. Did they really think they could hurt him, after what he had lost? For five years it had been his absolute truth. Jem and Will. Will and Jem. Will Herondale lives, therefore Jem Carstairs lives also. Quod erat demonstrandum. To lose an arm or leg would be painful, he imagined, but to lose the central truth of your life felt- fatal.

They did not come out here to taunt me or hurt me, Will realized. They came out here to kill me. For one black moment Will was tempted to let them. The thought seemed like an enormous relief- all pain gone, all responsibility gone, a simple submersion in death and forgetting.

The pain was glorious.

The battle had cleared his head for off the pain for a moment. Now it threatened to return, all-encompassing and terrifying.

“I assume your parabatai is dead, then. And you’re trying to get yourself killed because of it, Nephilim boy? Is that what’s going on?” “Maybe I am.”

“Oh, God.” The dagger fell out of Will’s hand and landed in the mud at his feet. “What do I do now?” he whispered. He had no idea why he was asking Woolsey, except that there was no one else in the world to ask. Not even when he thought he was cursed had he felt so alone.

Okay I know this isn’t why parabatai can’t be in love but I can’t help but think this is why parabatai aren’t allowed to be in love. This is a level of broken that the Clave doesn’t want in their soldiers. When Jace died Alec would have done anything to avenge his brother but Will just wanted to be with Jem at the end.