#i do feel like i give the impression i only care about izzy sometimes and like. thats not true but he DOES consume all my thoughts

[arsenicflame]

'there are more characters in this show other than Izzy' yeah like Izzy's boyfriend and Izzy's boyfriend and Izzy's boyfriend and Izzy's boyfriend and Izzy's boyfriend and Izzy's boyfriend and Iz

[storiesforallfandoms]

i don’t need your help ~ jace herondale;shadowhunters

word count: 2524

request?: yes!

“Alec Lightwood or Jace Herondale (either one works) smut? If you're comfortable with writing for shadowhunters, ofc <3″

description: after a run in with a demon that almost turns bad, a fight between her and one of her fellow shadowhunters turns into something so much more

pairing: jace herondale x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, smut

masterlist (one, two)

Izzy helped me limp into the Institute, my body feeling run down and exhausted already. She laid me down on a bed and it took me a moment to register that it was my own bed. I was aching all over, but I tried to keep a brave face. At least, I thought I was keeping a brave face. For all I knew I was sobbing like a baby.

“I’ll get my stele,” she told me. “Just...just stay awake, okay?”

I tried to respond but it came out as a pained moan instead. Izzy quickly raced from my room to her own. I could hear her in the distance furiously looking for here stele. I tried to stay awake but my eyes were starting to grow heavy and my head was lulling back against the pillow under me. The thought of drifting off into unconsciousness felt like the best idea I had ever had in that moment.

I heard someone at the door and thought it was Izzy coming back. When I looked up, I saw it was Jace standing in my doorway. His face was pale and he was staring at me in horror. I could only imagine how awful I looked.

“(Y/N),” he breathed. He quickly raced to my side and pulled his stele out. “What the hell happened to you?”

“She had a run in with a demon while she was alone,” Izzy responded, appearing at Jace’s side. “I got there just in time. Can you help me draw healing ruins? She’s going to need a few.”

“I’m way ahead of you.”

The slight burn of Jace’s stele touching my arm caused me to let out a yelp of pain. He looked at me with sympathy as he continued to draw the healing Rune. Izzy moved to my other side and started drawing a Rune there too. It hurt as they were drawing them, but I felt a numbness wash over my body as the Rune started to take effect.

Jace started to stroke my hair after drawing another ruin on me. He looked down at me, his face full of concern. “Rest while the ruins do their work, (Y/N).”

Getting Jace’s permission to finally rest felt like a blessing, and within seconds I was passed out.

~~~~~~

I wasn’t sure how long I was out. When I woke up again, my head still felt heavy and my vision was spinning a little. I tried to lift my head to look around, but it felt like someone had poured nails into my head and shaken it. I groaned and laid back down again, raising my hand to put it on my forehead. I realized then that the pain had completely left my body, except for the headache I had, and I felt good as new again.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, turning my head to see who had stayed with me while I was unconscious. I knew either Jace or Izzy had. They weren’t going to leave me when I was in such rough condition.

Through the slight darkness of my room, I could make out the figure sitting down as Jace. I was slightly shocked to see that Jace was the one who had stayed. Despite his caring and concerned nature when Izzy had first brought me home, the two of us weren’t exactly close. We didn’t hate each other or anything, but we were constantly fighting and he irritated the hell out of me. I didn’t think his kindness would extend to staying with me while I was unconscious.

“A few hours,” he responded. “It’s 2am now, you got back around 8 or 9pm I think.”

I groaned. “I definitely feel like I’ve been out for five or six hours.”

“What were you thinking?” Jace questioned, rising from his seat. “Facing a demon alone? You were lucky that Izzy had known where you were or else you definitely wouldn’t have been feeling as good as you do now.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” I muttered. “For your information, I didn’t go out with the intentions of facing a demon alone. I was just out and I got cornered by a demon that knew I was a Shadowhunter. I wasn’t expecting it and it got the jump on me.”

“You shouldn’t have gone out on your own at all. You know the dangers of being caught are high, especially when you can be spotted at any time by a demon.”

I braced myself as I sat up, the pounding feeling in my head intensifying for just a moment, before slowly numbing again.

“I can’t stay cooped up here forever, Jace,” I retorted. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Obviously you’re not or else you wouldn’t have been on death’s doorstep when you got back here.”

“I was not on death’s doorstep. Izzy found me in time, but even if she hadn’t I would’ve been fine.”

“You didn’t look fine.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Listen Jace, I appreciate this...concern you have for me, but I’m fine. I don’t need this lecture, I don’t need anyone’s help, especially not yours. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t actually like me all that much, so you don’t need to continue this caring act, or the lecture. I’m fine and I can take care of myself.”

The tension hung in the air. I expected Jace to walk away and to finally leave me alone. You can imagine my shock when he approached me suddenly, putting one hand behind my head and pulling me in for a kiss.

I was shocked. I didn’t know how to respond to it. I thought for a second that Jace had gone insane, that maybe some Downworlder had scrambled his brain or something. There was no way in Hell that Jace Herondale would willingly kiss me. I was just a torn in his side, and he was one in mine.

But something just felt right about the kiss. His rough hands were gentle as one cupped the back of my neck while the other was wrapped around my waist. He pulled me forward to the edge of the bed, nudging my legs open so he could stand between them. My hands were gripping the t-shirt he was wearing, taking in every last bit of him that I could.

I felt myself laying back on my bed against, Jace’s hand still under my head. He moved with me, hovering over me as our lips moved perfectly in sync with one another. His other hand slipped under my shirt, softly trailing up my side until he reached my bra. We broke away from the kiss just long enough for Jace to pull my shirt over my head and unhook my bra in one swift motion.

He looked down at me, his beautiful different colored eyes soft but full of lust. He gently ran his fingers over my cheek before pressing his lips against mine once more, then moving to start kissing cheek, my jaw, my neck. His lips hovered a moment over the fresh Runes that he and Izzy had drawn on my skin. When he pressed a kiss against them, it almost felt like he was soothing the slight burn that was still there. He continued to gently brush his lips over the white scars left behind from other Runes that had been drawn on my skin for years.

My head fell back against the pillow underneath me as Jace’s lips continued to kiss down my chest and stomach, stopping just above the hem of my jeans. He looked up at me, waiting for permission. When I nodded, he made quick work of pulling my jeans and panties off at one time. He pressed another light kiss just above m aching core before diving in with his tongue.

I gasped at the pleasurable feeling. Of course, being a Shadowhunter doesn’t mean you never have sex. Quite the opposite, really. All four of us in the Institution were no strangers to sex. But this...this was a feeling of pleasure beyond what I had ever experienced before. I blamed the fact that I had only ever had sex with Mundane men before now.

I ran a hand through Jace’s hair and grabbed hold of it. The action caused him to moan against me, the vibrations running through my body.

He lifted his head for air, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he lightly played with my clit.

“I can’t describe how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, placing gentle kisses against my stomach again.

“You have a weird way of sh - oh  - owing it,” I said, trying to tease him through the pleasure he was giving me.

He smiled in response and moved his hand away. I whimpered from the lack of contact, an action I wasn’t too proud of afterwards but in the moment I could care less.

Jace kissed my lips again, the taste of my arousal on his lips and tongue. It turned me on even more and I just wanted to have him inside of me.

I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. He looked impressed by my action. I ran my hands down his still clothed chest, reaching the bottom of his shirt.

“I hardly think it’s far that you’re still dressed while I’m completely naked,” I said.

“Well, we can fix that,” he responded.

I made quick work of taking his clothes off, discarding them somewhere on the floor with my own. When I pulled his boxers down, I audibly gasped at his length. He chuckled at my reaction. “Surprised?”

“Surprised that my fantasies were true,” I responded.

Jace raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve fantasized about me?”

I took him in my hand and started to slowly stroke him. A breathy gasp escaped from his mouth as he fell completely helpless to my touch.

“It’s hard not to sometimes,” I admitted. “When you’re walking around here in your tight clothes, or with no shirt on. You’re so confident and cocky, it’s hard not to imagine what you’d be like in bed.”

“You finally have the real me here,” he said. “Why not make those fantasies a reality?”

He didn’t have to asked twice.

I spit onto the head of his dick, using my hand to spread it all over him before lining him up with my entrance. The moment his tip slipped inside of me, we both moaned in pleasure and relief. So much built up tension between us, sexual and otherwise, finally being released.

I slowly sat myself down on him, taking in every inch. His hands found their way to my hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that I was sure I’d have bruises there. Once I had adjusted to his size, he started rocking my hips against him, the friction starting to build between us.

I placed my hands on his chest, trying to steady myself as I took over rocking my hips. He looked into my eyes, his mouth partially open as moans and whimpers escaped from his lips. Even with these small movements he was hitting a spot inside of me that I had never felt before. I was almost sure I’d orgasm within seconds.

Jace sat up then, wrapping one arm around my waist while planting the other one on the bed behind him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding on tightly as he began to thrust up into me. The motions were rougher and faster, hitting that spot inside of me with a force I hadn’t felt before. I buried my head in Jace’s shoulder, trying to muffle my moans as I remembered there were two other people living in the Institution.

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

“Fuck Jace,” I moaned. “That feels so fucking good. I might...I might...”

“What are you gonna do, princess?”

Fuck! And a pet name, too? I was putty in his hands.

I couldn’t even finish my sentence. My climax built up quick and hit me before I was even ready for it. I moaned Jace’s name against his shoulder as I felt myself clenching around him, a warm sensation running through my body.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his thrusts becoming sloppier. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum in me,” I whispered. “Please, Jace.”

He threw his head back and groaned as I felt him finish inside of me. I gasped at the feeling, which was almost enough to make me orgasm again.

Jace fell backwards onto the bed, taking me with him. I giggled as I settled against his chest, still wrapped around his softening member. I could stay like that for hours if Jace wanted to.

“Maybe I should get attacked by demons more often,” I mumbled to myself.

Jace tensed under me. “I would much rather if you didn’t.”

I moved my head to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Relax, I was only joking. I meant what I said earlier, Jace, I can handle demons on my own.”

He relaxed again, starting to trace his fingers up and down my back. “I know you can. I shouldn’t have overreacted earlier. I’m sorry.”

Normally I’d make some quip about him apologizing, but some things were starting to add up in my head. “You were always hounding me and shit because you were worried for me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jace responded anyways. “Yeah. I...I just never wanted you to get hurt.”

“Jace, I’m a Shadowhunter just like you. I’ve faced numerous Downworlders before, both by myself and with you guys. I can take care of myself, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’ve always been impressed with your fighting skills. It’s just...I care for you in a way that I’ve never cared for someone before. I always worry when you’re out with Izzy or Alec or anyone who isn’t me because I’m afraid of the day that...maybe you don’t come back. When I saw you earlier today...I was so terrified that I was actually going to lose you.”

I propped myself up a bit to take Jace’s face in my hands. “I appreciate how much you care, but you have to have faith in me, Jace. This is the first time I’ve seriously been injured while fighting a Downworlder, and I promise you it’ll be the last time too.”

Jace nodded. I smiled a little and leaned down to kiss him again. I finally decided to untangle myself from him, although I felt empty without him inside of me. I laid down next to him, feeling sleepy from our earlier activities.

My eyes were starting to close when Jace said, “Hey (Y/N).”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we should close the door next time we decide to have sex.”

My eyes popped open to see that my bedroom door was wide open. I hadn’t noticed that earlier, what with being...“preoccupied” and all. I groaned and buried my face in Jace’s chest as he laughed.

[watchmegetobsessed]

TO LOVE AND BE LOVED - Part Three (Harry Styles)

a/n: part 3 wohoo! thank you so much for all the love you’ve been showing the series, it keeps me going and writing more and more! originally i thought it would turn out to be about three parts, but it has outgrown that limit so i added two more parts to the masterpost, that’s for sure is gonna happen but i might even add more?! not sure, im still in the writing process so i can’t tell how long it’s going to turn out to be, but this just means even more content for you guys!

as always, feedback is very much appreciated, please make sure to share your thoughts and comments on the part, it’s such a huge boost for writers to read what you thought!!

pairing: CEO!Dad!Harry X Reader

warning: mentions of death, cheating and divorce

word count: 11.4k

SERIES MASTERPOST masterlist

When you were working at the daycare you couldn’t focus on photography as much as you would have liked to. You often had to stay in for extra hours, wait until the last kid was picked up and then do paperwork, or change the decoration in your room or whatever Clair asked you to do that day. By the time you got home you just wanted to take a bath and fall into bed. You also had to travel 40 minutes to work which took away a lot of time from your day.

Working for Harry helped you immensely with focusing more on your passion. Even on his worse days he got home by six and since your workplace is your home, you don’t even have to drive forty minutes to enjoy the comfort of your home, you just walk up the stairs to your room and that’s it.

In addition, taking care of Izzy, you still have the chance to work on some editing or snap new pictures. You have time off when she has her classes and when you put her down for her nap. The best thing is that Izzy is quite interested in photography, she gets very interested whenever she sees you bring out one of your cameras and she always lets you take pictures of her, posing and goofing around. The folder on your computer that has her name is growing each day with more and more sweet photos of the little girl that has completely stolen your heart. You’ve been regularly getting your favorites shots of her printed and you always leave them on Harry’s desk so when he gets home he sees them and they make him forget about whatever happened at work that day.

You are getting more and more emails about possible sessions and slowly but surely, your weekends start to fill up with weddings, birthday parties and engagement photoshoots. It seems like you have definitely made the right choice when you took this job. No doubts.

“Can I ask a question, daddy?” Izzy is poking the peas around on her plate as the four of you sit at the dining table at dinner. Ruth has joined you today, because Harry had to make a quick trip to his office in the afternoon and you were out shopping with Trevor today.

“Sure, baby,” Harry hums nodding.

“Why don’t you eat meat?” she asks seriously, eyeing her own plate that has some chicken on it, while Harry’s is only stacked with veggies and potatoes.

“Because I decided that I won’t want to.”

“Can I decide that too?”

“You’re a little too young for that, baby. You need the meat to grow big. When you’re older you can think about what kind of things you want to and don’t want to eat.”

“Okay,” she nods without throwing a tantrum about her dad telling her no. You know quite a few kids who would have flipped over it, but not Izzy. Harry might not even realize how good of a job he is doing raising her and teaching her how to be a good human.

“I have another question,” she announces, glancing up at Harry.

“Go ahead.”

“If you don’t eat meat, does that make you an herbivore?”

You can’t push down a chuckle, you were not expecting this. Your eyes meet Ruth’s over the table, she is enjoying this conversation just as much as you do. It’s cute how Izzy put two and two together and made a seemingly logical conclusion.

“We learned about herbivore dinosaurs this week,” you inform Harry, who is a little lost about why his daughter just called him an herbivore. Also, you’re quite impressed that she remembered the word, though she struggled with it at first, but it seems like it finally stuck.

Harry shakes his head chuckling as he sets his fork down, looking over at Izzy.

“In a way I should be called an herbivore, but that’s not what you call people who don’t eat meat. I’m a vegetarian.”

“Oh, okay,” she nods, wrapping up the information in her head as she keeps eating.

You and Ruth clean up after dinner while Harry gives Izzy a bath, a little earlier than usually, because she spilled apple juice on herself, so he decided to just go straight for the bath instead of changing once more before bedtime.

“Will you be fine with putting these away, Darling?” Ruth asks as you’re drying the last few dishes.

“Sure! I’ll take care of it,” you smile back at her as she nods and heads into the living room.

Harry emerges from upstairs with a freshly cleaned Izzy on his arms. As soon as her little feet touch the floor she bolts over to join Ruth in front of the TV while Harry walks into the kitchen just as you put the last dish away.

“Hey, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he starts and suddenly, you feel your stomach drop, especially because his face seems very serious.

“Oh God, what did I do?” you ask, feeling yourself panicking already.

“Nothing! It’s not like that!” he chuckles softly, realizing you kind of misunderstood the situation.

“Okay, good. Sorry, you just looked so serious.”

“Sorry, I was just… thinking. So two friends of mine that I work together with also are getting married soon. They had a photographer booked already, but the guy cancelled on them and, um, I hope you don’t mind, but I recommended you to them.”

“Really?” you ask in complete surprise.

“Yeah. Actually, they saw a picture of Izzy that you took in my office and we started talking about how you do photoshoots in your free time and then I told them to ask if you’d be up to do their wedding as well.”

“Wow, that’s really nice of you, Harry. Thank you!”

“I gave them your number, they’ll probably call you sometime next week or so.”

“Great!” you beam, excited about the new event you can work at. “I hope they’ll want to work with me.”

“I kind of hyped you up for them and they seemed very pleased with the pictures I showed them, so I’m sure they will want to,” Harry chuckles softly, even blushing a little. It always amazes you how a tall, muscular guy with so many tattoos can be such a soft, caring and loving person. It always reminds you not to judge the book by its cover.

“Thank you, Harry. This means a lot to me.” Reaching over you place your hand on his arm and give it a gentle squeeze before moving past him to join Ruth and Izzy in the living room.

Harry was right about Sarah and Mitch being all excited to get in contact with you, because they don’t even wait for the next week to reach out. Sunday afternoon you are working on some more editing at the dining table while Harry and Izzy are painting on the other end of the table, busy with their masterpieces when your phone starts ringing, an unknown number shown on the screen.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answer it, leaning back in your seat.

“Y/N, hi! My name is Sarah Jones, I hope I’m not calling at a bad time, Harry gave me your number this week.”

“Oh! Sarah, yeah! So nice to talk to you!” you beam and Harry’s eyes snap up to you at the mentioning of the familiar name. “Harry mentioned you’d reach out and don’t worry, I’m happy to chat.”

“That’s great. I wanted to wait until Monday, but truth is that we are kind of in a short of time and I was afraid you’d be already busy for our date, so I wanted to call you as soon as possible.”

“No worries.”

“So first and foremost, I’m gonna ask if you have anything planned on the last weekend of May. I know it’s just in a few weeks, but I really hope we can work it out.”

“Let me pull up my calendar,” you tell her as you open up the app on your computer that you use to keep track with your sessions and events. Finding the weekend in question in it, you smile at the empty space. “Good news, seems like I’m free that weekend.”

“Oh thank God!” she breathes out in relief and you let out a chuckle. “That’s so amazing. So then would it be possible to meet up sometime next week? You could show some more works of yours and we can discuss more details, how does that sound?”

“This week? Well I have to work—“ you start, but Harry cuts you off.

“Come into the office tomorrow morning.” “What?”

“Put her on speaker,” he smiles nodding towards your phone and you do as he asked, setting it to the table with Sarah on speaker. “Hey Sarah!”

“Harry, hi!”

“Aunt Sarah?” Izzy’s ears perk up, some pink paint on her cheeks that you have no idea how it got there, because her painting doesn’t even have any pink in it.

“Hi Izzy! So good to hear your voice!” she chuckles through the phone.

“Sarah, you’re gonna be at the studio Monday morning, right?” Harry asks and you can’t not notice how his voice changed the slightest bit as soon as he started talking about business.

“Yeah and Mitch is coming too,” she confirms.

“Okay then how about you come in tomorrow morning, Y/N?”

“But what about Izzy?”

“She can come too. I’ll look after her while you discuss the details, it’s no big deal. It’s been a while since the last time she came to work with me,” he smirks over at the little girl, who is already excited to spend some more time with her daddy at his workplace.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” he nods smiling.

“Thank you, well then I’m okay with tomorrow if it’s fine for you as well, Sarah.”

“That would be perfect! Thank you guys both, Mitch and I really appreciate it.”

“No worries,” Harry nods, going back to his painting. You take Sarah off the phone as you say your goodbye before ending the call.

You start Monday off with some extra excitement. Not just because you are about to get booked for another event, but also because it’s going to be the first time you see Harry at his workplace. He has been quite good at keeping his business separated from his private life, it never really happens that you catch him dwell about anything work related whenever he is home and around Izzy. The phone call with Sarah was like a tiny glimpse of what he might be like when he is in work mode and you’re kind of curious to see more of this side of him.

Just as usual, Harry takes care of Izzy in the morning while you get ready on your own. You want to look good, not only are you going to meet more of his friends, but people he works with. Or should you say, people who work for him.

You choose a light pink dress, throwing a white knitted sweater over your shoulders with a pair of ballerinas. After putting on some light makeup and grabbing your purse and laptop you head downstairs to grab a quick breakfast. Izzy is already sitting at the table, still in her pajamas since her and food are a dangerous combination and Harry always makes sure to get her dressed once she is away from all of that.

“You look so pretty, Y/N!” she beams, her legs dangling from the chair as she digs into her oatmeal. Harry appears from the kitchen and he has the same look on his face like when he saw you leave for that wedding a while ago. A blush paints his cheeks as he slows his steps down, his eyes running down on the length of your body before they return to your face.

“Izzy is right, you look… really pretty, Y/N,” he compliments into your face, unlike last time when you only heard him call you pretty when he thought you were long gone.

“Thank you,” you breathe out with a soft chuckle.

The morning carries on as usual, Harry dresses Izzy for the day and then you all head out, however you stop short upon seeing the various cars parked on the driveway and the double garage.

“Maybe take the Rover, it’s got the child seat in it and I’ll take the Jaguar today,” Harry suggests as he hands you over the keys to the Rover and then nears the car he is taking for the day.

“Oh yeah, you just take the Jaguar, boss,” you chuckle under your breath, finding it a little funny that deciding on which car you’re taking for the day is even a question in someone else’s life.

Izzy sings along the radio as you follow Harry’s car into the label’s building. Of course, it’s not just some simple office building, it’s situated in the riches area of the city and the building is massive with loads of floors and a huge HES Records sign above the entrance where you meet Harry after parking down.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles! Hello, Izzy!” the woman behind the front desk smiles widely immediately, standing up from her chair to hand Harry a stack of envelopes. “Your post, sir.”

“Thank you, Veronica. Have a nice day,” Harry nods in her way as the three of you move through the hall to the elevators. Waiting for it to arrive, you glance at the board on the wall that lists everything you can find in the building and the level you should look for it at. There are endless amount of studios, at least three on each levels, offices, creative rooms and conference rooms. It’s pretty clear that HES Records manages a lot of talents and that requires a lot of space.

Arriving to the twentieth floor, which is of course the top of the building, you are in awe as you realize that the whole floor is basically Harry’s office. There’s a kind of hall area for his two assistants, he has his own conference room, his kitchen and dining area and of course, his office space. The whole place screams power and influence. The modern design of the interior makes it such a fancy work space not just for him, but for everyone else in the building. It’s truly impressive.

“Wow, Harry. This place is… amazing,” you breathe out as he walks the two of you into the conference room where Izzy immediately climbs up to one of the chairs, standing up so she can lean onto the table. Harry walks behind her and adjusts her so she just sits before she could fall off.

“Thank you. I really like this place too. I always thought it’s important to have a great place to work at,” he smiles, clearly proud of how far his business has come. “There’s a mini fridge over there, feel free to take anything you’d like. Sarah texted me on the way here that they’ll be here shortly.”

“Great, thank you,” you nod, taking a seat next to Izzy as you set your laptop up. The glass door of the room opens and one of the assistants peeks inside.

“Mr. Styles, Mrs. Wonstein is on the phone asking for you.”

“Oh, alright, give me a minute and I’ll take it.” The assistant nods and walks out. “Izzy, come with daddy a little, alright? Let Y/N do her thing.” “She can stay, if you want. I can look after her,” you tell him, but he shakes his head as Izzy climbs off the chair and running over to him, she takes his hand.

“No, just focus on this one. I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Harry,” you smile with gratitude as the two of them walk out, leaving you alone. You start scrolling through your folders, wondering which photos you should show Sarah and Mitch, picking out some of your favorites while you wait for them, though they don’t take too long to arrive. Soon enough the glass door opens and the lovely couple walks in.

“Y/N! Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Sarah greets you, wrapping you in a warm hug before stepping aside.

“Hi, I’m Mitch, nice to meet you,” the groom-to-be smiles shyly as he pulls you in for a short hug as well.

“Good to meet you guys too,” you smile back at them as you all sit to the table.

“Thank you so much for meeting us in such a short notice. Our photographer bailed out on us and I was starting to really worry when Harry mentioned that you are doing this kind of stuff in your free time,” Sarah explains.

“No worries. Would you like to go over some of my previous works?” you offer and they both nod in excitement before you start clicking through some old projects.

They share their vision for the whole wedding and the kind of pictures they would like and you like their approach and feel like it’s right up your alley. They both seem to like what you show them and Sarah compliments on how well you are able to catch small, but important moments.

“The wedding won’t be too big, just friends and family, but we do want a lot of memories, it means a lot to us,” Sarah explains and you nod, noting everything she says.

“Harry said you like this oldschool kind of vibe in your pictures,” Mitch chimes in.

“Oh, yeah. I like to make them look like they weren’t taken on a digital sometimes.”

“Do you think you can make some of those for us as well? Not all of them, just a couple,” Sarah asks.

“Sure! It’s more about the editing process, but it’s totally doable.”

You go over a few more things, making sure you’re on the same page, but you feel like things are working out perfectly. Though you guessed they would be great people, it’s still nice to work with such a nice and professional couple. You’ve had some crazy ones before, they definitely don’t make the job easy on you, but it’s not the case right now.

“Okay, so are you sure the date is okay for you? We wouldn’t want you to cancel on anything you had before just because we are Harry’s friends,” Mitch assures you, but you give them a warm smile.

“I’m totally free, don’t worry. Harry doesn’t have that kind of advantage here,” you chuckle softly.

“Thank you so much in this case. You’re truly a lifesaver,” Sarah breathes out in relief.

“Thank you for the trust. I’m really looking forward to working with you guys!”

Finishing up the meeting you pack up, chatting a little out of the business talk with Sarah and Mitch as you head over to Harry’s office.

“Hey! How did it go?” Harry asks as soon as the three of you walk in. Izzy is sitting at his desk, like a little boss, coloring something as he is sitting on the corner of the desk.

“Amazing, we owe you one for suggesting her,” Sarah sighs and you can’t help but just chuckle at how thankful she really is that you could help them out.

“You owe me no more than just one dance at the wedding,” Harry smiles at her.

“Can I dance too?” Izzy’s head perks up.

“Oh baby, you’re not coming to the wedding. You’ll be staying with Grandma, I already told you.” Izzy pouts at her dad, but she doesn’t seem to mind it that much, she quickly goes back to coloring.

“We’ll dance some other time, okay?” Sarah offers her and she nods happily.

“Can I dance with Uncle Mitch too?” she questions and Mitch just smiles down at her.

“Of course,” he hums, curling an arm around Sarah’s waist. “I have a meeting in ten so I’ll head out, I’m gonna pick James up in the afternoon, alright?” He kisses Sarah’s temple before pulling Harry into a brotherly hug. “Y/N, it was so nice to meet you and thank you for everything again,” he smiles at you, enveloping you in a quick hug as well.

“See you soon,” you smile back before he waves his last goodbye and leaves. “Who’s James?” you ask curiously.

“James is our son. He is turning three this year,” Sarah beams proudly.

“Oh! You two already have a son, that’s great! I’ll make sure to snap a bunch of photos of him too,” you chuckle.

“Please, our house is already packed with pictures, but there’s just never enough,” Sarah laughs.

The three of you chat a little longer while Izzy is busy with her coloring, talking about the wedding and whatnot, Harry invites her and Mitch over for dinner sometime and she happily says yes before business is calling her so she heads out as well.

“Okay, come one, little Sunshine. Let’s get home, Rosaline will be over soon for your piano lesson,” you smile down at Izzy who throws all her coloring stuff into one of Harry’s drawers before hopping off the leather seat.

“I’ll see you in the afternoon, okay?” Harry leans down and kisses the top of her head before pressing his lips to her cheek as well.

“Bye daddy, have a good day!” she calls out, grabbing your hand as you head to the door, Harry following behind.

“Mr. Styles, you have a meeting in five with—“ one of the assistants speaks up, but Harry stops her.

“I know, tell him I’ll be down in a minute. And please call Isaac to remind him about his deadline tomorrow,” he asks in that voice again you heard yesterday when Sarah called. There’s just something so intimidating yet exciting in the way he bosses around, but not like an asshole. He is a man in power, but he surely knows how to use it for the good.

“I forgot to talk to you about the time Izzy is spending at my mum’s, please remind me to go over it with you tonight, alright?” Harry asks and you nod as the elevator’s door opens and the two of you walk in.

“Bye daddy!” Izzy waves at him.

“Bye baby, be good! Bye Y/N!” he smiles as the door starts to close.

“See you later,” you smile back before he disappears from your sight.

The meeting with Sarah and Mitch got you buzzing, because it’s gonna be such an intimate yet beautiful wedding and those are your favorite. You can’t wait to start snapping the pictures and make their memories last forever of their big day.

You want to say thank you to Harry for suggesting you to them, so while Izzy is with Rosaline, you make a quick round to the grocery store and get everything you need to make some cupcakes, knowing well Harry loves those. He once told you that he could easily eat a dozen of those if he had the chance, so you think it’s gonna be the perfect way to thank him.

You keep the usual schedule, but after your little learning session in the afternoon, instead of heading out to the backyard to play, you suggest you bake the cupcakes together and Izzy is more than happy to help you.

It doesn’t take long for the kitchen to turn into a warzone, ingredients spilled to the counter all over the place, some music is playing in the background and you’ve been struggling to figure out how to use the different machines around the super modern kitchen.

You go all out with the decorations, you even bought some food coloring so you can make the cupcakes different colors and mess around with the icing and cream as well. You get so busy with the task on hand that time flies by faster than you expected. The two of you are still working on the decorating when the front door opens and Harry walks into the mess you’ve created in the past hours.

“What is doing on here?” he chuckles, seeing Izzy’s hair covered in flour, whipped cream on her nose and cheeks as she is throwing some sprinkles on one of the cupcakes, sitting on the kitchen island counter while you are finishing up another one.

“Oh! I wanted it to be a surprise!” you pout. “Izzy and I are making you cupcakes!”

“Why do I deserve a surprise?” he asks smirking, walking farther into the kitchen as he looks around, finding the mess quite amusing, rather than annoying. Harry knows well enough that it’s not easy to keep the place around you clean when there are kids involved in any process.

“I wanted to thank you for suggesting me to Sarah and Mitch. It was really nice of you.”

“Already told you it was nothing. Of course I suggest them a good photographer if I know one.”

You just smile at him shrugging, because no matter how hard he is trying to play it down, it meant a lot to you.

��Look daddy!” Izzy holds up her cupcake, half of it is covered with sprinkles, the other half is decorated with chocolate chips and she is clearly proud of it.

“That looks great, baby!” he smiles proudly, kissing the top of her head. “You have so much stuff on you, you could easily turn into a cupcake too,” he jokes, making her laugh.

“Be a cupcake with me, daddy!” Izzy beams and before Harry could stop her, she wipes some whipped cream to his face, getting him dirty as well. You gasp before letting out a laugh, Izzy shrieks happily seeing her dad all dressed up fancily and licking the cream off his face.

“Isabelle Styles, you have no idea what you just brought on yourself,” he warns in a low tone, already making Izzy scoot backwards as she is trying to escape, but she doesn’t have anywhere to go, the kitchen island’s edge is right behind her butt. However, she doesn’t realize it and tries to push herself back some more, deeming herself to fall right off, but before anything could happen Harry scoops her into his arms, pressing his creamy face to her cheek, making an even bigger mess that’s already there. Izzy is moving around, laughing and screaming as Harry gets some more cream to his hands, wiping it onto her anywhere he can.

“Oh my God, you are wasting all the cream!” you call him out, but it’s such a sweet moment to witness, you would never blame him for wasting it.

Harry stops attacking Izzy and turns to you with a dark look in his eyes.

“Izzy, I think Y/N looks too clean, doesn’t she?” he cocks his head to the side, exchanging a look with the girl in his arms.

“She does!” Izzy agrees as you start backing away from them. Harry sets Izzy down to her feet, grabbing the bowl with the remaining of the cream. He gets a handful for himself and lets Izzy fill her palms as well.

“Oh no, don’t you dare!” you warn them, holding up your pointing finger at them, trying to escape, but you are kind of cornered against the counter.

“It’s my house, I do whatever I want to,” he smirks, so full of himself and in a blink of the eye, they both launch themselves at you and Hell breaks loose.

They start whipping cream on you anywhere they can and when it’s gone, Harry just decides to go for anything else he can reach. Izzy is throwing sprinkles around while thanks to Harry, flour is flying everywhere, completely destroying the kitchen.

“Stop! No! I surrender!” you scream, fighting back, but it’s two against one.

“No mercy!” Harry shouts, so excited, as if he just transformed into a little boy, throwing mud around.

You grab his wrists when he tries to pour sugar on top of your head straight from the contained, holding him back, but he is so much stronger than you, it’s kind of a lost fight already. You don’t even realize how close he is, your chests are almost touching as he has you pinned against the counter, faces only about two inches away from each other. His wrist slides out of your hold, but he drops the sugar to the counter next to you. You try to snatch it to use his own weapon against him, but he is quick to stop you, forcing your hand down next to your side, but in the process he managed to bring you even closer, flushed against his hard chest and your lips part at the sudden mood change that he must be feeling as well, because the playfulness disappears from his eyes pretty fast and it’s replaced by something entirely different, something you can’t even read, because you haven’t seen it in his eyes before. And then…

Then you see his eyes flicker down to your lips, just a moment before yours move down to his. It’s that moment. It’s that exact moment when you just know you both are thinking about kissing, but you don’t know if it’s going to happen or now. You’re not even sure you want it to happen.

You fucking moron, of course you want to kiss him! That tiny voice in the back of your mind screams at you. In a heartbeat, it seems like he is about to move closer, but then the moment is interrupted and completely destroyed when a woman walks into the house, scaring you to death.

“Wow, it seems like Izzy took over control completely,” she comments, walking further into the house as you jump away from Harry, suddenly very aware of the mess you’ve made.

“Gemma, what—“ Harry starts, but he is quickly cut off.

“Don’t ask what I’m doing here, I literally texted you today that I would come by and you said it’s okay.” She gives him a look before her eyes move over to you as you’re trying to somehow clean everything up, but it’ll take a little longer probably. “You must be Y/N, hi! I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.”

She steps over to you holding out a hand and you reach for it, but then stop, seeing that your palms are all floury. You both let out a chuckle, deciding to just move over the handshake.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you, though it would have been better if we met when I didn’t have whipped cream in my eyes,” you joke.

“Auntie Gemma, we made cupcakes, do you want one?” Izzy runs up to her, holding up a cupcake that was finished, unlike the majority that are going to have poor decorations, since Harry and Izzy decided to use everything in the fight. Now it’s the floor that’s covered with icing, cream and sprinkles.

“Maybe later, sweetie, but they look awesome!”

As you wipe your face with a kitchen towel, you can feel Harry’s gaze on you, your heart beating so fast in your chest, it’s pushing all the blood up into your head that’s already feeling dizzy. What would have happened if Gemma didn’t walk in? Would has he kissed you? Or did you misread the situation and it was nothing just part of the game?

You busy yourself with cleaning up as Harry cleans himself a little with a paper towel before stepping closer to his sister.

“I totally forgot you texted, I replied in the middle of a meeting, I think I didn’t process the message.”

“It’s fine,” Gemma sighs. “I’m already used to my little brother forgetting about me,” she teases him, but he just rolls his eyes at her.

“Let me just help Y/N clean up the kitchen and I’ll be right with you. Would you mind cleaning Izzy off?” Harry asks her, but you stop him short.

“Oh, I’ll take care of this, don’t worry,” you assure him, but as his eyes snap over at you, you lose your voice. He clearly felt the moment as well earlier and now it’s kind of getting awkward, you don’t really want to be left alone with him right now. Not until you figure out what this whole thing was.

“Are you sure? I mean I was the one who started it and—“

“It’s fine,” you try your best to smile at him without overheating. He is standing several feet away from you, but you can still feel what it felt like to be pushed up against him.

Harry hesitates, his eyes following your every move while you are trying to busy yourself and act normal, while you are literally crumbling inside. You almost kissed your boss in the middle of his kitchen, you need a moment to process that.

“Alright, let me know if you need help,” he murmurs before picking Izzy up and heading upstairs to clean them both, Gemma following them right behind. When they are out of your sight, you lean against the counter, breathing out heavily.

Meanwhile upstairs, Harry hands Izzy his phone to play some games while he cleans her and himself off in the bathroom. Gemma sits on the edge of the tub, eyeing her brother curiously, which Harry notices.

“What?” he asks, stripping Izzy out of her dirty clothes.

“What was all that about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you, Harry. You were like, ready to snog Y/N right then and there when I walked in. Did I miss something?”

“No idea what you’re talking about and I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring this up when it’s not just the two of us,” he replies firmly, looking down at the girl who is obliviously tapping on the screen. Gemma just rolls her eyes before leaving the two of them alone.

Wandering down she finds you scrubbing the counters from the mess you’ve made, deep in your thoughts. Seeing her walk in, you shoot her a smile, not sure what to say or if you even should say anything, but when she grabs a towel for herself and starts helping, you speak up.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m happy to help,” she smiles, as she starts cleaning the kitchen island up. “So how do you like working for my brother, so far? He mentioned what happened with the daycare. Honestly, those mothers are entitled spoiled brats,” she scoffs making you smile.

“They weren’t too delightful even before the whole fiasco,” you chuckle softly. “But I really like it here. There are a lot more perks and it’s so much easier to focus on one kid than to have fifteen at a time,” you point out making her laugh.

“Yeah, I’m good with my two, don’t think I could handle more.”

“Oh, you have kids?”

“Yes, two sons. Beau is turning ten this year and Jasper turned six in January.” Gemma pulls out her phone from her back pocket and unlocking it she shows you the homescreen that has a picture of two adorable boys sitting on a bench next to each other, munching on a big bowl of strawberries. The younger one, Jasper has a red sunhat on his head while Beau is rocking some cool sunglasses.

“Oh my God, they look so much like you!”

“I get that a lot and honestly, they really should!” Gemma scoffs. “It took twenty fucking hours for Jasper’s big head to come out!”

“Wow that sounds way too much,” you laugh and Gemma nods with a tired, but clearly proud smile.

“Yeah, but it was worth it. Anyway, after my two boys, Izzy is the little princess of the family.”

“The boys get along well with her?” you ask as you both keep cleaning.

“They act like her big brothers, they get so protective over her!”

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah, they really are. My mom has this summer barbeque every year, if Harry doesn’t invite you with him then I’m doing it now, because you need to see how crazy out family gets,” she smirks at you. “All of our cousins and the kids are there, it’s a whole parade.”

“I’m sure it’s a lot of fun,” you smile at her. “One of my friends in high school had a really big family and they always invited me to birthdays at their place, I loved how lively and buzzing it was always.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to get together from time to time,” she nods smiling. “So do you have a boyfriend or something?” she asks then, implying that she is not even sure if you are playing on the team she is assuming.

“Oh, um, no. It’s just me for now. So no boyfriend for me.” Your answer, making sure it gives her the information she was trying to get as well.

“Are you done interrogating her, Gem?” Harry appears from upstairs, Izzy running ahead of him before smashing herself against Gemma’s legs.

“We’re just having a chat, is that a crime now?” she rolls her eyes. “Swear to God, he is such a control freak sometimes,” she then adds turning to you.

“Would you stop offending me in my own house?” Harry gives him a look. Gemma leans down and picks Izzy up into her arms.

“Izzy, you really should tell your dad to pull the stick out of his as—“

“You are not finishing that!” Harry cuts her off and you can’t push your laughter back. Harry’s eyes meet yours over Gemma’s shoulders and he realizes that you are still all dirty and messed up. “Y/N, go and take a shower if you want. We’ll take this over, alright?”

It wasn’t an order, but you feel like it was a very firm suggestion. He is clearly uncomfortable with you talking to Gemma and though you’re not sure why, you don’t want to upset him, so just nodding you drop the kitchen towel and head upstairs to clean yourself up.

“I hope you didn’t say anything to upset her,” Harry comments as he takes over the cleaning. Gemma grimaces.

“What could have I possibly said? I was just trying to get to know her!”

“You are always a little too up in my business, Gems,” he sighs.

“Daddy, can I watch some TV, please?” Izzy asks, tugging on his pants.

“Sure. Do you need me to switch it on?”

“No, I’m a big girl, I can do it,” Izzy nods before running off, leaving the siblings alone.

“Didn’t know Y/N was your business,” Gemma tilts her head to the side. Harry opens his mouth to defend himself, but nothing comes out. He was caught with this one. “Oh my God. I knew I walked in on something, you have a thing for her!” Gemma gasps with wide eyes.

“Stop with this! You and Niall are like some middle schoolers, it’s so fucking annoying!”

“So Niall sees it too, huh?”

“Niall is an idiot,” he points out. “He is… obsessed with this idea that I should start dating again and he thinks I should make a move on Y/N.”

“Well, he is an idiot, but he has a point.”

“No he doesn’t!” Harry argues, but Gemma just rolls her eyes.

“So you want to die alone? Is that your plan?”

Harry has always hated his sister’s bluntness. She never held herself back when it came to giving her opinion, whether it was wanted or not. But what Harry hates even more is that most of the time… Gemma is right.

He doesn’t want to die alone, no one wants that, but being with someone is a hard topic for Harry after losing the person he thought he would spend the rest of his life with. Even just the thought makes him feel like he is doing something bad, like he shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone but his wife, even years after the tragedy.

“Harry, look…” Gemma breathes out leaning against the counter next to her brother. “I know it’s a fucked up situation and I know things are still not in the right place in your head. But eventually you’ll have to move on. We all want to see you happy and I think that… I think Maggie would want that for you as well.”

Harry tries not to physically cringe at the name, the familiar pain is already clutching his heart, like it has been since the day of the accident. Some days are easier, some days are harder, but Gemma is right. Things are still not in the right place in his head and he knows that, he is just not sure how to fix it at this point.

“I’m not saying you should date Y/N, I’m not Niall to force anyone on you. I’m just telling you to try to get out a little more, just to test the waters. But you obviously like her so if it happens to be her, it wouldn’t be a big deal, if you ask me.”

Gemma shrugs and goes back to the cleaning while Harry keeps his swirling thoughts to himself. Two of the most important people have told him the same thing recently and though part of him wants to stubbornly go against it, his rational side knows that they might be right.

But not much can be done when a man is still blaming himself for the death of his own wife. Because that’s exactly the case when it comes to Harry and no one really knows that the thought has been haunting him for years now…

After taking a quick shower, washing your hair and changing into clothes that are not covered in flour, you join Harry and Gemma downstairs and insist on finishing the rest of the cleaning while they move out to the terrace to talk. The evening goes by peacefully, Harry decides to order dinner and Gemma joins the three of you at the dining table.

You love watching the dynamic between them and they truly seem to be very close. Gemma likes to embarrass Harry with stories from their childhood and you are enjoying them all a little too much maybe, but it’s nice to think that he wasn’t always this confident businessman.

“It was so good to meet you, Y/N!” Gemma hugs you goodbye after dinner.

“You too!”

“Bye Izzy, come and give a smooch for your favorite auntie!” Squatting down she lets Izzy wrap her arms around her neck as she kisses her cheek sloppily.

“Bye Gemma,” she singsongs. Harry pulls his sister into a hug as well before walking her out.

You start washing the dishes, Izzy talking to you about whatever show she was watching earlier on TV. When Harry returns he tells you to just leave the rest of the cleaning up for him while he bathes Izzy, but you don’t listen to him and finish up while they are upstairs.

Bringing your laptop down you settle on the couch and just start scrolling through social media, reading articles and whatnot, the TV quietly playing in the background. You send out an email regarding the wedding you are attending this weekend, making sure everything is in place.

When Harry emerges again he joins you on the couch with a tired sigh.

“Thanks for washing the dishes but you really should just leave it to me when I ask you to,” he smiles at you softly.

“It’s not a big deal, I like to be useful,” you chuckle shutting your laptop down.

“As if you’re not useful enough already,” he huffs smiling to himself. “Oh, before I forget, I wanted to talk to you about Izzy going to my mum’s.”

“Oh, yeah, you mentioned it earlier.”

“Yeah. So she is going to spend a week at my mother’s and I timed it to line up with Sarah and Mitch’s wedding. So I’ll leave her at my mum’s Sunday evening and pick her up the next Sunday which lines up perfectly with the wedding on Saturday. That week is obviously free for you as well, like a paid vacation,” he chuckles.

“Sounds good. How far does your mother lives from here?”

“Just a few hours, not that horrible of a drive. If you’re up for it, we can carpool to the wedding and then pick her up together right from there and head home.”

“Yeah, that works for me, thanks,” you nod.

Harry stays and turns his attention on the TV, seemingly pretty unbothered while you still haven’t stopped thinking about what happened in the kitchen earlier. Glancing over at Harry it appears that it’s not that big of a deal for him, so it makes you settle with the thought that it’s not one for you either.

“Good night, Harry,” you smile at him grabbing your laptop and phone as you rise from your seat.

“Nigh, Y/N,” he smiles as you round the couch and head upstairs, but you stop at the bottom of the stairs, lancing back at the mop of locks that’s visible from him from behind. You watch him run his fingers through his hair and you let out a shaky breath, knowing well you did not convince yourself that it was nothing. Not for you, at least.

Because you wanted him to kiss you.

The wedding you’re attending is held on a farm owned by the parents of the bride. The whole barn was transformed into this very country like fairytale location, lots of fairy lights and candles along with some nice, pastel colored flowers with a hint of purple between them.

Everything goes planned. Arriving you meet first with the groom and then with the bride in their separated rooms of the house, going over everything they want just one last time before you get down to work, snapping loads of pictures from them getting ready for the big day.

Emily, the bride is a chatty girl and all her bridesmaids are her sisters, coming from a big family with five daughters, she is the second oldest. The groom, Jesse is a few years older than Emily, but they are such a cute couple and they are clearly so madly in love, it’s always nice to see people be so happy with the right person.

You keep going back and forth between the groom and the bride and later you do the first look thing as well, when Jesse stands outside in the field and Emily walks up behind him, letting him see her for the first time. It really is always such a special moment and you tear up as well, watching Jesse fall speechless upon seeing his beautiful fiancé.

As the ceremony is about to start and the guests slowly take their seats on the two sides of the aisle, you make a quick trip down there to make sure you are using the right lenses, not wanting to change a lot when the ceremony has started. You stop in the corner, just trying out if you can shoot some pictures of the guests as well with the lens you are planning to use, you take a look around using the camera and that’s when you almost faint.

You would pick out that face from any, it has grown to you way too much, but you didn’t think you’d ever see him again. Lowering the camera you stare at the tall figure with parted lips, blinking a few times just to make sure it’s who you think it is.

But it is in fact your ex-fiancé, Keith, and to make it even worse, the woman standing next to him with his arm around her waist is the one he cheated on you with. They are still together and now you are staring right at them.

Tears sting your eyes as you try to look for a way to escape before he spots you, though you know he’ll see you sooner or later, but right now they are standing right at the entrance of the barn and you can’t avoid walking past them.

Keeping your head down you try to stay unnoticed as you march towards the exit, but you apparently, you are out of luck.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Keith calls after you just when you thought you were successful in sneaking out. Stopping in your tracks you seriously think about just running off, pretending like you didn’t even hear him, but it’s kind of too late and it would be ridiculous. So turning around on your heels, you plaster the fakest smile on your lips as you look at him.

“Keith, hi!” you breathe out, taking just a few steps closer to him, still keeping some distance between the two of you. Stella, the lucky woman on his arm blinks at you and at first you’re not even sure she realizes who you are or if she even knows you. The longer she looks at you the more certain you become that she indeed does not know that you’re the woman Keith cheated on with her. Nice.

Keith realizes that the two of you have been staring at each other awkwardly, so clearing his throat he quickly introduces the two of you to each other.

“Um, Y/N, this is Stella. Stella, this is… Y/N.”

You can tell he was thinking about using titles, but he decided to leave it at that, though it would have been a lot more interesting if he just titled the two of you.

Y/N, this is the woman I cheated on you with, who is my girlfriend now. Stella, this is Y/N, to whom I was engaged when I was fucking you!

You flash her a quick, not too honest smile and it seems like she is catching onto that something is not right, but she can’t tell for sure.

“What are you doing here?” Keith asks, a little harsher than you would have liked him to talk to you, but it’s kind of understandable. Seeing each other after what happened is not a pleasant experience for either of you, you assume. You hold up the camera as the answer for the stupid question and Keith furrows his eyebrows at you. “Oh, you still to the photography thingy?”

“Thingy?” you ask, quite offended. Keith always belittled your love for photography. He thought it was just a hobby, something that should stay just a hobby and not get turned into anything more. He once told you during a fight that it takes your time away from more important things, like doing chores. That was one of the most sexist things he has ever said to you and you should have packed your stuff right then and there. But you didn’t, stuck around for three more months before you found out about the cheating.

“Well, this thingy is kind of a side job for me,” you inform him.

“Oh. That sounds… fun,” he nods, but it’s clearer than daylight that he thinks it’s just a waste of time. Good thing he has no business in anything about you anymore.

“Um, I’m gonna go now, but I guess see you two around.” You shoot them another fake smile before turning around and walking away from this conversation straight from Hell.

Marching away from the barn you rush into the nearest bathroom you can find. You need a minute. Or maybe two… five. This did not just happen. You didn’t just face your cheating ex-fiancé with the woman he cheated on you, what kind of sick movie plot is this you found yourself in?

Placing your camera to the counter near the sink you wash your hands and sprinkle some water to your face as well before you lean to the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost and quite frankly, you would have been happier with the ghost than with Keith and Stella.

You’ve been doing alright since the breakup, but it’s obvious that only because you didn’t have to see Keith. Following the blowup when you found the explicit texts in his phone, you only had to face him twice and never since then. It’s easier to be okay when you don’t have to look at the person who hurt you most all the time, but coming face to face with him now really threw you off, especially with Stella on his arm. The fucker did not only cheat on you with her, but he went straight into a relationship with her and she probably doesn’t even know that she was just the sidechick in the beginning. If you were really evil, you’d go up to her and enlighten her about who you really are, but you are not one to cause a scene. Keith kept the two of you apart consciously, he never let you go into his office because he wanted Stella to think that he is a single man while he was engaged. Sickening to think how slyly he played the both of you and even after his little plan failed, he kept lying to the poor girl and lured her into a relationship. You wonder if he is already fucking another girl behind her back.

Your fingers start to turn white, gripping the edge of the sink tightly so you loosen up a bit, shaking your arms and shoulders off to pull yourself together. You fix your makeup and run your fingers through your hair quickly to give it some volume before grabbing the camera from the counter and heading out. However shocking it is to be at the same place as Keith again, you have a job to do right now and the bride and groom are expecting some amazing photos and that’s exactly what you’re gonna deliver.

You manage to busy yourself to the point where you are able to forget about Keith’s existence for most of the time. Following the happy couple around you don’t get too much free time, the camera is glued in front of your face basically and it brings you some peace. For a while.

Emily and Jesse disappear for an outfit change and it gives you a short break since they didn’t want that to be photographed, only when they return. So you get yourself a virgin cocktail from the bar and head outside to get some fresh air. You text back Heather and Trevor and then just scroll through Instagram, enjoying some alone time from the buzzing you’ve been around all day.

“Y/N!”

Turning to your right you spot Keith walking towards you, this time alone, but it doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes.

“What do you want?” you mumble under your breath.

“Just… though we could chat for a little. It’s been a long time.”

“Not enough,” you retort. “And I would like to skip the chatting.”

“Come on, you can’t be still that mad at me,” he chuckles and you almost punch him in the face right then and there.

“Well I am. So go back to your little girlfriend and leave me alone.”

“I know things didn’t end too well, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be civil towards each other.” You can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your throat. He can’t be serious, trying to act like the bigger person now after everything he has done to you. This has got to be a joke.

“This is me being civil, because I’m not throwing anything at you. So leave me the fuck alone, let me do my job and then we hopefully don’t see each other again.”

“Come on. You don’t miss me, baby?” he smirks at you, completely ignoring what you just told him. You physically cringe at the pet name he just called you and you take a step away from him, needing the distance more than ever.

“I don’t. Now leave.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too fucking bad. Now leave!” you raise your voice, but it does nothing. He is still standing there, looking at you like he didn’t completely destroy you just about a year ago.

“Heard that you haven’t dated anyone since we broke up.”

“Are you asking around after me?” you scowl.

“We have a few mutual friends,” he shrugs. “Is it because you still want me?”

“My dating life is none of your business, Keith. And I don’t want you. Quite frankly, I don’t even know how I could ever want you, so now please let me enjoy my break and leave me alone.”

“Y/N, I just—“ Keith reaches for your hand, but you pull back before he could touch you, holding up a finger at him you start talking slowly and very clearly so the message goes through.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me or talk to me. I want nothing to do with you, you’re a manipulating, cheating, egoistic asshole who ruins the life of others. I’m telling you this for the last time, Keith: leave me the fuck alone.”

He looks a bit stunned at your harsh response, but you couldn’t care less if you’ve hurt him. He did way worse things to you than snapping at you. As you walk past him to head back into the barn, he doesn’t let the chance to punch you in the stomach with his words one last time.

“I wish I could say you were a good fuck, but that wouldn’t be true. Good luck finding some lowlife loser who would even think about marrying you!”

Every fiber in your body is screaming to launch yourself at him and punch him until he is unconscious, because that’s exactly what he deserves. The tears are already stinging your eyes, but you don’t give him the satisfaction to see you react to his words. So swallowing hard you just keep on walking until you are out of his sight, bottling up the sobs and tears for the time when you’re home and on your own.

It’s past two am when you arrive home, drained and exhausted, both emotionally and exhausted. Following the conversation you had wit Keith he didn’t try to talk to you anymore, but you could always feel his eyes on you, wherever you were, as if he wanted to see if you are watching him too, but you weren’t. Looking at him would have been too painful so you tried your best to keep your eyes away from him through the night.

You know damn well that what he told you when you were leaving was just to get a reaction out of you, to get you upset enough to start a fight with him, it’s just who he is, he enjoys having the last word and the higher ground in every situation, but you didn’t want to be his partner in his stupid games this time. However it still hurt, what he said.

Walking into the dead silent house you kick your shoes off, drop your keys into the little bowl next to the door and head to the kitchen to get yourself some water. Pouring yourself a glass you lean against the counter and as you stare ahead of you, nothing can stop the tears from falling.

Everything you kept bottled up during the afternoon and evening just hits you all at once, making you break down heavier than any time in the past months. You sob and cry, letting it all out until your head feels like exploding, but you still can’t stop. You were not ready to face the man that broke your heart like no one before.

In the middle of your breakdown you don’t even realize the footsteps coming from the stairs.

“Y/N?” Harry’s voice calls out, snapping you out of your pity party. He immediately sees that you’ve been crying like a baby, no doubt, but you still try to wipe your cheeks and eyes, pretending like everything is totally fine.

“Harry! What are you doing up so late?” you breathe out hoarsely.

“Just wanted to get some water, but have you been crying? What happened, are you alright?” he starts bombarding you with questions, clearly worried about you, seeing you in this state.

“Everything is fine, I just… had a rough night,” you chuckle through your tears that are still rolling down your cheeks, those bastards!

“A rough night doesn’t make you sob like this. What happened?” Rounding the kitchen island he stops in front of you, not sure how to approach the situation, but it’s kind of sweet how he wants to help, but doesn’t know how.

“I, uhh—I met my… ex-fiancé tonight. He was at the wedding I worked at,” you mumble shutting your eyes closed.

“Did he hurt you? Y/N, if he laid a hand on you, I swear—“ “No, he didn’t hurt me,” you shake your head before adding: “Well, not physically.”

“Come on, let’s sit down for a bit.” He gently takes your hand and pulls you to the couch in the living room, making you sit before he plops down next to you. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s really stupid, I shouldn’t be this upset about it, but I just… It hurt and I can’t change it,” you whine, wiping some more tears away.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid. Tell me what happened!”

“He was there with the woman he cheated on me with. They are basically a couple now, but she doesn’t even know that Keith was engaged to me when they started dating, so it’s really fucked up. And it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, because, you know, fuck him, he can do whatever he wants, it’s not my business anymore, but then he came up to me and tried to chitchat with me, which I didn’t really want, of course.”

Harry listens carefully, giving you his undivided attention while you fumble with the hem of your shirt, kind of avoiding to look him in the eyes. Part of you is afraid you’d see judgment in them and you don’t think you would be able to handle that.

“I asked him to leave me alone, but he just kept talking and then I snapped at him a little harsher and when I was walking away he…”

You scowl again, hearing his words play in your head so clearly, as if he was standing behind you, repeating them to you. Harry reaches out and he gently covers your hand with his warm palm, giving it a gentle squeeze, letting you know that he is patiently waiting, not rushing you to talk. Taking a deep breath you blink your tears away before continuing.

“He basically said that I wasn’t even a good fuck and no man will want to marry me.”

“Jesus fuck, what kind of asshole did you date, Y/N?” Harry snaps in horror and it’s kinda funny, makes you laugh through your tears.

“Seems like the worst kind,” you mumble with a bitter chuckle. “I know I shouldn’t have let his words get to my head, but… it’s easier said than done. I feel like such a loser,” you breathe out, your lips trembling as the tears are threatening to flow again.

“Don’t blame yourself for having feelings, it’s completely normal. Of course his words hurt, he once meant a lot to you and he probably knows that too, that’s why he tried to use it against you. What he said held no truth.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice barely more than just a whisper as you finally look at him. His green irises appear so warm as he smiles at you, squeezing your hand again. He scoots a little closer, his knee bumping against the side of your thigh.

“Y/N, I know so,” he chuckles. “That guy was a proper idiot for what he did to you. You didn’t deserve any of that and any many would be lucky to have you as their wife.”

“Really?” you pout, feeling so touched and loved from his words. It’s exactly the reassurance you needed.

“Absolutely,” he nods smiling sweetly.

Everything that happened today messed with your head big time. And now sitting with Harry on the couch, listening to him telling you how worthy you are of love and happiness, it completely throws you off. Ever since that moment in the kitchen before Gemma walked in, you’ve been nonstop thinking about what would have happened and it made you notice even the tiniest things about him.

Harry Styles is a man who is clearly a sight for the eyes, with his chiseled jawline, pink lips and gorgeous green eyes, the duality of his powerful and business appropriate attires he wears during the day and the tattoos hidden under his dress shirts, you’d have to be blind to say that he is not an attractive man. But on top of everything on the outside, he is a wonderful person on the inside and it twists your head more than you’d like it.

Your brain switches off for a moment, or just the rational side, but you completely stop thinking as you stare at each other. The intimacy and emotionality of the moment pushes all your common sense to the side as your gaze wanders down his lips.

The thought of kissing him comes fast and before you could even stop yourself, you move forward and press your lips to his. The touch of his lips against yours is sweet and warm and kind of intoxicating, but in just a blink of the eye your rationality gets a grip of you and your eyes pop open in realization of what you just did. Pulling back you gasp and cover your mouth in shock, feeling your whole inside trembling at the thought of getting yourself fired by this move.

Harry seems frozen and quite shocked as well, his lips are parted as he stays still in his spot.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what’s gotten into me! Harry, I’m sorry, I promise—“

You start rambling in panic, but you don’t get to finish. Harry moves forward, his hand coming to the back of your head as he pulls you in for another kiss, this time making it a lot more passionate and even your tongues get involved. He is kissing you hard and you almost moan into his mouth when you feel his other hand come to your thigh, squeezing it just enough to send a shockwave up your spine. Your hands come up to the back of his hair and you hold onto him for dear life, carrying the kiss on like you’re two teenagers in your parents’ basement, doomed to get caught any moment. Harry goes in again and again, tugging on your bottom lip, licking into your mouth and making your insides twist just from having his lips on yours.

And then you both let go of each other, needing some time to breathe and you slowly realize what just happened. You both stare at each other in disbelief, completely shocked at your own actions, but neither of you have any idea what should happen next.

You let go of each other, sitting back to your normal positions, awkwardly breathing heavily and you realize you cannot deal with this right now. You are way too drained and tired to make it make sense so you decide to just… call it a night.

“I’ll head to bed,” you quietly inform him as you stand up from the couch, walking like a zombie, the shock still clouding your judgment.

“Good night,” Harry mumbles, just as confused as you are.

“Good night,” you nod and basically sprint up the stairs and don’t stop until you shut your door behind you.

Leaning your back against it, you slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare into the darkness for long minutes. Quite some time passes by before you hear Harry walk upstairs, his door opens and then closes before silence falls on the house again. With a blank mind, you push yourself up, take a quick shower and just go to bed, ignoring everything that has happened today. You’ll deal with it in the morning.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

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[bytheangell]

A Very Successful Hunt

( @shadowhunterbingo​ square: Hunt. Clary/Izzy, no warnings) (Read on AO3)

Isabelle could do without Clary Fray showing up out of nowhere with her stubborn determination and eye-catching red hair and paint-splattered jeans. She could absolutely do without a gorgeous new girl hanging around the Institute, inserting herself in a world she barely knows anything about as if she’s been there her whole life… and yes, Izzy could definitely do without the huge, raging crush she has on the new Shadowhunter.

Isabelle takes to Clary so fast it’s scary. The fact that Clary shows up with Simon in tow sends up a few warning flags, especially with the way the mundane-turned-vampire constantly follows Clary around. She’s wary, but Clary and Simon insist they’re just friends. Once Isabelle knows that Clary is unattached, nothing can stop her from shamelessly showing off every time Clary’s around in an attempt to draw her affection.

Isabelle orders around anyone stationed under her while Clary’s nearby, showcasing her ability to take command and the respect others give her, toeing the line between being impressive and intimidating. When that doesn’t work she tries to cozy up to Simon hoping to get some information about Clary out of him, but also to show that she can care about what’s important to Clary, too, since Simon is clearly important to Clary. Izzy always saves her best outfits for days she knows Clary will be around and tries to arrange her schedule to be free for sparring during Clary’s training.

Isabelle does everything she can to catch Clary’s attention, to no avail.

Unfortunately, whenever Clary’s around she seems to be more interested in Jace. Isabelle watches Clary barely make eye contact with her, and shift her gaze to Jace instead as they pass down the hallway. When they’re in groups Clary speaks with Jace first, sometimes only speaking with Jace and pointedly ignoring Izzy. In fact, at times it’s painfully obvious the way Clary always tenses up around Isabelle but seems perfectly relaxed around Jace.

“I never thought I'd say this, but I’ve never wished I was you more than I do right now,” Izzy admits. Because of course Clary’s drawn to Jace, with his stupid ‘I don’t even have to try’ charm.

“If I could, I’d trade with you in a heartbeat,” Jace reassures her. She’s seen the way he’s eyed Simon the past few days, even if he hasn’t openly admitted it.

Isabelle wonders when she should just accept reality and cut her losses, but she isn’t ready to give up quite yet.

---

“It isn’t fair,” Clary sighs, flopping back onto the mat in the training room.

“I could just stop coming around with you,” Simon offers, trying to help.

“No, it’s fine,” Clary says. It isn’t fine, not when every time Simon is around Isabelle shamelessly shows off in front of him, but she doesn’t blame either of them, not really. “It’s just a stupid crush anyway.”

“It isn’t like I like her back,” Simon points out. “You should still go for it. Who knows what’ll happen?”

Clary eyes him curiously. “...why wouldn’t you like her back? She’s perfect.”

“For you, definitely,” Simon agrees. “But have you seen Jace?”

Despite her pining, Clary snorts out a laugh.

“Seriously,” Simon continues, steering the topic back to her. “Why not just talk to her?”

Clary sighs again, mostly for dramatic effect, as she pushes herself up off the mat. “Because every time I get near her I freeze up! I can’t even look her in the eyes without blushing, so I just stopped looking at her at all.”

“You’re a disaster,” Simon says, not unkindly.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Anyway, it’s never going to happen. There’s no way I’m setting myself up for failure when I already know the answer. I mean, we both saw her while I trained today.”

Jace trained with her today, and the entire time Clary watched Isabelle smile and laugh at everything Simon said as the two of them talked off to the side of the room. Clary didn’t miss the way Isabelle’s intense gaze met her own, as if to make sure she saw her with Simon, and why else would Izzy do that if she wasn’t trying to send a very pointed message that she’s interested in him?

Clary isn’t sure if Isabelle’s looking for approval or issuing a challenge, but it doesn’t matter either way.

Simon winces. “Yeah. Sorry, I panicked once she started talking to me. I didn’t want to be rude to her and ignore her, but if you want me to next time, just say the word and I’ll kick her to the curb.”

Clary only sighs in response, wondering how long she can manage to avoid Izzy before she has to confront her feelings head-on.

---

Simon knows he’s taking a risk when he corners Jace the following day. Clary is out on a patrol so she won’t be back for at least another hour, which is plenty of time for him to talk to Jace without her seeing.

“Hey, if I tell you something, can you promise not to tell Clary I told you? Or Isabelle?” Simon jumps right to the point, because if the answer is anything other than ‘yes’ he doesn’t have to bother with the rest.

“That depends on what it is,” Jace says.

Simon considers that answer. “It’s just…look, you need to get Izzy to lay off the flirting, okay?”

“Did Clary say something?” Jace asks.

“I know Izzy means well. But I’m not interested, and it’s killing Clary to watch-”

“Wait, you’re not interested?” Jace frowns, brows furrowing.

“Listen, I mean, she’s hot and all but-”

“Simon, she hasn’t been showing off for you,” Jace says. “She’s trying to flirt with Clary.”

“What?!” Now it’s Simon’s turn to be confused. “No, she spent the entire day flirting with me yesterday! You were there.”

“She’s just being nice to you because you’re important to Clary. No offense,” Jace adds quickly.

Simon is still reeling from the revelation that Izzy likes Clary back too much to care about the unintentional slight against himself.

“But Clary obviously isn’t interested, so really, I don’t know why she keeps trying,” Jace adds.

“But Clary is ridiculously interested!” Simon protests.

“Then why does she keep talking to me and ignoring Izzy?!” Jace demands.

“Because she’s a disaster and panics every time they’re together!” Simon points out, then after a moment of silence laughs. Jace looks surprised, then starts laughing as well a few seconds later.

“Alright, so they’re both disasters. Should we tell them?” Jace ponders.

Simon shakes his head. “No. Clary will never believe me anyway. I think they have to figure it out themselves.”

Jace smirks. “Okay… but maybe we can just help them speed the process along.”

---

Isabelle and Clary are the first to arrive in the tunnels for the emergency call about a reported demon sighting.

Clary won’t stop pacing, looking anywhere but at Izzy. When Clary finally speaks it’s the last thing Izzy wants to hear.

“Where’s Jace?” Clary asks, glancing at the entrance.

“Great question,” Izzy says, just as her phone buzzes with a text. “...and the answer is that he isn’t coming. Something about another report across town. Guess it’s just the two of us this time around.”

Izzy tries not to overthink the immediate look of panic on Clary’s face at that as they set off.

The first few minutes are spent in an almost painful silence until they come across the demon - it’s just one, thankfully, and Izzy’s quick to place herself between it and Clary when she spots it, dispatching it easily with her whip and a little extra flourish.

“I’m surprised you’re still showing off without Simon around to impress,” Clary says, and despite the smile that’s meant to be joking Izzy swears there’s a bitterness behind the words.

“Why would I need to impress Simon?” Izzy asks, trying to sound nonchalant. Had Clary realized what she was doing, trying to win over the best friend for brownie points? Did it backfire?

Clary just rolls her eyes. “We should go a little further, in case there are more,” is all she says.

“Sure,” Izzy agrees, left wondering what Simon was saying to Clary about her as she takes the lead down the tunnel again.

Izzy makes it a point to kick every stray rock she comes across with her boot, mostly to vent a little bit of her frustration, because otherwise, she’s going to snap and ask Clary why she doesn’t like her, and that’d just be sad and desperate.

One of her kicks, while admittedly a bit lost in her thoughts about the redhead walking several steps behind her, lands a bit too hard and the rock hits the wall of the tunnel hard, the sound echoing in front of them. The sound of wings immediately sounds back.

“Clary, watch-” Izzy starts, but Clary is already moving to grab Izzy by the waist and pull her down to the ground, just as a colony of bats flies through.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just let them hit me,” Izzy mutters.

“What?” Clary says, and Izzy curses because she didn’t think she said it loud enough for her to hear.

Izzy debates just pretending she didn’t say anything at all, but maybe it’s finally time to accept the way things are going to be. “Listen, I can be cool about this, okay? We can work together even if you don’t like me back.”

“What?!” Clary repeats. “I- You’re the one who doesn’t like me!”

“... excuse me?” Izzy says, suddenly very aware that they’re both still sitting on the ground. She stands herself up and brushes the dirt off her dress. There’s a short silence as Clary stands and does the same with her jeans, confusion evident when she finally turns her gaze back to her.

“You like Simon,” Clary says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world, then frowns. “...don’t you?”

“No! I mean, I don’t hate him or anything, but I don’t like him like that. I’ve been trying to impress you and you barely look at me! What do you mean you like me, you ignore me for Jace all the time?”

“I don’t… that isn’t what I…” Clary starts, then stops, then starts, then stops again, worrying her lower lip. There’s a very long pause in the conversation, and for a few moments Izzy is positive that Clary is just going to turn and walk away without another word before she takes a deep breath and forces the words out.

“How am I expected to show up and just be cool around you when you’re-” Clary breaks off to motion up and down at Izzy. “You’re you! Of course I’m a mess around you, I can barely think straight!”

Izzy smirks at Clary’s choice of phrasing. “Well, no straight thoughts about me is a good start,” she says.

Clary balks. “See! That! I can’t do that!”

“Obviously, or we probably wouldn’t be in this mess,” Izzy points out.

“...says the girl who thought flirting with Simon was sending a clear message,” Clary counters.

“Okay, I wasn’t flirting! I was just being nice so he’d like me, so you’d like me for being nice to him! Which, in retrospect, might be easily misconstrued,” Izzy admits. “But that isn’t important.”

Despite the confusion and hints of annoyance and surprise and disbelief that are all jumbled together right then, there’s a nervous excitement rising up between them as the implications of their realization start to settle.

Izzy takes a tentative step closer to Clary - and this time, Clary doesn’t look away or step back. This time Clary moves to help close the space between them, and Isabelle grins against the press of Clary’s lips.

---

Simon and Jace are both waiting for them to return, and Clary catches the knowing smiles on their faces when she walks in with Izzy, close enough their arms brush against each other as they laugh.

“I take it the hunt went well?” Jace asks, glancing between the two of them.

“Very well,” Izzy says with a wink.

“Pay up, Lewis,” Jace says, holding his hand out.

Simon groans, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a $20 bill.

“...there wasn’t a second demon sighting, was there?” Clary accuses, eyes narrowing.

“Nope,” Jace admits. “I bet Simon if we got the two of you alone long enough, Izzy would cave and say something to get you two together finally. Simon bet Clary would panic and double-down to deny it even if you did.”

“Simon!” Clary says, though after her recent bouts of pining she can’t really blame him for the lack of faith.

“In his defense, you almost did,” Izzy points out.

“Not the point,” Clary pouts. Izzy leans in and gives her a quick kiss, and Clary’s lips immediately turn up in a smile.

“That’s better,” Izzy says, smiling back.

“By the Angel, what have we done?” Jace groans dramatically. “I can’t watch any more of this. C’mon, Si. I’m suddenly $20 richer, first drink’s on me. I think we earned it,” Jace offers.

Simon looks surprised for a second, then nods eagerly before following Jace out of the Institute.

Clary looks over to Isabelle with a slight, knowing smirk. “How long before they realize?”

“I’d give it a week.”

[jobrookekarev]

23 & 29

23) Who thinks they are not good enough for the others love? and who’s more afraid of loosing the other? Who thinks they keep messing up, only for the other to tell them they don’t need to worry?

In the beginning, Jo worries that she is not good enough. She mainly worries that things between her and Alex will fizzle out or they'll break up and she'll be left without a place to stay. She really loves Alex, more than she's ever loved anyone else. For the first time in her life, she has a good healthy relationship and she doesn't want to lose him. Sometimes when they fight she'll tiptoe around him or try and stop the fight by giving in to him. After he realizes what she's doing he’ll make sure to communicate with her. He tells her that just because they fight doesn't mean that he doesn't love her or that they're going to break up. After a few months, Jo becomes more secure in a relationship. Soon they're able to even playfully fight knowing full well that at the end of the day they’ll fall asleep in each other's arms knowing that they love each other.

Like Alex can't even sleep on the couch for the whole night when they fight. If she banishes him to the couch or if he gets mad and goes there himself, they’ll tossed and turned for about 20 minutes. Then Jo will ask him if he wants to come back to bed with her and he'll jump up and crawl back into bed with her. Yet, as he cuddles up to her she'll remind him that their fight isn't over. Still they fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms and by morning they aren't fighting anymore.

Alex on the other hand is definitely worried that he's going to mess it all up. All of his past relationships have been messed up or not as serious as this and his divorce with Izzie is still something that lingers in his mind. He worries that he's going to be too much for Jo and that she will get tired of him and leave. For example, he first time she get’s sick she insists on going to work and it reminds Alex of when Izzie went back to work after she recovered from her cancer. She pushed him away when he tried to care for her and he doesn't want to make that same mistake. So he doesn't hover over her and lets her go to work. Halfway through the day, Jo comes up to him and asked to be put on his service. She thought that he say yes and would cover for her and let her nap in an on-call room. However, when he refuses to, she's confused and goes back to where she was working in the ER. At the end of the day the little cold that she had is now full blown illness and she's pretty much dead on her feet. Alex come to pick her up and take her home, but he’s still distant. Once they gets home Jo changes into pajamas and comes downstairs where he’s sitting on the couch. She stands in front of him blocking his you to the TV and asks why he's been so distant today and if he's really that afraid of her germs?

Alex: “It's not that. It's just that I assumed you wanted to tough it out. I’m not your parent and I’m not going to take care of you.”

Jo: “What if I wanted you to take care of me?’

Which surprises him and he gets that dumbfounded look on his face.

Alex: “You wanted me to take care of you?”

Jo throws her hands up in frustration: “Yes!”

Alex: “Oh.”

Jo: “Look you don't have to necessarily hover over me, but I wanted you to put me on your service because I knew that you would let me take it easy. I thought that maybe you let me sneak away to an on-call room and take a nap. I wanted you to take care of me a little bit, because no one's ever done that for me before. When I was a kid none of my foster parents cared about whether I was sick or not. I thought that you might at least care enough to notice that I was having a hard time, but I guess it's silly. I’ve been taking care of myself for years and I don't need someone to take care of me.”

Then she turns to walk away and Alex immediately gets up and wraps his arms around her and he picks her up. Jo's a little surprised and asks what he's doing and he says that he's going to take care of her starting with putting her to bed. So Alex takes her upstairs and tucks her into bed, before he goes and he gets cold medicine, tea, her favorite soup, and puts a cold washcloth on her head. The next day he insist that they both stay home from work and he takes care of her.

And Alex loves taking care of her. It makes me feel needed and useful. He can do something for her while she’s sick, rather than just watching it happen like when Izzie was sick or when his mom had a menial break or when his dad drank. And Jo loves being taken care of. The next week when Alex has inevitably caught her cold, Jo takes care of him and doesn't protest no matter how much of a baby he is.

Okay I might actually write this.

29) Who does some crazy stunt to try and impress the other and who ends up driving them to the emergency room after it backfires?

I know it's fall but I have a Christmas idea, so it's Christmas 2020 they're very first Christmas with both of their girls. Although Luna is still in the hospital and Helena is only 10 days old. They both want to make their first Christmas with their daughters special. Jo's 10 days postpartum and on Christmas day she'll only be a month postpartum. Most days she barely has time to take a shower, much less plan a big Christmas or anything. What Jo wants to do for Christmas is just get fried chicken, go to the hospital with Alex and Helena and spend a couple of hours with Luna, let the girls open presents or in Helena’s case dangle and new hanging toy above her head, take a family Christmas photo, and be in bed by 9:00pm.

Alex on the other hand is trying to plan the biggest Christmas event he can. He's already got a long list of Christmas gifts for the girls and for Jo and he's planning to coordinate with Meredith for a big family Christmas dinner. On top of that he wants to completely decorate the house and put up lights. He’s also trying to support Jo and care of Helena, so he hasn’t showered since.. well since Helena come home from the hospital. He’ also doing all of the cooking, while neither of them are doing any cleaning or laundry. Lucky Meredith and Link come over twice a week to help them.

So the first weekend of December, after Meredith comes over to help Jo and the baby he goes to the store and picks out millions of lights and a couple of blow-up Christmas displays, some candy canes for the walk way, and a thing to sync the lights to music. After he spends why to much money he home. After Meredith leaves and Jo and Helena take a nap he goes outside to put up the lights. Jo of course, knows nothing about all this. She thinks that he got ONE single blow up snowman this for the lawn.

So bare in mind that the only Christmas lights that Alex has ever put up, is a string of lights across the wall on the nurse’s station at the hospital. So there he is on their roof for the first time putting up Christmas lights and of course he underestimates how hard it is. He reaches a little too far and ends up teetering off the ladder and falls.

Jo here's the crash and runs outside to see Alex in the bushes with a ladder. She absolutely freaks out thinking that her idiot husband killed himself. So she quickly helps Alex up and figures out that he's fine except that he most likely broke his arm. Then she screams at him that he could have killed himself and what was she supposed to do if he died? And that if he ever scares her like that again she would divorce him?! Then of course she wraps her arms around him and kisses him because she's so glad that he's alive. 

So they get Helena in the car seat and drive to the hospital where Alex gets a green and red cast. While Link is lecturing him, Jo and Helena go up to visit Luna to tell her about how much of an idiot her Daddy is, but how he was so excited for her first Christmas. From then on Jo insist that Alex pay professions to put up the lights each year. 

However that doesn't stop Alex from completely going overboard and planning elaborate Christmas light displays and soon their house is one of the best in the whole neighborhood and is even featured on TV as one of the best Christmas lights house displays in Seattle. And every year Luna and Helena, and later Edith and Quin, get told the tale of how their father fell off the roof as a cautionary tale to never use the ladder without supervision.

Okay I am definitely going to try and write this for Christmas.

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Two

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Two

They didn’t talk more about it later. Jace barely saw Simon at all over the following couple weeks, in fact. It’s not that he was intentionally avoiding Simon, but they both had final exams to study for, and Simon was wrapped up in guitar ensemble rehearsals for the winter concert on top of that. If Jace had spent a little more of his study time in the library than was strictly necessary and that just happened to prevent any further discussions of dispays of physical affection and practice dates, that was entirely beside the point.

What Jace hadn’t counted on was how unprepared he’d feel pulling up outside the Queen Anne style townhouse he’d called home for most of his childhood. He suddenly wished he’d let Simon talk him into driving together and using the drive as a last minute planning session, even if it meant they’d need to coordinate their trip back to Boston. As much as he’d been avoiding talking about their plan, it really only occurred to Jace on the drive how much he wished they actually had, you know, a plan.

“Wow,” Simon said, hopping out of the hand-painted van he’d parked right behind Jace’s car. “Is that an actual turret?”

“Yup, gotta love those late 19th century architectural fads,” Jace answered as he pulled his suitcase out of the trunk. “The house belonged to Maryse’s grandparents, and I’ve never been able to tell how much she actually likes the style and how much is just childhood nostalgia, but she hasn’t even changed much of the interior except for renovations and repairs.”

“I have a hard time imagining growing up in a place like this,” Simon said as he joined Jace with his own suitcase in hand. “And it’s not like my mom’s house is tiny or anything, but this is just...” He waved a hand vaguely at the house. “A lot.”

He didn’t ask why Jace was sharing a tiny apartment furnished entirely secondhand if his family lived in a house like this, and Jace didn’t offer an explanation.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Jace said, even though there was plenty to be nervous about. “I promise the house doesn’t bite.”

“Yeah, less worried about the house than the people in it,” Simon told him.

“I thought you were, like, the parent whisperer,” Jace teased. “Isn’t that why you offered to come with me? Because you make a great boyfriend? Trust me, as long as Alec and Izzy think you make me happy, they’ll love you, and you know more about comics than anyone I’ve ever met, so Max will love you regardless.”

“Okay,” Simon said, releasing a heavy breath. “Okay, thanks. You’re right, I just got a little intimidated by the house, but this is all going to be fine.”

“Maryse is probably going to hate you, though,” Jace continued, keeping his face carefully deadpan. “She hates everyone we bring home. It’s like a rite of passage. But you’re great with parents, so I’m sure you’ll at least avoid intentional food poisoning.”

Simon stared at him in horror, and Jace couldn’t keep a hit of a smile from breaking through.

“I hate you,” Simon told him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jace said, “I’m pretty sure the food poisoning wasn’t actually intentional.”

“Wait, there was actual food poisoning?”

“Come on,” Jace said, heading toward the door. “I want to get inside before we freeze to death.”

“You are such a dick sometimes,” Simon muttered, catching up to him.

Then, he slipped his free hand into Jace’s like it was a totally normal thing to do, and Jace had to catch himself from tripping over the steps.

“Careful,” Simon said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m not going to make a very good impression on your family if you fall and break your neck before we even get inside.”

And there was just nothing to say to that, to how uncomfortable it wasn’t to have Simon’s hand in his like this, to the way it made him want. So Jace simply rolled his eyes and pushed open the front door, letting the scent of home wrap around him like a warm blanket.

“Okay,” Simon said quietly as he surveyed the entryway, complete with antique chandelier. “Feeling a little intimidated again.” And it was so easy for Jace to just give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, you made it,” a warm voice greeted them. “With as bad as traffic has been, we thought you’d be another hour at least.”

“Hey, man,” Jace said, dropping Simon’s hand so he could pull his brother into a hug. “People must be staying home for the holidays this year, because we barely hit any traffic at all.” He glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

“Iz should be here any minute, Max is holed up in his room playing video games with his friends, and Magnus is helping Mom with some last-minute grocery shopping for dinner tomorrow.” Alec held out a hand to Simon. “I’m Alec, since Jace apparently can’t be bothered to make introductions like a civilized person.”

“It’s okay,” Simon said, giving his hand a quick shake, “I gave up on the idea of Jace being civilized the first time I saw him eat pizza that had been sitting out on the counter for three days.”

“That was your pizza,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah,” Simon said, “which I was going to throw away because I forgot about it for three days.”

“On the subject of uncivilized,” Jace said, turning back to Alec, who was looking just a little too pleased, “you really sent Magnus shopping with Maryse? Buddy, if you decided you don’t want to marry the guy, just break it off with him. You don’t have to throw him to the wolves like that.”

Alec’s tiny smile became a little less tiny and a whole lot softer. “Magnus and Mom have actually been getting along lately. She wanted his opinion on wine pairings, so they went to the store and left me here so I can pull the bread out of the oven when it’s done. It’s very weird, but also nice.”

“That does sound very weird,” Jace told him, “but I’m glad things are working out and Maryse has found some level of chill somewhere.”

“Hopefully that means I won’t get poisoned,” Simon said.

Alec snorted. “If you want to avoid it, you should probably avoid mentioning you know about that. Or any other embarrassing family stories Jace might have shared with you.”

“And don’t eat anything Izzy hands you,” Jace added. “Anything she cooks probably won’t kill you, but the taste will make you wish you were dead.”

“So, I should just fast while I’m here,” Simon said. “Good to know.”

Jace led Simon upstairs to drop off their bags while Alec checked on the bread.

“Just toss your bag anywhere,” Jace said, opening the door to his old room. “We can argue over who gets which side of the dresser later.”

“Sure,” Simon said cheerfully, “as long as we can be civil deciding who gets which side of the bed.” He stopped just inside the doorway. “Wow, okay. The apparently very small bed.”

And this really was something that should have occurred to him, Jace realized. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered that he’d be sharing a bed with Simon. They’d even talked about it, briefly, and agreed it was no big deal. But Jace hadn’t considered exactly how much smaller his childhood bed was than the generous queen he slept in back home. It was technically large enough to fit two grown men, but only technically.

“Don’t worry,” Jace said, falling back on his trademark bravado, “I won’t get mad if you cuddle me in your sleep. I know you can’t help it if your subconscious recognizes that I’m irresistible.”

“I’m more worried about your freakishly sharp elbows,” Simon muttered.

“As long as you don’t snore or steal the covers, you won’t have to worry about my elbows,” Jace told him. He was planning to keep his elbows, and the rest of him, as far away from Simon as possible. Which, given the size of the bed, was maybe three inches.

“Dude, I do not snore,” Simon protested. “You know that; we live together.”

“You absolutely snore after your fourth drink.”

“I wasn’t planning to get drunk with your family,” Simon said, tossing his bag onto the bed.

“You say that now,” Jace said, leaving his own bag next to the door. “But wait until you get the full Lightwood Christmas experience before deciding you want to spend the whole thing sober.”

“If your family drives me to drink, you don’t get to blame me for snoring,” Simon countered. Which was probably fair, but Jace was saved from having to admit that by the sound of voices coming from downstairs.

“That’d be Izzy,” Jace said, “and we’d better get down there before she accuses me of trying to hide you from her.”

“Jace,” called a singsong voice, right on cue, “quit making out with your mystery hottie and get down here so we can actually meet him.”

“You should be careful making demands like that,” Jace called back. “What if I’m not wearing any pants?”

“We’ve all seen it. Get your ass down here “

“I like your sister already,” Simon told him.

“You say that now, but wait until she decides you count as family. She won’t be any better with you.” He took Simon’s hand. Because it helped sell their relationship. Because he could. Simon laced their fingers together, and Jace tried not to feel any way about that at all as he led Simon back down the stairs.

They only made it a couple steps before Simon came to a complete stop, almost causing Jace to trip the rest of the way down the staircase. He heard Simon mutter a soft ‘oh crap’ at the same time a bright, redheaded whirlwind came rushing up the stairs at them.

“Oh my god, Simon?” Clary grabbed Simon into a giant bearhug, effectively tearing his hand out of Jace’s. “You’re Jace’s mystery boyfriend? How did I not know about this? You didn’t even tell me you were dating anyone, you jerk! What happened to best friend gossip privileges?”

Clary pulled back from the hug, and now that Jace could actually see her face, he could see the hint of concern she was trying to hide under her wide smile.

“Clary. Hi,” Simon said, eyes wide. “I was going to tell you, I swear. It’s just, this is kind of new and so...” He trailed off, looking panicked. His eyes caught Jace’s. “But, uh, yeah. This is Jace. My boyfriend. Jace, this is my best friend, Clary Fray.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, looking between the two of them and feeling more than a little out of his depth. He’d planned for things to be weird, but not this weird. “We’ve met.” He flashed Clary a smile. “Fray, huh?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t keep his name. Not after...after everything. Fray is the name Mom used before she married Luke. It’s the name I remember her having when I was little, so.” She shrugged. “I filed the paperwork to have it legally changed the day I turned eighteen.”

“It suits you,” Jace told her, and let himself be pulled into a tight hug that he suspected was as much because she needed one as that she was glad to see him. Clary had never told him much about the biological father she barely knew, but she’d told him enough to know that Clary held him responsible for her mother’s death, even if the courts had cleared him of any wrongdoing.

“Thanks,” Clary whispered, before surreptitiously drying her eyes on his shoulder and pulling back to flash a smile that was less forced than Jace expected. “So, tell me how this happened without me hearing about it.” She bumped Jace with her shoulder. “And if it’s so new, what possessed you to subject Simon to your family holidays?”

“Hey,” Izzy said, walking up behind Clary and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. Jace had to admit, they looked...well, right together. “That’s my family, too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Clary said, offering a soft grin over her shoulder. “And the fact that I’m here should tell you exactly how much I love you.”

“Fair,” Izzy said, then looked at Simon. “So, how’d my brother convince you to join this circus?”

“We made a trade,” Simon said, straight-faced. “I put up with his family for Christmas and he puts up with mine for my cousin Rachel’s wedding.” He leaned in and told Izzy in a stage whisper, “Also, I’m weak for his smile, but don’t tell him I said that, because he will abuse it.”

“You say that like I don’t already abuse it,” Jace said, sliding his arm around Simon’s waist in a mirror of Izzy and Clary’s pose. “And to answer your earlier question, us being officially together is new, but we’ve been sort of on the verge of dating for ages. Practically since we started sharing an apartment last year.”

Clary let out a peal of delighted laughter. “Oh, you’re the roommate. It makes sense now.” Before Jace could ask what made sense, she was pulling the both of them into a tight hug. “I’m really happy for both of you.”

“If I’d known you were going to be this excited, I definitely would have mentioned it sooner,” Simon said, pulling back from the hug.

Jace tried to catch his eye, wondering what on earth was going on. He knew both Clary and Simon well enough to know he was missing something, but he had no idea what it was. Simon ignored him, and that just made Jace more suspicious.

“Come on,” Izzy said. “You can have your hug fest later. Right now, I want to help Alec get things set up in the kitchen and maybe surprise Mom by getting dinner started before she gets back.”

Jace and Clary exchanged a panicked look, and Jace frantically searched his mind for excuses to keep Izzy busy. He didn’t actually want a repeat of the food poisoning episode, after all.

“Actually,” Simon said, turning a bright smile on Izzy. “I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to show me your Lego Star Wars collection before we get too wrapped up in family stuff. Jace mentioned you have the deluxe Imperial Star Destroyer set from the early 2000’s, and I’ve never actually seen one in person.”

“Oh,” Izzy said, looking torn. “I’m not sure—”

“We can help Alec in the kitchen,” Clary said quickly. “You two go do your nerd thing. I knew this was inevitable when I finally introduced you two anyway. And this way I get the chance to harass my bestie’s new boyfriend without him in the way trying to keep me from learning the embarrassing details.”

“You know, on second thought—” Simon began, looking slightly panicked.

“Come on,” Izzy interrupted, smiling brightly and grabbing his hand.

Simon flashed Clary a betrayed look, then looked to Jace for support. Jace simply smiled at him.

“Don’t worry, love muffin,” he said mildly. “I’d never intentionally embarrass you.”

“I want you to know that I hate both of you,” Simon said before allowing Izzy to drag him back up the stairs.

“My collection is all still in my old room,” Izzy said. “Clary and I have been looking for an apartment big enough I can actually move the rest of my stuff out of here, but so far we haven’t found anything in our price range.”

Jace turned back to Clary. “Exactly what kind of embarrassing stories were you hoping for? Because I have many.”

Clary shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got more embarrassing Simon stories than you do. I’ve got almost two decades worth. But I was actually hoping to talk to you alone anyway, and this seems like the best chance we’re going to get.”

Jace followed her down the stairs and into the study. “Sounds serious. You planning to give me a shovel talk?”

Clary laughed, shaking her head. “No, I know you, remember? I’m not worried about you hurting Simon. Well,” she amended, “not any more than I am about him hurting you.” She met his eyes with a soft smile. “You might be the only person I know with a heart as big as Simon’s, as much as you try to hide it.”

Jace looked away. It had been two years since the last time he’d seen her, and she could still see right to the heart of him. He didn’t want to know what she’d see if she kept looking. “Clary—”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she teased. “But I didn’t actually bring you out here to talk about Simon. I wanted to apologize.”

Jace frowned, looking back at her. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He was more than a little grateful not to have Clary grilling him about his entirely fabricated relationship, but he wasn’t sure where this conversation was going.

“No, I do,” she insisted. “I promised to keep in touch when you moved away, and I didn’t.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jace said, even if maybe it had been at first. Those first few months at school had been hard. Jace always thought he was used to being alone, especially after his mother’s suicide, but he found out just how much he’d come to rely on his new family when he didn’t see them every day. They’d kept in touch, of course, but with Izzy immersed in her studies and Alec all wrapped up in his new relationship with Magnus, it wasn’t anything like what it had been when they were all under one roof.

For a while, he and Clary had been in touch nearly every day, sometimes texting multiple times a day. Jace told her about his classes and how much he liked Boston, and Clary told him all about trying to narrow down which art schools she wanted to apply to. It was almost the same sort of easy friendship they’d had before he left, after they agreed they were better off as friends.

But after a couple months, Clary’s messages came less and less often, and eventually stopped altogether. Jace tried not to let it bother him, but he started drinking a bit too much and going to a few too many parties. Which was how he’d met Maia, his attempts at flirting somehow leading to him getting his ass handed to him at beer pong, and soon he found himself with an entire group of new friends. Although Maia insisted for almost a year that she and Jace were merely antagonistic acquaintances.

Clary gave him a look that told him she knew exactly how full of it he was. “It was a shitty thing to do, and I was a shitty friend,” she told him. “Especially because I did it on purpose. Izzy and I started getting close and I started to have feelings for her, and I didn’t know what to say to you about it. I didn’t know how to even talk to you about what was going on in my life without mentioning that she was becoming such a big part of it.”

“You didn’t actually have to hide it from me, you know,” Jace said. “I was surprised when Izzy first told me, but I’m mostly just glad you’re both happy. And seeing you together, I know you both are.”

“Thanks,” Clary said. “I didn’t want to hurt you or make things weird. For a while, I thought I could just ignore what I was feeling, but Iz is just... She’s not someone you can ignore, you know?”

“Oh, I know exactly how hard my sister is to ignore, believe me.” Jace stopped, considered, then admitted something he had never said—would never say—to another person. But this was Clary, and he knew she would never repeat it. And even if she did, he could always play it off as part of the act. “She and Simon have that in common. You know, I actually thought I hated him at first? He’s so enthusiastic about everything, and so sincere, and just.” He shrugged. “Not the kind of person I thought would ever do it for me.”

“But he won you over with his boyish charm?” Clary guessed.

“Mm,” Jace agreed. And the way he loved without reserve. Not just his family and friends, but his music, his favorite films, even the crappy nachos from the 7-11 down the block from their apartment. Simon loved every part of life, and being around him, Jace could almost imagine what that felt like. “Well, that and his abs.”

“Can’t forget those,” Clary laughed.

“Not with how often he eats breakfast shirtless,” Jace agreed. “Come on. If we aren’t in the kitchen by the time Izzy gets back downstairs, you know she’ll try to help Alec herself, and I was kind of hoping for dinner to be edible.”

~~~

Dinner was surprisingly painless. Maryse was more relaxed and happy than Jace had ever seen her, and he couldn’t help wondering how much of that was related to the very unsubtle smiles she kept exchanging with Clary’s stepfather. Even Max, who was deep in throes of preteen scorn, grudgingly admitted that Simon being in a band was “pretty cool” and joined in on some of Simon, Clary, and Izzy’s excited nerd talk that went entirely over Jace’s head.

After dinner, they retired to the living room for eggnog and carols. Jace limited himself to a single cup of Magnus’s infamous eggnog, knowing better than to let himself get drunk when he was putting on a show for his family. Or sharing his tiny bed with Simon.

As usual, Jace let himself get pushed over the piano to play. He felt something in him settle as soon as he rested his fingers on the keys of Maryse’s baby grand, the feel different and so much more familiar than the ancient keyboard he had back in Boston or the well-used uprights in the practice rooms at school.

When Jace had first come to live with the Lightwoods, he’d been afraid to touch the piano. His mother had put him in lessons as soon as he was old enough, but she hated to listen to him play and often chastised him for not being a better player, saying he should be better at it with how talented his father was. Now, he understood that it was just another manifestation of the combined grief and mental illness that led to Celine’s death, but at the time he’d hated how awful he was at playing, no matter how much he enjoyed doing it.

But Maryse knew he played and encouraged him to use her piano. She told him that it had been her father’s, and though she’d taken lessons herself as a child, she’d never really loved it the way he had. She said that the instrument deserved to be loved, and as long as Jace loved playing it, she didn’t care how good he was or wasn’t.

It was the first time he’d really felt like this could be his home.

“Okay,” Jace said after the third version of O Tannenbaum with ridiculous altered lyrics—this one courtesy of Simon rather than Max or Clary, about an ill-fated toad who chose the wrong moment to cross the street, “I think my fingers are done for the night.”

“Oh, come on,” Clary said. “Simon and I have at least a dozen more of these we came up with when we were kids.”

“When we were little, I only knew the lyrics to the Christmas songs they played on the radio, so Fray made up silly lyrics to the other ones and told me they were real,” Simon explained. “And it made her so happy that I went along with it even for the couple I did know.”

“There will be plenty of time for more singing tomorrow,” Maryse said. “But if I know this one,” she continued, smiling at Max, “we’re all going to be dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn for presents.”

“Mom,” Max whined, “I’m not a kid anymore. I know the presents will still be there whenever I get up.”

“I seem to remember someone who looked an awful lot like you waking us up before sunrise last year,” Magnus said with exaggerated confusion. “Perhaps you have a twin I haven’t met?”

Max fixed him with a withering look. “Last year, I was eleven. This year I’m twelve,” he said, as though that explained it.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve grown out of it,” Alec told him. “Because I intend to sleep in. And if you try to get me out of bed early, I’ll remind you of this conversation.”

“Oh, no need for that, darling,” Magnus said cheerfully. “I’ll just barricade the door before we go to sleep so he can’t get to us.”

“Brilliant,” Alec said, giving Magnus a frankly sappy smile. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“And on that note,” Jace said, “I think I’m going to head to bed before I die of sweetness overdose.”

“Oh, please,” Magnus said, giving him an unimpressed look. “We all saw you and Simon making eyes at each other over those cookies you were frosting earlier.”

“It’s true,” Izzy said before Jace could protest. “You don’t get to tease Alec about being a sap anymore, not now that we’ve all actually seen you with someone you love.”

Jace froze, his mouth half open, then quickly snapped it shut. It made sense that Izzy would assume. He’d brought Simon home for Christmas, after all. That was the story they were selling even if they hadn’t actually discussed it, even if it wasn’t something Jace had said or even implied. And whatever he did feel for Simon, it certainly wasn’t love. It was, at best, a friendly crush. A very intense friendly crush.

Izzy seemed to realize her mistake, glancing between him and Simon with a look of dawning panic.

“No, you’re misunderstanding how this works,” Simon said easily, because of course Izzy’s words hadn’t sent him into a panic the way they had Jace. “Jace gets to tease Alec, and you, and you both get to tease him back.”

“Yep,” Clary agreed. “Those are the rules, because that means I still get to tease Simon.”

“Please,” Izzy said. “Clary and I are too sophisticated to be sappy.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard you call Clary ‘cuddle bug’ earlier,” Alec said.

“And I definitely saw you laugh at that terrible joke she told at dinner,” Jace added.

“She ate one of the cookies you made,” Max accused.

“Yeah, sorry, cutie,” Clary said. “We’re really pretty sappy.”

“Fine,” Izzy huffed. “But I just think you’re all jealous because I’ve got the cutest girlfriend.”

“Yes, Izzy,” Alec said drily. “You’ve uncovered my secret. I’m extremely jealous of your girlfriend.”

“I knew it,” Izzy said smugly, as though Alec had been perfectly sincere.

“Definitely in danger of dying of sweetness overdose,” Jace said.

That set off another round of teasing, this time with Izzy throwing in not so subtle attempts to drag Maryse and Luke into it. Jace wasn’t sure why Izzy was so determined to make the two admit there was something between them. It was obvious there was just from the way they acted around each other. Maryse would tell them when she was ready, just like she had when she and Robert filed for divorce.

It was almost another hour before Jace finally made his way up the stairs toward his room. He was surprised when Simon rose to follow him, but didn’t say anything until they were back in his room.

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay to nerd out with Clary and Iz some more.”

“I get to talk to Clary all the time,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, it’ll be easier to keep up the whole fake boyfriend thing if I don’t let her get me alone. She’d definitely figure out something’s up if I let her start grilling me about our relationship. Also, you don’t get to call me a nerd when you know just as much about Star Wars as I do.”

“It’s impossible to grow up with Izzy and not know way too much about Star Wars,” Jace said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it over a chair. “Are you still sure about doing this? Neither of us counted on Clary, and I’ll understand if you want to back out.”

“Huh?” Simon said, sounding distracted. Jace turned to look at him and thought he detected the faintest flush on Simon’s cheeks when he met his eyes. “I mean, yeah, no, I’m not backing out.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug as he pulled a set of pajamas out of his suitcase. “The last thing I want is to have to explain this whole thing to Clary.”

“Good point,” Jace agreed, turning around to put on his own pajama bottoms. It was tempting to watch Simon change, but it was also a very bad idea. “I don’t want to think about what she’d have to say to both of us if she knew.”

There was a beat of silence before Simon asked, “So, do you, um, have a preferred side of the bed?”

Jace turned to look at him, only a little disappointed to find Simon fully dressed in his pajamas. As usual when someone asked a question he didn’t want to think about, Jace flashed a smirk. “In a bed this small, I usually just take up the whole thing.”

“Well, unless you want me on top of you, you should pick a side,” Simon said, unimpressed. “Because I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ll take the left,” Jace said quickly, trying and mostly failing to avoid thinking about exactly how much he did want Simon on top of him. “I’m just gonna hit the bathroom real quick.”

Which was how Jace found himself locked in the tiny guest bathroom, lip caught between his teeth as he frantically tugged at his cock. He hadn’t planned on jerking off, but he couldn’t get Simon’s words out of his head, and he sure as hell wasn’t getting into bed with Simon half-hard, which was really the only other option.

He could picture it far too easily. Simon pressing him into that ridiculously tiny bed, hands gentle but firm, mouth just a little bit desperate.

He came to the thought of rutting up against those ridiculous abs.

By the time Jace cleaned himself up and returned to his room, Simon was nestled under the covers on the right side of the bed. Seeing him like that made something in Jace’s chest clench, and he flipped the light off just so he wouldn’t have to look anymore.

“‘Night,” Simon said as Jace slid into bed, taking care to stay entirely on his side.

“Don’t even think about snoring,” Jace answered.

He lay in the dark for a long time, staring into the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city that didn’t quite drown out the soft breathing of the man beside him. He tried not to think about how easy and relaxed the night had been, how perfect it would have been if only half of it weren’t a lie.

[kindrednerdspirit]

Sometimes A Thing Feels so Right: Part 2

Excerpt: Maybe she should be grateful she even knows someone could make her feel the way Newton does. Lately, though, it’s hard to feel grateful. Izzie is back to the ol’ numb-your-emotions-to-get-through-the-day routine. Her mum left again. No note, no nothing, just unanswered questions and disappointed kids.

TLDR: Timeline is after Season 3, Episode 9. It’s canon, except Izzie and Casey have not made up. Also, Evan and Casey are close friends, not just awkwardly figuring out how to be friends. Excuse the roughness, this is a work in progress.

The timeline for this story is after Season 3, Episode 9. I felt like the time in between the party where Izzie kisses a random guy (E9) and the part where Casey and Izzie make up (E10) could have been longer. It wasn’t necessarily rushed, but there was lots of potential to add more, especially in regards to Izzie’s internalized homophobia. I thought it would be fun to flush out Izzie’s feelings, and show her coming to terms with being gay. She realizes it’s not worth hiding a part of herself, especially if it means losing Newton.

Everything is the same as canon, except Casey and Izzie have not made up. Also, Casey and Evan are close friends. I think S3 E10 ends on a note where they’re friends, but still awkwardly figuring out what that looks like, so in what I just wrote, they’re solid friends.

This is unfinished, as you’ll see (it’s too jumpy), but my plan is to continue working on it. There are some things about the beginning that I don’t like, particularly the student council scene, but I’m struggling to think of ideas on how to improve it. So know that things are a work in progress and subject to change.

With Izzie’s emotions on my mind, I considered how the show hasn’t written much about her home life, either (not yet anyway--cannot wait for S4). So, I decided to write about life at home, her siblings, and the weight of having an absent parent. I was inspired and struck by the scene where Elsa sits down with Izzie, and shares how her mother was absent, too, and how that impacted her parenting style.

If you’re wondering why Izzie is hanging out with a superficial, “mean girl” crowd, it’s because I think that’s the role she played before she met Casey. This assumption is based on how Izzie first treats Casey, like when she pretends she pushed her during the sprint and when she refuses to help Casey on her first day of school. I’m also considering Izzie’s intimidating presence, and how she seems to have influence over her nameless, pre-Newton friends. This influence can be seen when she shows up at Casey’s birthday party with their Clayton Prep friends. I’m assuming that Iz is the main reason why they’re all there.

Phew! Anyhow, that’s how this piece began. Thank you for reading. Reach out if you have ideas, suggestions, criticisms, etc., or if you write Cazzie or Atypical fanfiction, too.

Friday, two weeks after the party. Izzie.

Since the party, the only thing Izzie knows about her and Newton, is that Newton wants nothing to do with her. It makes sense, really. Right after they almost kissed, she bolted and made out with someone else. Sometimes, Iz thinks of how turned on she was when Newton leaned in to kiss her. The memory alone makes her feel alive. It takes her out of the daily havoc and chaos created by her mother, reminding her of better things. It’s not like she savours the memory of Newton, though, or uses it to make herself feel better, because it inevitably gives way to embarrassment. Izzie went all the way with Nate and never, not once, did her body to respond to him like that. How could she be so dense to not know something so obvious about herself?

Maybe she should be grateful she even knows someone could make her feel the way Newton does. Lately, though, it’s hard to feel grateful. Izzie is back to the ol’ numb-your-emotions-to-get-through-the-day routine. Her mum left again. No note, no nothing, just unanswered questions and disappointed kids. It’s been a long time since Iz held any hope that her mum would stop using. Her siblings are different. Sometimes they still wait for her, awake in their beds at night, hoping she’ll come home safe.

But her siblings are all younger than her. Jason, the oldest, is eleven. He helps out with Alysha, their seven-year-old sister, and Arya, their two-year-old sister. He is so unbelievably sweet and Iz has no idea where he gets it from. She tries not to place too much responsibility on him, though. He’s still a kid, and the last thing she wants to do is rob him of his childhood.

Iz walks up the stairs to Clayton Prep as the warning bell rings. She cut it too close today. Selena has been sick this week, so the usual morning routine was a slog. She’s fussy, so Izzie woke Jason earlier than usual to help Alysha get ready. Iz considered an earlier wake-up time for herself but Coach is particularly barky lately, concerned that she is not getting enough sleep. It’s annoying when Coach notices things, because she’ll ask if things are okay at home. And what is Izzie supposed to say, exactly? 

“My mum is an addict.” 

“My siblings need me to take care of them.” 

“I’m worried that I’ll have to quit track, because my mum is a mess.”

“At any moment, the floor could fall out from underneath me, and I live with that possibility every day. But yeah, things are okay at home.”

Anyhow, Iz knocked on Jason’s door and gently shook him awake. Waking Jase 20 minutes earlier than usual doesn’t count as ruining his childhood, right? His response is a groan and a loud, “Why!?” That’s how Izzie knew it was going to be one of those mornings.

Like usual, the rest of the morning was a blur as Izzie got Arya ready for the day, while monitoring Jason and Alysha. She fed Arya as they got on their shoes. 

“Where’s your coat, Jason?” Izzie asked in between scooping spoonfuls of mashed banana into Arya’s mouth.

“I don’t need one.”

“You wear your coat when you leave this house. Go get it, please.” She handed Arya their agendas and lunch, then kneeled in front of her.

“Love you, hon.” She said before giving her sister a big hug and a kiss. Jason returned with a blue jacket and gave Iz a quick one-armed squeeze before running out the door.

“Wait for your sister!” She yelled after them before the door slammed shut.

When Izzie’s mum is sober, she leaves the house at 7:30 am, promptly arriving 15 minutes before the warning bell. With her mum AWOL and Arya needing to be delivered to her grandparents, Iz gets to Clayton Prep 15 minutes later than usual--too late for somebody trying to get into UCLA.

Izzie rushes to her locker. Her pre-Newton friends, who’re her current friends, wave and tell her to “hurry up.” Iz turns her lock clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise in its familiar pattern, then opens the door. As she is switching out binders, her heart stops when she sees a folded piece of paper. A note from Newton? Not wasting a second, she grabs it and opens it. 

It reads, “Do you like me?” Two unfilled boxes are underneath, one with the word “yes,” the other with the word, “no.” There is no name indicating who wrote it.

Izzie’s heart pounds in her chest. Newton didn’t write it. This would, sadly, be the most exciting part of her school day. She stuffs the note in her pocket and makes her way to the library.

Student council is a new gig for Izzie. She has essentially reverted back to her pre-Newton self. Her old friends happily welcomed her back, inviting her to join student council in the process. There is Scarlet, who is like Regina George with less anger. She’s popular, bossy, mean, but she doesn’t mess with Izzie. Then there is Harmony, who is like Scarlet’s right-hand woman who does what Scarlet says. She probably has a personality, but Izzie hasn’t seen it, yet. Maybe Harmony will get a personality once she snaps. Lastly, there’s the new initiate who Iz is just getting to know. Her name is Mel, and she seems sweet. Why she’s hanging with Scarlet or Harmony is still a mystery to Izzie. 

Iz enters the room right before the bell rings, and pulls out a chair. Everyone is looking at her.

“So?” Scarlet mischievously smiles. “Any new news?”

“No.”

“No… notes?” Harmony jumps in. 

“Oh, yeah, but no name on it.” Izzie pulls the note out of her pocket, unravels it, and puts it on the table.

Scarlet snatches the note and examines it, while Harmony and Mel lean in.

“It’s from Brad. As in Nate’s friend, Brad.” Scarlet points to a previously unfolded piece with Brad’s name. The girls look giddy, all with wide grins on their faces. Well, at least Harmony and Scarlet are grinning, Mel looks uncertain. She likely has no idea who Brad is. Lucky girl.

Izzie sits on the other side of the table, not impressed. “Great. The best friend of the dickhead who lied and cheated on me likes me.” Iz starts fishing her binder and pens out of her backpack.

“Oh, come on, Iz. Chin up. This could be a great rebound for you. Also, it would totally make Nate jealous.” Scarlet and Harmony giggle.

Iz enjoys the thought of an angry Nate, too, but she mostly doesn’t care. “Can we not talk about Nate? I’d rather just get started.”

“Yikes. No help this morning, either?” Asks Scarlet.

Izzie shakes her head. Unfortunately, Scarlet and Harmony are very aware of Izzie’s home life situation. Iz had a moment of weakness months ago (pre-Newton), where she broke down and told them about having to look after her siblings. 

The girls are empathetic to Izzie’s situation, promptly starting the student council meeting. There is a school dance coming up that has Harmony and Scarlet’s attention. Iz zones out, thinking about how everything at Clayton Prep drags without Newton. It’s less interesting, less fun. She remembers the time she pretended Newton pushed her during their first sprint. Shame immediately rushes over her at the thought of the memory. Izzie was so certain Newton was just another over privileged rich kid.

“Iz?” Scarlet is staring at her.

“Yeah?”

“Wow, where were you? We’re voting on Mel’s idea. Should we ask for LGBTQ+ safe spaces in our next meeting?”

Izzie is caught off-guard. Usually, the conversations revolve around more trivial things, like dances and hem lengths on the girls’ uniforms. Her mouth moves before her brain catches up.

“Yeah, I support Mel’s idea.”

Scarlet raises her brow. “Okay, you two can brainstorm ideas for making safe spaces. Harmony and I will keep working on the dance.”

Mel turns to Izzie, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, Clayton Prep is supposed to be one of the more progressive schools, but I barely see any posters or anything saying it’s a safe space.”

Mel smiles and nods, “My thoughts exactly.”

Izzie feels her heart skip. Is that… excitement? Did something more interesting happen today than a jock’s secret love note? She tries to keep herself from smiling too wide while brainstorming with Mel, who is suddenly the only other person on her radar.

Later that evening

The first clue that her mum is back is the hunk of junk parked in the driveway. The second clue is the smell of pepperoni deluxe pizza that hits Izzie when she pushes open the door. Her mum always bought pizza as an “I’m sorry” treat. Iz walks into the kitchen with three large bags of groceries--groceries that she rushed to buy after school, so her and the kids could eat dinner at a reasonable time.

“IZZIE, my beautiful, gorgeous girl!” Her mum gets up from the table and gives her an exaggerated hug in front of Boyfriend Number… Six?

Iz doesn’t know if she’s high or not, and doesn’t care to find out.

“Hey.” She’s short as she puts away the food.

“This is Steve. Steve, meet Izzie, my oldest.” 

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Steve almost sounds like he means it. 

It’s never worth her time to meet her mum’s boyfriends, so Izzie ignores them and puts away some pasta sauce and beans.

“Hey,” her mum’s tone flipped remarkably fast, “I raised you better than that--don’t ignore people when they talk to you.”

Iz has also learned, over time, that it’s best for her to preserve her energy when it comes to her mum. This is one of those battles that wasn’t worth her time.

She turns to Steve, expressionless, and says, “Hi,” then immediately begins to put away canned corn and soup. “So Steve, were you in the picture before or after my mum left without notice for five days?” 

No answer from either of them, but it doesn’t matter, the situation is disappointing enough already. Iz slams the cupboard shut and leaves to check on her siblings. She numbed herself the moment she walked through the door, anyway. 

Saturday morning.

Iz wakes up the next day to a bright, beautiful Saturday morning. She groans, not wanting to deal with her mum today, so she decides to go for an early run. Leaping into her hoodie and track pants, she pads down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Hi, beautiful.” Her mum is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

Iz frowns and fills her water bottle. “Did you sleep last night?”

There’s a scoff and a shuffling of feet. “What does it matter if I slept or not?”

“You know it matters!” Izzie’s raised voice even surprises her. Insomnia is one of her mum’s symptoms when she’s taking too many painkillers.

Her mum doesn’t say a word.

“Where did you go?” Izzie presses.

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” Her mum gets out of her chair and leaves the room. Other symptoms include hostility and mood swings. Nowadays, it was difficult for Iz to pinpoint her mum’s “normal” level of agitation. She always seemed sad or angry.

Feeling the familiar anger rise in her chest, Izzie calls after her. “Wherever you were for the last five days, I hope it was worth it!”

Friday, two weeks after the party. Casey and Elsa.

It’s a normal day in the Gardner household, whatever normal is when Casey’s autistic brother understands her relationship with her ex-girlfriend through the lens of two gay penguins who adopted an egg. And now Casey is not with her ex (hence the term “ex”), so she’s wondering if there’s another example of a gay penguin that Sam can compare her to that doesn’t have a partner. Oh, and then there’s her parents who are living together but not technically together, but they sometimes go on dates...

Anyhow, Casey is readying herself for a run. She wolfs down some pancakes made by Elsa, who is doing her typical mum thing and staring too long at her daughter.

“What?” Casey asks in between mouthfuls of fluffy, syrupy deliciousness.

“Have you talked to Izzie, lately?” She asks because for over a week, Casey hasn’t been looking at her phone with a goofy smile on her face, or laughing to herself while staring at the screen. Something is up.

“Nope.” It’s a firm “no,” denoting that there’s nothing else to say about the subject.

Elsa is not convinced, but letting her kids come to her for support has been not only rewarding, but extremely successful, so she doesn’t press further.

“Uhm.” There’s a beat as Casey wonders whether she should continue or not. “I saw grandma yesterday.”

Elsa stops washing the plate she’s holding, and turns to face her daughter. “Oh. Where?”

“Outside the hair salon. I crossed the street and talked to her for awhile.”

“That’s good!” Elsa nods a bit too vigorously to sound convincing.

“Why don’t we see her much? I mean, like, what happened between you two? For real.”

Casey knows that Elsa and her grandma don’t get along, but Elsa has held back on telling her daughter the full truth. Painting her mum as an alcoholic, absent parent wasn’t how Elsa wanted her children to see their grandma. And, even though those days are in the distant past, they still stir up difficult feelings for Elsa. 

Maybe she was unwittingly selfishly avoiding this conversation? She used to tell herself to wait for the right time, and now seemed like as good a time as any. Especially with Casey opening up to her recently about her feelings toward Izzie. She usually went to Doug for advice, so to finally have “girl” time together was really special.

With that thought in mind, Elsa pulls out a chair and sits beside her daughter. She takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I didn’t get along with my mum growing up. She wasn’t around when she should’ve been. She’d drink too much, come home too late, and there was a lot to do around the house, because she was absent. She was often around...physically, she didn’t go on benders or anything, but she was mentally gone. A lot. Even now, it’s hard for me to be in the same room as her, let alone trust her.”

Casey sucks in a quick breath. Elsa’s eyes are watery, but no tears fall. “Oh.” Casey’s short reply feels stupid and lackluster. Speechless, she hugs her mum. For once, she feels very grateful for her mum’s presence, even if that presence is often bothersome.

“Love you.” Casey says before pulling away. 

“Love you, too.”

“Thanks for not being a giant, meddling Elsa earlier.” She smiles wryly before leaving her seat, then leaving the house for her run.

Saturday. Izzie talks to Evan.

She loves the feeling she gets when she is running, like all her problems are somehow smaller, because she can think clearly. Izzie’s feet hit the warm pavement rhythmically, taking her further and further from home. Sometimes she fantasizes about running and never turning back. She could be free, free to go wherever she wanted and be whoever she wanted to be. But that’s all they were--daydreams. She could never leave Jason, Alysha, or Arya. One thing she could do, however, was let her feet take control, at least for a little while. Which is why she eventually found herself at… Don’s Pizza?

You don’t want to be here, she thinks to herself. Evan works here.

She stands looking at the entrance while families peer over at the strange, lone person on the edge of the parking lot.

Fuck it, I’ll just sit down and buy a slice. Just because Evan works here doesn’t mean that this has to be a big deal.

Iz lets her feet walk her through the front door. He is there, of course, standing behind the counter, wiping it down with a washcloth. He hasn’t looked up, yet. She could still leave.

“Evan, customer at the door.” Someone barks from the kitchen.

As soon as his eyes meet Izzie’s, his face hardens, but he walks over.

“Hey.” There is an awkward pause. “Would you like to sit at a booth or the counter?”

Iz doesn’t skip a beat. “The counter.”

“Uhhm… that’s where I’ll be.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrow. “Look, I don’t think we should talk about Casey.”

Iz raises her eyebrow. “Oh, are you suddenly uninterested in her? That didn’t take long.” 

Evan folds his arms and sighs. He doesn’t want to stand in the doorway any longer, and he is a little curious as to why Izzie is here. The last time he talked to Casey, she told him that Izzie didn’t want to date her, almost like she had cold feet or something.

“This way.” He says gruffly while walking toward the available spot at the counter.

She follows him and pulls out the bar stool. Iz looks at the table while Evan stands behind the counter, the two saying nothing. 

“I think I made a mistake.” Izzie blurts. Her chest rises and falls. Was she sweating? “I never should have got between you and Casey. She deserves...I can’t give her what she deserves. My life is complicated and I’ll just get in the way of her and UCLA.”

Evan is leaning against the counter, his arms outstretched with the washcloth in his back pocket. “For someone who’s smart, you’re really dumb.”

“I know.” Iz covers her face with her hands. She is overwhelmingly embarrassed by confiding in the one person who likely hated her, and unbelievably distraught over missing Newton.

“What is the problem?” He’s exasperated. “She left me because she likes you more. When I was with her, she lit up when she talked about you! Casey was different around you, like you two were in sync or something. You’re an idiot for throwing that away.”

Izzie feels her eyes warm up from the tears. Evan sighs and looks right into her eyes. “Just go to her.” He waits a beat. “Please? Preferably sooner rather than later, so I can get back to work.”

A grin spreads across Izzie’s face and she hiccups out a laugh. “I’m not ordering anything.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. I’ll still take a tip, though.”

She smiles wryly and puts the only bill she has on the table. It’s $5. “That’s for stealing your girlfriend.”

“That’s…” For once in this conversation, Evan is speechless. “You know what? I have actual work to do, so…”

Iz pushes in her stool, feeling lighter than she did ten minutes ago. “You know, I think I’m starting to understand your appeal.” She switches to a more serious tone. “Thank you.”

Evan nods and does, in fact, get back to work.

[faejilly]

trust your heart

@shadowhunterbingo square: Double Date 

Relationships: Alec & Jace, background Malec, plus some Clary & Stabbing, because that’s my favorite. ;)

I am tagging this as a Shadowhunters 1x04 coda-fic because that's what this is in reaction to, but it occurs at some indeterminate later moment. We are ignoring the timeline. I have no idea when this happens, don't try to make it fit, it won't work. Probably because the timeline doesn't even work on it's own. 

This is also just an exercise in “jilly likes to play with the lore in the show because it doesn’t make any more sense than the timeline!”. (WTF is a Greater Demon y’all? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? How does some shadowy smoke compare to fallen angels and the mother of all demons? Who knows. Certainly the show doesn’t. SO LET’S GUESS. Or something like that.)

"Biscuit." Magnus paused, as if he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying next, and Clary tilted her head as she waited.

Jace figured she was as unused to seeing Magnus fighting for words as he was.

Alec had a hint of a frown between his brows, so apparently that wasn't a thing Magnus did very often in private, either.

Magnus sighed, and tried again. "If you wanted to give the retrieval of your memories another try, I have heard from the Spiral Labyrinth that Valak appears to have. Reformed."

"That was quick." Alec sounded almost blank, and Jace wondered if... no, that was stupid. Alec always still felt guilty about things, the only question was how guilty Alec still felt about the original failed summoning.

"He is one of the original Greater Demons." Jace shrugged as everyone looked at him. "I looked him up after last time. He's not a Fallen Angel, but he's still classified as a Demon Prince. There are only a couple of those."

A hint of pride broke through in Alec's voice. "And yet, Magnus managed to contain him."

"He almost killed Jace." Clary finally spoke up, her voice a little more subdued than usual.

"But he didn't break free," Jace pointed out.

Clary glared at him.

"What?" Jace spread his hands wide.

"You almost died."

Jace shrugged. "Doesn't make Magnus less impressive."

"Why thank you," Magnus gestured sideways and leaned forward in his chair in a way that very clearly implied a bow.

Jace snorted, and Alec's shell cracked a bit more, a hint of a smile as he looked at Magnus.

When Magnus was an arrogant bastard, Alec thought it was great. When Jace was an arrogant bastard, Alec always looked like he wanted to murder him. To be fair, Magnus never needed Alec to clean up the mess after he was an arrogant bastard?

Might cheer Alec up if he did.

But that wasn't Jace's business.

Jace leaned forward, aiming his next words at Clary. "Doesn't make you less impressive, either. You managed to disperse him, after all."

"She is naturally gifted when it comes to stabbing things." Alec's voice was dry, but his expression was fond. Jace could feel the tension in Alec's shoulders still, knew he wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he was appearing, but Alec wouldn't thank him for pointing it out.

Clary blinked. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome." Alec nodded graciously and entirely sincerely. Jace still didn't know how he did that, there was no way that should have managed not to sound either stupid or sarcastic. But no, he meant it as a compliment, and he was glad Clary knew it.

Jace shook his head a little. You're so weird.

Alec raised his eyebrows at Jace. You're one to talk.

Jace shrugged. Fair point.

"They're doing it again." Clary hissed, and when Jace shifted his attention back towards her, he saw she was leaning closer to Magnus. "Do you think it's a Lightwood thing, or a parabatai thing?"

"Both." Magnus leaned in as well, far enough he could clink his martini glass against her iced tea. "They do it with Isabelle too, but there's usually the occasional half-a-word thrown in with her."

Clary hummed in consideration before she nodded in agreement, and Jace had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

Alec snorted.

Magnus blew him a kiss.

Jace rolled his eyes at Clary. They're not any better!

Clary grinned at him. Neither are we.

And wasn't that a nice thought?

"There's no hurry," Magnus' voice was mostly serious again. "But do let me know. It will be the same ritual, but he may ask for a different price. He's all about shadows and secrets and treasures; he might be looking for something entirely different this time."

"Will it be worse because we." Clary swallowed. "Because I tried to kill him last time?"

"Probably not." Magnus shrugged. "He's not a particularly aggressive or grudge-holding demon, he really does just like knowing things, having bits and pieces of this world that no other demon can hold via his collection of memories. It's why I chose him to hold your memories in the first place."

"It's not like Valak would consider any of us a threat. We don't actually know how to kill him," Alec said. "Not so he'd stay dispersed for very long, much less actually dead. I doubt a short stint in the Void means much to a literal Shadow Demon. There's speculation he's part Void. Might have been a nice vacation for him."

Magnus snorted this time, but not in disagreement.

"Plus it's a very comprehensive summoning and containment spell." Jace grinned as Magnus lifted an eyebrow at him this time. "I told you I looked it up. That Medusa in the middle of the pentagram, it's a symbol of protection called a gorgoneion, and Valak's particularly vulnerable to it because of their shared dominion over serpents."

Magnus lifted his glass in another toast, this time aimed in Jace's direction. "Gold star for blondie."

"Thank you." Jace did not manage to avoid sounding slightly sarcastic, and he was not at all surprised when Alec kicked his ankle. He ignored that. "All of which just means that as summonings go, it's usually..."

He trailed off. He'd almost said mostly harmless, but then Alec was going to think about how their original attempt hadn't been, and how that was all his fault, and Jace had no idea how to comfort Clary that they really did usually know what they were doing without making Alec feel even worse about how obviously fucked up they'd been when they first met Clary.

Her mouth did an odd twist as she watched him stop talking, and he sighed. She'd clearly already figured all that out.

Not that it was hard.

"You should ask Simon." Alec's sentence ended more abruptly than usual, as if there'd been more he'd swallowed. "For the pentagram."

"And Luke." Jace managed to say without glaring at Alec for stealing his idea before he'd managed to say it first.

Clary frowned. "That makes seven. That's not a pentagram any more."

Alec blinked at her. Well obviously you wouldn't want me there.

Magnus and Clary just kept staring at him, and Jace had to swallow a snort of amusement. "Don't think you ducking out was obvious to anyone but you."

"I suppose it should have been," Magnus sighed. There was a golden glint in his eyes as he switched his attention to Jace. "But Alexander's over-developed guilt-complex doesn't explain why you're trying to duck out, too."

Alec's mouth opened, as if he was going to try and protest that his guilt-complex was at perfectly reasonable levels or something, but then his mouth closed and he turned to frown at Jace instead.

"He didn't want my memory last time?" Jace shrugged. He hoped that none of the despair he'd felt at that one-two punch of the demon deciding Jace didn't love anyone enough for his memories to count, of Alec being terrified of loving Jace, was making it through the bond. Or worse, onto his face for everyone to see. "Seems a bit of a risk to include me again."

Judging by how still Clary suddenly was, of the surge of nausea he felt from Alec, he'd failed entirely.

Fuck.

Alec leaned forward, but Magnus' hand on his arm stopped him before he said something that Jace probably wouldn't know how to deal with. Jace was used to feeling grateful for Magnus' existence for Alec's sake almost daily; it was a little weird being grateful for his own sake this time.

"The ritual was broken half-way through," Magnus said, his voice slow and careful, like you'd talk to a spooked horse. Jace kind of hated how nice it sounded. "Why do you think he didn't want your memory? He didn't get to me, either."

"He skipped me." Jace swallowed. Jace had been sure he'd see Alec's face when the demon got to him, too, but then Valak had just... jumped over him instead. Like everything Valentine had taught Jace when he was growing up was true, was right, that he couldn't know what love was, that he wouldn't ever be capable of it, that everything he thought he'd felt with the Lightwoods, with Alec, his brother, the other half of his soul, that all of it was just a lie he'd told himself, told himself so often he'd forgotten it was a lie.

But the demon could tell, could take one look at him and tell that all his cherished memories were wrong, weren't really love.

Then Alec had rejected the very thought that Jace could be the one he loved the most, as if Alec knew that too, knew they weren't really parabatai, not in any way that mattered, knew he couldn't trust Jace at his side, and sometimes Jace could tell himself that Alec was rejecting the implication of attraction, that it was more about Alec and his fears than Jace and his failures, and he told himself that Alec did love him, he did... but.

Sometimes all he could remember was that denial, and it didn't matter why.

No one had thought twice about Izzy loving Alec the most. No one would ever doubt that Alec was worth that, no one would ever panic at admitting that.

"Jace," Alec's voice was rougher than usual, and before Magnus or Jace could try and stop him again, he'd turned his chair and pulled Jace against him, his arms hard and implacable, and the fact that there was no way out was exactly what Jace needed.

He did manage to spare half a thought to being glad they were having dinner at Magnus' rather than in public before he just leaned in, his forehead pressed against Alec's shoulder, and he managed not to think about anything else at all. He could feel the hard beat of Alec's heart through the bond, the tight grip of Alec's hands an echo of tension even as his own body relaxed.

"Do you know what an ouroboros is?" Magnus' voice was overly precise and almost delicate; Jace wondered how long they'd been silent, how long he'd lost himself.

Jace nodded.

He felt Alec's head move above him, echoing the movement to make sure Magnus could see it.

"An ouroboros can be used to enhance a containment ritual; it won't actually make a pentagram last an infinite amount of time, but it does give it a kick."

Magnus paused, as if giving Jace time to process that.

"It's also a snake, so Valak's more vulnerable?" Clary asked.

"Mm-hmm." Magnus confirmed. "If Valak invokes that symbol by reinforcing the circle of a pentagram, any particularly talented or powerful warlock—"

"Like you?" Clary interrupted again, the smile clear in her voice.

Jace heard the clink of crystal and figured Magus had tapped her glass in agreement again. He felt himself smile, just a little, imagining the looks on both their faces, gently teasing and an exaggerated glint of false-modesty.

"A good warlock can force Valak to answer two requests for the price of one, so he will never follow a circle all the way around during a ritual. He jumps and swerves instead."

Oh.

Jace felt a hot flush of shame, it had nothing to do with me, but before he could move or say anything, Alec's arms tightened even further.

"It's also fair to say that 'love the most' is a crock of bull-shit." It was Alec this time, his voice remarkably steady, considering, and Jace could feel it in his chest as much as hear it. "Magnus and I talked about it, and there's no way for a demon to know that, love doesn't work like that, most and least or whatever. It's whoever you're thinking about right then during the ceremony, whatever your emotions are most caught up in at the time."

"It's usually a plausible answer," Magnus hummed softly in agreement. "Because it's suggested by the question, so you're thinking about whoever is important to you. But sometimes the question isn't enough to lead you that way, and he'll take a memory of whoever you're concerned about, or even angriest at, whatever's strongest and primary in your thoughts."

"So I saw my mom because I was worried and looking for her, not just because she was my mom." Jace could hear Clary shifting in her chair as she spoke.

"And Isabelle was probably still caught up in being delighted to witness me flirting atrociously with Alec," Magnus agreed. "Rather than him truly being more important to her than Jace or Max."

Alec's hand rubbed up and down Jace's spine, and his voice was both softer and lighter when he spoke again. "I have never regretted loving you, Jace, I just didn't know what most meant, or how I was supposed to survive admitting it in front of strangers."

"If Valak does ask for a memory of the 'one you love the most' again—" Magnus continued, soft and warm and gentle in a way that reminded Jace of how very old he was "—I will probably think of Alexander, but I might be reminded of Ragnor, because he died and I won't get any more new memories of him, and so each one I have is even more precious than they used to be."

Alec made a pained noise in the back of his throat, and Jace pushed himself free, wiping his eyes and shaking his head to settle himself.

And then he had to shake his head again, because Alec ruffled his hair and he could feel it didn't settle properly on its own.

Alec didn't reach out to wrap himself around Magnus up the way he had Jace, despite how clearly he wanted to, but he did reach out a hand and rest it gently on top of Magnus'.

Magnus blinked at Alec, and turned his wrist so their fingers could intertwine.

Jace coughed. "Sorry for ruining dinner."

"No such thing." Magnus waved the hand not still holding onto Alec in dismissal, somehow not spilling a drop of his drink. "But perhaps it is the sort of night that could use some extra dessert?"

Clary’s eyes brightened and she sat up a little straighter. "Chocolate dessert?"

"Your wish is my command."

[ofbarreras]

hey everyone ! first of all, i am SO excited to finally get to write with you all ! i’m a, and i write eddie barrera aka ritenuto ! i’m 23, est, she / her. currently, when i’m not watching way too much tv or reading, i’m in college. thankfully, i’m technically on winter break now. below is eddie’s intro, but his full bio can be found here. his connections page is here, but it’s empty because i want to plot stuff out with people. lastly, here is a list of headcanons that is being regularly updated. all of the ones on his intro can be found there. 

stats

full name: eduardo barrera

nickname: eddie

gender & pronouns: cis male, he / him

orientation: bisexual / biromantic

age: twenty-two

occupation: none

status: deceased

history

tw: anxiety, mentions of a panic attack, death

growing up, eddie’s parents had very high expectations for him. he really does believe in his heart that they just wanted what was best for him, but always having to be the perfect son did a number on him. even now, he tries so hard to please others that he forgets to put himself first.

for a.... very long time he was a popular jock ( rip ), except he was the quiet, nice jock who just sits with the douchebags. he played soccer and hated it.

he taught himself to play the piano when he was eight, and it’s his favorite thing, honestly. any time he’s stressed or upset, catch him jamming out on the piano.

eddie’s always known he was an anxious person, but it wasn’t until his first panic attack when he was fifteen that he realized how bad it was. playing the piano definitely helps, but he still has his rough days.

being in the band helped too, of course. joining a rock band wasn’t something his parents loved, but it made eddie happy. he loved his time with the band - it was the best part of his life. 

eddie went to ucla on a partial academic scholarship. the rest of the money came from his parents, as well as the part time job he had to help cover his own rent. because his parents paid for things, he really didn’t have many options with what he majored in, so he technically has an econ degree ( y i k e s ). 

dying hasn’t been easy on him. he’s coping...somewhat. he’s just really lost right now. i don’t think he knows whether or not he wants to move on, or whether he wants to try to keep the band going. i think he’s really struggling with what to do next in general. 

headcanons

eddie has a little sister, isabel aka izzy. they used to get on each other’s last nerves, but he did love her. she was about three years younger than him, and he’s so weirded out by the idea of her now being in her mid 30s. if he ever did decide to go see a member of his family, it would probably be her. but also he’s really unsure as to whether he wants to see any of them, or if that would just hurt too much.

used to be a classical pianist only sort of guy but obviously branched out once he joined killer conclusions. still, i feel like he may not have had quite the impressive musical taste as some of his bandmates. he absolutely loved backstreet boys and britney spears. sorry dali !!! but also he’s a big fan of fleetwood mac.

disaster bi. literally anyone at all flirts with him and he’s like “is this love ?” he had terrible luck with love when he was alive, and i’m not sure it’s much better now that he’s dead, honestly. but who knows. not me.

eddie is third generation. he’s colombian on his mother’s side and mexican on his dad’s, and he’s bilingual. around the house, the barrera’s mostly spoke spanish, unless they had guests over. they made sure that eddie and izzy still felt connected to both colombian and mexican culture.

he was raised catholic, but he stopped going to church after he moved out. he considered himself to be more agnostic at the time of his death, and at this point is like “that’s too much to process on top of everything else, thanks.” 

as much as i love classical pianist eddie barrera, a part of me would love for him to learn a second instrument at some point. give him some musical range !!!!

he was such an absolute teacher’s pet in school, oh my god. like he doesn’t mean to be a suck up, but he likes rules and being liked. so he ended up often being the kid that adults trusted.

eddie is a short king. he’s only 5′7′’ but we love that for him. 

he’s gone by eddie for as long as he can remember, but i think it would be excellent for someone to call him eduardo at least once.

he sings harmony sometimes and that is it !!! well maybe the occasional duet, but nothing more than little solos here and there. the thought of singing a full song by himself is terrifying.

if he had been able to chose his own major, i think he would have picked music tbh.

eddie can absolutely chicken out of things. he does it often. if he has enough time to talk himself out of doing something, he will - which is why he needs people to push him. 

team mom, now and forever. 100% the friend who has to be like “this is the dumbest idea you’ve never had.” definitely the voice of reason. also, once he’s close to you, he can be a bit snarky. like, i think he definitely calls people dumbass very affectionately. 

he can come across as distant and almost maybe even a little bit aloof at first ? he’s just not great at letting people in right away, it takes him some time usually. but if you manage to get past that, he’s the sweetest guy. he has such a big heart and he’s absolutely so loyal to his friends. he would do anything for the people he cares about, almost to the point of being self-sacrificing. again, he puts his own needs last, so he would give up anything for his friends in a heartbeat. 

[kinghoranshit]

Middle of the Night (1D) Ch 1

Word Count: 1,665

I couldn’t fathom why I decided to go along with the boys on their latest tour. When Niall asked if I’d join the North American leg, I should’ve said no. Simple as that. As one of their best friends, and freelance graphic designers, I wasn’t obligated to go. It was easier to hide who I truly was when I wasn’t surrounded by them 24/7, or in the limelight. I could back out still, but then that’d also look suspicious to everyone involved, and that included the fans who viewed the tour from an outside perspective. 

There were some of our kind who managed to have successful “famous” careers and then dip out on a mysterious misfortune with no public eye on them. I never wanted that for myself. I’d been careful about it. Then I met this boy band through my latest work at Modest! Management, and it turned out, they became grossly huge and they wanted me to be their best friend. 

I took a deep breath to try to calm myself down as I packed. I knew that getting all worked up wouldn’t help, especially since I needed to get on the road soon. I had to meet them at the show in Chicago. It was only a four hour drive from where I lived, so my father said he would take me there. From there, the tour bus would be how I traveled with the boys. 

I stuffed various pairs of jeans, pixie pants, blouses, shirts, and cardigans into my duffel. I also chucked my Gucci mules into it; I wore a pair of all white Nikes with black straight jeans, a white tank I cropped myself, and a pistachio green cardigan. It was the end of summer, going to fall in a couple weeks, but with who I was, having the least amount of sun hit my skin was for the better. I grabbed my backpack next to put my laptop into it, along with chargers, airpods, and sketch pad.

I strapped my duffel and computer bag on my shoulder and walked out to the kitchen and living room area. My dad sat at the table, working away on his laptop; he came in last night so we could leave by ten this morning.  

I reached out for an apple from the wooden bowl in the middle of the island and took a bite out of it. Being who I was, I didn’t have taste buds for human food. I’ve never understood when the boys got excited about food. I haven’t had real taste buds for centuries, so I’ve forgotten. It was like those memories were instantly erased after I was turned. 

“Hey Izzie, when was the last time you fed?” my dad asked suddenly.

He wasn’t my actual biological dad. Our kind couldn’t reproduce- well the human way anyways. My biological parents were long dead and I was a Lady on her own deathbed when my father bit me. He did it to save me. I had been a miracle and wedded to a duke, then shunned when I could not bear a child; that was more than right with me. Now I literally lived forever, and it would take nearly so much for me to be on a deathbed again. I hoped that would never happen. As long we kept ourselves underground, there would never be an uprising of hell. 

I thought for a second. “Uhm… A month ago. Why?”

We had to feed every month or so, or our bodies would weaken, our eyes would turn fiery red, our fangs would automatically lengthen, and we could end up lashing out on an innocent person. But when we were fully fed, we stayed strong and could control ourselves a lot easier. 

My father cleared his throat and circled his face. “Your eyes.”

I raised my eyebrows and hurried into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror to see my eyes were dark red, almost to the point of being black. This wasn’t great. Not by a long shot. I did not need this right now. It was the last issue I needed to have. I knew I should’ve made my trip to feed last weekend. 

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. 

I grabbed a pack of grey contacts out of the cabinet and put in a set. When they weren’t fiery red, they were grey. They used to be a kelly green, I knew that much. When the venom took over my genetics, they matched my dad’s. The only sort of resemblance we had. 

I went back to the kitchen and tossed my contacts into my backpack. I ran a hand through my bleach blonde hair, letting out a deep breath. “I guess I’ll have to go out tonight.”

We could maybe stop somewhere on the way. That would be risky since it would still be daylight and the passerbyers would be high. My dad and I, we didn’t feed on humans; we fed on animals. In the utmost rare cases, and the person was willing, we’d feed on a human. 

“Do you have any contacts for the meantime?”

I rolled my eyes with a nod. “Yes, they’re already in. This isn’t my first, you know that.”

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. You’re still my little girl.”

Yes, his little girl that was over 200 years old. I wasn’t so little anymore time wise. Age wise I was still considered a young adult for life. It wasn’t the worst possible situation to be in. I could hold steady jobs without the question of education, and I could drink legally anywhere in the world. I also had the face where I could pass from the ages of 22-34 without any burning questions. Any age after that was risking it, so I’d have to make my next move and identity change.

I smirked. “Right. Well, we should get on the road. The guys are expecting me around lunch time.”

“Right then, let’s go,” he slipped into a british accent, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, I didn't mean to do that.” 

We were both of british heritage, which I guess gave us another talking point to how we were supposedly related. With having to change our identities every century or so, we had to adapt new accents sometimes. This time we were American. It was something to be more or less proud of.

Thankfully the boys were all from the UK and Ireland, so if I slipped I could blame it on as an impression. Despite forgetting particular senses, I could remember my original accent like it was yesterday. It wouldn’t be hard to fall back if I ever wanted to be the old me in that aspect. 

I knew I should’ve said no to this.  

***

As predicted, there was nowhere safe to stop and feed. It was all wide open plains until the suburbs. I wasn’t feeling antsy or any less of my sane self. Not yet. I hadn’t reached this point in over two centuries, so it was going to be hard to gauge how long it would be. It was only mere days for sure though. 

We did not want to reach that point. 

“Remember to feed tonight or tomorrow. We know how hard the repercussions were last time.” 

I licked my lips, feeling my leg shake at my anticipation of being around the guys 24/7 for two months now. It was going to be… difficult. The gamble was up for sure. And if that wasn’t enough, there were those who hunted us for a living to look out for. If I happened to lash out, it would be all over the news and it would be like lighting up my destination. 

I cleared my throat. “I know dad. And you’ll know if I’ve gone. It won’t go unnoticed this time.”

“That it won’t,” he remarked, reaching over to encase my hand. “It will be okay.”

“Sure.” I nodded. “I better go. I’ll call you every week, as always.” 

He leaned over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Of course, darling. I will speak to you soon.” 

I took one last deep breath before I stepped out of the vehicle, then grabbed my bags and headed inside. It was a fairly large stadium, and I had to hold up my backstage pass in order to get in one of the back doors. I used scents to track down where the guys were; dress rehearsal. 

As Liam went in for a chest voice note, I noticed a delectable vein pop on his neck. I forced myself to look away; I hadn’t said that about a human in centuries. I must need not to. I mustn’t let myself get wrapped in those hellish ways. I… really needed to feed. I had thoughts in my old tongue. 

“Izzie!” Niall cheered, handing his gear off to two different people, and ran down to embrace me in a hug. 

“It me.” I laughed, returning his hug. “Are you guys done for today?” 

“We are, love,” Harry answered with a smile. 

The rest came down the ramps and dogpiled on us. I was surrounded by a bunch of flesh and felt the opposite of thrilled; I was suffocating. Without making it seem like too much of a harsh rush, I squeezed myself out of the middle. Now my brain couldn’t stop the racing thoughts of how I could easily tear their hearts out and have a magnificent feast. 

“How about we go eat?” I suggested. “Pizza?” 

As long as they ate and reeked of that greezy trash, I would be less appealed. It would shut me down for now. 

“That sounds like a grand idea!” Louis agreed and picked up my duffel.

Niall tried to take my hand in his to pull me forward, but I played it off as running ahead of him. “Beat you to the bus!” 

His laugh was boisterous, as all were the rest. “Yeah, right!”

Next: Ch 2

[Masterlist]

[jippy-kandi]

Digimon Adventure tri. – Complete Series Review (English Dub)

Digimon Adventure: Last Evolution Kizuna revitalised my waning interest in Digimon. So much so that I felt like rewatching tri. – but, seeing as I’ve never seen the English dub of it, I decided that would be my “rewatch”! I grew up with the English dub of Digimon, so I have a very soft spot for it. I still think the original Japanese version is far superior, but the English dub really was my childhood.

Under the cut are brief thoughts on the English voice actors, and then a lot more thoughts on the series – or, rather, just what came to mind as I was rewatching the movies. As it turns out . . . most of that was just my intense dislike for certain parts of Matt and Tai’s characterisation.

Note: I do mention Kizuna quite a bit in comparison to tri., but I don’t spoil anything (except for two lines that don’t impact the plot). I don’t think my Kizuna mentions will spoil your enjoyment of the film if you haven’t seen it.

English Voice Actors

Joshua Seth as Tai: PERFECT. He’s definitive Tai to me and he was amazing from the first movie to the last. All my dreams came true, etc. I was disappointed he didn’t return in Revenge of Diaboromon (where his replacement sounded like Joe . . .), but was happy at least Michael Reisz returned for that movie as Matt. But for tri. it was the opposite: Seth returned, but Reisz didn’t. :(

Vic Mignogna as Matt: MY EARS, THEY BLEED. He’s the actual reason I put off watching the English dub of tri. for years. I was so excited about the English dub, but then the very first promo clip of it with Matt speaking was released and I . . . it was truly horrific. He turned me off completely. And as soon as he spoke in Reunion, I had to stop the movie. BUT I EVENTUALLY SOLDIERED ON. OMG. He’s so terrible as Matt. There are a few lines he delivers that are . . . OK . . . but, mostly, he was a major miscast. I really hope Michael Reisz comes back for the probable Kizuna dub. I don’t care if they think he doesn’t have a low enough voice for adult Matt – he IS Matt to most Digimon fans worldwide. BRING HIM BACK.

Colleen O’Shaughnessey as Sora: PERFECT. Absolutely loved her, definitive Sora right here. Well, OK, I might love original Japanese kid Sora just a tiny bit more, lol. But she’s almost as great! I really wish I could’ve heard her conversing with Michael Reisz. :(

Philece Sampler as Mimi: PERFECT. It’s Mimi grown up, I’ve got no complaints, it doesn’t get better than this.

Mona Marshall as Izzy: PERFECT. Though isn’t it odd that a woman still voices him? Lol. I really appreciated that four of the old voice actors reprised their roles. I think it really helped with the nostalgia. I just wish all of them had returned.

Robbie Daymond as Joe: He was really good as Joe, but . . . he would’ve made an excellent Matt. Seriously. Every time he spoke, I kept thinking, “WHY DID THEY NOT CAST YOU AS MATT?” He just had to lose a bit of the “pathetic, nerd” effect in his voice and he would’ve made an AMAZING Matt. The voice director had no idea what he was doing.

Johnny Yong Bosch as T.K.: He made an excellent T.K., so I definitely approve. However . . . he also would’ve made an excellent Matt, if he aged his voice up a bit more. The English dub literally had TWO voice actors (T.K. and Joe’s) who could’ve voiced Matt better, but instead went for Vic Mignogna!? Seriously, what a fail. The only positive is that Matt and T.K. did sound like brothers . . . with T.K. having the far better voice.

Tara Sands as Kari: She was . . . OK. Sometimes she sounded way too old, though. She was decent enough . . . but her old voice actress was a lot better. Still, she wasn’t nearly as bad as Matt. *cough*

Cristina Vee as Meiko: Wow, her voice really annoyed me in the first two movies. But I think that’s because she was being all shy and wet blanket-y. She’s . . . OK in the end, I guess. Nothing special.

Cherami Leigh as Maki (“Hime”): I actually thought she was the most talented voice actor in the series. Her voice suited the character the most as well. I was super impressed with her. A+

Doug Erholtz as Daigo: He . . . sounds like an older version of 02 T.K., because that’s who he used to voice. It was odd when Daigo would talk with Matt, because I kept thinking Matt was talking to future T.K.. But he was fine as Daigo, I guess. (Off-topic: Japanese Daigo is voicing Japanese reboot Yamato . . . what is with Daigo and the Takaishidas!?)

Digimon Adventure tri.

I watched the tri. movies over a week. I wrote down my initial thoughts after each viewing, and then came back and expanded on them later. Because I didn’t want this post to be TOO long (even though . . . it is), I kept it mostly to my issues with the series instead of listing the things I liked. If you want, you can read my initial thoughts (including positive things) on each movie as they were originally released here. Below are my most “pressing” thoughts on a rewatch.

Chapter 1: Reunion

I still have major issues with Matt and Tai’s role-reversal in tri.. I think what annoys me the most is when a show asserts something that is simply not true. Tai saying Matt hasn’t changed at all (YES HE HAS, HE CHANGED INTO YOU AND YOU CHANGED INTO HIM). It’s one thing to just have that happen – but for a show to be obnoxious enough to SAY A LINE that is asserting something ridiculous just to put it into existence is irritating. “Matt hasn’t changed one bit.” = “Matt’s in-character because we say so, all right?” Annoying.

Matt was super aggressive and it really annoyed me. If you want to be very black and white, you’d say, “well he was pretty aggressive in Adventure”. But you’d be ignoring that he was only aggressive in Adventure in REACTION to someone else. Someone else HAD to set him off – usually Tai was pissing him off in some way, making an insensitive remark, etc.. But Tai ACTS first. Matt REACTS. But in tri., Tai does nothing and Matt just goes at him. That’s a loose cannon – and yes, there is a difference between having someone push your buttons and exploding, and . . . just . . . exploding.

Consider this example from Adventure: Matt puts up with Joe’s shit (really DemiDevimon) in the diner for a LONG time before exploding at him. Because that’s Matt. He’s an introvert who holds shit in before exploding, giving people a lot of chances and hoping it’ll work out. He doesn’t just explode unnaturally and often like in tri., as though it’s second nature to him (when it really isn’t). I really disliked how tri. devolved his character to that of the typical “brute” of the group (JUST to be Tai’s foil too, which made it even more annoying).

And, even though I haven’t seen the first season in YEARS, I still remember the “digimon graves” scene very clearly and how it characterised Matt and Tai perfectly (it summed up their ENTIRE characterisation – how their characters operated differently – in the first season). There are other scenes that present the same thing, but I think it’s THE definitive scene you need to know to have an issue with the “wrong” parts of Tai and Matt’s characterisation in tri..

They role-reversed that shit and it annoys me so much because Matt is so much more empathetic than Tai, but tri. turns him into an aggressive frat boy in Reunion and makes him lose all his perspective and observational skills -- which Adventure showed us he had a TONNE of (one of the things about him that made him my favourite character, and thus why it annoyed me SO much that they ignored this aspect of him completely to make him a “tsundere brute 9000”).

Basically, tri. got rid of the layers that made Matt and Tai who they were, and instead added “new layers” to them that MADE THEM INTO EACH OTHER. And then had the balls to ACT LIKE THEY’VE ALWAYS BEEN THAT WAY – for Matt, anyway, where they had Tai explicitly state that he never changed (WTF? Not only is that obviously A LIE, but it’s also asserting that MATT DIDN’T GROW AT ALL). For Tai, he was “growing” . . . into Matt – where Matt himself had an issue with his friend being like him in the past. Yeah, seriously. What a mess.

I don’t often think characters are “out of character” (in any series – writers usually have a good grasp on their characters) – but I definitely did here.

As I once joked to a friend:

Adventure told me all the ways Taichi was going to top Yamato.

And tri. told me all the ways Yamato was going to top Taichi.

Score: 5/10.

Chapter 2: Determimation

So . . . let’s talk about the “meeting scene” where Matt gets angry that Joe never turned up because studying is more important to him, and Tai shuts him down and defends Joe by saying he has his reasons . . .

I disliked this scene a lot because I felt like, as in the first episode, their roles were 100% reversed. TAI would’ve gotten angry at Joe for not turning up (Tai prioritizes ACTION over inaction/emotions/everything else) and MATT would have defended Joe for not turning up to a digimon meeting, because he has more empathy for people and is more understanding than Tai.

I strongly felt this way the very first time I saw Determination – and I still strongly feel this way about it now. The scene was a COMPLETE role-reversal and thus why I had issues with it.

Well, guess what?

In KIZUNA a similar scene happens. After a digimon fight in the movie, TAICHI says something like “only four of us showed up!?” (read: HE HAS THE ISSUE) and YAMATO defends everyone who didn’t show up (saying something like they all have their own lives).

Oh shit, was that Tai prioritisng ACTION over inaction and personal responsibilities (EXACTLY like how he was in season one)?

Oh shit, was that Yamato BEING EMPATHETIC AND UNDERSTANDING to others (EXACTLY like how he was in season one)?

THIS EXCHANGE IN KIZUNA WAS SO IN-CHARACTER THAT I NEVER THOUGHT ANYTHING OF IT.

I only remembered it when confronted again with the “meeting scene” in Determination – BECAUSE IT WAS THE REVERSE OF THE SCENE IN KIZUNA.

The Kizuna scene is just how the characters are in Adventure/02. Tai expects people to just fight, while Matt is empathetic. (HELLO AS WELL, DIGIMON GRAVES SCENE IN SEASON ONE.)

Seriously, tri. is really annoying with the Matt and Tai role-reversal. It’s my personal biggest criticism of the series because the characters are what I care about the most in Digimon, so if you’re going to switch them up – that shit is going to annoy me. No matter how bad a story is, at least do right by the characters and keep them in-character.

And I know the (very few) people who loved Matt and Tai’s role-reversal in tri. use the excuse of “tri. showing the characters growing” . . . But, man, I really can’t get behind that. Like, no, tri. just decided to switch Matt and Tai’s roles to serve their chosen plot (which is Tai growing up and becoming more ~mature – and I get it, it’s a GREAT theme to explore . . . but it shouldn’t have happened at the expense of BOTH their characterisations).

What “growth” is it when Matt is empathetic at 11, a frat boy arsehole at 17, and back to being empathetic at 22? What “growth” is it when Tai has always been a capable leader at 11 (because he KNOWS his priorities – which is WHY HE’S THE LEADER), suddenly frozen at 17 to an exhausting extent that even Matt never reached, and back to being the same capable leader with the SAME priorities at 22 that he had at 11? Yeah, that’s not growth. That’s mischaracterisation in one series.

Why do I have such an issue with this? Because it’s something that is FUNDAMENTAL to a person. You switch this ONE thing up and, suddenly, the person is operating as an entirely different person. Matt isn’t being Matt. Tai isn’t being Tai. It’s fundamental to WHO THEY ARE, and when you fuck with it, you’re essentially presenting an entirely different person. Matt doesn’t operate like that. Tai doesn’t operate like that. And it’s so obvious that the issue is with the WRITERS either not fully grasping their characters and/or just deliberately forcing it to fit their chosen plot (at the expense of the characters).

Anyway, I just feel really justified that tri. did Matt and Tai so wrong. Kizuna is BRILLIANT for any Taichi and Yamato fan who love the characters as they are in Adventure/02. I highly recommend it if you actually want to see the characters represented as they are in Adventure/02. Kizuna does NOT come across as fanfiction, which I think tri. really, really does (especially in the first two movies). I never once thought, watching Kizuna, that the characters were reinterpretations by a fanfiction author with Toei Animation funding – which is what I regularly thought in tri..

Score: 6/10.

Chapter 3: Confession

OK, this is a very slight thing (a brief line that was meant for laughs), but I’m on a roll regarding this issue, so why not? I’ll take another opportunity to get my point across.

T.K. says that fighting is Matt’s thing . . . yeah, no. Again, I dislike how tri. took ONE aspect of Matt’s character (how he fights with Tai a lot in Adventure) and EXAGGERATED THE HELL OUT OF IT. (The exaggeration here is that the line is supposed to summarise Matt as super aggressive in the entire series.) In tri., he is a tsundere brute with a capital T. And it reduces him to such a simple person, taking no considerations for his entire character. Matt in tri. seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face, like he was always grumpy. Chill, tri., Matt actually isn’t all that grumpy.

Go back and watch Adventure and 02. Matt is actually pretty laid-back – until someone ticks him off. But it has always been about EMOTIONS with Matt, NOT random acts of aggression. I wish the tri. writers knew the subtleties and nuances of Matt’s character better and didn’t just TURN HIM INTO TAI to be “new” Tai (OLD MATT’S) foil. Thank god Kizuna put things back to the way they were. Seriously, when you watch Kizuna, you REALLY feel like Toei went from:

Adventure -> 02 -> JUMPED STRAIGHT OVER TRI. WITH MATT AND TAI’S JARRING CHARACTERISATION -> Kizuna.

Anyway, that line was in a scene meant for laughs, so . . . it’s fine I guess. (I still judge the writers.) The only real con of the movie is that Meiko comes across as a wet blanket who doesn’t deserve the sympathy from the other characters (but somehow . . . just gets it). This is the writing in the previous movies being terrible, because they never showed us convincingly why the Chosen Children would actually accept and care about Meiko so much.

On a positive . . . this is the movie that made me fall in love with T.K.. It’s also – by far – the best written movie in the series and, personally, my favourite Digimon movie ever. So thanks, tri..

Score: 8.5/10.

Chapter 4: Loss

Yokomon being a bitch to Sora and no one else is still so incredibly forced and defies logic. I don’t think anyone can argue with this. But, other than this major bad writing flaw . . . the film was surprisingly pretty good. It probably has the best pacing of all the tri. films, too. I don’t think I even looked at how much time I had left of the movie to go (which I constantly did for Reunion and Determination, because . . . zzzzzzz).

I’m pretty torn about whether it was as good as Kizuna. I think . . . it was? But only because ALL of the characters were in it.

Let me put it another way: I think Kizuna is actually the slightly better film, but because Kizuna only really had TWO main characters, it makes its score go down a bit -- to match Loss’ score, which actually is slightly “worse”. But the fact that Loss has ALL the characters in it, lifts it up a bit to be pretty on par with Kizuna to me.

But Kizuna has more of an emotional punch, so, I would say Kizuna edges it out . . . just. Loss also has more flaws than Kizuna. But, overall, Loss was a pretty good film. Well done, tri., you’re on a roll! (And then . . . you stopped abruptly, lol.)

My favourite exchange:

Izzy: “Matt and Tai are best friends.” Matt: “No we’re not!”

Score: 7/10.

Chapter 5: Coexistence

Lots of Meichi . . . and Meiko being the best she’s ever been (or ever going to be). This is the only movie she didn’t come across as a useless wet blanket. And I did really like the Meichi heart-to-heart because it was actually well written. Do I ship Meichi though? No, I don’t think so. Even though they “connected” in this movie, it still seems a bit too forced and abrupt to me and it just wasn’t enough. Plus, I really don’t know why Tai would be attracted to her . . . I think he’d be attracted to girls like Mimi.

There’s a quick scene where Matt refuses to talk to his mum on the phone. My heart, it aches. Why couldn’t tri. show him ACCEPTING the phone call? That would’ve been a neat personal growth thing for Matt, coming off of Adventure, you know? I guess they just prefer him being closed off to his mum for life . . . it’s realistic, but still sad.

I really liked Matt yelling in emotional frustration because Meicoomon needs to be sacrificed (at Tai’s insistence). That’s the first time tri. got the Matt/Tai roles right so far? Oh . . . it’s because Tai’s storyline (his “character growth”) is FINALLY starting to get resolved. You know, him reverting back to the way he always was and being the capable leader who can call shots like that? Yeah. So when their roles go back to normal, everything MAKES SENSE again.

Wow, isn’t that incredible, tri.? That the characters now seem authentic and “right” now that you’ve decided to SWITCH THEIR ROLES BACK? Amazing.

But Matt putting Tai’s goggles around his neck = ICONIC.

That’s his brief consolation prize for being the ACTUAL leader for four and a half movies. Fuck you, tri..

But my issue with Tai’s storyline – other than the effects it had on Matt and Tai’s characterisation – also has to do with bad writing from more of a writer’s perspective (in that perhaps the average viewer wouldn’t have a problem with it).

I hate “undeserving” leaders in fiction (see: Luther from The Umbrella Academy).

Let me explain.

My favourite leaders in fiction (the best leaders I’ve ever seen) are Taichi from Adventure, Leonardo from Nickelodeon’s TMNT, and Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead. Why?

Because the writing showed you through actions why those characters were the most capable at being the leader. It doesn’t just point a finger at one character and go, “There! Leader! Always!”

Good writing shows you why a character is a good leader through their actions.

Bad writing just “designates” one character as the leader (just because the title “belongs” to them), and no matter their actions, they will always be regarded as the leader simply because the writer wanted that character to be the leader.

And tri. unfortunately does the latter. For most of the series, tri. shows Matt as the most capable leader – but because Tai is simply DESIGNATED the leader (that is, no matter what happens, Tai IS THE CHOSEN LEADER just because he’s the main character) – the series needed to get Tai back to his leadership mantle that has his name permanently etched on it.

I hate that.

And this isn’t a “Matt should’ve been the leader because he’s my favourite character” thing. It really isn’t. I personally never cared about Matt being the leader, because Adventure showed me that Matt was too emotional to be the leader. And he is. In fact, someone tagged me in a post a few months back where they quoted something I’d never seen before: it was Koushirou in the Digimon Adventure novels POINT BLANK telling Yamato that he was too emotional to be the leader. I laughed, because I love it when the series justifies my opinions in actual dialogue.

Anyway, I've always thought that Matt is too emotional to be the leader and never cared that he isn’t the leader. However . . . tri. told me in the first four and a half movies that Matt is NOT too emotional to be the leader. In fact, tri. told me that Matt’s perfectly capable of being the leader – and MORE capable of it than Tai was in those first four movies.

So, my issue is, if you’re going to show me that Matt is the better leader, then . . . MAKE HIM THE LEADER? You don’t “need” Tai to be the leader; he was utterly useless for the first four and a half movies.

But oh, that’s right; because Tai is the DESIGNATED LEADER, no matter what is shown (ie. Matt being the better leader), tri. has to revert back to Tai being the capable leader.

That’s bad, forced writing.

You should NEVER give the audience the impression that someone is the leader “just because” that title belongs to them in the series. Remember, SHOW ME the actual leader through their actions (ie. that is Matt in tri.) instead of just shoving it down my throat that there is “one true leader” that the writing must get back to, regardless of how incapable that person was.

Matt constantly tries to wake Tai the fuck up to lead in tri., but . . . Why? Matt is doing a perfectly good job of being the leader. There is NO need for Tai to step up and be the leader if he isn’t capable of it. If you can’t lead, STEP DOWN. The leader should never come across as being “designated” – they should always come across as the leader through their actions. And in tri.’s case, that was Matt.

Of course, we can’t have Matt be the leader when Tai is the main character of Digimon, can we?

But my stance is, if that is the case, tri. never should have showed us Matt was better at leading than Tai in the first place. Because it comes across to viewers as Tai just being the “designated leader” simply because the writing said so . . . and that, as stated, is bad writing.

My point is: the role-reversal never should have happened.

(And it’s only when Tai disappears that we suddenly get shown that Matt wouldn’t lead as well, so that we now think -- at the end of the series -- that Tai needs to make a heroic return and be the leader, despite it being shown earlier that he was useless . . . Yeah, fuck you, tri..)

Score: 6.5/10.

Chapter 6: Future

I’m still not here for Matt “learning a lesson” from Tai. Again, the writing for this is extremely bad and contradictory.

So, basically, Matt “realises” what Tai’s perspective is (his entire issue in the first movie) and NOW understands it . . .

Except, you know, the perspective Tai had was ALWAYS Matt’s perspective BEFORE tri. started. They just role-reversed their perspectives, so you have a REALLY BAD situation where Matt realises HIS OWN PAST PERSPECTIVE . . . is the lesson he “finally” learnt at the end of tri..

Matt changed into Tai (although tri. insists that MATT NEVER CHANGED AT ALL), but throughout the course of the series – THROUGH TAI’S EXAMPLE OF BEING MORE LIKE MATT HIMSELF – Matt realises his old views (Tai’s CURRENT views) made sense, and . . . acknowledges that Tai has a point/understands what Tai means now.

That’s Matt’s “character growth” by being Tai’s foil – being taught a lesson from Tai that Matt himself has always known.

Seriously, tri.?

It’s so incredibly lame and contradictory and just incredibly bad writing.

My biggest issue with tri. (if you hadn’t noticed) was the role-reversal of Matt and Tai. Other people can justify it all they want, but it was close to character assassination to me. Matt was 80% Matt, and Tai was . . . like, 50% Tai. Yeah, I disliked Tai for half the series.

An easy “litmus test”: If tri. had simply reversed Matt and Tai’s roles – so Matt is the one super concerned about collateral damage to the point where he freezes up, and Tai is the one being aggressive and insists Matt stops acting like a pussy – no one would’ve batted an eyelid. Because that would’ve been 100% in-character and make the most sense of what those two characters would’ve done in that predicament.

But, of course, because Tai’s the actual main character of Digimon, and this collateral damage dilemma (which is a good idea to explore, mind you) was their chosen issue, they forced it onto Tai – which also affected Matt as his foil. And thus, a lot of people had issues with what it did to Tai and Matt’s characterisation. Again, thank god Kizuna righted tri.’s wrong.

Also, I have to bring this up even though I’m sure everyone and their pet fish has complained about this: The whole 02 thing is insanely bad writing. They “went missing a long time ago” and Tai and co. DIDN’T NOTICE OR CARE? Like, seriously tri., it’s not that hard to come up with a better way to get them out of the series. It’s incredibly stupid that Tai was having issues with collateral damage potentially killing strangers, while his OLD FRIENDS were missing the entire time and they had no idea where they were, but then to suddenly CARE that they were finally found in the last movie?

Just, the logic, there is none. “Oh, we forgot about them completely . . . but, now that you mention it, we’re super glad they’re safe!” Seriously. You’re asking too much of the audience to make up excuses for you. I personally don’t care about the 02 kids at all, but the handling of it was definitely one of the biggest fails in tri.. They could have written them out A LOT better.

It’s also jarring when, in Kizuna, the 02 kids are back in the fold like they’ve never left. Tri. makes it seem as though they lost touch/aren’t close friends, because they hardly care and their reactions to “Ken” makes it seem as though he’s almost a stranger to them. But Kizuna feels as thought it comes STRAIGHT after 02, because it feels like they’ve always been a tight group (read: it really feels like Kizuna ignored tri. completely).

Score: 5.5/10.

Final Thoughts

I did it! I finished rewatching tri. (technically my first viewing of the English dub)! YAY!

I mostly still feel the same way about the series on a rewatch that I originally did. I think the biggest change of opinion for me was that I liked Maki a lot more than I did when I was just watching it in the instalments with months between films. I’m pretty sure it’s because I didn’t know her character at all as I was seeing it all for the first time, so it’s easy to be quick to judge -- but now that I knew her entire character arc, I actually got to appreciate her. But her storyline still could’ve ended A LOT better – but that’s really my only criticism of it. She was a great character.

I think it would’ve been a lot better to configure Maki into “Meiko” and have her infiltrate the Chosen Children and be a villain “from the inside”. I don’t think Meiko should have existed at all, and I think the reason tri. didn’t “hit” for most fans stems from the existence of such a poor character as Meiko being central to the plot (and thus having all of the terribly written things that happen in tri., happen in tri. . . .)

I think tri. was going to get a sequel but, because it wasn’t as well-received as they’d hoped (lots of criticisms of it . . .), they dropped it and made Kizuna instead. I really think that’s what happened.

I’m glad though because I LOVED Yamato in Kizuna. He was straight from Adventure/02. He was completely in-character in Kizuna and STILL managed to show the audience that HE HAD GROWN. See tri., it’s really not that hard to do.

Sometimes, it’s hard to put into words what exactly is “wrong” with a character. (Though I tried to explain it . . .) Sometimes, you just have to “see” a character and the “vibe” they give off isn’t quite that of the character you know.

That’s what happened with Tai and Matt’s characters in tri. for me. But the “vibe” of their characters in Kizuna came across as 100% authentically them, straight from Adventure/02, BUT GROWN UP.

You just “know” the characters when you see them. It’s the little nuances in their characterisations, lines of dialogue, their actions and reactions, and you just recognise the characters as them. And that’s from knowing who they are from past series (Adventure/02). Kizuna got Yamato and Taichi 100% right.

I’m going to put 17-year-old tri. Matt down to teenage hormones. Sora was withholding sex from him and so he had a huge amount of pent-up aggression. Yeah. *cough*

I am glad tri. exists though, because I got to see Matt at 11, 14, 17 and 22. And that’s amazing.

Best Characters

Matt (despite having issues with 20% of him, he still ultimately came across as the “star” of tri. to me), T.K. and . . . *gasp* Maki. Yeah. Seriously, she was actually one of the best written characters. Such a shame about how tri. chose to close her story.

Honourable Mentions

Mimi and Sora. Izzy and Joe. (Everyone but the Yagami siblings? Lmao)

Worst Character

Meiko. By a long shot. I honestly have no idea how anyone could like her (and are not just indifferent to her) . . . but I think, like, three people do.

Scores / Ranking

Chapter 1: Reunion – 5/10. Terrible. Chapter 2: Determination – 6/10. OK. Chapter 3: Confession – 8.5/10. Excellent. Chapter 4: Loss – 7/10. Good. Chapter 5: Coexistence – 6.5/10. Good-ish. Chapter 6: Future – 5.5/10. Terrible.

I had more issues with the bad writing decisions in Future than Reunion, but a lot more happens in Future, while Reunion is just boring. So . . . I guess Future is better than Reunion – but just. My ranking of the films now (best to worst):

Chapter 3: Confession Chapter 4: Loss Chapter 5: Coexistence Chapter 2: Determination Chapter 6: Future Chapter 1: Reunion

Conclusion

Overall, Digimon Adventure tri. is a pretty average series. I liked it enough, but there were giant leaps in logic and small, sometimes huge, bad writing decisions that could’ve been avoided or done a lot better with very little effort. The quality of a series depends on ALL the parts working: having good characters, good storytelling, stellar attention to detail, great adherence to logic so that the audience aren’t taken out of the experience. This is where tri. fails, because if you have a lot of those moments, it really does lower the quality of your story to your audience, who will get tired of constantly having to suspend their disbelief.

But, despite all of its flaws, tri. did give us the best Digimon movie ever made (Confession), so . . . Yay? I’ll take it.

If you were to directly compare Adventure and tri., I think you would say that tri. had better writing overall. And I would agree. But comparing them directly isn’t fair. Why? Because Adventure was made for kids, and tri. was made for adults. And here’s the thing:

Digimon Adventure is an excellent children’s series.

Digimon Adventure tri. is an average adult series.

Sure, a lot of dumb things happen in Adventure, but you can give it a pass because it’s a “kids show”. Overall, it was still an excellent series for kids, so much so that parts of it still holds up even when you view it as an adult with better critical thinking. That’s amazing.

Tri. is the better written series when directly compared but, well, it had to be. Its writing was better because it was aimed at adults, which naturally just lifts the ceiling that Adventure had to be aware of from being aimed at kids. But tri.’s many instances of bad writing isn’t as easily forgivable, as it is aimed at adults, so when it’s dumb . . . it’s just really dumb.

So, even though tri. is technically better written overall, I still think Adventure is actually the better series. How is that possible? Well, if someone asked you to recommend a good children’s show, you’d definitely say, “Digimon Adventure”. But if someone asked you to recommend a good series, you would NOT say, “Digimon Adventure tri.” At least, I wouldn’t.

And that’s it! Well done if you’ve made it to the end. I don’t think I will ever write about tri. again. See you in the next post about the Digimon Adventure: 2020 reboot series. :)

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 10: The Elite

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Nadya finds a kindred soul in Taylor Hunter, who was also living a perfectly normal life before being shoved into the chaos of the supernatural. Later, the good news is the Amulet is still in the city. The bad news is they'll have to bid for it... and bidding wars here can be deadly.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“I don’t know guys,” she lingers just on the edge of the morning sunlight; already warm at her back, “I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable leaving you with the people who literally just tried to kill us.”

Unfortunately though they’re a little short in the way of other options. New Orleans is only gonna get hotter and sunnier and while ideal for a mysterious club, Flechette standing on its own and away from the rest of the crammed-together French Quarter buildings doesn’t lend to a safe return to the Graveyard Shift.

Still — Nadya has concerns and she’s gonna voice them.

“I think we’ll be fine.” Though Adrian could try a little bit harder to reassure her. But he’s been distracted ever since the de la Rosa vampires lowered their proverbial weapons. Given how he acted — how cold and cruel he was in the face of enemies — Nadya can’t say she wouldn’t be a little distracted in his shoes. “Whether we’re in her good graces or not, Gaius still poses a threat to all of us regardless. And Isadora seems quite keen on keeping her way of life intact.”

Lily’s boots catch and drag on the concrete under the soles. “Can’t say I’ll be getting much sleep, but she’s kinda our only choice in the way of, ahem, late-morning snacks.”

Nadya understands and offers her a consoling smile. Lily tries to return it, but when she feels the catch of her fangs on her lower lip she practically zips them up and throws away the key.

She’s seen Lily do some strange things with the blood bags back at the apartment. But Nadya has yet to actually see her… you know, and on someone’s neck. Nor is she keen to add it to the list of things she’s seen and been mentally scarred by.

Well if they’re okay with it she really doesn’t have a reason to keep doubting, then, does she?

Nadya peers over Lily’s shoulder to the main floor of the club. With the lights on the place is far less goth-chic but she doesn’t have to squint to see anything anymore, so that’s a plus.

“Keep an eye on him, will you? Just in case…” Nadya asks of them, prompting both vampires to turn and follow her gaze to where Cadence sits. He’s still hunched over one of the dark glossy tables, scribbling away at a piece of paper. Just like he’s been doing ever since Isadora managed to bring him back to consciousness.

After Cadence had separated Isadora’s psychic link he was out. Like… out out. Like actually worried the woman to the point where she was ready to close the club and run him to some local voodoo man out. And everyone was relieved when he finally came to of his own volition but there was no denying he had come back… strange.

Or maybe strange is just the feeling Nadya gets when she looks at him now. Maybe no one else feels it. Maybe she’s just lost a few more marbles.

Of course Adrian and Lily agree. Nadya gives each of them a hug farewell but right before she takes her leave the familiar sound of Isadora’s heels comes up all too quickly.

The woman stays well out of the way of the daylight, just like Adrian and Lily. She looks wearier now than when they first met. Objectively Nadya knows vampires don’t age. But Isadora looks like she’s trying to challenge that theory.

“I’ve called on someone to take you back to the Quarter safely,” says Isadora brusquely, “it may no longer be night but there are numerous factions within our borders that can act at any time.”

“Seems… inhospitable.” Adrian comments. He doesn’t miss the sharp look thrown his way.

“Perhaps. But at least we declare ourselves to our enemies.”

“And you’re implying…?”

“That I trust my allies with certainty. From what I’ve come to understand about your Council, that is not something you are familiar with.”

How has it been five whole freaking seconds and already every anxiety Nadya has about leaving is back with a vengeance?

But Lily sees this and waves her off. “Go while you still can. I’ve got this. You should hear some of the dirt Mari and Jax pull out during a fight.”

If she doesn’t leave now she never will, so Nadya mouths a final “good luck” and pushes through the doors out into the thick morning air.

Immediately she tries to fan herself with her hand, and all that does is push hot air at her.

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to.”

Nadya can’t help it — she almost jumps out of her skin in fright. “Don’tdothat!”

She rounds on the young man, who can’t be older than she is by a year or more, and who apparently finds it funny to give a poor girl a heart attack. If she had her purse she’d swing it at him. The stakes would at least leave a bruise.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Though I’m gonna need some explaining on how someone that jumpy can hang out in Flechette all night. Doesn’t quite add up, you know?”

He has a point which is rude enough. Worse that he has an incredibly disarming smile directed right at her. Nadya busies herself with tying her hair up to cool off her neck. “After a while you learn to expect what moves vampires are gonna pull. People, though? They’re still too unpredictable.”

“You know,” he laughs, “that’s fair and valid. And pretty true, actually…”

He’s not passing her. And Nadya has the distinct impression if she starts trying to make her way back up the street he’d be right there at her side; tagging along.

“You’re the person Isadora called, then?”

“Taylor Hunter,” he finally introduces; they shake hands light and brief, “but if you didn’t know my name… how’d you know I was who you were lookin’ for, Miss Nadya?”

Nadya pushes up her glasses with a shrug. “Just Nadya, and… Your eyes. They don’t look human.” They’re too bright, especially taking into account he’s got the sun at his back, and shine far too many colors. Though if Nadya’s being honest she probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t met Garrus and Ivy beforehand.

Quickly Taylor ducks his head and Nadya wonders if she’s hit a nerve or something. He certainly looks red in the face. “Shit — really? My bad… They should go back to normal in an hour or so.”

Because she totally knows what that means? “Uh… okay?”

He jerks his chin back towards the heart of the city. “C’mon, we’re meeting a friend of mine to grab everyone coffee. It’ll be a fun story to pass the time.”

Talkative, isn’t he. And there’s a traitorous part of Nadya that knocks on her head one too many times with a hello, who the heck are you to judge missy but what Taylor doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

It’s admittedly very strange to be telling the story she’s telling with new faces taking in her every word.

“That went about as well as I thought it would,” Katherine announces while reaching over and plucking a bottle from around the other side of the bar, “seems like you were lucky, though, and caught Izzy in a good mood.”

“That’s her good mood?” Nadya can’t help but look skeptical. But judging by the looks she’s met with, Katherine isn’t exaggerating.

“Yeah yeah, de la Rosa’s got a chip on her shoulder, what else is new. What about this Amulet you were talkin’ about; does she have it?”

Taylor scrunches up his face and gives a backhanded smack to the solid chest beside him. It had taken Nadya a second to remember the other Nighthunter but once he greeted her by way of ‘muggle’ it was easy. Apparently Ryder hadn’t been putting on airs when he had shown up to Raines Corp. all devil-may-care and bad-boy. That was just who he was.

Not that she doesn’t recognize the somewhat melted look in his eyes when he pretends to be wounded — she’s seen it well enough when Maricruz thinks Lily isn’t looking. “Rook’, you gotta stop beatin’ on me in front of company.”

The man beside Nadya blows a mousy brown curl from his eyes with a laugh. “Feel free to ask one of us to do it.”

“No one asked you, Cujo.”

Katherine rolls her eyes. “Tell me I don’t have to apologize for them?”

Nadya just laughs and shakes her head. It’s been easier than she expected to feel comfortable around Taylor and his friends. They’re just weird enough to be funny. And, admittedly, she’s kinda enjoying not being the odd one out for once.

Too bad Nadya’s natural sense of worry doesn’t allow her to enjoy peace for long. “No — Isadora doesn’t have the Amulet anymore. She had to give it up to pay off some of her father’s debts, I guess?”

Ryder grunts. “Yeah, to th’Smoke.”

“And ‘the Smoke’ is a person?”

“Well… yes and no.”

All eyes turn to Vera, the friend of Taylor’s they had met up with on their coffee run. It’s still a bit weird for Nadya to constantly be pulling her shirt away from the back of her neck from sweat and see someone in full-length silk gloves — but since no one else is going to comment on it Nadya has a feeling doing so would be rude.

Vera is already hard at work pouring over ledgers of some kind; Nadya recognizes those kinds of spreadsheets from work. She carefully balances one black binder each on her knees. “I brought everything dated from last March. There’s just a lot to get through. But if you’re sure Isadora’s telling the truth I should be able to find it pretty easily.”

She looks up and offers Nadya a warm smile. “Don’t you worry, we’ll get it and have you an’ your friends back up to New York in no time.”

“Thank you,” and she looks around as she says it, “all of you, really.  I don’t think I can say it enough.”

Though if the looks she gets are any indication… she might have already.

Unfortunately ‘pretty easily’ turns into one hour, then two, then Taylor is shaking Nadya’s shoulder gently out of a doze with a bemused little smile.

“Maybe you should get some rest? The research part isn’t the most interesting.”

“No, no I’m okay.”

“Then take another coffee run with me. I have to swing by work anyway… stretching your legs might help.”

His borderline-overly friendly attitude makes a bit of sense when one takes into account the weirdness of their mutual situations. On their way back from Flechette, Nadya had been hesitant to open up and dig into the nitty-gritty of it no matter how interested Taylor had appeared. But now, with a bit more time on their hands and more than the cliff-notes shared between them, she can’t help but feel relieved that she’s not the only one who feels like they tripped down the proverbial rabbit hole.

“Okay okay, tell me if you get this though,” Nadya pauses to swallow a bite of her pastry, “when there’s, like, a whole pile of crazy going on and everyone is all freaking out and yelling at each other and you just —”

“You just end up standing there because nobody bothered to give you any context?!”

“Yes! It’s so annoying!”

“Not to mention potentially fatal.”

“Oh don’t even get me started on fatal. I’ve never so much as jaywalked before and now I’ve come face to face with…” it takes her a second to both balance her coffee and count on her fingers but she manages, “four vampires, all of them over two thousand years old. All of which who’ve threatened me at some point or another.”

Taylor hisses through his teeth. “Big yikes.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Though she regrets bringing it up not a moment later. Not just because she keeps pushing that inevitable existential crisis down until their work here is done. But also because one of the four is Kamilah, and if she thinks about Kamilah she thinks about how much she misses Kamilah, and if she thinks about how much she misses Kamilah she might actually collapse into tears.

“You really care about her, don’t you?”

The needle scratches on Nadya’s thought-record. When she looks up Taylor has a furrow in his brow and a painfully sympathetic look directed at all of her being. Unsettling doesn’t even cover it.

She’s getting tired of people poking around in her head without her permission.

Though before she can get so much as a word in, Taylor seems to come back to himself. Where he was, Nadya can’t say, but she knows the signs when someone can’t entirely stop themselves from doing something. “Sorry,” he clears his throat awkwardly and won’t look her in the eye, “that was super outta line.”

“Yeah, a bit.” But what’s the use in denying it? “You’re not wrong though.”

“What’s her name?”

“Didn’t read my mind that far?”

Taylor shakes his head. “It’s not really mind-reading so much as… emotion-reading? Or like real-deal empathy, I guess. My father says it’s some unique halfling thing. Fae can share a lot more with each other than humans can, but because I’m not full on Legolas, I only get a part of the package.”

Nadya knows that look. She’s seen it in the mirror enough times.

“One of those bonuses you didn’t ask for.”

“Exactly. Not that it hasn’t come in handy,” he quickly backtracks, “I think it saved our lives back last year. But an instruction manual would’ve been nice — all I’m sayin’.”

Preaching to the choir. “Her name is Kamilah. She’s…” He can tell, though. Does she have to say it aloud?

When Taylor smiles at her it’s a sad thing. No, she doesn’t.

Although when might she have another chance to talk to someone who understands? Because she tried that with Kamilah — and they both know how that went. Not Adrian, or Lily, or even Jax could have even the slightest bit of empathy for what Nadya is going through against her will. And here’s Taylor thrown into her lap with a little bow on top; not only someone who gets what it’s like to be on the outs of all this supernatural crap but also a literal empath.

How can the universe begrudge her for taking advantage of that?

She inhales deep and shaky. “I—we—she and I kinda had a fight right before we left New York. I think it was our first one…”

Nadya remembers reading somewhere that therapy works because telling a stranger your problems is a lot easier than telling your friends; they don’t have any stake in your future, or have sides they need to choose. Well try telling a therapist about the secret group of vampires who run Manhattan, she had thought skeptically. Now, she takes that cynicism back.

While she recounts the events of her fight with Kamilah, Taylor just listens. He nods, and ‘hmms,’ and asks for clarification here and there but it’s more than just proving he’s listening. Nadya tries not to notice but the way his expressions change with her tone and words… he’s feeling everything she is. And boy, does she feel bad for him for it.

They end up walking around in nonsensical circles until finding their way to the only familiar place Nadya knows; Jackson Square. Taylor casually gets them to one of the old wooden benches outside the church. A small four-man jazz band plays off in the shade to a growing semicircle of tourists.

She sips the last dregs of her coffee cold and too-sweet. “I get what she meant and where she was coming from, I do. But I also can’t help but get this feeling like all that I saw in my visions were things she wouldn’t have told me no matter how much I asked… And I know why, obviously, but…”

But there are too many places in her whole explanation that Nadya’s said ‘but’ and even she’s starting to get irritated by it.

“You know,” Taylor swings an arm around the back of the bench, “just because you understand her side of things doesn’t mean your side isn’t just as important. You can fight with someone you care about and have both of you be right and wrong.”

“Then how do we ever stop fighting?”

He laughs dryly. “Oh, fuck if I know. Nik and I get into it constantly about his jobs. He’s always trying to keep me from helping him out but he’s probably more at risk when I’m not around. At least I have magic — even if I suck at using it right now. He’s smart, and strong, and really good at what he does… I just can’t help but worry one day that won’t be enough.

“I think there are a lot of things in Kamilah’s life she regrets; things she thinks will change your opinion of her — that’ll make you hate her or something. And a lot of relationships are like that. There’s just more baggage to sort through with you two.”

Wow, thanks genius. “I won’t hate her though. That’s what I can’t seem to explain right.”

“The best thing you can do is what you’re already doing. Keep explaining it, keep being there, and she’ll realize in her own time what that means.”

Nadya watches him carefully. “Is that what you and Ryder did?”

“Sorta — but we’re working on it.”

It was supposed to be a simple errand run but Nadya can’t shake the feeling there isn’t exactly a search party out for them. She’s not complaining! If the universe is listening she is not complaining. It just makes the return to their very dark, gruesome, and potentially apocalyptic reality all the more difficult. Luckily she’s getting used to dealing with difficult things by now.

When they finally return to the bar business is booming; thank god Taylor gives her a nudge to pick her jaw up off the floor or else she’d probably have offended half of the patrons. Can she really be blamed though? It looks like freakin’ Comic Con in here.

There’s a shrill whistle near the bar at the back and they both catch sight of Cal waving them over. “Everyone’s upstairs!” he has to practically shout over a gaggle of taloned women adorned in feathers, two of them seemingly in heated competition for his attention. “I’d head up but —”

“Oh no you don’t!” Garrus appears over his broad shoulders as if from nowhere. “You’re half the selling point of these sweet swamp shots, Bayou-boy. Sorry my not-so-mortals!”

Taylor and Nadya both watch with equally pitying looks as the fae pushes Cal into the fray. “One day he’s gonna realize I didn’t do him any favors getting him this job,” Taylor mutters close to her ear, and Nadya tries to throw up a sympathetic thumbs-up before they manage to get to the metal staircase and up away from the chaos.

There are way too many people in this apartment. Taylor takes this as an opportunity to literally fall into Ryder’s lap; Ryder is just forced to take it without argument or fight. But Lily has a spot saved right in between her and Adrian which Nadya takes all too eagerly.

“Girl, look at you,” Lily pinches her cheek, “you finally got some sun! Now lemme soak some of it up.”

While one vampire clings to her arm, though, the other is quite pointedly keeping his distance. Nadya turns and gives Adrian a cautious look. He smiles, she would expect nothing less, but the strain shows in little crinkles at his eyes that definitely weren’t there before.

Wordlessly she rests her head against his arm. Adrian tenses — she doesn’t take it personally — but relaxes in the same breath. Rests his hand on her knee in a silent thanks.

Movement draws Nadya’s attention to a small kitchen island where Katherine balances herself on a stool, and where Cadence stands beside her with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Hey Cade,” she gives him a little wave, “feeling better?”

The vampire looks at her… and that’s it. There’s still a bit of frenzied confusion in his eyes. Confused, she shifts her attention to Katherine — the huntress just shakes her head.

“Oh good, y’all are back.” Vera walks in from the adjacent room and offers a weary little smile. “Good news is we found the Amulet, and its still in New Orleans.”

But what sentence ever started with good news that didn’t include…

“And the bad news?” asks Taylor; his tone a tad too defeatist for Nadya’s liking.

Ryder growls. “The bad news is I gotta put on a fuckin’ monkey suit.”

The actual bad news is that the Amulet of Nero was put up for auction by the former Lady Smoke. And apparently no amount of money will convince the auctioneers to take it off the docket. “Trust me, Kamilah and I pooled together a substantial sum,” Adrian sighs, “and they didn’t even flinch.”

Vera nods. “If anything that only encouraged them further. Goblins are awful little sneaks but whatever business they sink their claws into is their reputation; they’ll live and die by it. In trying to buy out the Amulet you’ve shown something that could have easily been written off has the potential to get them a lot of money.”

Goblins — she said goblins. Okay. That’s a thing we’re accepting now. “So we need this thing to keep the world from ending and… we have to buy it?” In what world is that fair?

“Isadora has agreed to put her Family’s wealth behind our bid,” Adrian explains, “which should be more than enough for us to ensure we aren’t outbid. And this way we don’t attract Gaius’ attention by riling up the supernatural community. The less enemies we make, the better.”

He knows the question on the tip of her tongue. Nadya knows it, Lily knows it too. But she won’t ask it because their lucky streak has so far not been entirely consistent.

What if they already have Gaius’ attention?

They’ll burn that bridge when they get to it.

BEEP.

“Hey Kamilah, it’s me… again. Sorry, I let the last three messages go too long and I’m not really sure if they still send when that happens? So… here I am.”

Nadya looks down at her bracelet and sighs. She nearly loses her balance — heels and gravel walkways don’t mix well together — but manages not to sound like a total loser on the call. “At risk of this becoming the fourth mistake, uh, I’ll be quick. Adrian said he kept you up to date with what’s going on down here, so this isn’t... About that… I just wanted to say hi, and I hope you’re doing well, and… and let you know that I miss you.

“If I had a choice I wouldn’t have left things like we did. I think we both know that. And the second I’m back in New York I want to try and work this out. For… for us, y’know? And I think you do, too.” She sniffles. “You still have your read receipts on for texts. Anyway, gotta get going. Wish me—us—luck!”

She hangs up there because even for Nadya there’s only so many times she can make herself look stupid until she makes the turn from charming and quirky to downright annoying.

Four is probably pushing it.

She wobbles her way back to the others smiling a little too wide, but thankfully no one comments on it. Vera offers her a clunky gold ring but the second Nadya slips it onto her finger it seems to fit like it was sized and all. “Magic ring?”

“Magic ring.” Lily nods, delighted to be agreeing.

“Too bad Cal couldn’t come with this time,” Taylor elbows Ryder’s side gently, “he deserves the chance to not have to sneak through the kitchens.”

Ryder, however, doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “I feel like a damn sellout,” grumbles the hunter as he adjusts the cuffs of his borrowed suit. Adrian raises an eyebrow his way. His suit is the one being borrowed, after all. “I said what I said.”

“Yeah, nobody cares.”

Katherine tugs up the top of her dress and brushes her hair away from her shoulder. “We get in, we bid, we get the Amulet and get out. Any more time wasted and someone, somewhere is gonna recognize someone and nobody wants that.”

She rounds on Nadya and Lily both. “Don’t go anywhere on your own, don’t talk to anyone especially the people who are nice to you, and I’ll tell you right now that none of these snakes can make your wishes come true.”

They don’t know whether to take her seriously or not. Lily’s laugh is a few shades shy of offended. “I think I know how to have fun.”

“This isn’t fun, baby fangs, it’s Persephone. The last time we were here Cade —” she jerks her thumb to the vampire; who quickly snaps out of his own little world and blinks in confusion, “— ended up nearly getting gored by a Minotaur in illegal cage fighting; a fight that was supposed to be carried by Cal’s prepubescent Teen Wolf baby brother.

“Everyone through those doors has been playing the game of money and power for decades, some for centuries. They know there are worse things to lose than your life.”

Nadya pulls Lily tighter and links their arms. “Read you loud and clear.”

Unfortunately threatening-if-considerate speeches aside, the likelihood that they’re going to be the reason something goes wrong is… statistically pretty high.

At least they do the noble thing and own it.

“Everybody ready?” Vera looks around, checks for rings, and smooths down the front of her dress. “Then in we go.”

Lily snickers in her ear as they all join the line to enter Persephone. “I’m having middle school field trip flashbacks.” She whispers, and pulls back to Nadya’s equally amused grin.

To say the inside of Persephone is beautiful is definitely an understatement; but it’ll have to do while Nadya tries to catch her jaw as it hits the floor and starts running. She thought Marcel’s castle was beautiful? It still is — but it was so obviously an antique; a relic from a bygone era. This is different. This is a kind of beauty not taken from one place or thing. It’s everyone; all the infinite colors and shapes and species of people that mill around her.

It’s kind of a shame that she’s come to associate beautiful things with how close to being threatened or killed she’ll soon be. It kind of dulls the spark of the place.

Nadya and Lily both crane their heads up, up, four floors up to the swooping ceilings above and their glittering chandeliers — which Nadya has an inkling aren’t made of glass at all but real magical energy in bright playful lights. All around the edges of the landings people gather, leaning and chatting and drinking in that uppity way people with money do. Like even all of this splendor bores them; everything meaning nothing.

A hand falls on her shoulder and Nadya has to stifle her yelp — unlike the first time Taylor startled her she now feels comfortable with reaching out and smacking his arm. “Stop giving me heart attacks!”

Judging by the bright and definitely inhuman glint in his eyes he definitely did it on purpose.

“It’s all kinda epic, huh?”

“Kind of?” Lily scoffs dramatically. “This is the single most epic place in the entire universe!”

Ryder passes them all and rolls his eyes. “You should see Toronto.”

But this time, all overzealous Lilyisms aside, Nadya has to admit she agrees. “It’s… a lot. More than I ever thought I’d see…” And she’s been seeing quite a lot these days.

“Come around next year for Mardi Gras, ‘cause this is nothing.”

At first Nadya doesn’t recognize the woman without the sheer veil over her features, but when Lily and Adrian don’t ask why a stranger is leading them up one of the swooping twin staircases she realizes Isadora’s sent one of her daughters to collect them.

Tony and an unfamiliar vampire stand guard on either side of a circular booth and table that looks like it was made for the de la Rosa Matriarch alone — sleek black stone polished so pristine Nadya catches the woman’s reflection before actually looking up at her face.

Adrian steps aside and allows Nadya to slide into a seat first. Isadora seems to barely notice them. Instead her attention is focused solely on a large piece of curling parchment that — nope, that’s not a trick of the light — the ink is actually moving like an invisible quill is scratching notes right in front of her face.

“Is that the registry?” Adrian asks, and Isadora slides it to him with a furrowed brow.

“Indeed. Word must have been leaked out by a few of their underground sources. The preemptive bids on the Amulet are starting to climb.” The vampire looks to Vera as she speaks. “Whatever has the new Lady Smoke interested enough to show her face around our nefarious sort is worth quite a hefty amount.”

Taylor squeezes Vera’s shoulder — it isn’t until he tenses that Nadya realizes he’s holding the gloved woman back.

“I’m here to help my friends,” she growls out in reply.

Isadora doesn’t look amused. “Try telling that to New Orleans’ elite.”

She’s been under the impression everyone was sticking together, but it seems the fancy-pants de la Rosa booth is for vampires (and human guests) only. But Taylor and Vera leave shortly after to where she spots Ryder cradling his flask like a security blanket in a far less fancy booth on the other side of the main floor.

Silently Isadora moves the barest inch; just enough space to fit both Cadence and Katherine on her side. Instead he clears his throat and volunteers to grab the drinks, and nearly runs into a pair of waiters in his haste to not be there.

Adrian rolls up the magic scroll and puts it aside. “How long until the first lot comes out?”

“It will be showcased at the hour,” Isadora raises a limp wrist with a black card in hand, “which won’t be long from now. Are you prepared for a bidding war? I do hope you brought a second suit.”

A stunningly beautiful fae approaches with a small wooden box. They unfasten the lid and allow the vampiress to slide the card in, offer up a “thank you for your contribution,” and go off in search of the next card to accept.

But second suit? Doesn’t that get Nadya’s attention. “Why would he need a second suit,” but why is she asking Isadora when Adrian is right there, “why would you need a second suit?”

He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “From what I’ve been told, bidding wars here… are a little messy.”

The vampiress snorts softly. “Money is valuable, but this is New Orleans. If you made it as far as the interior of Persephone you ought to have more to offer than wealth. Bidding wars can involve anything from shows of strength to tests of skill and intelligence. Two centaurs had a proper race on the lawn once.”

The more words she says the less certain Nadya feels. It leaves her tangled up inside and actually holding her stomach with a groan.

“Please tell me you’re gonna offer up your business acumen.” And she actually physically can’t look at his apologetic face so Lily goes above and beyond and pushes it away and out of sight.

“That’s why we needed as much for our initial bid as possible.” Adrian tries his best to console her. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure it won’t even come to something that drastic.”

“I thought I told you to stay the hell away from me!”

She’s a tiny human and Adrian is a hundreds-of-years-old vampire, so he probably doesn’t find her shaking both fists at him to be a scary thing. But it makes her feel better and that’s all Nadya cares about. Well, that and the look of confusion-meets-panic Katherine throws her way.

“Was that —?”

“Scooch scooch scooch please and thank you!” Nadya forces the vampires to let her out and follows the Nighthunter as she rushes to the railing to try and find Cadence in the crowd below.

“Something’s upset you, I just want to help.”

“Being stalked is pretty damn upsetting.”

Thank god the railing is there to catch her because Nadya’s breath is knocked from her lungs. Adrian and Lily are at her sides in an instant and thank god for them, too, because they look just as shocked and that means she isn’t imagining things. She isn’t imagining that voice.

Katherine comes up alongside them, her grip white-knuckled and harsh against the ornately twisted metal bar.

Down below there’s a bar in the middle of the floor on a slowly rotating dais. Some of Persephone’s patrons skirt away from the display before it turns into a fight — and it looks like that won’t take more than a wrong word or touch. But most of them are greedy for more than money, hungry for more than fine wine and foods. They want blood; that’s why they’re here.

Cadence smacks Valdas’ hand away before the man can reach for him. He looks wild like a startled animal; backed up against the bar top and looking frantically for a means of escape.

“You’ve repeatedly ignored my requests not to come to my workplace, you send me flowers I don’t want and cannot refuse, and now you — you show up here, of all places?”

Valdas watches him with an uncharacteristic distress. “Cadence, you’re upset. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“I’m thinking clearer than I have in years.”

The vampire practically spits the words through his clenched teeth. But that doesn’t make them any less strange in nature.

Valdas steps back. “And what, pray tell, has brought that on?”

In that moment Cadence’s frantic eyes find Katherine up above; his relief is visible even from a distance. Unfortunately the Trinity vampire is so close it can’t be denied. Has him turning to find the thing that managed what he could not in calming the other man in his fear—rage—mania.

He recognizes Katherine slowly then all at once; sweeping his eyes over the onlookers until they land on Nadya.

“Adrian,” she reaches blindly back behind her; feels his hand close tight and steadfast around hers, “I really hope you brought that second suit.”

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @cardiamachina!

This was a real joy to write, mostly because it's a very different fic to what I normally do. I'm super hoping the light angst isn't too much as I know angst was a dislike!

I hope this exploration of immortal husbands makes for a satisfying Christmas gift. I always like to explore decisions and choices in my fic, so this was a really lovely opportunity for me to actually write some of my feelings on why - or why not - Alec and Magnus should be eternal.

Merry Christmas!

Read on AO3

******

A Malec Christmas Carol

Chapter 1: Christmas Eve

“Oh come out, you little bugger,” Magnus swore under his breath as he levered the Angelica out by the root. This would be much easier if he had Alexander by his side - the plant responded to Angel blood and practically leaped into his hands - but he’d nearly run out, Christmas Eve was the full moon and he couldn’t begrudge Alec spending this night with his family. Especially not as last year Magnus had whisked him off to Madagascar for some winter sun. And if he was honest, to watch Alec’s delight as lemurs cheerfully romped over them both, stealing fruit out of their hands. Magnus thought of it like an extension of their honeymoon.

But that indulgence last Christmas left him alone this Christmas Eve, collecting plants by the shore of Lake Lyn, bathed under the cold eerie light of the full moon. Absolutely fucking freezing as well, he thought ruefully. And no Alexander later in his bed to warm him up. Ah well, he would be back tomorrow and they would have Christmas together. Maybe a warm crackling fire and hot toddies and Magnus could conjure a fluffy rug to lay Alexander down on. Magnus grinned to himself and moved to the crop of Blessed Thistle growing out between two rocks. Planning and anticipation was really half the fun.

Two plants obtained, he placed them carefully in his herb pouch and stood, brushing dirt from his knees. It was a fair trek back to the loft in Alicante and Magnus contemplated a portal, but the combination of full moon and mildly holy plants on his person sometimes did funny things to his magic. He sighed, pulled his scarf closer about his neck, and set off, the light of the moon illuminating the way. It was astonishing, really, how bright the moon could be on dark nights, even with the rebuilt towers of Alicante twinkling like beacons in the distance. It was pleasant, really. Had he thought the light was cold and icy before? It seemed to glow now, warmer and warmer, golden round the edges.

Magnus became aware of several things at once.

One, the moon is not golden, nor does it give off warmth. So that was definitely not the damn moon. Two, there was a faint ringing in his ears, not like he’d been to a loud gig, but like thousands of bells and chimes were tangling and jingling in the distance. Three, there was an Angel suspended over Lake Lyn.

Magnus froze, eyes riveted to the vision in front of him. He felt detached from his body, so suddenly immersed in panic he’d come out the other side into a zen-like calm as the Angel opened his mouth and spoke his name.

His real name.

Magnus swallowed.

“Son of the Angel Asmodeus, former-prisoner of Edom. Or do you now prefer Magnus Bane,” the Angel continued, not really making it sound like a question.

“Lightwood-Bane,” Magnus corrected, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth and finding his voice. He wasn’t sure he could move any of his limbs, whether by the Angel’s doing or his own fear, he didn’t know. But Angels didn’t appear to Downworlders. Angels especially didn’t appear to the sons of Fallen Angels, Princes of Hell. His eyes adjusted to the light emanating from the Angel and he raked over his appearance, looking for clues as to his identity. Handsome, muscular, scarred - scarred - piercing blue eyes and a long spear with a fluttering white scrap of material clasped in his hand.

Michael then. General of the armies of Heaven. Banisher of his father. Banisher of Lucifer .

Magnus was in trouble. And he’d never get to tell Alexander goodbye.

“I come to you now to offer you payment.”

He blinked, then shook his head as if to clear his ears, chimes still tinkling somewhere. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Payment. Or a reward, depending on how you wish to see it.” Michael spoke in a slow monotone and Magnus failed to read any emotion in his words.

“What have I done that could possibly lead to a reward from the Archangel Michael?” Magnus asked, not trusting anything. This could be a hallucination. A trick from a demon. A prank of a Warlock, not that he was aware of any in Alicante right then.

And yet, he knew. He knew in his bones, in what passed for a soul deep inside, that this was Michael. The real Michael in front of him.

He tried to make himself remember that the Angels were cruel. They’d only just allowed Clary to return to them. Oh, fuck . The probability that this was bad news statistically rocketed when he remembered Biscuit was back in the Shadow World.

“You prevented the destruction of our people. You protected Idris and the mortal world with your blood. Your immortal life. When you had much to stay for, you sacrificed all.”

Magnus cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at the Angel.

“Ye-es,” he dragged out. “I did that over a year ago.”

“Thirteen months, twenty-two days, fifteen hours and eleven minutes ago.”

“Can you tell me the seconds too?” Magnus quipped before he could control his mouth.

“Magnus Lightwood-Bane,” the Angel intoned, his eyes narrowing slightly. Magnus felt a wave of energy swell over him, and he staggered against the sensation.

“Apologies,” he whispered, his mouth paper dry.

“We give to you the gift of immortal life.” Michael stopped, as if this was enough information.

Magnus waited for a few seconds and then opened his mouth, abruptly shutting it again. He did that a couple of times, before running on autopilot, shifting his weight to one hip and waving his hand around airily.

“I hate to sound ungrateful, but I’m already immortal. I know sometimes people can miss that because of the rest of the fabulous-ness, but that’s me. Living forever.”

There was a silence, slightly too long to be comfortable, and then Michael raised one eyebrow. Damn, Magnus was impressed by how sarcastic that one gesture was.

“Who said it was for you? It’s a gift. That you can give to someone else, if you wish it.”

All colour drained from Magnus’ face and he sat down on the earth, collapsing with a thud.

“No,” he whispered, staring at Michael with wide eyes. That couldn’t mean what he was taking it to mean. The Angels, they wouldn’t be that kind. His mind flashed to Alec, surrounded by his family when they’d moved to Alicante, hugging Izzy when she became the Head of the Institute, looking so proud and full of love. No, but they’d be that cruel.

“Are you… are you saying I have the power to make anyone immortal?”

Michael inclined his head once. “Yes. You would bind them to your life force, Magnus Lightwood-Bane. You would protect him with your life.”

“Him?” Magnus echoed hollowly. He hated that Michael could see right through him.

“We see all,” was all Michael replied, and Magnus shuddered. Great, voyeuristic Angels, that’s all his libido needed.

“You have until the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Day to perform the ritual,” Michael continued, and suddenly in Magnus’ mind the knowledge of how to do it, how to bind Alec to his own immortal life force, dropped in like it had always been there. Like he’d always known. It felt obscene, a violation, horrifically unnatural, and Magnus gasped, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. His herb pouch grew heavier with the small Adamas dagger that the ritual required. They had thought of everything, which is why Magnus, after being tricked by Lilith and his father, was instantly suspicious.

“What’s the catch? Forgive my candour, but we haven’t exactly been used to the generosity of Angels.”

“No? Did Ithuriel not give his life for Clarissa Morgenstern? Have we not guided and protected your loved ones through troubles of their own making? Did Raziel not grant Clarissa’s wish?”

“And then erased her life because she saved hundreds of Nephilim, causing untold pain to those I care about,” he retorted.

“I am not compelled to justify our decisions.” Magnus could make out the beginning hints of colour high on Michael’s cheeks, his lips compressed into a thin line. “We move to God’s will.”

“You’re saying it’s God’s will that Alexander lives forever,” he scoffed, his scepticism rising. There was always something in return. Nothing was ever free.

“And we will not be questioned,” Michael continued as if Magnus hadn’t spoken, the light around him growing dim, the edges of his body beginning to blur and fade. It was a disconcerting effect, not least because it meant the Angel was leaving.

“Well, I’m going to question you anyway. What do you want from me - from Alec?” Magnus held out his hand as if he could entreat Michael to stay longer, aware his voice edged into pleading for answers.

“It’s a gift, Magnus Lightwood-Bane. You may choose to ignore it, and he will remain mortal and die in time.”

“And if I ask him to share my immortal life? Does he remain - is he still..?” Magnus trailed off, swallowing around the words. Despite Alexander’s ludicrous demand to become a vampire to join Magnus in Edom, Magnus had never been able to separate the Shadowhunter from the man. Especially when Alec had so recently been promoted and could finally begin to make real, systemic changes to the Clave.

“He will always be my kin,” Michael answered evasively, which honestly was not as reassuring as Magnus wanted it to be.

“As will you,” the Angel continued, which was possibly even more alarming. Michael’s form faded even further until Magnus could make out the woods behind him.

“Your ki… no, wait. Don’t leave!”

“Until midnight on Christmas Day, Magnus Lightwood-Bane, son of Asmodeus,” the Angel intoned and then winked out of existence as if he’d neer been there. Magnus sat staring at the spot for Lilith knew how long, frozen to the ground, unmoving until his leg cramped and jolted him out of his reverie.

“Ow, shit,” he hissed, digging his palm into the muscle of his calf. Magnus forced himself to his feet, brushing at his clothing, and then risked a look inside his pouch. Out of season lavender curled around the simple hilt of an Adamas dagger. There was a small pouch next to it, and Magnus lifted it out with trembling numb fingers. White Willow bark. Perfect for Moon magic and symbolising long-lasting love. It wasn’t necessary for the ritual - spell, he would say, but somehow instinctively knew the Angels would not want it called that - but it would strengthen the effectiveness, he supposed. They really wanted this to work.

Which meant they had some purpose for Alec to keep living.

Magnus walked home lost in his thoughts, snapping a fire to life in the fireplace automatically when he got inside. He placed the pouch carefully in his study and locked the door, not wanting Alec to find it. Not until he’d talked to him.

How the fuck was he going to talk to him? How could he spring something so momentous on his husband?

Would Alec even want to spend eternity with him?

Magnus shook his head and went back into his study, rooting around for Bearberry and Blue Sage, then threw the herbs into his cauldron. He added brandy because he might as well enjoy the drink, and muttered an incantation for guidance, appealing to the spirits to give him clear thought and a calm mind. Straining it into his mug, he tidied up and relocked the door, making his way to bed.

Even the brandy couldn’t fully mask the bitterness of the drink but he forced it down and prepared for bed, taking off his makeup and settling in for the night. Shooting a goodnight text to Alexander, he turned off the lights and prepared for sleep, hoping that his dreams would hold the answers.

Chapter 2: Past

“Tsk. Well at least you had some sense to ask for my opinion, seeing how well it served you last time. Come on, open your eyes you dramatic old goat, and have some more brandy. ”

Magnus frowned and blinked open his eyes. He was fully dressed, sat in front of a roaring fire in what looked like his old London townhouse, sharing a very good vintage from 1862 with Ragnor Fell.

“So. Not in Alicante, then.”

Ragnor snorted. “Still as quick as ever. Honestly, how you managed to become a High Warlock of anything with a brain as slow as treacle I’ll never know.” He settled back into the large Chesterfield and sipped from his glass, harrumphing into it.

“Slept my way to the top,” Magnus said automatically, falling back into their old banter before startling forward.

“ Ragnor .”

“What is it, you histrionic clothes horse?”

“Am I dead? Are you alive? Why am I in London? Where’s Alexander?” Magnus demanded answers in an increasingly belligerent tone.  Ragnor thwapped him in the knee with one slippered foot and Magnus subsided, glaring.

“Because the higher powers have a terrible and literal sense of humour, I’m meant to tell you I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. I like to think of it as me sensibly and altruistically preventing you from making a terrible mistake of course. Again. As per usual. Come on, get up.” He rose to his feet, brushing down his velvet trousers and smoothing his cravat.

“Mistake?” Magnus echoed, clambering to his feet. He looked at his brandy glass, debated putting it down and instead polished it off in one gulp. If he was going to have vivid dreams like this he was going to enjoy the free booze.

“In your love life, of course. I apologize for missing your first wedding, but I had to RSVP on account of being dead.”

“Ragnor,” Magnus said again, tears springing to his eyes as he pulled Ragnor into a hug. “My oldest friend.”

“Stop touching me,” Ragnor said, wheezing slightly from having his ribs squeezed. “This is very unbecoming.”

“I miss you, you grumpy cabbage,” Magnus grinned and gave him one last squeeze. “Why are you my Ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Because apparently you've forgotten the lessons you so painfully learned.”

“And what lessons might those be?”

Ragnor raised his eyebrows and beckoned him to follow, opening the door of the parour they had been in to the dining room. There in front of them, was himself - exactly as he had been, beautifully brocaded frock coat and laced cravat, rubies in his ear. His hair was parted low on one side and swept over with waved ends and he looked thoroughly, utterly miserable.

The explanation for his misery sat opposite, drinking blood from a wine glass.

The Magnus of the present turned to Ragnor. “Really?” he asked. “If we’re going to remind me of all my terrible love choices, could we not have gone with something a little less… vicious?”

Ragnor nudged him. “Shut up, Magnus. Just watch.” Magnus sighed and went back to observing himself and Camille.

“I was thinking perhaps we could take in a ballet. Or the theatre. Something festive for New Year’s.”

“Mmm,” Camille replied noncommittally, running a finger round the edge of her wine glass, not raising her gaze. “Could we not do something a little more exciting, darling? One does get so tired of the same faces at this time of year.”

“Perhaps a trip, then?” Magnus rose and held out his hand towards her and after a moment she acquiesced with a small sigh, rising to her feet gracefully and taking his hand, although she dropped it before they got to the settee. She tucked herself into the corner and ignored him in favour of inspecting her shoes.

“A trip? Well, I do so like to travel. New places, new people…”

“New opportunities for presents,” Magnus teased her and snapped a wrapped thin box into his hands.

Camille finally looked up and squealed, becoming the most animated she’d been. She held out her hand palm up. “Magnus! You shouldn’t have. We said we weren’t doing anything this year.”

“I know, my dove, but I do like to spoil you. And I know how much you had your eye on this.” Camille graced him with one of her wide smiles as Magnus handed her the box.

A stunning array of emeralds greeted her when she opened the box, tearing the wrapping greedily and then cooing at the contents. “Oh, Magnus.”

“Green to match your eyes. May I?” Magnus leaned over and delicately took the necklace from the box while Camille turned her back to him and smoothed her long hair off the nape of her neck, moving the heavy mass out of the way. Magnus secured the necklace around her and trailed his fingertips through the silky strands as he gently pulled her hair back into place, fingers curling through her ringlets.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

“Magnus, I haven’t even turned around yet.”

“I know you’re beautiful, my love.”

Camille laughed, that high tinkling laugh that now set his teeth on edge and finally rose, turning around. She was a vision, her hair half piled high on top of her head and ringlets curling down her back, her eyes clear and painted colour high on her cheeks. The low neckline of her burgundy dress perfectly complemented her pale shoulders, bare and glowing in the light of the fire. The emeralds sparkled and her green eyes shone.

Magnus leaned towards her, expecting a kiss. Camille ducked away from his embrace and ran straight to the mirror, laughing again when she saw herself, turning this way and that to catch the light in her new gems.

“Oh, we must go out!” she exclaimed. Magnus trailed after her.

“Camille, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Yes, which means there’ll be a party somewhere. Oh, honestly Magnus, stop being such a bore. I want to go out!” She ignored him and went to ring the bell for her maid.

“I thought,” Magnus started, his voice sounding hesitant. “I thought we could just spend tonight with the two of us. Have a romantic evening.”

From this angle, the Magnus of the present could see Camille’s mouth thin and her nostrils flare, before she put on a beseeching expression and turned back around.  

“Oh my love,” she cooed again, her voice soft and wheedling. “But you’ve given me such a lovely surprise gift, how can I not want to go show it off? To show everyone how much you love me? You know how I enjoy making all those miserable people jealous of what we have.” She pressed her lips to Magnus’ cheek, taking his hands in hers.

“Just this once, Magnus, please? We’ll be home well before dawn and can spend the whole day in bed tomorrow, just you and I. I’ll wear nothing but this wonderful necklace.” She kissed under his ear and Magnus made a content noise.

“How can I ever say no to you?”

“I don’t think I ever want you to try,” she giggled and then clapped her hands with joy before turning away from him yet again.

“That’s quite enough of that,” harrumphed Ragnor and he waved his hands, the scene in front of them fading.

“And your point is?” Magnus drawled, surprised at how little seeing that memory again hurt. “I was content once upon a time to spend the rest of my immortal life with one person. My choice of person was not the greatest. I am well aware that Alexander is not Camille.”

“But he could be,” Ragnor said and Magnus looked at him in surprise.

“Do you really think so?”

“Immortality changes us, old friend. Love no longer seems so important if you know it is eternal.”

Magnus frowned. “You told me to chase love! And hold on to it!”

“When I felt you closing yourself off to even trying,” Ragnor countered. “You put everything into making Camille’s life happy with scant thought for yourself. I don’t want you going down that road again.”

He shook his head, wondering where this was coming from. “Camille and I had very different views on love. Yes, she and I were happy - for a long time. But it became a lie. I don’t think the same thing would happen.”

Ragnor spread his hands in the universal sign for ‘maybe’ and sat back down, crossing his legs. “Forever is a long time. How can you be so sure you won’t tire of him, or he of you?”

Magnus started to follow him but stopped still at his words. His hand flew up to grasp at his chest, trying to soothe the sharp pain that ran through him.

“I… I can’t.” Magnus licked his mouth, feeling suddenly faint. “I don’t know if he’d stay with me.”

“Are you so willing to risk your eternal happiness on someone you can’t trust to be there for you forever?” asked Ragnor, arching his eyebrows. “I’m trying to protect you, Magnus. So that you protect your own heart. Grieving and loving again is more healthy than losing your love and wallowing until the end of time.”

“I’d like to avoid both,” Magnus said sharply. “He married me. There was an oath. ‘Til death separates us.” And Alexander would never go against his word, he reminded himself forcefully. Magnus could always trust in him.

“So you think the only thing keeping him with you would be his oath? Aren’t you worried he’d come to resent you, Magnus?” Ragnor voiced Magnus’ greatest fear, and Magnus loved him for it. Wanted to kick him at the same time, but still loved him for his honesty.

“I disagree,” came a new voice. “If anyone could make eternity work I would have said it would be Magnus and his Shadowhunter love.”

Magnus startled and turned, his eyes widening at who he saw. “Dot!” He rushed over and embraced her. “Dorothea, my wonder! I miss you. So, so much.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Ignore grumpy here.” Ragnor made an offended noise.

“Come with me. I’m here to show you why this is a truly blessed gift, Magnus.” Magnus stepped forward to join her, but then looked back at Ragnor. He darted back to embrace him one last time, pressing a kiss to his forehead as Ragnor swatted him away.

“Goodbye, old friend. May we meet again.”

“Stop pressing your lipstick all over me.” Ragnor pushed him away but a small smile curved the corners of his mouth. “You may call upon me at any time.”

“Thank you, my dear cabbage.”

“I might not answer, but you can call.”

Magnus was still laughing as Ragnor faded away.

“Well,” Dot said brightly. “Let’s put all of that negative nonsense to bed, shall we?” And she took Magnus by the hand and stepped forward.

Chapter 3: Present

“You can’t let your past dictate your future,” Dot reminded him as she guided him through what looked like a nicely upmarket fitting room.

“How many Warlocks do you know that are in blissful immortal relationships?” he asked her.

“Ok, fair, they’re rare. But if you were willing to marry Alec, with no guarantee that either he or you would stay together even over 50 years, then why can’t you have faith in your love for longer?”

He fell silent, thinking that over. Dot lead him into the bright lights of a store that he instantly recognised as the men’s section of Bergdorf Goodman. Magnus looked around, surprised. A few yards away he spotted a familiar head of hair, easy to see as Alec was so tall. Magnus’ face brightened instantly and he instinctively began to move towards him.

“He can’t see you,” Dot said, linking her arm with his and stopping him short. “We’re not really here, remember?”

“Do I have to just watch again?” Magnus asked, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. He wanted Alexander - to hold him and talk to him and look into his eyes to find the answers he so desperately needed.

“What we share with those who’ve known us the longest - when we know they won’t hesitate to call us on our lies to ourselves - that’s a gift to be able to overhear.” Dot gave him a knowing look. “Like you’ve not wanted to know how Alec talks about you behind your back.”

“I haven’t,” Magnus protested, and then realised that it was true. He’d never wanted to know how Alec spoke about him, simply because he trusted Alec to be honest with him first.

“Well maybe that’s a lesson in itself,” Dot chided him and drew them closer as the siblings shopped.

“Why didn’t you do this earlier? This is pretty last minute, Alec.”

“It’s not like Alicante is teeming with stores like this, Iz. This is Spring Versace.” Alec shook the sleeve of the shirt for emphasis.

“Ok, who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Isabelle grinned and nudged him with her shoulder while Alec blushed and went back to looking on the rack.

“It’s important to Magnus. Therefore it’s important to me,” he mumbled while she cooed.

“Oh, shut up.” Alec rolled his eyes and pulled out an artfully ripped sweater in an alarming shade of crocus.

“No, brother dear.” Izzy calmly steered his hand to place it back on the rack and Magnus thanked her silently. “Definitely not. Anyway, I think it’s very sweet. Simon. Well, Simon isn’t exactly high fashion.”

Alec’s face took on that mixture of fascinated horror that appeared whenever Simon was mentioned in front of him. “Is, um. Is everything alright with you two?” Magnus could see the internal war inside Alec as he waited for the answer.

“Honestly? Yes. It’s wonderful. Amazing, even. He’s sweet and kind and funny and he loves me. He’s really good for me.”

Alec’s shoulders relaxed a notch. “Why is there a ‘but’ about to happen?”

“I want kids,” Izzy burst out and promptly looked horrified. Alec dropped the shirt he was holding and wheeled around to stare at his sister.

“What?!”

“Not right now,” she hastily reassured him. “But. Someday. I want a family.”

“He’s a vampire.” Magnus rolled his eyes. Well done to Alec for pointing out the obvious.

“Yes Alec, we’re aware of that.” Izzy mirrored Magnus and rolled her own eyes. She brushed her hair out of her face and concentrated on a pile of soft silk scarves. “We’re trying to find a way around this.”

“Izzy, don’t you dare think about taking the bite. Don’t you-“ Izzy stopped him by placing her hand firmly against his chest.

“Don’t be an idiot. We’re trying to find a way to make Simon mortal again, obviously.” Magnus’ eyebrows shot up when he heard that. Oh, well done, Isabelle. If anyone had the determination to make that happen, it was her.

“Angel above, Iz. Is that even possible?”

Her mouth set in a determined line. “I’m going to find a way, Alec.” He blinked at her and then Alec’s face softened in acquiescence and he nodded, turning back to the clothing. He browsed the rack for a minute in silence, rolling his lips together to try to hide a smile. Magnus watched as Alec cleared his throat.

“But does it have to be Simon? Really?”

“Oh, you dick!” Izzy smacked him hard on the arm as Alec burst out laughing and then held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m kidding! Well, mostly. Izzy stop hitting me!”

Izzy flicked her hair back and visibly shook off her indignance, the corners of her mouth trying to curl as she fought a smile.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want kids?”

“We try for them nightly,” Alec said dryly and Magnus burst out laughing, echoed by Dot next to him.

“You’ve had an influence,” she murmured to Magnus and he smiled at her.

“Alec!” Izzy swatted him again. “Be serious. There’s nothing stopping you. There’s always children, warlock kids or orphaned Nephilim that need parents.”

“We have the same issue as you two, I guess.” Alec was concentrating too hard on the print on a very nice shirt, and Magnus realised he was gripping Dot’s hand. He grimaced in apology and let her go. She softly smiled at him and took his hand again, and his heart ached with missing her.

“Magnus is immortal and I’m not. It makes it harder, I guess. He’ll outlive any mortal children we could have.”

“Would you want him to be mortal?” Izzy stepped closer and put her hand comfortingly in his forearm, forcing him to turn to face her. Magnus held his breath.

“No,” Alec shook his head. “Raziel, no. We went through that and it’s not. Just no. I want him to live.”

Magnus breathed again.

“Would you... want to be immortal?”

“I.” Alec blew out his cheeks and shifted his weight on his feet, avoiding her gaze and Magnus leaned forward.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane, you answer me right now!” Izzy hissed and jerked his arm sharply.

“Ow, Iz, yes, yes , ok? If I could. I don’t want to leave him. I want a family and I want him and I want to see more of the world, his world. God, Izzy, I love him. And there’s so much to him and so much I want to experience with him and I’m not sure one lifetime is enough. Yes, ok? If it was possible, I’d want to be with him forever. But it’s not possible. And so I don’t allow myself to think about it.” Alec closed his eyes as if in pain and Magnus became aware of a keening noise. He looked around for the source and realised it was coming from him.

“Dot,” he whispered. “Dorothea, why are you showing me this?”

“Because you need to know. It’s only your own fears from stopping your happiness.”

“You’d be ok with not aging? All of us dying?” Izzy gestured to herself, sounding more curious than annoyed.

“Iz, I’m going to have to watch you die anyway. Or I’ll die first, whatever, but. Me not dying won’t make a difference to my family and most of the people I love being mortal.”

Alec sounded so practical. Magnus frowned. There was a difference to knowing everyone around you was going to die and being forced to live through it and live on without them.

“Even if you do have kids? Alec, you went crazy when Max was injured.” Izzy sounded as sceptical as Magnus felt.

“It was my fault.” Alec set his jaw and met Izzy’s eyes again. “Max nearly dying… that was my fault, Izzy. I should never have trusted Jonathan.” Magnus ached to touch him.

“How could you know?” Izzy demanded softly, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. “He was wearing a different face. And I vouched for him. I was the one who brought him in.”

“He was going to come to the Institute anyway,” Alec pointed out and Izzy rolled her eyes again.

“Yeah, and even if you hadn’t shoved him on security he probably would have hurt Max. So if you can cut me some slack, you can do the same for you, big brother.”

Alec finally smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. Alright!” he protested when she poked him as well for good measure.

“Can we please get back to picking out the last of my husband’s presents?” he asked, turning back to the clothing. “Now, he’s often mentioned someone Cavelli. Cavalli? Does that mean anything to you?”

“I’m gonna get you a subscription to Vogue,” Izzy threatened under her breath and grabbed Alec’s arm to steer him to a different section. Magnus wanted to get in their way, to demand Alec answer her about how he’d feel watching his mortal children age and die. To ask how Magnus could possibly deal with that, even with Alec at his side, because Magnus couldn’t even fathom living through that.

Instead, he looked back at Dot, feeling lost. She tilted her head and gave him a sympathetic look.

“It’s alright Magnus. You’ll see. He loves you beyond anything and the two of you are stronger together. This is what you’ve always wanted. Someone who challenges you, and supports you and will explore with you - by your side, forever. I wanted to give you that, but I wasn’t the right person.”

“Dot -” he started to say, intent on preventing her from any self-deprecating sentences, but she shushed him with one finger and then smiled.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Magnus Lightwood-Bane. I had a wonderful life, and I’m more than happy with the time I had and my choices. My purpose here is to help you do the same - and not regret for the rest of your life.”

“What if Alec regrets it for the rest of his life, Dot?”

“I’m not saying it’s easy being immortal. I’m not saying there won’t be times where he has to be reminded about perspective and priorities and all the things he takes for granted being mortal. But I don’t think for one second he’ll regret living for you, Magnus. Not one second.”

“You two are sickeningly in love,” a new voice chimed in and Magnus jumped, whirling around to look at the newcomer. She looked... familiar but not - a tall woman with a well-shaped afro. He squinted at her and she laughed, putting her hand up to her throat. A moment before she pulled the scarf off, he knew.

“Sweetpea!” he exclaimed, and she flew into his arms, still laughing.

“Definitely too big for you to pick up, Magnus,” she told him. “Time for you to say goodbye and come with me.”

He untangled himself from her embrace and enveloped Dot instead, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Goodbye darling Dorothea. I hope you rest well and that I see you again one day.”

“Never stop fighting for love, Magnus.” She squeezed his hand and kissed him back. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he whispered as Madzie grabbed his hand and began to pull him away. Dot waved goodbye and faded from sight, so he turned back to Madzie, who led him… right to the front door of their loft.  

Chapter 4: Future

“So I’m your ghost of Christmas future, yeah? What I’m going to show you isn’t set in stone. But it is what your path is right now, where Alec remains mortal. Don’t worry, you’ll forget the specifics when you wake up, time travel’s a bitch on free will.”

“Language,” Magnus said automatically and then covered his mouth. Madzie laughed, bright and sudden.

“Yeah, you don’t shake that particular instinct for about another seventy years.”

“Well that’s just embarrassing.”

“Hazard of immortality. Max has it way worse.”

“Max? Why?”

Madzie’s eyes went wide and she gestured hurriedly. “Oh, not Uncle Max. Um, other Max. Baby Max. Ah, fuck it, just look.” She swirled her hand in front of her and the door opens to reveal what looked like a very chaotic Christmas.

Two dark-haired children ran past Magnus giggling as he walked into the living room, followed by an older, red-headed teenager.

“I swear to Raziel, if you two don’t stop running round, I’m telling Uncle Magnus that you broke the vase at Thanksgiving.” The two kids screeched to a halt and slunk back around the corner the way they came before bursting out into laughter and running off again. The girl - Magnus assumed Clary and Jace’s kid, grimaced and made throttling motions with her hands, before an older looking Isabelle, her hair shorter than Magnus had ever seen it, walked into the room.

“If you want to swipe a glass of wine I promise to look the other way,” she told the teen solemnly. “I often tell Simon that the twins are the reason we get through so many bottles every week.”

“It’s ok, Auntie Iz. They’re just hopped up on sugar and also the living incarnation of Satan,” the girl said, yelling the last part of that sentence in the direction of the twins.

“It looks like someone needs a very diluted mimosa,” came Magnus’ own voice, and then his future-self swanned into the room, his hair longer and pinned up in an elaborate fashion. He snapped his fingers and handed a glass that looked like it was mostly peach juice over to the teenager and then promptly summoned a bottle of champagne and two glasses and handed one to Isabelle. She fell upon it gratefully.

“Celine, you’re doing a marvellous job keeping them in line,” Magnus continued and gestured to the couch for them to sit.

Celine shook her head. “It’s ok, Magnus. I need to make sure they’re not trying to get Max to turn them into something weird. But I think Hannah could probably use one of these as well.” Magnus watched himself hand over another mimosa.

“It’s ok, I don’t think Max has quite mastered that trick yet.”

“It doesn’t seem to stop them all from trying,” Celine replied dryly and wandered off in search of the kids and this mysterious Max.

“So how much of our home do Izzy’s children destroy?” Magnus asked Madzie who was still standing next to him.

“So, so much,” she said without a hint of teasing. “You keep saying they remind you of Clary, given that the Herondale children all seem to actually respect rules.”

“I’m sure Biscuit and Blondie just love that.”

“They settle down a lot,” Madzie told him with a small smile. “Alec asked them to train Shadowhunters. Clary specialised in improvised weaponry and tactics.”

Magnus threw his head back to laugh. “That would definitely suit her.”

The front door opened behind them and a silver-haired Maryse and Luke arrived carrying bags overflowing with gifts.

“Where are my grandkids?” Maryse called and suddenly the entire loft swarmed with children of varying ages, all crowding round them for hugs and all chattering at them. Magnus moved out of the way of them, mildly alarmed, as his future self simply conjured another table and more champagne.

“Reinforcements,” sighed future-Magnus and Izzy together.

More noise as Clary, Jace and Simon spilled out of the kitchen to greet them, and Magnus turned to look at Madzie when he noticed the runes on Simon.

“The Mortal Cup,” Madzie told him. “Isabelle said she’d find a way and she did.”

“That’s amazing,” Magnus said, so happy for them. And then he looked up as his husband, temples flecked with grey, came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel, followed by an unknown Nephilim teenager. Alec looked as beautiful as ever, more lines round his eyes but still full of the brightness of soul that had drawn Magnus to him in the first place.

“Papa,” the boy said, and Magnus watched to see which adult turned around. He looked Hispanic and spoke with a slight accent. He must be an orphan taken in by one of them, he assumed. Magnus admired his dark painted nails. Bold, for a Nephilim. Probably Izzy’s child.

His future self turned. “Yes, Raf?”

Everything inside Magnus stopped. He felt frozen, blinking rapidly to try to work out what was happening.

The youngest child broke away from the crowd by the door and ran back to Alec who dropped and swung him up into his arms.

“Daddy, can we open our gifts from Grandma and Grandpops?”

“Of course you can, Max,” Alec said as he bopped the boy on his horns, the boy flaring a bright blue as his glamour dropped and Magnus clutched at the wall behind him.

“Papa, presents!” The child cried out victoriously at future-Magnus, who was deep in conversation with Raf.

“What.” Magnus said faintly. “What.”

“Breathe, Magnus.” Madzie said, not unkindly. “Did you not think that this was a possibility?”

Magnus shook his head, avidly watching the scene in front of him as if he could commit it to memory. "We have sons. We have sons." The Clave had allowed them to adopt a Nephilim, for Raziel's sake. And a Warlock. And everyone was acting as if this was normal.

Raf held his arms out for Max and Max jumped down from Alec’s embrace and ran to his brother. “C’mon Max. We’ll put the presents under the tree and you can make sure everyone has one and then we can open them together.”

Alec looked approvingly at Raf’s words and dropped a kiss to the top of his head as he joined them, casually slinging his arm around Magnus as if this was a everyday occurrence. Them, and their kids. Their family .

Magnus let out an astonished wheeze while Madzie patted his arm in consolation, looking highly amused.

“Rafael’s finished basting the turkey and it will be about an hour,” Alec said as the boys ran off to drag Maryse and Luke into the living room, both of them stopping to kiss Magnus and Alec. “So we have time for presents and then everyone has to wash their hands.”

“Yes dad,” Clary said impishly as she moved past them and Alec stuck his tongue out at her which she immediately returned, both of them smiling at each other in a way that would be impossible in the present.

“This feels like the Twilight Zone,” Magnus said, looking at Madzie with wide eyes.

“Clary and Alec get really, really close after Max - Lightwood Max, not Lightwood-Bane Max - nearly dies. Again.”

“What happened?”

“He was defending the LA Institute. You and Alec are very popular but there’s a small faction of the Downworld and the Nephilim that really don’t like the two of you together. Call you race traitors. They went after Alec’s family. Alec of course blamed himself, because he always does. But Clary actually did kill her brother. They weirdly bond and I think she helped him to see it wasn’t his fault.”

“But he’s ok?”

“Yeah. He’s not here this year because he and his wife are on duty.”

Magnus nodded, still watching everyone settle down around the Christmas tree, ripping into presents - or in his and Alec’s case, taking the opportunity to make out behind an open book Magnus held up in front of their faces.

“Ewwwwww,” chorused Raf, Celine and Hannah while the adults laughed, Jace throwing a wadded up ball of wrapping paper at them.

“That’s enough, you two.”

“We’re missing date night tonight,” protested future-Magnus, flicking the ball away with magic towards Max, who did the same thing back at him, making it smack against Magnus’ forehead with a giggle.

Magnus drew in a sharp breath. “Please tell me I’m the cool dad.”

Madzie laughed and shook her head. “Actually you’re the over-protective one. Alec lets them run wilder than you’d prefer. But then he’d been holding a sword since the age of six, so it’s understandable he sees nothing wrong with them going on adventures. You just want your boys around you. It’s sweet, Magnus. They loved you both so much.”

“I hate that you keep using the past tense.”

“I can only show you the future I know.” Madzie tugged on his sleeve. “We have to move on, Magnus.”

“But I don’t want to go. I want to see how the lunch turns out.”

“Raf’s a great cook. But that’s not why we’re here and you know it.” She made a circling motion with her fingers and the scene in front of them sped up so that Magnus could only see flashes of life in the loft. Him and Alec holding a baby with a proud Rafael beside them. Another family Christmas with more young children, streaks of grey in Isabelle’s hair. A soft morning for just him and Alec, a cane nearby, Alec writing furiously on a tablet and Magnus reading.

The scenery around them changed. A sombre crowd in white inside the main hall in Alicante, Clary’s faded head bowed with sobs. Their bedroom with Alec, thin and asleep with Magnus reading aloud next to him, stealing glances at his husband. Magnus in the same position, staring bleakly at an empty, neatly-made bed, with his book fallen to the floor.

“No,” he whispered, clutching at Madzie’s hand, squeezing his eyes shut so hard it hurt. “I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to know.”

“You have to face this, Magnus. You have to know why the Angels gave you this gift.” Madzie’s voice was firm but full of sympathy. She motioned again and the scenes continued.

He saw himself surrounded by his family, Raf older now while Max looked young still, faces drawn and sad. Then a new apartment, somewhere sunnier than Alicante, Madzie and Max and Rafe hanging pictures. A dinner with young people whose faces contained echoes of Magnus’ present. Another white funeral, Max propping up a grieving Magnus. Raf, Magnus guessed, his stomach churning. Then another new place, smaller, darker. Magnus in a bar, at first alone, then with Catarina, then with strangers. Never the same face twice. Max and Madzie again, arguing with Magnus in what looked like a study. Madzie again, alone this time. Then Catarina again. Then Magnus alone, staring out the window, his back to them as they watched. Fire messages came and there were sharp raps on the door, but he remained alone.

The image didn’t change and he tore himself away from the pathetic view in front of him and turned back to Madzie.

“What are you telling me, Sweet Pea? That losing people hurts? I know that one. That’s not a good reason to irrevocably change someone's life.” He tried to sound dismissive but his hands trembled by his side and he clasped them together before Madzie could see.

“We all know that, Magnus.” She fixed him with her gaze. “The Downworld and the Shadowhunters - we worked in harmony for a long long time. You and Alec were figureheads - the leaders, there to calm things down when tensions rose, there to fight for what was right and fair, not what was based on tradition. And with Alec gone… you locked yourself away from everyone. Even with darkness coming. You tried for a while. For Max. For us. But....” she trailed off and bit her lip.

“What, Sweetpea? You can tell me.”

“You became what you always feared - alone and untouched by anything. You simply faded.”

“No,” Magnus whispered, shaking his head. “No, I wouldn’t. I haven’t before.”

“You deserve so much happiness, Magnus. You deserve to be in the world. But it’s like you decided the world wasn’t worth it if Alec’s not with you. And our world needs you, Magnus.”  

“That’s still not a reason to ask him to stay with me!” Magnus cried. “I want him to be with me because he wants to, not because without him I give up!”

“How are you going to know that if you don’t ask him?” Madzie shot back, folding her arms and looking unerringly like Catarina.  

Magnus opened his mouth to answer her and realised he had nothing. He looked at her, shocked, his mouth hanging open.

“Well, damn,” he finally managed, completely taken aback at how well he’d been played. “I’m going to have to ask him, aren’t I? It’s the only thing I can do.”

Madzie broke into a huge smile, her eyes alight with happiness. “You’ve always told me to fight for the future that I wanted, Magnus. Finally you’re taking your own advice.”

Chapter 5: Christmas Day

Magnus woke up when the bed dipped, and opened his eyes to the wondrous sight of Alexander crawling into bed with him.

“Mmmmm, what time is it?”

“Nearly midday. You’re sleeping Christmas away.”

“Merry Christmas,” Magnus yawned sleepily and pulled Alec closer, burying his nose in his neck. “Brr, you’re all cold.”

“Yes, it’s December,” Alec replied dryly, and then started to laugh as Magnus began to tug off his clothes.

“That’s not going to help me warm up.”

“Oh no?” Magnus grinned, and kissed him thoroughly. “Challenge accepted.” He proceeded to demonstrate exactly how wrong Alec was about that, kissing every patch of cold skin revealed until Alec’s fingers were twisting in his hair and begging Magnus in a broken voice. He drew him into his mouth, only stopping when Alec was a spent sweaty mess, panting against the sheets.

Magnus flopped back onto the bed and stretched lazily, looking smug.

“Yeah, okay,” Alec said in a dazed voice. “Merry Christmas.” Magnus laughed and curled around him, watching with fondness as Alec’s eyelids drooped until he was sure Alec was asleep.

Then he got up and made breakfast. Well, summoned brunch. There was a lightness to him now, his decision made. He could only remember parts of his dream, the love of his friends filling him with a buoyant warmth, the sheer delight at the possibility of having a future together. A long future.

He could recall enough to know that he had to ask Alec. Ask him if he’d stay with him. It was Alec’s choice, and while everything inside Magnus twisted at the thought Alec would say no, somehow he knew that Alec wouldn’t.

It was a feeling that made him merrier than usual over brunch once Alec woke up again, pulling him into the living room and dancing with him to old Rat Pack Christmas Songs as Alec laughed and stumbled over his own feet.

“I missed you,” Magnus told him and Alec rolled his eyes but smiled.

“I was gone for a night.”

“Still missed you.”

And then there were presents and a perfect Cavalli jacket Magnus assumed Izzy had picked out, even if Alec assured him he had seen it first and she’d only approved, and a little later Magnus conjured a traditional Christmas feast for the both of them and got Alec quite tipsy on a delightful Cabernet.

In the dwindling light, as the glow of Alicante grew outside their window, Magnus summoned a fire and a large, fluffy sheepskin run big enough for the two of them in front of it and beckoned Alec closer, his nerves growing.

Alec went willingly and wrapped his arms loosely around Magnus’ waist, pressing a kiss to his lips and then leaning back for what Magnus presumed was a longer kiss, but Magnus stopped him. Alec looked confused and drew back.

“Magnus? What is it?”

Magnus cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "So I have one final gift. But I don't want you to think it's just for you. This is the most selfish gift I can give.”

Alec raised an eyebrow and threw a pointed - and unimpressed, which Magnus would take a moment to be unhappy about later - glance at Magnus’ crotch. He swatted him on the arm.

“Hush, this is serious.“

“The king-size fur rug suggests otherwise, Magnus.”

“Will you please let me talk?” Magnus huffed at Alec and felt better when he’d settled down and schooled his face into a least a facade of listening, taking Magnus’ hand in his own.

“Yesterday I saw an Angel,” Magnus started and then winced when Alec narrowed his eyes at him. He held up two fingers in front of Alec’s mouth. “No, I don’t mean - that’s not a weird pick up line or that I saw someone beautiful, I mean. Literally. The Archangel Michael was over Lake Lyn.”

Alec’s eyes widened and he grabbed Magnus by the shoulders, looking panicked. “Are you ok? What did he want? What’s coming? Do I need to get Jia?”

“No, no…” Magnus sighed. He was doing this all wrong. “Nothing’s wrong. He gave me a gift - a reward. For my closing the rift from Edom.”

Alec’s eyebrows drew together. “But that was ages ago.”

“I know. I’m very aware that this gift most likely benefits them in some way as well. But. I can’t ignore it.”

“What the hell is this gift, Magnus?” He was getting impatient; Magnus could tell by the ticking muscle in his jaw and he instinctively cupped Alec’s face to soothe him. His stomach flipped over and he forced himself to state it plainly.

“He gave me… he gave me a chance to make you immortal. To live forever. With me. If you’d want that.”

Alec inhaled swiftly, looking blindsided, while Magnus searched his face for some indication of emotion other than shock.

“What?” Alec asked faintly, his hand rising to grip Magnus’ wrist. “Wait, say that again.”

“Michael gave me a way that I can bind my life with yours. It would make you immortal. But we have to perform the ritual by midnight tonight.”

Alec remained silent, his eyes flickering over Magnus’ face as if he was expecting Magnus to start laughing and tell him he was just kidding. Magnus’ heart sank.

“Alexander?” Magnus prompted. “Please say something.”

“Is that… no, wait, why would they do that? What do they want in return?”

Magnus frowned. That certainly wasn’t what Alec was originally going to ask. “I don’t know, but it’s safe to assume they’ll have a use for you or us in the future.” He thought about mentioning his dream again, but that on top of an angelic visitation was probably pushing it. And the way Alec was reacting… suddenly he was seized by the conviction that Alec would say no, that he’d rather be normal and mortal than be with Magnus and be seen as something different.

“Does that matter? I know you probably need time to think about it, or speak to your family. Or the Clave, they would probably have something to say about it. I can give you space if you need it -”

“Do you want this?” Alec asked abruptly and then winced, running his hand over his face. “I mean,” he continued in a softer voice, “is this what you want? I can understand if you don’t want an eternity with one person. Or - that’s probably presumptuous, right? That you would want to be with me forever even if I was immortal.”

Magnus all but melted, smoothing his arm around Alec’s neck and pressing close.

“Oh, Alexander. I meant it when I said this gift is a selfish one. I want you by my side for the rest of my life, not just the rest of your mortal one. You’re everything to me.”

“Are you sure? You can’t take it back.”

“Alexander.” Magnus was very firm as he looked up at Alec’s face, holding his worried look. “I can honestly say there is nothing I want more in this life than to have you in it for as long as I possibly can. I vowed to love you as long as I lived and I don’t think I can ever break that vow. It’s just not possible.”  

“Magnus,” Alec said, his mouth working but nothing else followed, his gaze flickering over Magnus’ face as if he was a puzzle to be solved.

“Live with me,” Magnus said in a low voice, just above a whisper, his hand tightening on Alec’s neck. He willed him to see how much Magnus wanted this, willed him to find it in his eyes. “ Live with me, Alexander. Please.”

“Yes,” Alec finally said, his voice like gravel. “God, Magnus, yes. Yes. Always. I mean it. You have no idea…” he trailed off and to Magnus’ horror, shaded his eyes and let out a shaky sob, rubbing his hand over his face to wipe away tears. He groped around blindly to find the arm of the couch and then slid onto it gratefully, burying his face in his hands. Magnus followed him, nervously twisting his rings around his fingers. Saying yes but then crying wasn’t the exact response he’d anticipated.

“Fuck,” Alec said shakily after a moment, taking in a deep breath. “Magnus, you have no idea how much I want this, do you?” He finally looked back up at Magnus, his eyes wet and bright, but - oh, but his smile was wide and breathtaking. Something inside Magnus loosened and relaxed as Alec spread his arms open, inviting Magnus over. He promptly sprawled himself on Alec’s lap, causing him to laugh, and wound his arms around Alec’s neck, his nails scratching at the soft skin at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “You’ve never told me. It always was an impossible dream, Alexander, one I still can’t quite believe has been simply given to us.” He bit his lip when Alec hugged him closer and buried his face into Magnus’ shoulder, his fingers stroking through his hair.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it with tales of what a burden immortality can be and how it changes your views on everything?” Alec responded, slightly muffled by Magnus’ cashmere.

Magnus suppressed a small grin and looked at the fire, feeling a certain sense of deja vu from his dream. “Well. Yes. Not talk you out of it, but definitely warn you. You have to know what you’re getting yourself into. Watching most people you love die. Having to continue on. Then there’s putting up with the rest of the immortals - you’ll be sick of us. Sick of me.”

“Never,” Alec said immediately, pulling himself back up. “Magnus, look at me.” Magnus reluctantly pulled his gaze from the flames back to Alec.

“Magnus, I could never get sick of you. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, sure. Sometimes I still don’t understand you. You’ve lived for centuries and I barely know you and at the same time, know you better than anyone that doesn’t share my soul.” Alec cradled Magnus’ face in his hands and brushed his thumb against his cheekbone, wiping away the tear Magnus hadn’t been aware of.

“I want to stay with you. I want to experience everything with you - yes, even the pain of loss, because we’ll at least be together for it. You make the dark days a little brighter, enough to get me through, and you make the ordinary days completely dazzling.”

Alec wasn’t helping to prevent Magnus from crying more, the reality of the gift finally crystalizing into something definitive in his mind.

“Really?” he asked again.

“Now and for all time,” Alec said solemnly, quoting the traditional Warlock wedding vows. Magnus made a small choked noise and buried his face in Alec’s neck, squeezing him tight. The impossible man who always continued to surprise him.  

“I love you,” he whispered into Alec’s skin, and could feel Alec’s smile.

“I love you too.” Alec kissed his forehead and then the side of his face, tracking down until he reached his lips, sharing the sweetest kiss with Magnus that he felt down to his toes.

“And we need to do this now, right?” Alec continued in a business-like tone when he pulled away. “Because I believe you and I have plans for that rug that might take longer than midnight.”

Magnus laughed and brushed at his eyes to wipe away his tears, clambering off Alec as he snapped his fingers for his bag. “We have instructions.” Alec made a pleased sound and started digging through the pouch, pulling out the necessary elements for the ritual.

Magnus caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and wheeled around, ready for anything, for Angels to try to retrieve the gift, anything at all - and only coming face to face with his reflection in the living room mirror.

But he wasn’t alone. Behind him were Ragnor and Dot and even Madzie, all smiling at him - or at least in Ragnor’s case, not scowling. Madzie gave him a thumbs up and Magnus laughed, looking over his shoulder at nothing, and then back at his friends in the reflection of the room.

When Magnus laughed, Alec looked up from arranging things on the coffee table.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Magnus said, turning back and smiling at Alexander, his soul soaring as he looked at the best decision he’d ever made, ready to start their eternal life together as soon as possible.

“I was just thinking we need a toast.” He summoned two glasses of champagne and handed one to Alec, clinking their glasses together and then reaching out for Alec’s hand, his heart brimming over with joy.

“Merry Christmas to all.” His gaze flicked back to his friends in the mirror’s reflection. “And to all, a good night.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth and WOD!Billy - ❤♡❥ღ💕💘💝💓💌💟💙💚💜💛

This || Not Accepting

❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private? 

In public Billy becomes a distant shore. Too far to reach no matter how hard she swims, how much sea water she ends up swallowing, how far she stretches out her fingers to reach him. To hold his hand, to press her cheek against his arm, to take umbrage in the shelter of all that he is. He reminds her there are cameras everywhere. There are covert agents like himself, there’s research assistants, Extraordinary Citizens. That are all on the Front Lines ready to devour any mistake he makes. To bring the whole thing crashing down on their heads, and that as radiant as he finds his older sister, that she is not exactly shy about flying her Deviant flag, is she?

It crushes some of her spirit and Billy regrets having to do it, but it’s for the Greater Good. He always tells himself that but alone, in his own sanctum, those beliefs are starting to crumble. One part of him wonders if this is all a test of his truest loyalties to his convention, carefully constructed in the Ivory Tower by Control. Forcing him to choose between humanity and three very high value targets. If capture and indoctrination is the plan, or eradication if he doesn’t manage to bring them over. Another part of him, the one that is still fur and fang and not quite the eidolon of his Enlightened Genius shakes its head in shame. Billy should know better. He should remember that dying light in her eyes and swear to make it up to her, no matter the cost. Maybe this is malfunction. Maybe this is what madness feels like. ♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

There’s a movie she’s made him watch, that she’s seen a dozen times, enough that she doesn’t miss the words, doesn’t need them to flash across the screen. She curls up against him and jokingly tells him the main protagonist is clearly an Ecstatic ~one of her so called Nine Traditions~ and that she thinks the paradigm contained in it is beautiful.

He enjoys it because it makes his apartment feel less lonely, less sterile. It leaves the ghost of her as an impression against his skin. The scent of popcorn and the coconut and sandalwood and cinnamon that always clings to her skin will now linger on his. She’s soft and curved and quiet, all the things that his world is not. And he has that weird feeling that she somehow bypasses his circuitry, his implants, even though that should be impossible, to dig a place inside of him that she can fit.

But even when she’s gone, a line from the film sticks with him. One he can’t shake, so he hides it in an internal file buried so deep that even he will have trouble finding it again.

"Have you never met a woman who inspires you to love? Until your every sense is filled with her? You inhale her. You taste her. You see your unborn children in her eyes and know that your heart has at last found a home. Your life begins with her, and without her it must surely end." 

❥: who is more likely to plan something big for valentine's day?

He’s going to punch the other two dead in the face when they get back. Because it can’t be anything less than a conspiracy between the three of them that he goes to sleep in his own bed, all algorithms in suspend mode, only to wake up to the sound of waves lapping against the wood and fibreglass of the hold, the sea choppy and cold and grey. Like the sky if he bothers to look out of a porthole.

The bunk is a little cramped for his liking, not exactly built for a man of his stature and construction. The benefit of hypertech enhanced limbs is that they don’t exactly ache for the narrowed confinement. The space beside him still holds the ghost of her warmth, her scent, and it isn’t hard to imagine the sheets wrapped around her lithe frame. Hair spilling over his arm like a dark flood. But it’s her voice that teases him awake.  “So since we no can do da whole public kine,” she murmurs, “I t’ought I’d surprise ya. Ren’ned one boat for couple days. An’ bonus... my friends who helpin’ us out... says dey know of a crew a pirates dat need t’ be... how ya say it? Sanitise?” He winces at the word, and how close it is to the reality of it. He raises a brow, loath to interrupt her when her voice is still raspy from sleep, and because everyone else is used to discounting her, cutting her off. “Cause dey fangy-fangy/bitey-bitey.” She makes comical fangs with her fingers curled in front of her mouth. He slides out of bed and into a slumped seating position and she comes over, sits beside him. She presses a mug of scalding hot tea into his hands. It’s dark. Slightly sweet. It doesn’t matter when she smiles. “Happy Volentimes day. An’ good mornin’.” He presses his nose into the crown of her hair. “Mornin’ Izzy.”

ღ: who is more likely to initiate hand-holding in public?

Standing on the upper deck, face in the wind, eyes closed, Billy can hear it. The distinct creak of timbre. The whip-snap of the canvas in a gale, his hands weathered and calloused as he climbs the shrouds to secure a ratline. Everything is heavy with sea spray and the acrid smell of spent powder. The rush of having overtaken a heavy vessel. The pounding of his heart after a successful boarding action. New men aboard. Supplies and wealth taken and secured below. He can see faces and hear names that were long since dead, maybe never existed at all.  There’s a word on the tip of his tongue but when he reaches for it, it vanishes. It tells him he doesn’t really want to know because Billy doesn’t really forget, does he? He doesn’t. And so the only person standing against him is himself.

He blames her with her talk of pirates and her gift of the open sea past the international dateline. Gives him fanciful day dreams, that’s all it is.  He stiffens when he feels skin on skin. Rudimentary procedure tells him it’s her before he even opens his eyes. Which he chooses not to. Instead he curls his fingers around hers; too small, too delicate. Afraid he’ll crush them if he isn’t careful. Afraid he’ll crush her. 

💕: who is more likely to make huge declarations of love in front of other people?

“I will NOT have you shaming the family, Elizabeth!” For a moment with his voice roused in anger, Andy sounds exactly like their father. And she stands there, taking the brunt of it, doe eyes full of a shame and grief that did not come close to being able to be described. She is reduced to something less than herself, something barely more than a child the way she twists her fingers into the waist of her skirt, head tilted toward the floor where maybe that gaze could burn a hole into the wood floors. Shoulders forward and down, all of her making itself as small as possible. Perhaps protectively, perhaps because it cannot hold up the heaviness of Andy’s anger. “....m’ sorry.”  Barely two words, slurred into one.

She hadn’t meant to do or say anything wrong. She hadn’t meant to make a scene at the party. Hadn’t meant to make Billy chase her into the room. Of course, there’s a lot of things she doesn’t mean and it makes it so hard to breathe sometimes.

She can’t say she really understands why he’s mad. Why he’d waited until everyone, including Billy had left, why Baz’s half-hearted interference from the kitchen where he’s cleaning up... “Leave’r ‘lone, Andy” ... goes unheard. “May I be ‘scused?” “Go to bed. We’ll deal with damage control in the morning.” Beth decides then and there, she hates Halloween.

💘: who developed a crush on the other first?

It’s called the Westermarck Effect. A psychological hypothesis that people who live in close domestic proximity during the first few years of their lives become desensitised to sexual attraction with one another. And when a brother and sister, for example, are brought up separately, never meeting until they reach adulthood or adolescence they might find one another highly sexually attractive. The science clearly bears out.

But he wants to hear it from Andy’s own mouth.  The source of his bitterness, his distance, the rage that has him lifting hands and laying them on his little brother. Panting, he looks up from where he’s crouched. Jaw hard. Back of his hand swiping at the lick of blood on his lip. He hitches himself to his feet and reaches out a hand, waits until Andy reaches back and helps pull the other man to his feet. An honest dust up that’s gotten most things out of the way so that they can actually talk. “So tell me, Andrew, is it that she’s makin’ eyes, or that it’s not at you?”

💝: who spends more time (possibly overthinking) what presents to get the other?

The adverts on the telly and radio and every bit of media give off suggestions. Every kiss begins with Kay. De Beers A Diamond is Forever. It’s all part of the carefully cultivated stratagems of the Syndicate. A means to control the economy based on the products it chooses to endorse, and which they decide to bury.  But the problem isn’t his fellow conventions, but rather the fact that Beth isn’t that kind of woman. She doesn’t want for material things, not in the way that can be neatly wrapped up in a box with a bow. She wants for the sea in her soul. She wants for a quiet acceptance. She wants for the soft kisses and hands pressed to hearts vowing forever at the end of the fairy tale. She wants an end to the War or at least an escape from it. She wants all of humanity to achieve this mystical Ascendance of hers, that reminds him of a song from the 70s or something What can you give a woman like that? You don’t exactly. You can’t. It means switching sides. It means becoming a traitor to your own. Not that she’s ever asked. Not that she has to, what with everything that is changing within him. She’s shown him things that he never contemplated before, things he’s never hoped to experience. For the first time, he’s starting to question the party line. And that’s dangerous. “Let me see the other one. The one with the pearls.”

💓: who initiates most physical contact?

She tucks her feet under his leg when they’re cold. Which is always. Her fingers find a home intertwined with his the moment he stops typing. Even if there’s a mile of couch, she tries to climb into his lap at every opportunity. She talks with her hands and smiles with her eyes and her lips at once. Small kisses on the back of his neck. Somehow she’s always brushing against him as she walks by. She’s always been the physical type. It’s a language as well as a form of affection and he thinks he’s starting to figure it out. Or at least he thinks he has, but then she changes the rules.

Suddenly she doesn’t quite meet his eyes. How she finds a way to not be in the same room even if they are seated right next to him. When she dances with him it feels like they’re on other planets.

For all that he wants to give chase, he doesn’t. Gives her space. Hopes that’s enough to bring her back around because he’s starting to miss the little things. Teeth has other things to say about it but you don’t always listen to your not so imaginary weasel.

💌: who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

Sheryl from R and D eyes him when he laughs out loud. He waves a hand and recites the pithier parts of an Onion article he’d read weeks before. All while staring at the face she’s making, rubber glove on her head like a cockscomb. She’s always sending him little things. A picture from the ER. Something silly she saw on the way to or from work, depending on what shifts she’s taken. Corny little jokes he knows has taken her weeks to come up with. Things he memorises and deletes because he doesn’t want a single trace of her that can be caught by the higher ups. But that doesn’t mean that he wants her to stop. In a lot of ways it speaks volumes that she cares enough about him, that she thinks about him as much as he does her, that she sends them. His favourite so far is the Giraffe prodding a duck with one enormously long leg. He normally doesn’t send anything back, no channel completely secure, but he does make a point to mention it when he gets back to his place. Which reminds him, she’s been spending an awful lot of time there.

💟: who spends time reading their zodiac compatibility?

She sits sprawled on the floor. There’s books and charts, some ancient and some new, all around her. She has graph paper, pencils and pens, a compass and slide rule, all the trappings of higher mathematics. But she’s not solving complex equations or a new hypothesis for string theory. “It’s complete rubbish!” he laughs, stirring the garlic green beans around the wok with a touch of sesame oil. “The stars aren’t even in the same position as they were back then, some have burnt out, the gravitational axis of-” “Nu-uh!” she counters, just as amused, just as passionate. “Astrology one of da very firs’ sciences, William. In fact, ya very own Celestial Mastahs-” Void Engineers, Beth. They’re called the Void Engineers. “-spoke wide an’ advocated it in academic circle. Related it t’ astronomy, alchemy, me-meat- “Meteorology.” “Yeah, dat. An medicine. Da Greek, Chinese, Mayans, Egyptians, Macedonians. All’a da big civilisation. Even in da political circles of literature, li’dat Dante Alighieri an’ Chaucer, Shakespeare, Lope De Vega, Calderon de la Barca, who I don’ t’ink was related t’ Hannibal but mebbe. No was til da nineteen century when you guys edged forward wi’ da Sleepahs-” “Beth?” “Yeah?” “Could you come here a second?” She rises like a very strange Polynesian Venus from her sea of pseudoscience and pads her way over to him. He leans down and kisses her gently on the lips. She pulls back from him and shakes her head, flashing him her shark-smile. “See? See dat? Spoken li’ true Libra.”

💙: who is more protective?

He watches her from near the treeline, crouched down low, one set of knuckles in the deep loam offering himself balance. She rabbit runs and for a moment he is consumed more in her motion than watching the surroundings. Shapely legs and perfect little feet fleet, flashing their tawny hue in the sun. Braids bouncing down her back. Go, girl, go. She almost makes it. But on her blind side there’s a blur. Taller than her. Near twice as broad. Intends to take her down like a lion on the Savannah. Billy sees red. Literally. And he springs. Primium laced muscles and bone primed and pumping at optimal levels. Gives him a deceptive speed and the length of his stride eats up the earth at his feet. He clips the body at the waist, drives him to the ground. Makes him drop the weapons at hand that break harmlessly open. There’s a struggle. Of course there is. Half-powered punches that gain his victim no leverage, a rolling tussle where he keeps coming on top, shoulder crashing into chest until he turns and coughs. Gasping for air. Body changing to something harder than flesh, but slow. He gets in one more good punch.

“Billy.” He looks up. Andy’s standing there. Pinning her in his arms. Her feet dangle off the ground, her eyes wild. One of his hands wrapped around her throat. A short jerking twist and she’d-- ”Let him go.” He blinks. Looks down at Baz, sees him for the first time. Realises the weapons are water balloons. And Beth? She still has the football in hand, because she’d crossed the finish line. Their point, then. He still doesn’t understand all the rules to this combination flag {American} football and water balloons and trivia game. Billy hitches to his feet. Offers an apologetic hand to Baz who declines. Politely. When Baz crosses over to Andy’s side, Riley lets her go. Gives her a little shove toward Billy. There’s a fading hand-print around her neck, but she smiles and kneads her head into his chest. He puts an arm around her and glares at the other two who are checking each other over.

Riley will learn one of these days that he’ll keep his hands off her. And he’ll learn it a broken bone at a time, his or someone else’s.

💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?

She stitches his skin. He feeds her soup. They sleep like the dead.  She tends to his scars the way he shepherds her dreams. They work.

💜: who said "i love you" first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

He said once, the first time. She rejected it out of turn. She repeats it later. They never speak it again. But they do everything to make it manifest. Every touch and every look everything they do for one another.  But the words sit in their throats. Haunt their eyes. Loud. Shrieking. How the rest of the world doesn’t hear it, he’ll never know. She’s asleep now, and his fingers trail through her hair. She looks so innocent, so untouched by anything, even him as her chest rises and falls with quiet breathing.

How many times are they going to spiral around each other?  As many as it takes. Until they can howl down the heavens.

💛: who believes in soulmates?

Nails dig into the back of his neck as he holds her fast. One arm around her hips. One climbing the trellis of her ribs like ivy, fingers resting in the space between her shoulders as she arches back. His face pressed into the wide valley between her breasts. The harsh echo of his panting breaths, the sweeter song of the guttural moan he’s dragged out of her throat, her throat exposed, mouth parted in a rictus of pleasure-pain. She calls it the Lotus position, the way she’s seated in his lap, and he’s buried to the hilt. Legs wrapped like chains around him as the last twitches and jerks bleed him dry inside of her. She calls this tantric. Finishing together. Raising power. He calls it love and his is hers and hers alone. And there’s only one way that will ever end. “Death first, Izzy.” He writes the words across her sweat soaked skin. “Always.” She answers and swans her neck into his shoulder where her teeth draw blood.

[bytheangell]

Believe in Something Beautiful

(Read on AO3) (I tried to post this on the ask itself but Tumblr had a crisis and it got all messed up so I had to delete it and make a separate post OOPS) -------------

The opportunity Isabelle gets to study with the Iron Sisters is a once and a lifetime offer, and that’s on top of the fact that it’s something she’s personally dreamt of since she was a little girl. So of course Jace doesn’t so much as blink before agreeing to take over as temporary Head of the Institute while she’s away.

“Are you sure?” she asks for the millionth time before leaving as if this will be the time he suddenly decides to change his mind. “I know you hate the deskwork side of things, and-”

“Iz, it’s fine. It’ll just be a few months, I can handle it. I promise not to let the place burn down while you’re gone.”

The reservations she has are true, of course, but he isn’t going to admit that he’s secretly loathing not only being mostly resigned to an office for the duration of her trip but feeling much more alone without Alec or her around. Instead, he gives her a bright smile and shoos her out the door before she can stall any longer.

The first few days are definitely an adjustment but Jace actually kind of likes the new role once he gets into it. The paperwork sucks, sure, but he makes good use of the still impressively stocked drink cart Alec brought in when he was Head of the Institute, as well as the upgraded plush sofa Isabelle insisted on. All in all being stuck in this particular office isn’t too bad… at least not for the first few weeks.

After that Jace starts to go a little stir-crazy. He tries to keep up with his training, whether it’s with the other Shadowhunters or Simon or just on his own in the training room, but every time he does he’s pulled away for another debriefing or meeting, which leads to more reports until the day is over and it’s already time to go home.

Going ‘home’ nowadays, more often than not, has meant going back to Simon’s apartment. Sometimes Jace stays the night at the Institute but usually only when it’s absolutely necessary. Otherwise, he makes his way to Simon’s place for some quality time with his boyfriend. No matter how tired he is at the end of the day he’s rejuvenated by the sight of Simon, always eager to see him and listen to him complain about whatever nonsense he had to deal with that day. It’s a relationship Jace never saw coming, one he never would’ve imagined for himself in a million years, but’s it’s good. If he wasn’t afraid of jinxing it he might go so far as to say it’s perfect.

Things stay that way until a couple of months into Izzy’s absence. Jace can’t place it at first, just a lingering uncertainty which isn’t something he’s used to feeling. It doesn’t click until he’s training with some of the guys at the Institute and someone pokes a sparring staff at his stomach, making a joke about how he’s getting soft - literally - since taking over for Izzy. It’s an off-handed comment, nothing worse than Jace has said about any of them at one time or another and just meant to poke fun, but it hits something much deeper and Jace finds he can’t let the words slide off him like he normally does. He laughs with the others, of course, and thoroughly kicks their asses during the part of the session he manages to participate in before he’s pulled away to go over something strange on the surveillance cameras, but the words stick with him.

Soft. Jace Wayland has been called a number of things in his life, but soft has never been one of them before now.

When he’s changing in his room to go meet up with Simon, Jace spends a long time looking at himself in the mirror. He isn’t overweight, not given his body’s starting status of ‘abs-sculpted-like-a-statue’s’, but that only makes the lack of definition that much more obvious to him now. Simon hasn’t said anything but surely he’s noticed too, how could he not? Telling himself it isn’t a big deal Jace slips on a fresh shirt and a decent pair of dark jeans to meet Simon after work.

After dinner, sitting on the sofa with Simon’s hands sliding under his t-shirt and up his sides while they make out, Jace is acutely aware of the fact that there’s more to slide over now. When Simon pulls Jace closer by the waist he tenses at the touch as if aware for the first time of the way Simon’s fingers dip into the flesh there.

“Everything alright?” Simon asks, stopping when Jace freezes up.

“I-” Jace starts, uncertain. “I don’t feel so great, actually. Might be something I ate. Mind if we... just don’t, tonight?” Jace feels immediately guilty for the half-truth. He doesn’t feel well all of a sudden but he knows exactly why, and it isn’t bad seafood.

“Of course,” Simon says easily, shifting so Jace can reposition himself next to Simon on the sofa. “Do you need anything? I could run to the store and get some medicine.”

Simon’s immediate concern only doubles Jace’s guilt. “No, I’ll be alright,” Jace insists, wondering if that’s a lie too as Simon turns on the TV until they both fall asleep on the sofa.

---

Jace leaves Simon’s place early enough the next morning to get in an hour-long run before he needs to be at the Institute. He knows it isn’t going to do much - it’s taken months of letting himself go to get this bad, he isn’t going to fix it with a day of jogging, but it feels better than doing nothing. For a few days he makes excuses to not go back to Simon’s place: waiting for a late patrol to come back, covering a security shift, even as lame of an excuse as ‘i’m too tired’ when there really is no other reason he can give.

He doesn’t lie… he just doesn’t add that he’s the one going out of his way to make sure he has things keeping him ‘stuck’ at the Institute at night, though he knows this can’t last forever.

So Jace starts to get clever. Whenever things start to get heated on the nights he does go back to Simon’s, Jace immediately takes control, insisting that he’s going to take care of Simon. It’s actually one of Jace’s favorite things, to watch the way Simon falls apart beneath Jace’s touches, the way he’s so blissed out by the end of a very thorough blowjob that he doesn’t argue too much when Jace insists he doesn’t want anything himself. The sex - the few times Jace lets things get that far - is rushed and always with the lights off, with Jace keeping as much clothing on as possible and almost always finding an excuse to not be able to stay afterward to cuddle.

He hopes, a bit naively, that as long as they’re still having sex that Simon won’t notice anything is wrong. Jace can’t remember the last time he let Simon see him naked, something that used to be very common for them, and he knows the lack of that sort of intimacy won’t go unnoticed forever. With all his other tactics Jace buys himself an extra week or two until Simon’s asking him if something’s wrong again.

“You just seem… distant lately,” Simon continues, concern written all over his face. Jace can’t stand the fact that he caused this gap between them but he can’t bring himself to admit what’s bothering him, either. He’s ruining everything and for what? Simon clearly doesn’t care.

Still, he can’t silence the voice in the back of his head reminding him that this isn’t who Simon signed up for. Jace is all quick wit and sarcasm, he’s confidence and an ego larger than all of Brooklyn. That’s who Simon fell for and expects from him, so that’s who Jace needs to be. He needs to figure out how to feel like himself again, and fast.

“Just a lot on my mind, work stuff. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Jace says, leaning in to give Simon a quick kiss.

“You know you can talk to me, right? About work, or whatever else is going on?” Simon offers.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Jace agrees quickly.

He then proceeds to bury every worry he has deep down into the back of his mind and does his best not to think about it, let alone talk about it, again.

---

Jace continues to make excuses, manipulate any intimate encounters for minimum contact, or just flat-out avoiding Simon entirely. Avoiding is easier than lying and Jace gets better at it as the days pass. Or maybe he just gets more used to it… he isn’t sure he likes the implication of either option.

At first, Simon tries to fight him on it - rearranging his schedule so he can visit Jace at the Institute, trying to insist Jace come over no matter how late it is, doing his best to puppy-dog-eye Jace into staying in bed for more than 5 seconds - but Jace manages to pull himself away every time.

After a while, Simon stops trying so hard. Then Simon stops trying entirely. After not hearing from Simon for two days in a row Jace ends up calling him instead of the other way around.

“Hey, I hadn’t heard from you in a while, I was starting to worry,” Jace says, relieved when Simon picks up.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Simon says, his tone casual. Jace can practically hear the shrug behind the words.

“What do you mean?” Jace asks, though he thinks he has a good idea.

“I mean, every time I’ve tried to make plans you blow them off anyway, so I figured I’d stop trying and you could just call me if you ever felt like leaving the Institute again,” Simon replies, and this time there’s a bit of an edge to his tone.

Jace deserves that, but he doesn’t expect it. Not from Simon.

Fuck, what is he doing? He could feel the gap between them forming, he knew he was the cause, and he still let things get so far that Simon has all but given up on him from the sound of it.

“I’m Sorry, Si.” That much isn’t a lie. Jace is sorry.

“Don’t be sorry,” Simon tells him, sounding sad and defeated, and about as tired as Jace keeps claiming to be. “If you’re bored with me just tell me, and we can stop pretending.”

There’s silence over the phone line while Jace processes those words. Is that really what Simon thinks? Is that what Jace let Simon think all this time?

“I’m not,” Jace insists. “It isn’t you, Simon, I swear.”

There’s a long pause, and with obvious reluctance Simon slowly asks, “Is there someone else?”

Jace can hear the fear in his voice, the dread of what answer may come from asking, and his heart breaks knowing it’s all his fault that Simon has these doubts about them.

“No,” Jace says, just as quickly as before. He’s messed things up worse than he realized and wonders if there’s going to be anything to salvage once he’s finally honest with Simon. He has to be honest now - there’s no other option. “We should talk, but not on the phone. Are you-” Jace starts to ask if Simon is free but remembers that he volunteered to take Underhill’s security shift that night so he could go on a date with Lorenzo. Of course, he took it to avoid Simon not knowing everything was going to go so wrong, so quickly. Overly aware of how bad this is going to look now of all times, Jace sighs. “I have to stay late tonight,” Jace winces as he admits. “But tomorrow? First thing in the morning. I’ll come straight over after the shift and we’ll talk.”

“Sure,” Simon agrees easily enough, except Jace knows him well enough to the doubt there, the way he doesn’t get his hopes up that Jace will follow through this time.

“I promise. As soon as the replacement shows up I’m gone. You’re my priority.” He’s already making a note to cancel a mid-day meeting he planned on attending after a few hours of rest, and one later in the afternoon just in case.

Just in case what? In case it takes all day to convince Simon to forgive him? In case Simon doesn’t forgive him and Jace is left to pick up the pieces of his failed relationship? Jace shakes the thought from his head, hoping he hasn’t messed things up that irreparably.

“I love you, Simon,” Jace tells him, holding his breath for the seconds that stretch on after his words before Simon sighs.

“I love you too, Jace.”

The line goes dead and Jace stares at the phone in his hand for several long minutes before pocketing it. The rest of the night is spent counting the seconds until the morning shift will take over while also dreading that moment in equal measure. What is he going to say? He has plenty of time to think about it left alone for most of the night, but he hates everything he comes up with. It doesn’t feel like enough, or it feels like too much, or it feels like he’s making excuses.

A few hours later, tired and weary, he’s out of time to think. The fresh air during his walk to Simon’s works well to clear his head and he reminds himself of one thing: he loves Simon, and he needs to figure out what he can do to fix what he broke. If he starts there then the rest will hopefully fall into place. It isn’t like he has many other options.

Jace knocks on the door and waits with bated breath.

“You’re here,” Simon says when he opens it, and Jace tries not to feel as hurt as he does by the surprised words. He deserves that. He deserves so much worse than that.

“I am,” Jace says. I always will be, if you let me. Please, let me stay, he wants to beg, but doesn’t. Simon steps aside and Jace goes in, making an immediate beeline for the sofa. He’s too anxious to sit, however, and stands back up almost immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Jace starts. It’s the simplest place.

“For…?” Simon prompts.

“For making you think you did something wrong. For avoiding you, instead of telling you what was bothering me.” Jace is certain there’s more than that he should apologize for but it seems like a good starting point. “It just felt so ridiculous, and I figured I’d just get over it… but I didn’t, and it was easier to avoid than admit until we talked last night and I realized how bad I let everything get and I- I don’t want to lose you, Simon.”

Simon, who was doing a very good job standing with his arms crossed looking unimpressed, softens considerably at that. “If it’s bothering you that much it isn’t ridiculous. And I kept telling you that you can talk to me, I wish that you had.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jace admits. “But I am now,” he adds hopefully. It might be too little too late but he has to try.

“So?” Simon prompts again, not letting up. “Do I get to know why my boyfriend’s been avoiding me, or are you just going to say sorry and try to pretend it never happened?”

“I was embarrassed because of the weight I put on.” Jace has to force the words out, already hating himself the moment he hears them leave his lips.

Jace expects Simon to laugh but instead Simon looks him up-and-down in consideration. “I wondered… but you have to know I don’t care about that, right?”

“You might not, but I do.” Jace frowns. “I didn’t realize just how much until I started going out of my way to avoid you even seeing me, let alone touching me.”

“That’s when you started insisting on all those ridiculous quickies,” Simon pieces together, shaking his head. “I should’ve realized.”

“No, I should’ve said something. I thought if I kept it up once and a while it’d be enough to hold things over until I got… comfortable again.”

Simon snorts at that, then looks immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I know this is serious, and the sex is great and all, but you do know I’m dating you for more than just that, right?”

Jace manages a small laugh at that. “I figured it was probably a 75/25 split,” he jokes back. This is a good sign, right? If Simons’ laughing, even for a second, maybe he doesn’t totally hate him.

“My point,” Simon reels the conversation back in. “Is that you should’ve said you were uncomfortable. We could’ve stopped things for a while, or forever if that’s what you want. I’m dating you because I like you, not because of your body. Though, I mean, it is an amazing body.”

“It was stupid,” Jace argues. “I overreacted.”

“Did you?” Simon says, raising an eyebrow. “You still feel that way, don’t you? Even now?”

Jace almost opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t, that everything is fine and he just wants to go back to the way things were before, but he knows it’d be a lie. And he just got done apologizing for not being honest in the first place. It’s a hit to his pride but he knows he needs to tell Simon the truth even if he isn’t happy about it.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jace admits, not meeting Simon’s gaze.

“If it bothers you then it isn’t stupid. I’m mad you didn’t tell me, but I’m not mad you’re uncomfortable. Honestly? I love your body like this. Every last inch of it, whether those inches were there before or not. Hell, it’s nice to have the playing field evened out a bit since I’ll never have your Adonis-abs,” Simon says, and though he eyes Jace’s body he doesn’t make a move to reach out for him.

“Yeah, well, that makes one of us,” Jace mutters, crossing his arms in front of him self-consciously. He hates the space between them, he wants to reach out and pull Simon close and never let him go again, certainly not for as long as he has recently, but he still can’t bring himself to do it.

Simon seems to sense that, too. “But it doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it if you aren’t. I’ll tell you what - let’s just put a hard stop on anything physical until you’re comfortable with it again. But when you are - and I mean the second you give me the okay - I get to show you exactly how beautiful I think you are. Whether you look like you did six months ago, or like you do now, or if you put on 100 more pounds, I’m always going to think you’re gorgeous, and I’m going to remind you every day so you never forget it again, starting now. Jace Wayland, you are the single most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Jace mentally curses the traitorous flush that he feels in his cheeks at the declaration, but smiles. “Thanks, Simon,” he says.

It’s tempting to say that he’s fine, to pull Simon into a kiss he knows after this long won’t stay chaste for long, but he doesn’t want to end up right back where he started and he definitely doesn’t want to risk pushing Simon away again.

“Do you think we could just take a nap? I’m exhausted, and I miss falling asleep with you.” Jace knows after everything he has no right to ask, but any concerns are gone the moment Simon nods eagerly and smiles.

Simon holds true to what he said earlier, stripping down to his boxers before getting into bed, waiting to see where Jace decides to position himself and what he wants to do. Simon doesn’t push things, and when Jace settles in behind him to wrap his arm around Simon - a deliberate choice, they both know now - Simon only shifts slightly to fit in his hold easier, not saying a word.

Feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks, Jace falls asleep almost immediately.

---

When Jace wakes up it’s to Simon running his fingers gently through a loose strand of hair that fell over his face while he slept. At some point Simon must’ve woken up and turned to face Jace, content to simply wait for him to wake up rather than leave.

“Good afternoon, beautiful,” Simon says, and Jace shakes his head.

“You’re really sticking to that, aren’t you?” Jace says, a little surprised.

“Of course I am. I meant it. Until you believe it yourself I’ll just have to believe it enough for the both of us.” Simon gives a little shrug with the one shoulder he can move, and Jace is filled with such a sudden and overwhelming sense of certainty that Simon really does mean it, that he isn’t just saying it to make Jace feel better, that he doesn’t know what to do with the emotion that comes with the realization.

“I wish I could see what you see,” Jace mumbles out the passing thought, still so half-asleep that he doesn’t even realize he said it out loud until Simon replies.

“Maybe I can convince you,” Simon offers.

Jace considers the offer for the second time that day. “And how, exactly, would you do that?”

Simon shifts backward so he can sit back on his heels, leaning over Jace as he lays on the bed. “If you’re uncomfortable you’ll tell me to stop, right?”

Jace nods, and Simon pauses an extra second but seems satisfied with his answer. Jace wants to see what he can manage because he misses this. He misses them, and even just spending this morning back with Simon with everything out in the open is doing wonders to ease some of the discomfort he felt before.

“Well,” Simon starts, pushing the comforter off of them entirely to move so that he’s straddling Jace, kneeling on either side of his thighs. “I’d start by saying I’ve noticed you growing your hair out, and I love the way it lifts when the wind catches it just right,” Simon brings a hand up to comb through the light, loose pieces of Jace’s hair that flop into his face when they aren’t styled back, like right now.

“Then I’d tell you how beautiful your cheeks are when they get that little tinge of blush you can’t hide when you’re embarrassed,” Simon continues, leaning over to place a kiss on each of Jace’s cheekbones. Jace can feel that very same blush form there, warm under the cool touch of Simon’s lips, and Simon smiles down at him as he pulls back again. “There it is. Beautiful.”

Simon moves his gaze to Jace’s lips, placing a kiss there, this one lingering long enough that Jace tries to lean up into it just as Simon pulls away again, but not before he catches Jace’s bottom lip in his teeth for just a second before moving down his jawline and onto his neck. Jace tilts his head back to give Simon more access, shuddering at the barely-there scrape of fangs against his throat as Simon speaks in between each kiss. “And how beautiful you are when you open up for me like this,” Simon says, peppering kisses in between. Jace barely manages to hold back a moan as Simon sucks a mark onto the skin just above his collarbone.

Simon sits back again, resting on Jace’s thighs while his hands trail down Jace’s arms.

“I’d tell you how I can’t see your arms without remembering every time you used them to pin me against a wall or lift me up onto a table with such irresistible strength,” Simon continues, his hands moving from Jace’s arms to grab the bottom of Jace’s t-shirt and pull it off over his head, giving him access to Jace’s chest. Simon rocks his hips ever so slightly with the action and Jace’s breath catches, instinctively arching his body up off the bed to chase the brief friction.

“I’d tell you that ever since you started putting on weight-” Simon’s words slow deliberately, his eyes full of lust and wanting as they trail down Jace’s body, followed by that gentle caress of his fingertips again. “-I’ve dreamt about the way it’d feel when I held on to it while I fucked you, imagined the beautiful marks I’d leave there, the soft skin bruised over and scratched-”

“Fuck, Si,” Jace barely manages to breathe out, eyes closed as he pictures it and… yeah, okay, maybe he can see what Simon sees. Simon’s words make him want it too, his thoughts lost in the knowledge that it’ll be so much better than he can even imagine, if only because it’s them, and suddenly Jace is entirely incapable of finding anything unappealing in the idea of giving himself over entirely to Simon. Everything he built up in his head, all the reservations and self-consciousness, fade to nothing but distant background noise while he’s here in Simon’s arms.

Simon, goddamn him, hovers over him, smirking.

For the first time in weeks Jace feels desire without reservation wash over him, but it isn’t desire in spite of the idea of Simon touching him - it’s because of the idea of Simon’s hands on him, revering his body just as it is now, that has every nerve in his body tingling in anticipation. Jace had been so trapped in his own head and his inability to feel nothing but disgust over the changes in his body that he didn’t even consider the possibility that Simon might actually like them, or at least not hate them the way Jace did.

“Show me,” Jace says suddenly, and Simon wastes no time bringing his hands from Jace’s shoulders down his chest, teasing gentle touches along his sides.

“So beautiful,” Simon repeats, peppering kisses down his stomach, his hip bones, stopping right at the line of Jace’s boxers to look back up at him in question one last time. Jace nods, not trusting his words just then, and a minute later both his and Simon’s underwear are discarded on the floor next to the bed.

“You’re perfect, Jace,” Simon tells him, and Jace can feel the heat rise not just in his cheeks but everywhere, his entire body alight with the effect Simon’s words have on him. “And all mine. I’m so lucky to have you like this all. to. my. self.” Simon emphasizes each word with a small bite, two on the inside of each thigh.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Jace says, letting out a small gasp as Simon begins to stretch him. All thoughts, positive or negative, leave him entirely as Jace loses himself to the passion of the moment, to the feeling of being wanted, of being longed for.

True to his word, Simon never lets Jace forget exactly why he’s here and why they’re doing this. Jace is surprised when, after all their time apart recently and all the buildup, Simon takes things slowly. He never stops telling Jace how beautiful he is as he’s keeping his promise of marking every inch of skin he can, always returning to slide his hands over Jace’s stomach and sides and thighs, gripping them tight, giving them the most attention.

Jace embraces every new sensation - the way it feels to have Simon’s fingers press into areas of him that were nothing but unforgiving bone and muscle before, appreciating the way their bodies seem to blend and connect in ways they didn’t before.

Jace is aware of every time Simon glances up at his face just to double-check he’s still alright, still with him. Jace is aware that every touch, even the rough ones, are a reassurance and a comfort.

Jace is aware that this is Simon taking care of him, mind, body, and soul, from start to finish. And he knows that care doesn’t end now that they’re lying next to each other again to catch their breaths.

“That… was…” Simon starts, but Jace cuts him off.

“Beautiful?” Jace suggests, with the slightest teasing tone to his words. “I know.”

“Do you?” Simon asks, not teasing at all, and Jace’s taunting smirk fades to something softer.

Jace spent his entire life being who he thought others expected him to be, living up to the expectations set by those around him. There was always a push to do better, to be better, that he’s never felt satisfied with where he is at any given time. There’s always something to change, something to improve. But here, now, with Simon, he feels like for the first time he’s able to be okay with who he is and the way things are right now. That he’s fine, just like this.

“Yeah,” he says, probably about as surprised as Simon to find that he isn’t just saying it to deflect now - he actually means it this time. “Yeah, I do.”

[belphegor1982]

Twelve years. Twelve years between chapters. But we got there. I can hardly believe it. Anyway, here’s the elusive chapter 17. Hope you enjoy!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested… (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16)

Chapter 17: Fight or Flight (on AO3 here; on FFnet here)

Evelyn had rarely been so angry at her son. Alex did have a mischievous streak – often encouraged, to his mother’s dismay, by a father who tended to turn a blind eye to what he judged to be mild shenanigans and an uncle who sometimes still seemed half a child himself – but he hardly ever did anything that warranted more than a stern talking-to.

This time, Evelyn’s anger was proportional to her sudden fear for her child, which took priority over everything else. Alex visibly struggled to explain his actions, in vain.

“But Mum, I’ve been in the pyramid too! I know which way to go, I can help Dad and Uncle Jon while you find the bad guy and stop him!”

“You will do no such thing! This isn’t one of your adventure books, Alex – we know next to nothing about the men inside the pyramid, however I don’t think they’re going to draw the line at harming you. Not to mention the Army of Anubis. They’re set to destroy everyone and everything in their path, including children.”

Evelyn didn’t shout. She was too furious for that. Besides, she usually didn’t need to, and considering the way Izzy was slinking away, looking supremely uncomfortable, this was one of those times.

Unfortunately, Alex had inherited both his parents’ brands of stubbornness, and knew how to dig in his heels when he felt it necessary.

“I know that, Mum. But Lock-Nah and the others didn’t really cut me any slack for being a kid. If it hadn’t been for Dad, he would have killed me in that jungle, and I think he would have really liked it.”

Through her anger, Evelyn felt a stab of retroactive terror and fury at the men who had come so close to depriving her of her only child. Then she forced her mind back to the present and grabbed Alex by the shoulders, resisting the urge to hold him as tightly as she could.

“That’s just it, Alex. You don’t have to place yourself in danger now. You can stay at the camp, with the other children, and,” she added pointedly as Alex opened his mouth to protest, “I can go into that pyramid knowing that you’re safer than if you’d come with me. Have you any idea how worried I’d be for you if you went with me? Or what your father would say if something happened to you while you were down there?”

The argument was a bit of a low blow, but Evelyn was past pulling any punches, as Rick said. Of course Alex could be mature beyond his years. Of course he had endured things no ten-year-old should with remarkable fortitude. Of course – and this broke her heart – he was not unfamiliar with the worst human beings could inflict on fellow men, and even children. But this time he could stay behind, and, if she had anything to say about it, would stay behind.

Izzy’s hesitant voice was loud in the sudden silence.

“Actually. Um. I don’t think we can. Go back to camp, I mean.”

Evelyn’s eyes swivelled from Alex to him, and he pointed at something in the distance.

“Well, we could, but if that means what I think it means, we need to land and get into that pyramid right now.”

Mother and son ran to bend over the rail, disagreement temporarily forgotten.

From ground level came a dot of light that made Evelyn’s eyes water when they met it. After squinting a little in the near darkness, she saw tents lit up by campfires. In the middle, a figure knelt on the ground next to a fire, holding a mirror towards the dirigible.

The signal. Maher and his men had overpowered Hamilton’s men, commando-style, and were telling her it was time to land.

Evelyn closed her eyes and took a shaking breath. They really didn’t have time to go back.

“Alex,” she said, her voice very, very low, “when we get home, you and I are going to have Words.”

Alex swallowed and wisely kept his mouth shut. Visibly his mother’s tone had successfully impressed upon him just How Serious the situation was. Good.

Hamilton’s camp should probably have been bustling, but it was eerily still and silent when Izzy landed Dee next to the dug up top of the Pyramid of Ahm Shere. The men, she found, were huddling together, sitting down in the sand, throwing nervous glances at their captors. Maher’s team was small, but effective.

While Izzy dragged the ramp out of the bowels of the dirigible, Evelyn turned to Alex and knelt down to his eyeline.

“Alex, please promise me you’ll stay here. Please, swear on my life, on your father’s, that you’re going to stay on the dirigible and not wander off.”

Alex still looked conflicted, but eventually nodded solemnly.

“I swear, Mum. I won’t set a foot outside of Dee until you’ve brought back Dad and Uncle Jon.”

His voice rang with absolute certainty, as though Rick and Jonathan were merely busy elsewhere, to be called back to the house for dinner. Not for the first time, her son’s unshakeable faith in her was humbling, and not a little daunting considering what lay ahead. Evelyn wrapped him in her arms and held him close, laying her head against his, her nose in his fine hair. She was almost surprised when Alex hugged her back fiercely, silently, his small hands gripping the back of her blouse so tightly the fabric strained.

She was not surprised, however, when she heard a snuffle and a muffled, “Promise me you won’t die again, Mum.”

Evelyn ran a hand through Alex’s hair; she pulled away to lay a kiss on his crown and rested her forehead against his for a few seconds, until he could give a wobbly smile and pretend he hadn’t noticed she hadn’t promised anything.

As she followed Izzy down the ramp, she looked back only once. Her little boy stood at the rail, firelight behind him, his eyes very bright.

Maher, a tall, willowy man who rarely talked, gave her a gentle smile when he saw her before he went back to watching the prisoners. His lieutenant, Atifa, met her in the centre of the camp, at the foot of the pyramid – or rather, the dozen feet that had been unearthed. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, a little older than Evelyn who had met her a few years ago on one of her visits to Ardeth and his family.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone else coming with you?” she asked Evelyn in a low voice.

Evelyn shook her head. “Thank you, but no. You’re needed here; I’m needed down there.” She pursed her lips and breathed deeply through her nose. Her mission – taking down Hamilton by any means necessary – was clear, and she intended to see it through, but she couldn’t help but shudder, like she’d shuddered two years ago, standing nearly in the same spot. She had lost count of the men she’d had to kill in that jungle to protect her son, her husband, and her friend. This, almost more than the memory of the smell of gunpowder and almost throwing up once she’d lowered her rifle, kept her awake at night. And she let it. Killing people should never be easy, she reasoned. The dead, even nameless, had their way of weighing on the souls of the living, their murderers’ in particular.

Come to think of it, stripping Imhotep of his name in the hope of his never reaching the afterlife had been an exercise in futility. Engraving ‘He Who Shall Not Be Named’ on his sarcophagus hadn’t taken away his sense of self any more than it had stopped her from bringing him back to life.

Atifa didn’t argue the point. She held out her hand, and instead of clasping Evelyn’s, laid it on her arm, just below the shoulder.

The warmth of this simple contact nearly undid her resolve before it strengthened it. Apart from Alex, Evelyn realised, she hadn’t felt the touch of another human being in five days. She allowed herself one second of fierce longing for Rick’s arms around her, or Jonathan’s hand in the crook of her elbow, before smiling at Atifa and returning the gesture.

“Be careful,” said Atifa in a low voice.

“You too,” said Evelyn firmly.

And she entered the pyramid, feeling rather than hearing Izzy’s presence at her back. Even the weapons he had brought didn’t make any sound as he walked.

Evelyn herself held a pistol in her right hand and a sword in her left. The part of her that was Nefertiri scoffed at the imbalance and pointed out that a khopesh in each hand would have been better.

If someone asked her one day how one went about being a reincarnated princess from Ancient Egypt and handling both sets of memories and reflexes, Evelyn would be hard pressed to answer. There were facts she knew that she never learned, movements that came to her instinctively in spite of herself… Nefertiri had died a young woman, but Evelyn had a decade on her, plus a child. It had taken her hours and hours of fighting practice before she could truly find a balance between the warrior and the archaeologist.

Right now, for instance, Nefertiri focused on being as stealthy and silent as possible, while Evelyn’s experience in entering tombs kept her eyes and ears open for anything unusual. Which, admittedly, amounted to everything in a pyramid that appeared to hold a veritable jungle in its entrails.

“Did you know about this?” muttered Izzy, startling her. “Was the place already like that when I picked you up last time?”

“No,” she whispered. “Absolutely not. The oasis must have got sucked into the pyramid when the Scorpion King died.”

A shudder ran through her body. If the Oasis of Ahm Shere was now inside the pyramid… did that mean everything else was, as well?

The jungle around her was hardly silent. Some wildlife must have made it home again, from what she could hear, and somewhere a small stream was babbling merrily and dripping over a wall. Against all odds, there was even a slight breeze on her face. So far, there was no sign of the unearthly silence that had preceded the arrival of the pygmy mummies.

“Right, right. The Scorpion King. Was that the one your boy’s gold bracelet led to, the one who was supposed to rise from the dead and destroy the world?”

Evelyn turned sharply towards Izzy.

“It was, actually, outlandish as it may sound. That bracelet almost killed my son, and the Scorpion King almost killed my husband.”

And a three thousand years old resurrected concubine killed me.

Izzy held out one hand.

“Look, couple of years ago I would’ve said this was nuts, but then a wall of water with a face on it tried to drown us and then the desert bloody ate an oasis and an entire pyramid. I’m willing to go on faith. Just… Lemme adjust a little bit.”

“I know the feeling. But you’re going to have to adjust quickly. We—”

The floor shook, the walls trembled. She and Izzy reached for each other at the same time for balance, and she felt his hand grip her wrist and send a shudder through her arm.

“Wha—”

The world went black, and for a second Evelyn felt a wild, irrational fear that she’d just been killed again. The sensation was nothing like she’d ever felt before. The shadow drove itself into the heart of her, like cold fire or burning ice, leaving her with a gaping void. Suddenly she was grateful to feel the grip of Izzy’s hand. It was the only sensation that registered at all.

The shadow left as quickly as it had come. In its wake was a faint, greenish light, as though the braziers and torches she remembered were there had been lit again, somewhere beyond the foliage.

“What was that!?” gasped Izzy, letting go of her wrist.

Evelyn peered into the half-lit passageway to the trail they were following, then back to the way they had come from, her heart pounding in her chest fit to burst.

“I think… I think that was the Army of Anubis.”

Her next words turned to ash in her mouth.

“We’re too late.”

.⅋.

Tomorrow often was a good day to die, Ardeth reflected. Today never was.

Tomorrow was convenient. It allowed room for steely composure and swagger, admiring stares on the part of the less lucky ones who would not be riding out to war, and maybe just a few seconds of feeling sorry for oneself.

Not so with “today”. Today was the moment death stared you in the face and you hoped, wished and prayed that it would look away, just for you, just for one minute. It was the moment when you tried so very hard, as your enemy stormed upon you, to maintain a little bit of dignity and not let your body betray you with violently shaking legs or a loosening bladder.

A good warrior looked on combat as being ‘today’, because he knew that the true face of war was the face of your comrade in arms and best friend staring at you from the ground with dead eyes, sand mixing with blood in your own wounds and staring at whatever was pouring out of your gut in nauseating terror.

For all his years as a chieftain and a commander of the Medjai, and his experience in battle, Ardeth knew he would never be quite used to war.

He fervently hoped so, anyway.

Spurring his horse to reach the front of the first line, he caught a grim glance from Aziz, chieftain of the Fifth Tribe – a tall, thin man, whose deep-set eyes looked more dour than ever.

His expression did not surprise Ardeth. Aziz was a strategist first, and a warrior second. Although nobody – not even him – had been able to come up with a completely satisfying solution, he had been one of the strongest voices against facing the Army of Anubis a second time with nothing more than a wild hope that things would somehow turn out all right in the pyramid.

But try as he might, he couldn’t think of a better strategy. Having known the Chieftain of the Fifth Tribe for years, Ardeth had a very clear idea of just how much this angered him. In all likelihood, Aziz was now close to seething, and the only thing that stopped him from speaking his mind to his Commander was the men and women standing around them, and, possibly, his own lack of a better plan of action.

But he waited, same as the others, careful not to let his mask of cool self-control slip. Ardeth knew that he felt just the same fraction of mind-boggling terror – voiced by the same instinct of self-preservation that whispered that right here and now was the last place to be.

Once more, though, he silenced it as he surveyed his people.

Most of them had already been there two years ago. He could see the weariness and horror in their eyes that came from knowing exactly what they would face. Some of the younger warriors, those who had never seen a Jackal of Anubis, were throwing worried glances here and there, breathing shallow and fast, but it did not come close to the terror of facing your nightmares for the second time in two years.

The wind changed. Ardeth’s breath caught in his throat.

The stars above were still visible, but their light was cold, as though dimmed. The air suddenly cooled.

In front of them, between them and the pyramid in the distance, dark sand began to move.

Ardeth’s hands tightened around the hilt of his scimitar.

They were coming.

.⅋.

“Kill them.”

“Wait – stop! What!?”

Damn, the guy was fast. In the half-second it had taken Rick to instinctively reach for the gun he knew wasn’t at his side, Ferguson had leaped in front of him and Jonathan, facing his colleagues with a wild-eyed fear in his eyes and his hands held placatingly in front of him.

To their credit, a few agents lowered their guns immediately.

“Robertson, Wyndham, Norton, come on – what does Baine think you are, cold-blooded murderers?” Ferguson’s voice was a little higher than usual, and the sudden edge in it seemed to shake several agents into taking their fingers off the triggers of their guns. “Our job is to protect important and ancient artefacts, not bloody kill people!”

“Thank you for that eloquent address, Ferguson,” said Baine coldly, as though this was just a hitch in the plan, “but I think we’ll do without interruptions now. Gentlemen, proceed.”

From the corner of his eye, Rick glanced at Jonathan, who seemed to be surreptitiously looking for a quick way out. Good. Here’s hoping he’s spotted the little passageway between the two trees and the statue.

Apparently Ferguson hadn’t played his last card.

“Stop – think! Why?”

A burly giant of an agent lowered his gun entirely and asked, frowning, “What d’you mean, ‘why’? It’s a direct order, innit?”

“A direct – oh, for God’s sake –” Ferguson threw up his hands. “What if he ordered you to shoot yourself in the head, you monumental idiot, would you do it?”

“Here, he’s got a point,” a younger agent piped up. “Do we really have to kill them? I mean, this isn’t what I signed up for in the first place.”

“Shut up and do the job at hand, McLean,” came the low, scratchy voice of a much older agent, whose gun was still trained steadily at Rick and Jonathan. “It’s not your place to ask.”

Rick took a minuscule step back. If he could just bump into one of them and help himself to a gun in the process, they might have a chance to get out of this mess alive. What they would do outside against the Army of Anubis was another matter entirely, but right now, the priority was getting the hell away from Baine.

Rick O’Connell always prided himself on his sense of priorities.

The man himself stood silent in the background as voices rose in argument, slowly but definitely reaching inside his jacket for his own gun. Rick took a short moment to appraise the look in Baine’s eyes. The guy was deadly serious.

Meanwhile, even as they clutched their guns, some of the other agents still exchanged uncertain glances at the idea of shooting two fellow human beings in cold blood. Maybe there was something to work with here.

In the blink of an eye, Rick grabbed Ferguson from behind, wrenched his revolver from his holster and shoved the muzzle between his shoulder blades.

The guy stiffened and let out a strangled sound. Rick tried not to wince and whispered, “Sorry, buddy. Just look scared.”

“Not bloody hard, is it!” Ferguson hissed through clenched teeth, as Jonathan inched closer, his face even whiter than it had been five minutes ago.

“Rick, what the hell are you doing?” he whispered angrily. Rick gave an imperceptible shrug.

“Making a gambit. You play poker, you oughta know that.” Then he stared at Baine, hard, trying to make him understand just how deadly serious he was, too.

“You make a move, I kill the guy,” he said as levelly as he could, his heart hammering in his chest. He had played poker before, occasionally with a bad hand, but this was easily the worst hand he’d ever had. “Your call.”

Okay, that got ‘em thinking. They would surely think twice about murdering a fellow agent, someone they’d known for some time, maybe some years. Talk as little as possible, keep your eyes on theirs, make a slow retreat…

“Is it, really, Mister O’Connell?” Baine actually grinned, clearly enjoying the situation. “What makes you think I won’t just shoot him as well? Do you really believe, in that thick American head of yours, that I would let the life of one agent compromise the mission?”

Shit.

Baine raised his gun.

Rick fell back on pure survival instinct and decades-old training. The second before Baine’s finger squeezed the trigger, he dropped to the ground, pulling Ferguson with him. The jungle became a dark green blur as he leaped to his feet and bolted to the door, only risking the shortest glance behind him to check that Jonathan did the same, still keeping a tight hold on Ferguson’s collar with his left hand and on his gun in his right. Leaves, branches, and the occasional chip of stone exploded around them as agent after agent decided to follow the leader after all and shoot.

All things considered, it was a sheer miracle that the three of them were still intact when they finally stopped after what felt like hours of running straight in front of them. Rick made sure of that once he had recovered enough to review his troops.

Jonathan was leaning against the wall for support, ashen-faced and gasping – from retroactive fright, Rick guessed, as well as the actual run – but Ferguson looked worse. His face was an even more alarming shade than his old friend’s, his breaths coming in gasps, gulping and uneven.

The only sound that didn’t come in muffled by the layers of green around them was the same faint gurgle that they’d noticed as they entered the pyramid.

With a bit of luck, they could find the source and follow it upstream back to the entrance at the top.

“All – all right, there, Tom?” Rick heard Jonathan ask uncertainly. When he looked back, Ferguson’s glare was very bright in the half-gloom of the low, small corridor.

“Do I bloody look all right, Jon?” he panted, a bit of colour creeping back into his cheeks. “Those – what a bunch of stupid, mindless – I don’t even – God, I can’t believe that son of a bitch!” he finally exploded with on his face an expression even Rick couldn’t deny was a little bit scary. “When I get me ‘ands on him he’ll be bleedin’ sorry he was born!”

Nobody asked him who ‘he’ was – there was no need.

Thankfully, possibly because of the unsettling hush around them or the stifling damp heat, Ferguson’s fury boiled down to a steady simmer quickly enough, although his dark glower spoke volumes about the fate he reserved for Baine if he was still alive when they got out of there. Rick caught himself thinking it might be kinder for the guy to never see the light of day again.

As for the other agents…

“Orders, they said,” Ferguson muttered as they tiptoed their way up, watching every shadow like hawks. It was almost impossible to see the floor under all the greenery, so they tread very carefully. “Orders. Cretins. That lot wouldn’t recognise common sense if it danced naked in front of them and hit them on the head with a big bloody sign…”

He hadn’t even asked for his gun back. Maybe it was just as well, considering he was still shaking with anger. Rick kept it tucked into his belt, wishing for a lot more than one Browning Hi-Power with 15 rounds for the three of them. A machete would have come in handy, too; they kept getting scuffed and scratched by the ferns and leaves around them. Still, at least they did have a gun, and he could hardly look a gift horse in the mouth.

Too bad they didn’t have a convenient magical spear this time around…

After being surrounded by guards non-stop for days, the total absence of other humans and the relative silence made it tempting to relax a little bit. Rick knew better. He had more than enough experience with people and places trying to kill him to trust this traitorous boxed-in jungle.

Besides, concentrating on his surroundings was a lot more preferable to the alternative, namely what was undoubtedly happening outside the pyramid.

The Army of Anubis, unleashed a second time.

Rick caught himself wondering whether the Warriors actually remembered rising two years ago, fighting the Medjai, then disappearing back into the sands. The Medjai certainly remembered. Ardeth and his people must have followed the trail – which surely meant that they were outside right now, fighting their second worst nightmare again, dying, too, to defend humanity…

At least Ardeth was still alive. Of this he was sure. How, he had no idea, but the gut feeling was there. Funny, really; he had always felt a mixture of wariness and respect for the man, which had turned into a sense of kinship well before the Medjai had pointed out and explained the half-forgotten tattoo on his arm.

Whether Rick O’Connell really had been a Medjai in a former life or not was a moot point. They ‘got’ each other at a slightly different level than anyone else in their extended family. The first few years, Rick had chalked it up to their both being fighters, used to making the hard choices, with an ingrained sense of duty that had nothing to do with traditional military structures. Ardeth had his tribe and the task of guarding the deadly secrets of Egypt; Rick had his family, small as it was, and the deep-seated urge to shield it from harm.

When he had mentioned it to Evy, she hadn’t taken it lightly or laughed, as he might have feared; she had suggested pensively that perhaps the two men had known each other in a previous life.

Rick had smiled at the theory then. But since their adventure at Ahm Shere two years ago he wasn’t so sure.

Now was not the time for philosophical musings, though. Not with a supernatural army probably already decimating the Medjai and a madman down below channelling an Ancient Egyptian god…

“Wait,” Rick said in a low voice. The other two stopped and looked at him curiously. “We can’t just go. Hamilton’s down there commanding the Army of Anubis. We gotta take him down, now.”

Look who’s getting ‘involved’ now. He could almost hear Evy’s sharp voice in his head, telling him ‘I read the book, I woke him up, and I intend to stop him’ all those years ago. If it had been up to him, he would have grabbed her and hightailed it to another continent. Imhotep could be someone else’s problem. But Evelyn Carnahan was principled, opinionated, and in possession of an unerring sense of responsibility; because of that, a stubborn librarian, a reluctant adventurer, a foppish dilettante, and a determined guardian had saved the world.

Oh God, he thought, Evy. Please let Evy and Alex be okay and very, very far from here.

Aw, who was he kidding. If he knew his wife at all, she was at the heart of things right now, doing whatever she could to make things right. Rick amended his half-prayer. Please, honey, take care of yourself. I don’t think I could bear to lose you a second time.

“I’m all for that,” said Jonathan darkly, yanking Rick back to the present, “but how? He practically has his own bloody army.”

“He’s not in command.”

Rick and Jonathan both turned to Ferguson, who was frowning, lost in thought.

“What d’you mean?”

“Remember when I said I went to see the High Priest of Osiris before we left? He said no mortal can claim Anubis’ army.”

“We got that part,” said Rick as patiently as he could, which was not saying much.

“Hang – hang on. He also said that Hamilton’s… that his body and mind would just be a vessel. Without either, the connection would be broken.”

Kill the bad guy, save the world. Sometimes it really was just as simple as it was complicated. At least that tune was familiar.

“Right.” Rick checked the gun again, made sure the clip was full and that sand had not jammed the mechanism. “Let��s go break a connection, then.”

Retracing their steps proved easier than going forward, as they only had to follow the broken fronds and the crushed ferns. The jungle weaved an entire tapestry of sharp smells and small sounds around them: chittering, scurrying, chattering sounds that made all three men jumpy.

Rick walked in front, followed by Ferguson, Jonathan bringing up the rear. Ferguson looked like any city dweller who’d just been dropped into a completely new and hostile environment, while Rick’s apprehension came from experience. Jonathan, he noticed, was especially jittery, the fingers of his left hand twitching every now and then.

“I can’t believe we’re going back down there to a bunch of trigger-happy idiots and one tosspot with delusions of grandeur,” Rick heard him mutter. “I suppose we’ll just go ‘Oh, don’t mind us, just popping round to kill your boss, we won’t be a bother’, and they’ll say ‘By all means, old thing, shoot the daft bastard, we’ll just put the kettle on and pass the biscuits around, don’t mind the flesh-eating scarabs and the angry pygmy mummies’…”

The steady stream of nervous chatter should have driven Rick out of his mind. In other circumstances he would have told Jonathan to can it before he really got the ball rolling. But it was familiar, and thankfully not in the way the jungle rustled all around them, boxed in every direction by walls, ceilings, and a floor you couldn’t see. Besides, for all his bellyaching, Jonathan kept walking on.

The last mumbled sentences made Ferguson’s ears prick up.

“Flesh-eating scarabs? I thought those were only at Hamunaptra!”

“Figure of speech. Wouldn’t put it past the place, though.” Jonathan gave a full-body shudder. “Just what we’d need, more creepy little buggers trying to eat us alive…”

“O-kay,” said Rick, who didn’t like where the conversation was going, “let’s not get sidetracked here. Ahm Shere – pygmy mummies and jackal-headed soldiers from hell. Hamunaptra – flesh-eating scarabs and the Ten Plagues of Egypt. We got enough on our plate without mixing the two, dontcha think?”

Jonathan gave him a somewhat sheepish look that instantly reminded Rick of Alex when he could be bothered to actually act contrite, and Ferguson looked uncertain.

“Did you really get all ten plagues? I mean, that sounds awfully… Biblical.”

“You’d better believe it got Biblical,” Rick muttered. “Locusts, boils, blood everywhere, night at two in the afternoon… Our mummy buddy spared no expense.”

“Lucky we stopped him before the tenth, though.” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. “‘About midnight I will go throughout Egypt. Every firstborn son in Egypt will die…’ I wasn’t especially keen on seeing whether that pertained to me or not.”

Ferguson’s eyes went round. “That’s right, your mum was Egyptian…” Then he shook his head. “Look at us. Trying to stop a madman from unleashing an army of jackal creatures, talkin’ about mummies and plagues…” He sighed. “I liked it better when me job was pushing paper and trackin’ ancient artefacts.”

Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to our world,” he said in the tone he used to make himself look more impressive. Rick suppressed a snicker.

“Twice in ten years, Jonathan. Just twice. It’s a lot, but I don’t think we—”

He felt it the second before he had finished putting his foot down. The roots and shrubs parted and the floor vanished – he was only able to press the left side of his right foot on a hard surface before slipping. His leg followed his foot, his entire right side followed his leg, and before he knew it, he was hurtling down a steep slope, his body rolling and tumbling against the stone. Fronds and enormous leaf blades slapped and scraped at him along the way; he only managed to slow down when he caught hold of some kind of root as thick as his wrist. In the sudden lull he heard Jonathan shout his name before the root gave out and he was falling again.

Rick only had time to curl into the tightest ball he could before his body hit the ground and shut down.

.⅋.

A battle won without bloodshed was an even sweeter victory, Atifa reflected, gazing at the Westerners sitting in a huddle in the middle of camp. A few of them had tried to resist, fight back, but they had been quickly overwhelmed by either force or the sight of their already captive comrades. In the end, they had lined up to drop their weapons into a pile and resigned themselves to being prisoners.

All the Medjai had to do now was wait, and pray.

Maher was staring at the top of the Pyramid of Ahm Shere when she walked up to him. As usual, he didn’t need to talk to voice his thoughts. The gaze he turned to her was very eloquent.

“I know,” said Atifa in a low voice. “Everybody felt it.”

Relief flashed in her chieftain’s eyes, quickly replaced by a grimly inquisitive expression.

“Yes, I remember.” How could she forget? They had both battled the Army of Anubis before. They had both faced its herald, the darkness that washed over hearts before being deposited on the sand and turning into a many jackal-headed nightmare. Knowing what followed made it even worse than the first time. Knowing their people and their commander would be fighting it again, and being unable to fight side by side… That was torture.

Atifa’s head turned to the desert as though of its own accord. Maher followed her gaze, then lightly touched her shoulder and shook his head.

Maher hardly, if ever, talked. He devised tactics, gave orders, shared the good times and the bad, almost always silently. This was unusual, and a few people sneered at the idea of serving under a man who was, barring a few exceptions, a mute, but he was the best chieftain Atifa could think of serving. What he lacked in words he made up for in observation skills. He was a fount of knowledge about subjects like tracking, covert operations, and, oddly enough, constellations.

And he demonstrated every day that a man could have a kind, unguarded heart and still be a fearsome warrior in his own right. People had tried to test his role as chieftain. People had failed.

Sometimes he read other people’s faces wrong; right now, though, Atifa only needed to look at him to know he had interpreted her reaction correctly.

“I know we can’t help them,” she sighed. “And I know our place is here, guarding the Pyramid and the prisoners. But –”

She was interrupted by a loud voice and turned to see Djedi, one of her men, running up to her.

“—Coming! They’re coming!”

Maher raised his hands. One he used to get the panicked young man to stop and breathe, the other to encourage him to explain.

“The Warriors of Anubis! Wazad saw a detachment breaking from the main army. They’re coming here!”

Absolute fear washed over Atifa. “How many?” she asked, doing her utmost to keep her voice steady.

“Wazad didn’t say!”

Maher’s hand came to rest on Djedi’s shoulder. With his left, he indicated his eyes, and pointed to the direction Djedi had run from.

“Go,” he said, his voice low. “Count. Come back.”

Djedi swallowed hard, nodded, and ran off.

Maher’s face was stone. He strode to the nearest campfire and picked up a flaming stick, then drew a small circle with it. The aftereffects lingered for a second, giving Atifa the impression of a circle of light around the fire.

“We can’t run, can we.”

Maher shook his head.

“Then we make our stand here.”

A grim nod from her chieftain. The panic abated slightly, enough for sombre resolution to settle. Atifa took a long, deep breath, trying not to think that this might be one of her last, and turned to the men and women guarding the Westerners.

“Farid, Intef, Janan! Leave the prisoners. The Warriors are coming. Take two men each and build a barrier of fire around the camp. We’ll end up fighting inside it and probably outside, so make it big enough. Dismantle the tents if you have to, use everything that burns. Quickly, we don’t have much time.”

The camp came alive with focused despair as men and women left their posts to grab torches and fuel for the flaming barricade. From the corner of her eye, Atifa saw the Westerners mutter between each other with mounting animation.

As she struck down a nearby tent, relieved to see that the structure was made out of wood, she heard a voice call in atrocious Arabic, “Excuse me?”

She turned to the group. A dark-haired man was on his feet, his face pale in the firelight.

“Yes?” she said in English. The man appeared relieved, and continued in his own tongue.

“I thought I heard the word ‘warriors’. That didn’t mean the other, er… your compatriots, did it?”

The last word was unfamiliar, but the question was obvious.

“Your leader released the Army of Anubis. Last time it only spread out from the Oasis of Ahm Shere, but now the jackal warriors are coming here to kill us all.”

The Westerner paled even further. “We, er… How can we help?”

Atifa pinned him with her most withering stare.

“‘Help’?”

“Well, we all agreed that Hamilton’s a madman and that he did something really, monumentally stupid.” A couple of angry mutters rose from the back of the group. The man glared in their general direction, then turned back to her. “Most of us agreed, anyway. If we’re going to die, might as well die standing.”

Atifa took two seconds to think. Then she went to Maher and explained the situation in a few short words. Maher nodded curtly, and went back to the barricade to help and wait for Djedi’s news.

The Westerners’ firearms would be useless. They would only barely have enough blades for everyone. Some would probably find themselves armed with only torches.

This was madness. But they needed the numbers.

Atifa went back to the group to find all of them on their feet, some shivering, some resolute, the rest a mix of the two.

“What’s your name?” she asked the self-appointed spokesman.

“O—Owens. Mark Owens.”

“Mark Owens, my name is Atifa, daughter of Amenia, and I will allow you and your men to fight by our side. If anyone tries to betray us, he will be dead before his hand falls.”

Owens gulped, but stood a little taller. “You’re not the enemy. They are.”

“As long as it is clear to everyone. And remember – when this is over, you are still our prisoners.”

“Better a prisoner than a bloody corpse,” said another man behind Owens. Everybody nodded in agreement.

When Djedi and Wazad came running back from their look-out post with the certitude that they were about to be set upon by about two hundred jackal-headed abominations, the combined forces of the Medjai and Hamilton’s men amounted to eighty people. Eighty human beings huddled behind a bulwark of fire, too low, too flimsy to really protect them. Eighty humans who had been fighting each other just hours ago, and stood now shoulder to shoulder, not ready to face the horrors in the dark but standing anyway.

They could hear roaring now. Atifa’s palms were sweaty around the grip of her sword.

In front of them, under the starlight, darkness advanced relentlessly.

.⅋.

“RICK! You’d better not be dead, so help me God I’ll – Rick! For God’s sake, can you hear me?”

Jonathan knew he was yelling, knew he should not be yelling, and was well past caring. Miles and miles, in fact. Rick had disappeared down some kind of incline so steep it was almost a well, and he had no idea how deep the drop was or how hard the landing had been. This, to him, more than justified screaming his throat raw, prudence be damned.

That bloody pyramid had already been the death of his sister; they had only got her back on a fluke. There was, simply put, no way in hell it would claim his brother-in-law.

Tom dropped to a crouch beside him, his face pale, and laid a hand on his shoulder that Jonathan barely felt.

“Jon – Jon, please, be quiet, mate – Baine and his guys must be lookin’ for us, you’re gonna draw them ‘ere –”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” said Jonathan, still bent over the drop trying to catch sight of how far it went and where the bottom was. “They might have rope with them. Do you have rope? Here, let me see your bag.”

He was aware that he was babbling, that his hands were shaking as he ripped Tom’s rucksack from his shoulders to rummage through its contents, and that he couldn’t seem to get his voice down to a normal pitch. It just didn’t seem very important right now.

Rick couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t be. He needed to save the world, he needed to go back to Evy and Alex once the dust settled, to butt heads with his irresponsible reprobate of a brother-in-law, to be tired and battered and still make low-key jokes about mummies and big bugs and the end of the world…

Tom grabbed Jonathan’s arm and snapped “Jon, shut up and listen”, making Jonathan realise two things at the same time. One, he’d actually been muttering his train of thought under his breath instead of keeping it safely in his head. And two, in the sudden silence and stillness a small sound rose from the bottom of the precipice.

“Ow.”

The panic rushed out of Jonathan in a flash, leaving him light-headed and shivering. He fell back on his arse in a graceless heap of limbs, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Rick?”

“…Yeah?”

“Are you all right?”

“Kinda.”

“Please elaborate?”

There was a silence, then a distant rustle.

“Feels like I got dragged behind a car for a mile or two. I’m okay, though, considering. No broken bones or anything.”

“Can you stand?”

“Hell, I can even walk. Ow.”

Rick’s voice seemed to come from far away, but it sounded fairly strong and no less articulated than usual. When Jonathan opened his eyes again and crept towards the drop, he could make out a light-coloured blur between the criss-crossing vines and lianas. The wall Rick had fallen along to wasn’t quite vertical, but it was sheer enough to make climbing back up next to impossible, especially without a rope.

“Think we could climb down?” asked Tom, sounding doubtful. Rick’s answer was sharp and immediate.

“Don’t even try. Those vines can’t hold worth a damn. You’d break your neck.”

“Well,” Jonathan pointed out in his most reasonable voice, which had nothing on Evy’s but still worked occasionally, “we’ll just have to find a way down, then, won’t we?”

“No you won’t. I’m coming up. I can see stairs over there.”

“I don’t, so I highly doubt yours lead up to here.”

“They gotta lead somewhere. This place looks kinda familiar, I think I know where to go.”

“Hopefully not into another death trap, old boy. Do you have any idea what Evy would say if I made it out of that bloody pyramid and you didn’t?”

“Jonathan. Just…” Silence. Jonathan wondered if Rick had noticed the way his voice had pitched up near the end of the sentence. With his luck, he probably had. Hence the tone – a mixture of ‘shut up’ and ‘calm down’. “You do remember I still have the gun, right?”

“…Yes?” Jonathan said uncertainly. “And?”

“So you two are gonna hunker down where it’s safe and not attract the attention of the other guys with guns till I can come up and even the odds a little.”

“That’s your plan, is it?”

“Yup.”

Jonathan was torn. On one hand, the idea of staying put in relative safety had a lot of appeal. On the other, it meant keeping the group separated, and he knew from experience that it could lead to all sorts of bad things.

“Your plan,” he declared, mostly for the sake of argument, “is terrible.”

“Maybe. But that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Well, nothing for it I suppose.

“Watch your footing while you’re down there?”

After eleven years, Jonathan didn’t even need to see Rick to know when he was being glared at.

“Just stay out of trouble,” Rick said, and then the light blur disappeared and silence descended once more.

After a while, he heard a shuffle behind him. Tom held his rucksack in one hand, picking up his things with the other.

“You made a right mess of my bag,” he said quietly, a small smile in his voice. Jonathan ran a hand over his face and shuffled closer, picking up a notebook.

“Yes, sorry about that. I – well. I was in a bit of a hurry.”

Tom shot him a wry look, but didn’t comment.

In his frantic search for rope, Jonathan hadn’t really looked at the contents of the bag properly. What he found lying around and handed back to Tom to put away ended up being a pencil bag, a toolkit, two clips of ammunition for the gun currently in Rick’s possession, a half-empty flask of water, a meagre first-aid kit, and two small notebooks.

“You know,” he said, “maybe it comes from having a brother-in-law who can’t travel anywhere without packing half an arsenal, but I think you’re falling a little short of the mark regarding weaponry.”

Tom made a face.

“I don’t know what you think me job is, Jon, but I’m not some kind of gunslinger. Don’t get me wrong, I can shoot, but that’s not what I signed up for.” He sighed. “Then again, what I signed up for wasn’t really what I signed up for, so…”

Jonathan paused, toolkit in hand.

“Well, what did you sign up for, then?”

“Protecting antiques,” Tom replied firmly. “Only, you know, not stealing them from museums. And pretending I’m an idiot as a cover.”

“Only pretending?”

“Oh, do shut up,” grumbled Tom as Jonathan grinned. “I fooled you, didn’t I?”

Jonathan felt his grin slip several notches. A lot had happened since that late afternoon in Giza when his friend had pointed a gun at him and stopped being ‘Tommy’. ‘Tommy’ was a warm memory of loud laughter, daring escapes, bright eyes over pints clinking in the comfortable darkness of a well-loved pub. Tom, on the other hand, was a fairly decent man chucked into a complex situation, who had a wife he loved dearly but lied to about his job, who had not wanted to bring harm to an old friend but had done so anyway.

Who had also put himself between Jonathan and a gun twice, and almost got killed for it.

A lot had happened, indeed, but the reminder was still anything but innocuous. It poked at certain areas that were still somewhat tender.

Tom’s look was apologetic this time.

“Bit too soon?”

“Bit too soon.” A thought occurred, and Jonathan allowed his smile to resurface, cheekily, if a little gingerly still. “You know you didn’t fool Evy for a second, though. She had the measure of you, right enough.”

“Smart woman.”

“You have no idea.”

Into the bag the toolkit went, and Tom picked up the rucksack. It still looked mostly empty despite everything that had gone into it.

The few steps between the edge of whatever it was Rick had fallen into and a safer spot near an archway were made in silence. Which was how they heard the footfall.

It wasn’t Rick. That much was obvious. Unless he had picked up an escort along the way.

Jonathan pushed Tom against a wall and flattened himself next to him. Maybe, if they didn’t breathe or think too loudly, the men walking along the wall wouldn’t cross the doorway. Maybe they wouldn’t see them. Maybe…

Jonathan and Tom looked at each other, drew their hands back in unison, and drove their fists into the first faces that came their way.

Two men fell to the floor, groaning, while a third sprang back, raising his hands frantically.

“Whoa, whoa, stop! We were looking for you!”

“Of course you were,” spat Tom, massaging his knuckles. Jonathan knew exactly how he felt. The shock of colliding with his opponent’s skull had made his entire forearm ring like a bell for half a minute. Surely boxing hadn’t hurt that much when he was a lad. “Baine’s orders were clear, weren’t they?”

“But we’re not acting on Baine’s orders,” muttered one of the men on the ground, rubbing his jaw. “He’s a thug. And Hamilton’s off his bloody nut.”

“Come to your senses, have you?” Jonathan quipped. “That couldn’t have happened earlier, before Hamilton’s little light show and especially before you tried to murder us and my brother-in-law?”

The man who was still standing mumbled something Jonathan didn’t catch, then asked, “Where is the American anyway?”

“He’ll be joining us shortly. What are you doing here, if you changed your minds about killing us?”

The tall, broad-shouldered man Tom had punched was the last to pick himself up from the floor. “Like Vaughn said, we were looking for you.”

“We, er,” said Vaughn meekly, “thought you might know a way out of this death trap.”

Tom’s eyes grew cynical. “Of course. Turn right, then straight up until the supernatural army from hell.”

“And that’s if you escape the pygmy mummies,” Jonathan added smugly, crossing his arms. “But considering the Army of Anubis is your boss’ fault, you might want to do something about that first.”

Two of the three men looked at each other uncertainly. The burly one scoffed. “Pygmy mummies. You must really think we’re some sort of—”

“I don’t have to think, old boy, I know you’re the worst sort of, well, sort. But I’m not pulling your leg.”

“He’s really not, Norton,” said Tom, shaking his head. “Norton, Vaughn, Wyndham,” he added, turning to Jonathan and pointing at each of them in turn. “Maybe not the biggest pillocks I’ve ever worked with after all, but they come close. Are you even armed?”

“Of course we are!” protested Wyndham, opening his bag and taking out a stick of dynamite. “Look, we have explosives, and guns, and –”

“What a splendid idea. How about you lend us a couple?”

Wyndham looked at Jonathan like he had sprouted a second head.

“Why would we want to give you weapons?”

“Because somebody’s going to have to do something about bloody Hamilton and Anubis’ bloody army,” Jonathan snapped, nerves already frayed and nearing the end of their tether. “And frankly, the fact that I’m going to have to be a part of it should tell you just how bollocksed the whole situation is!”

Either his little tirade hit its mark, or the three agents simply didn’t want to get punched again. Jonathan found himself in possession of a handgun similar to the one Rick had taken from Tom, while Tom checked the clip of his own borrowed gun. Norton appeared to be sulking.

Wyndham slunk up to Jonathan, dynamite stick still in hand. “Er… When you said ‘pygmy mummies’… You didn’t mean the chaps in the Congo, did you?”

“Absolutely not. I mean eldritch little creatures about knee-high with sharp teeth and knives who delight in disembowelling people. They make spiffy shrunken heads, too, I’ve seen them.”

“Jon, stop scarin’ the kids,” said Tom. He was a few feet away, investigating a pile of something that must have been stone before it got covered in gunk. “Especially Wyndham here. He’s a bit trigger-happy.”

“I am not!” protested Wyndham.

“Oh yeah? You were one of the first to shoot at me not an hour ago, you little –”

Jonathan shrugged. “He asked.”

Norton said nothing, but looked uncomfortable. Vaughn glanced at Jonathan uncertainly and went to sit not far from Tom with a thoughtful look on his face. The three agents seemed to have absolutely no idea what to do next. Tom appeared to have no such problem: he was digging into the half-solid muck, sleeves rolled up on his arms, trying to extract what looked to be a statuette of a scorpion and a big tablet out of the sludge.

There was a lull in the conversation, followed by somewhat awkward silence. Jonathan, who had no patience for awkward silences, was racking his mind for something to do to pass the time until Rick found them when he realised his heart was going a mile a minute. It was pounding against his ribcage, making him almost sick to his stomach, as though angry that his brain wasn’t catching up.

But what…

When it finally hit him, it hit him like a locomotive going on full speed ahead. The pyramid was silent. Deadly silent. The little sounds that came from unseen bugs and critters had stopped. And this could only mean one thing.

Jonathan’s mouth went dry.

“Tom?”

Tom looked up, puzzled and somewhat apprehensive.

“Yeah?”

A sense of déjà vu struck Jonathan, whose brain helpfully provided him with the memory of him and Tom a few days ago, seconds before the Medjai attack on the camp, saying the same two words, down to the inflections.

“They’re coming.”

A susurrus ran through the plants around them, a hissing whisper that seemed to carry small cackling laughter with it. Jonathan felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He clutched his gun and glanced wildly around.

The movement got the agents’ attention. Only then did they notice the sounds.

“Here,” said Norton, striding towards the next room, “what’s th—”

A spear whistled through the air and skewered his forehead. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Jonathan screamed. So did Wyndham, half a second later. Vaughn and Tom scrambled up, spouting a mix of curses and inarticulate yelling.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Vaughn shouted. Wyndham ran up to him and Tom, wild-eyed, waving his ingot of dynamite like a torch.

“Where to!?” he wailed. The hissing seemed to come from all directions, bouncing from the walls, surrounding them, taunting them. It seemed to drill into Jonathan’s skull, driving out all coherent thought. He kept pointing his gun at the rustling ferns, searching desperately for something to shoot.

Behind him, Tom yelled, “Don’t, you bloody idiot –”

Jonathan whirled round to see Tom, still cradling his big tablet against him with his left arm, reach for Wyndham with the hand that also held his gun, while Vaughn’s jaw dropped open at the sight of the still-open lighter in Wyndham’s hand.

The tableau burned itself crystal-clear on Jonathan’s retinas just before the dynamite exploded.

It took a while for Jonathan to realise he hadn’t, in fact, lost consciousness. The silence had been replaced with a shrill, high-pitched sound, like some sort of alarm going off much too late. The ferns and leaves were no longer rustling. In fact, when he opened his eyes, blinking a few times to drive away the mist, the plants were all gone. In their place was a mountain of broken bricks and big chunks of what had been a wall of gold and stone.

The plants were gone… and so were the four people who had been in the chamber with him.

Jonathan’s mouth opened and closed a few times before his brain sparked into life again. When it did, he took a deep breath and shouted, “TOM!”

“Shush, don’t, I’m right here,” muttered a very welcome voice from the other side of the wall. “Are you all right? Are they gone?”

The emphasis on ‘they’ puzzled Jonathan for all of four seconds before the memories of a couple of minutes ago stampeded back through his brain with the subtlety of a herd of panicked camels. He scrambled up, swaying and seeing stars from the head rush, and clutched the gun he had picked up without even thinking.

Nothing.

The sounds he had come to associate with the in-pyramid jungle were back as though they never stopped. There was no sniggering, no hissing, no susurrus. Only the usual rustling and skittering that meant normal jungle activity. For a given value of ‘normal’, of course.

“Sounds like it,” he said uncertainly, putting the gun in his belt. “Do you hear anything from your side?”

“Only Wyndham’s teeth chattering. He had a bit of a scare.” Tom’s voice had the biting, icy quality it only got when he was badly rattled. “Which should be a lesson to him in the future – if he has a future, considering he’s so terminally stupid as to light a dynamite stick in confined spaces with other people close by!”

“I am not!” protested Wyndham, more weakly than the first time. In the background, Vaughn groaned.

“Bloody hell, Norton…”

The reminder was sobering. The image of the poor bastard with a spear through his head remained seared in Jonathan’s mind whether his eyes were open or closed. At least it had been instantaneous and presumably painless.

“I’m so sorry, Vaughn,” he heard Tom say quietly. Wyndham gave a faint whimper.

There was a silence, during which Jonathan – mostly for something to do with his hands – walked up to the cave-in and looked for rocks to move to take the wall down. Or at least make a big enough hole in it for a man to go through.

“Where do you think those creatures went?” asked Tom after a while. Jonathan kept inspecting the stones.

“As far away from us as possible, hopefully. What was that thing I saw you mucking about with?”

“I have no idea. I think it’s an incantation of sorts, probably for the Scorpion King? I can only make out a few hieroglyphs. It says… hang on… Followers of the Sunset King – no, wait, of the ruler of the West… something something on their side… It’s ‘ard to tell underneath that crust.”

The Scorpion King was dead, and so was Imhotep, yet Jonathan couldn’t help a shudder. “Would you mind not reading it aloud? Just in case. We really don’t need another supernatural menace after us.”

Behind the rock wall, Tom chuckled.

“You didn’t used to be superstitious.”

“I didn’t used to see cursed mummies come back to life every ten years.”

“Fair point.” A pause. “Jon? Can I ask—”

Jonathan never knew what Tom meant to ask him. He was interrupted by a hair-raising scream that sounded like Wyndham and an awful noise that didn’t sound like it could – or should – ever come from a human being but probably came from Vaughn.

From then on, it was pandemonium.

“Where are they…?”

“Tom, what’s—”

“DOWN!”

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—”

“Bloody hell –”

“Ferguson! They’re—”

“Oh f—Run!”

“TOM!” Jonathan clawed at the wall, no longer paying attention to which stones he should take down first, completely beside himself with panic and worry. The only thing on his mind was making his way through the cave-in to get to Tom. What else might make its way across didn’t even occur to him. He barely registered a rock falling on his instep.

And then, all of a sudden, there was nothing. The only sound he was aware of was his own blood hammering against his eardrums. Around him, the jungle kept breathing, chattering, living. Of Tom and the other two agents, there was no trace.

“Tom? Are you… Tom, bloody answer me, please.”

Jonathan hardly dared to breathe. His heart had jumped up into his throat, blocking all sound, making his voice come out strangled.

“Tom, I think it’s safe to come out now. They’re gone. …Tom?”

Why wouldn’t the bloody rocks come down already!

“Tom, for God’s sake!”

Only silence answered him.

“Tom? …Tommy?”

.⅋.

Notes:

1) I can hardly believe believe it took 178 pages and almost 111,000 words before this story passed the Bechdel Test, and barely at that. I’m glad it did, though :o)

2) The further this chapter got for eleven years was Ardeth’s part (which was supposed to open the chapter) and 1,200 words of Rick’s, Jonathan’s and Tom’s scene. Hopefully the transition between 26 years old writer Bel and 37 years old writer Bel is seamless. (The rewrites helped.)

3) I am sorry about that last scene and you are free to yell as much as you like as long as it’s inarticulate shouting and not actual insults.