#they know izzy has kept them all (tucked at the back of his closet) because they literally wont let him throw them away but they have no

[arsenicflame]

modern au where ed + jack have spent the last several decades buying izzy the absolute DUMBEST shirts for every occasion- its a competition between them at this point- whoever gets izzy the shirt that makes him groan louder wins. izzy complains about this ridiculous tradition but he secretly loves it, has kept every single shirt, and often even sleeps in them (he will kill anyone who ever finds out)

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Time of Death

Dr. Derek Shepherd x Reader

Words: 1966

Summary: Receiving the news after coming out of a long surgery, Derek rushes to comfort his fiancé whose sister committed suicide.

Notes: I hope to write some fluffier McDreamy imagines and more for Grey’s Anatomy, but when I got this idea, I had to go with it. This is a very very dark story, so it will not be for everyone, but I really had an interesting time writing it. As always, I’d love to know your thoughts and if you guys are excited for more Grey’s Anatomy imagines. 

Warnings: Suicide, grief, guilt (This starts out fast so I’m putting the break at the beginning so if you don’t want to read, you don’t have to.)

-

You couldn’t hear them say it but you still heard it in your head. Time of death… You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at the clock. Time had stopped. Everything had stopped. As you looked down from the gallery, nobody in the O.R. seemed to be moving an inch. Until Dr. Bailey looked up at you. As soon as your eyes connected, everything started again but it started too fast. Your heart was beating too fast, your legs were moving too fast, the tears were coming too fast. 

Your sister was dead. She threw herself in front of oncoming traffic. Her body was so broken that even Bailey couldn’t put it back together. Your baby sister killed herself. 

Nurses and doctors alike watched you sprint by.  Fellow residents, interns, attendants, all of them watched you run like maniac through the halls of the surgical wing. Of course, you were careful not to be in anyone’s way, but you had to disappear. 

“What’s with Mrs. McDreamy?” Cristina asked George and Meridith quietly. 

“Her sister just died on the table.” Izzy sighed, having been with you in the gallery. She looked at the floor. “Jumped in front of a car.” The other interns’ eyes widened. 

“She killed herself?” Meredith whispered, her gaze following your running form down the hall. “Has anybody told…”

“He’s been in surgery for hours.” Cristina shook her head. “I doubt he even knows she was admitted.” 

“Should someone page him? Should someone go get Y/N?” George wondered but nobody moved. They all just looked at each other. Cristina crossed her arms. 

“I’ll go. Somebody has to go tell Dr. Shepherd that his future sister in law turned herself into roadkill.” 

“No.” Meredith blurted. Cristina’s bluntness was the last thing anyone needed right now. “I’ll tell him.” Meredith and Derek were at least friends. He needed to hear this from a friend. 

-

Derek smiled as the water ran over his hands. After several long hours, the surgery was a success. The 18-year-old girl was going to be okay. Thanks to him. Another life saved. His smile grew when Meredith stepped into the room. 

“Dr. Grey, you missed a pretty amazing surgery.” He beamed. Something about her face was off. 

“I’m sure you did very well Dr. Shepherd.” She wasn’t looking at him. 

“Meredith what is it?” He dried his hands quickly and followed her out into the hall. Her expression made that cocky smile of his fall. “Meredith?”

“A Cierra Y/L/N was admitted about when you started your surgery.”

“Y/N’s sister?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “It seems that she ran in front of a semi truck. Dr. Bailey did everything she could but… she’s dead, Derek.” 

“Cierra… killed herself?” Derek ran a hand down his face. “Does anyone know why? Are they sure that’s what happened? Does Y/N know?”

“We all saw her run down the hallway, so I’d say she knows.” 

“Do you know where she went?” He exclaimed, raising his voice. He didn’t have time for the doe-eyed confusion. He needed to know where you were. Meredith just shook her head. He calmed down enough so he wouldn’t yell. “Thank you for getting me.”

He took off, scanning the hall for any sign of his fiance. As he hurried past doctors and patients, he thought of Cierra. He’d never even met her. Sure, you had mentioned that you had a younger sister, but you didn’t say much other than that. But suicide? It was how you lost your mom when you were in medical school. This was going to hit hard and he needed to make sure there would be pieces of you left. 

“Dr. Shepherd!” A voice called out behind him. He reluctantly stopped his pursuit to turn to Dr. Bailey. She gave him a sad, grim look. “We did everything we could, but the extent of her injuries… I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do.” 

“Have you seen Y/N?” 

“Since she couldn’t operate with us, she stayed and watched from the gallery.” She sighed. She paused for a second before putting a hand on his shoulder. “I think I know where she might have gone.” 

Bailey had found you there once before. You’d lost a patient and needed a quiet place to be alone. If there was ever a time you needed a quiet place to go, it’d be now. She brought Derek to a closet on the fourth floor. It was mostly filled with extra linens and paper and such so it wasn’t used often. Bailey knocked on the door, but received no response. Slowly, she opened the door. 

“Dr. Shepherd?” She called out into the dark storage room. With still no response, she let Derek pass her. 

“Y/N? Honey, I know you’re in here.” His eyes adjusted and he could see a form standing behind one of the shelves in the corner. He exchanged a look with Bailey. She nodded in understanding. 

“I’ll go tell the chief. You’ll probably want to be heading home.” As she turned to leave, Derek put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Thank you, Miranda.” 

The chief resident quietly closed the door behind her and Derek walked further into the closet. The closet may have been small, but you felt far away. Hearing the sound of him approaching, you turned your head. 

“Cierra is… she’s- they said that she-” Every time you tried to finish the sentence, your mouth stopped. Like your body was trying to deny what your mind clearly knew. Derek tentatively put his hands on your shoulders. When did he get in front of you? 

“I know.” 

He pulled you to his chest and you tried not to push away. You wanted to. You wanted to run again. But his arms wouldn’t let you. He kept you from drifting away. 

-

Chief Webber had all of your surgeries for the next few days rescheduled or taken over by Dr. Bailey. Derek rescheduled the ones that he could, but some of his surgeries were on a time crunch. After he drove you home, he was paged back to the hospital for an emergency. He told you what it was, but you couldn’t remember. 

You didn’t even remember the drive home. You remembered the bloody surgical tools and the machines and the clock, but it didn’t have any numbers on it. You remembered running in the halls and Derek finding you in the closet. Now you were home. Now you were alone. Alone with the knowledge that you killed your little sister. 

Your brain started a single train of thought. You moved slowly, every motion draining more and more energy out of you, but you still made your way to your closet and found your suitcase. You couldn’t put this much pain, this much baggage on someone with a heart like his. To you, this was mercy. 

-

When Derek finally returned home, not a single light in the house was on. His shoulders were weighed down as he tossed his keys on the counter. The surgery was a success, but he didn’t feel that usual rush of adrenaline that came from saving a life. He just wanted to get back to you. 

He was about to call out for you when he saw something catch the light. Sitting on the kitchen table was your engagement ring. 

“Y/N!” He called out, tucking the band into his pocket and ascending the stairs two at a time. He burst into the bedroom and found your suitcase sitting on the bed, clothes hurriedly piled inside. “Y/N!” 

Light pooled into the room from underneath the bathroom door and was sure he could hear something inside. Derek knocked lightly before slowly cracking the door open. 

“Y/N?” His voice was quieter now but still held the same amount of urgency. You just whimpered in response. He opened the door fully, finding you sitting on the bathroom floor having thrown up any meals you had that day. 

“It’s my fault, Derek.” You cried, your voice so low he could barely hear you. “Cierra killed herself because of me. I can’t force you to live with that too.” You pulled your knees up to your chest. 

“Honey…” Derek sat beside you, putting on a hand on your cheek to make you look at him. “Cierra was sick. She’d been sick for a really long time.”

“She was sick because I left her.” You spat, jerking away. “I abandoned her when I moved here for my residency. I knew what she was going through, stuck living with my dad, and I went off to medical school anyway.”

“Deciding to make a life for yourself and to help save lives was not abandoning her.” He took your hand in his and this time, you didn’t pull away. “Y/N, you called Cierra every chance that you got. As far as you knew, she was getting help in San Diego. She told you she was getting better. You couldn’t have known how bad it had gotten.” 

“Then why did she come here, Derek?” You felt that sick feeling in your stomach turning and twisting again. “Why drive up to Seattle and jump into oncoming traffic close enough to be taken to Seattle Grace unless she blamed me?” 

Derek was quiet for a moment. Your body was still shaking from both sobs and from getting sick and you looked desperate for answers that he couldn’t give. 

“Maybe she wanted to see you one last time. This was her way of doing that.” 

It may not have been the answer you wanted to hear, but it was enough to get you to calm down. Derek shifted so that you were sitting in front of him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your arms from behind. He gently kissed the top of your head and pulled your ring out of his pocket. 

“As for this…” He held the band out in front of you. You just stared at it, laying your head back against his shoulder. 

“I was leaving.” You were half packed before your body ached so much it made you sick. 

“I noticed that.” Derek blew out a long breath. “You said you ‘couldn’t force me to live with that’. Is that how you think? That leaving will spare me of your faults?” 

“I didn’t think that you…” You sighed, trying to collect your reasoning into words. You spun around so you were facing him, holding his hands in your lap. “Derek, you love saving lives. You walk into life ready to save someone else’s. I couldn’t make you look at me everyday knowing that I was responsible for Cierra’s death.” 

Derek lifted your hands up to his chest and laid them flat over his heart. 

“This day- this tragedy- does not define who you are. You are still the beautiful, talented, brilliant surgeon that I fell in love with. The one I asked to marry me. You will still be that woman tomorrow and the next day and the one after that. And if you ever need reminding I will ask you to marry me every single day until we walk down that aisle together because I’m not backing out. Better or worse.” His gaze searched yours for a reaction. “Okay?” 

All you could do was nod and lean back into his embrace. You stayed there on the bathroom floor, his legs on either side of you and your head tilted back against his chest. While Derek’s words didn’t erase everything from that day, they helped to take even just a little of the weight off of your heart. It was enough, at least for now and so you slipped your ring back onto your finger and fell asleep in his arms.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Get Ready Game

CW: Young children of rescued whumpee, referenced past child abuse, referenced past emotional abuse. CW for child’s trauma response/PTSD, Overcompetent Emotional and Logistical Support Oldest Daughter X 100, unhealthy coping mechanisms

@comfy-whumpee‘s Jax Gallagher successfully saved his children (and himself) from Savannah Marcoset. But Izzy, now nearly seven, remembers her mother very well still, and knows that if her father doesn’t yet feel safe, she shouldn’t either.

So she makes a plan.

---

Izzy finds her brother playing blocks in the living room, half-heartedly building a tower while his eyes are on the cartoon show playing on the telly. She glances side to side - Dad's at therapy, only left a little bit ago. There's ages of time before he comes back, and he’ll be all in his head and distracted but probably he’ll want to lay down, so if she wants to do this, she’d better do it while he’s gone.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?” Her brother doesn’t look away from the show, but he kind of tilts his head in her direction. He’s younger than she is, only four and can’t read yet. But he doesn’t have to, she can do the reading for them both. She reads at a high level, her teacher says. Izzy practices every single night, she’s the best reader in class. 

She has to be.

“Where’s Grandpa, d’you know?”

Jamie points to the side. “In the, um, in the kitchen-”

“Sssshhhh! Quiet, don’t let him hear I asked.” Izzy puts out both hands, and now she has her brother’s interest. He loves having secrets with her, special kids-only things. It’s why this works, why she can teach him what they need to do, just in case, without him running off to tell Dad or Grandpa right away. 

She goes quiet, listening. She can hear Alfie’s voice, low, murmuring. He stays home on the days her dad has to go to therapy, so Jax can go and then come back and lay down in his room without having to worry. 

Grandpa will be talking, probably with some tea in hand, and he won’t overhear them. It’s perfect timing. Dad at therapy and Grandpa on the phone, maybe for a long time. 

“Hey, Jamie,” Izzy says, keeping her voice carefully casual. “You want to play Get Ready with me?”

Her little brother brightens. Izzy isn’t the best at his kind of play, rough-housing or throwing things around, playing Daddy-and-Baby with the big soft dolls he’s given all sorts of odd names to. Izzy doesn’t like playing baby-holding games, and besides that she doesn’t like how loud he is about it. She’s too quiet, too prone to sitting very still or whisper-talking her way through pretend games about princesses that Jamie doesn’t find interesting at all.

But this game… this game, he likes. 

He knows it’s important, even if he doesn’t know why. He knows his big sister is trusting him with big important things, and not being irritated by him or pushing him away. James scrambles up onto his feet, accidentally kicking his little tower of blocks over in the process. Both of them freeze at the crash.

Alfie’s voice rumbles through from the kitchen. “You all right in there, Jamie?”

“I’m good! I just knocked over my blocks, is all! Can I watch one more show?” Jamie pitches his voice just right, and Izzy’s proud of him. He’s learning all the tricks, and he’s doing it without having to be scared first, without it having to be something he has to learn. 

“All right, one more,” Alfie calls back, and Jamie grins, giving Izzy an exaggerated finger over his lips. Izzy grins right back, one of her top teeth growing in still, one of the bottom ones flat out missing entirely, she only lost that one three days ago, wiggling it in class until it came right out. The two of them move out of the room and down the hallway, almost tip-toeing in their bare feet, listening to Alfie’s voice, on high alert for him to make his goodbyes. 

They make it back to the bedroom Izzy still shares with her father - two twin beds lined up in there, and Alfie’s been talking about moving to get Izzy her own room, but Izzy never feels safer than waking up from a nightmare to still be able to hear her father’s gentle, deep breathing nearby. Jax’s bed has dark blue blankets and Izzy’s has a deep purple fuzzy one, plus special sheets she picked out herself with unicorns on them.

“Okay, Jamie,” Izzy says in her stage whisper. Her brother’s eyes lock on hers, hazel-brown like they all have, but Jamie has Jax’s hair color and Izzy’s short, spiky hair is the same deep chocolate brown as her mother’s, reminders she can’t escape, only try to cut off short enough that she can’t see it. “How does Get Ready start?”

Jamie’s smile widens further. He knows this one right away. “We meet in the hallway outside your room,” He says, very seriously. “Then… we come in here and find the Get Ready bag,” He answers, eyes already shifting to the closet, where it was the last time they played.

“Nope, not there.” Jamie looks at her, confused. “It’s okay, Dad did something in the closet last week so I moved the bag, just in case. I don’t think he found it, though, I hid it really well. Can you think of where I might hide it now?” She lilts her voice, slightly sing-song, like her teachers do at school. 

Jamie looks slowly around the room, taking in every detail - the window with the curtains pulled to make it dim, the two beds with the table between them, a lamp. Dresser messy on top with things tossed there - receipts, interesting rocks that Izzy has found and kept and given to her father. Then he nods, firmly, to himself more than her, and points under her bed. “It’s there.”

“Are you sure?” Izzy asks, still in teacher-voice.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because… because, because you would want to get it fast if you woke up, and you can roll under your bed for hiding from Mom,” Jamie explains. He sounds very earnest, and Izzy smiles at him to reward him giving it so much thought.

“Go look and see if you’re right.”

Jamie walks over to her bed and drops down onto his hands and knees, looking underneath. He pulls out a stuffed-full old, raggedy-looking adult-sized backpack, a faded gray that might once have been black, some old band patches and button badges still stuck around the outside. “I was right! I was right, Izzy, I found our get-ready bag!”

His voice is too loud, and Izzy shushes him quickly, closing the still-open bedroom door. Grandpa won’t like it, they’re not really supposed to close doors to shut out grown-ups, but this is too important. “Good job, Jamie!” She says in a high sotto-voice. “You are right. So, if I wake you up and I say, we have to get ready, what do we do?”

“We grab our Get Ready bag,” Jamie answers, all seriousness, patting the top of the bag gently with one small hand. “And we hide, inside the back of the closet in the big box. Then, when it’s safe, we go outside.”

“Right. How can we go outside if Mom is in the living room, though?”

Jamie’s eyes go to the window, and he points. “We go out the window,” He answers, and when she nods, he gets a little braver and adds on. “There’s-... fire escape, out there. Like stairs made of metal. We climb down with our bag. You know how to unlock the window.”

“Good. Right, I do.” She’d had to work out the trick to the window over days when no one was around her, fiddling and messing and making her fingers ache until one day, she’d managed it just right. Child proof my butt, she’d thought, but then she knew she wasn’t as child-y as everyone else her age seemed to be. 

Everyone else didn’t have to be ready for what would happen if their mother came back. Everyone else didn’t still dream about their father begging their mother to stop. Everyone else couldn’t still remember, a little bit, screaming-

Well. 

Everyone else might not have a Get Ready bag, or play this game, but she did. And when it happened, she’d be ready. Even though she knows the grown-ups wouldn’t want her to do this, they’ll be glad when it’s time, when she does what her dad would do in her place and takes James and runs. He’ll understand, if she has to, and he’ll be proud of her for being ready. He will. 

She just can’t tell him ahead of time. 

Izzy drops down into a crouch and hugs James tight. His hair smells like strawberry kids’ shampoo, just like hers does, and he’s very warm and his hands are always sticky, even when he hasn’t been touching any sticky things. “You remember very well, Jamie. Do you remember what’s in our Get Ready bag?”

She pulls back, and Jamie presses his lips together in deep thought, tapping on his chin in an overexaggerated ‘thinking’ expression. “Toothbrushes,” He says, finally. “Mine has Wally Lizard on it.”

“And?” 

“And toothpaste, the kid toothpaste.”

She’d spent weeks and weeks getting enough - putting a little extra in a baggie every night, so that her dad and grandpa wouldn’t know she was taking more than she needed. There was enough now for she and James to last a while. “Perfect. What else?”

“Ummmmm…” He trails off, sitting on the floor and thinking about it. “There’s pull-up nappies, for me for sleeping, and underpants for both of us, and pants and shirts and Franken-puppy and Unicorn, and the black-and-white bear from the zoo-”

“Paulie Panda,” Izzy corrects.

“Paulie Panda. And also Monkey George. Um um um um there are juice boxes, and Monster Munch, and Jaffa cakes, and that thing with the nuts in I don’t like, and chocolate biscuits… Aaaaand books, and…” He stops and frowns. “I don’t remember what else.”

“No, that’s good, that’s better than last time. You’re doing great.” He puffs out his chest a little in pride, and Izzy smiles, settling down to sit with him, the two of them tucked in the space between the twin beds. “There’s also hair-combs, and some shampoo and soap in a bag I nicked from the shop.”

Jamie’s eyes widen, big as saucers. “You didn’t. That is taking, Izzy-bella, and taking without paying is wrong.”

“I gave them money for it,” Izzy says, dismissive, ignoring the prickle of guilt inside her chest, too hot and sharp not to feel at least a little. “I put some of Dad’s money on the counter when nobody was looking the next day. It wasn’t really nicking, I just didn’t want him to see me get it and have to explain. But also in the bag is… this.” She digs into a front pocket and pulls out a bunch of index cards scrawled with careful child’s handwriting, numbers and letters she had spent hours and hours on. “Do you remember what these are?”

Jamie looks down at them, cocking his head, then looks up and shakes it, side to side. His hair is longer than hers is. 

“These,” Izzy says, “are the most important thing of all. These are our numbers. I’ve got about three where I remember them without even having to look, but I’ll get the rest, too. The first card has Grandpa’s phone number, and Dad’s, and it has Nana’s and Auntie Poppy and Auntie Georgia’s, too. Plus the number for Nana’s favorite shop, because her friend works there and her friend could help us get to her if she isn't home. For starters, I’ll say one that you know. We know that if-... that if Mom comes back, Grandpa will probably get-...” She takes a deep breath, tells herself to act more like a grown-up, forces down the panic and fear and worry in her chest, pictures it curled into a ball and thrown in the back of her closet to gather dust. I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid. “Grandpa could get hurt and not be able to help us. So, what do we do when we get out on the street or run away from here?”

“We, um, we find grown-ups, and we… we ask them to call 9-9-9, and tell them our names and our dad’s name, and we say, our dad is in danger and needs help. Then we tell them Nana’s name, or anybody else’s.”

“Good. Really good. What do we do if she gets us and takes us back to America?”

James swallows - this part scares him, just a little. He doesn’t remember America, not really. He was only a baby. And he remembers it being a fun place for a holiday, from the trial. But he knows Izzy is scared of America, scared enough to wake up at night crying because she dreamed about going back, and so he is, too. “We find a phone,” He says, very soft and very slow. “And we push the numbers 9, 1, 1. And that will go to people who will help us in America.”

“Good, good job, Jamie. What do we say when they pick up?” They’ve rehearsed this, over and over again. It’s the most important part of the Get Ready game. 

“I say… ‘my name is James Timothy Gallagher, and I have been ab-... abd… I have been kidnapped.’”

“Perfect. And if it were me, I would say, ‘My name is Isabella Nicole Gallagher, and I have been abducted. I am six and three quarters years old and my brother James is with me and he is four, and we are English.’ Then what?”

“We say, um, we say our… our dad is Jackson Gallagher and he has been kidnapped too, probably, and he needs help. And Savannah M-... Mark-set-”

“Marcoset,” Izzy says quietly, sounding out each syllable for him.

“Mar-co-set… is who took him. Then… we wait for help to come.”

Izzy nods, and she rifles through the flashcards, scanning over the names and places and numbers she has carefully, painstakingly, been writing down while casually asking the librarian question after question. How to call emergency services in England, America, Canada, France, Russia, and the country Georgia. Her information, to hand to people, so she won’t have to repeat herself, is copied on six cards. 

Under the flashcards, a photo of she and her dad and James that Grandpa took, at the park. It’s a photo where her dad is smiling, and he doesn’t look scared or upset or closed-off. Just happy, with them. It’s the photo she wants to have to show the police officers who she has to hope will help them. 

It’s the photo she’ll have if…

“What do we do,” She asks, and her voice is thinner, trembles just a little. “What do we do if she takes him away and we get left behind?” 

James crawls over to her in a flash and holds on, putting his arms around her waist and tucking his head under her chin. His hair tickles under her jaw. “We go all by ourselves,” He answers, in his high voice. “You and me, Izzy and Jamie. We go by ourselves, and we go find Nana.”

“Right.” Izzy closes her eyes against a rush of heat, of tears. “I-I have a card-” Her voice catches and she clears her throat. “Dusty in here,” She says, hoarsely - her grandpa says that sometimes when he’s pretending he’s not teary - and forces her racing heart to calm. Stop it. If Dad is gone, you have to be the grown-up, then. When she finally speaks, she manages to keep her voice slow, and even. No sign of her fears at all. “I have a card with Nana’s whole name and address on it, and which buses we take to see her. We can-... we can do it ourselves, all by ourselves. I know we can. But-... you have to be very good and quiet, so we don’t make anyone look at us and the bad guys can’t find us.”

“So Mom can’t find us,” Jamie whispers.

She nods, chin moving against his hair. “Right. We have to go very fast, and be very very quiet, so Mom can’t find us. But with our Get Ready bag, we have everything we need, if Dad-... if dad can’t help us. Okay, last question for our game and then we’ll be done. Do we tell Dad or Grandpa about Get Ready?”

“No.” Jamie answers right away, immediate. He knows this one. “Because, because they… might tell Mom about it.”

“Right. Even if they don’t want to tell her, she might be super mean and hurt them lots to make them. She used to hurt Dad until he would tell her things she wanted to hear, before, and she’ll be even madder now. But… if we don’t tell them about Get Ready, then they can’t tell her, right? So we can go find Nana before Mom does, and if Mom gets to Nana before we can, we have food and everything for a few days until the police officers help us.” Izzy holds him tightly, resting her chin against his hair. “I’ll take care of you, James. I promise, I won’t ever let her hurt you.”

“Dad won’t let her hurt us neither,” Jamie answers, but he likes the cuddles, and he doesn’t pull away. Izzy doesn’t hold him very often. 

“No, I know. I know he won’t. But… if he can’t stop her…” Izzy sets her jaw, closes her eyes against the memory of the bright red spots layered over older scars around her father’s neck when his big black necklace first came off. “If he can’t… I can. I just have to be very strong, and very smart, smarter than she is even. I have to be smarter than all the bad grownups.”

“And I have to be quiet and brave.”

“Right. And you’ll be very good at it. I know you will.” She squeezes him, so tightly both of them ache, and then pulls back and away, shoving the backpack back into its hiding spot, opening the bedroom door. The two of them get back to the living room just as their grandpa’s phone call finishes in the kitchen, and by the time he comes back in to ask them what they want for snacktime, James is back building his tower of blocks, and Izzy pretends she’s been on the couch with her chapter book the whole time, sitting open in her lap.

She doesn’t realize she opened it upside down until her grandpa’s gone back in the kitchen to get their snacks ready, and she flushes, embarrassed at the stupid mistake.

Still, she’s… she’s pretty sure he didn’t notice.

Every time they play, James remembers a little more without her having to tell him. Maybe… when their mom comes for them… Izzy can save Jamie - and then get help to save her father. 

And he'll be proud of her.

He will.

----

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[tuffduff]

Companion of My Youth (Izzy Stradlin x Reader)

Pairing: fluffy modern!Izzy x Reader 

Words: 1,413

Request: @thatcrazybandchick94 : “Hey I was wondering if you could do a imagine of present day Izzy and the reader looking back on memories of them being together. Sorry to bug you!!!”

A/N: Thanks for the request, lovely! Okay, literally I’m such a sap for sentimental fluff like this. Like the “Yesterdays” GNR music video could make me cry. Happy hump day, friends! xx

Taglist: @ubernoxa @the--blackdahlia @reigns420 @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker @rumoured-whispers @dustnbones

“Izzy! Babe, it’s almost three!” You called upstairs to your husband and frowned when you didn’t hear a reply; Izzy had disappeared a long while ago to go and grab a pair of shoes. “Babe?” You asked curiously from the door frame of your bedroom.

“In here, Y/N.” You headed towards his voice coming from your walk-in closet and found him sitting on the floor of your closet. There was a half-rusted metal box in front of him open, full of pictures, faded letters, ticket stubs, old flyers of yesteryear...

“Hey, I took that picture!” You grinned, sitting down next to Izzy and reaching for the large picture of him with his old bandmates from Guns N’ Roses.

“Yeah,” he remembered softly, finally taking his eyes off the letter he was reading and giving you a smile. “You liked my nail polish. You wanted me to paint your nails because whenever you did it, it got all over your fingers.” You laughed. To this day, he still painted your nails for you.

“That glam phase didn’t last long for you guys.” You said and Izzy chuckled as he nodded in relief. You smiled at your husband as you watched his eyes inspect the picture. “I had a crush on you for years. The more time that went by and the bigger you guys got, the less of a chance I thought I had.” Izzy raised his eyes to yours, smiling slightly.

“If you had said something sooner, we could’ve saved a lot of wasted time, you know.”

“You were too cool. You made me nervous.” You defended yourself before elbowing him. “You could have said something too!”

“You made me nervous.” Izzy argued, making you laugh. It sounded funny now; it had nearly been 30 years since you had married. Almost three decades. Izzy had now seen you at your best and worst. He was there for every job promotion, every birthday, every small victory. Better yet, he was there to catch every tear, to help you through every setback and illness and heartache. You both had created a life together. How distant it seemed that the mere sight of him had once made you nervous.

“I kept every letter you wrote me while I was on the road, you know. From before we even started dating.” He told you, shuffling over faded envelopes as proof. “I keep more of them in an old shoebox.”

“This was such a long time ago.” You murmured as memories of the Sunset Strip filled your mind. Loud, rowdy and raucous nights that leaked into early mornings, you and Izzy making your way to the apartment you had back then leaning on each other’s shoulders. The way you were always so proud to be seen with him, the way his eyes would seek yours out in every small LA club they played.

“It feels like yesterday, though.” Izzy replied, resting his hand on tops of yours. He smiled down at your hand, and you could practically see the memories flashing in his eyes. “I can remember everything.” If someone had told you back in your youth the life you were about have with Izzy, the happiness, it would have seemed unfathomable.

“Look at those!” You noticed, pointing to a stack of polaroid pictures hidden underneath an old Guns N’ Roses flyer.

“Jackpot.” Izzy grinned as he pulled out the photos. You scooted closer to him, clasping your hands and resting them on his shoulder as you peered down at the pictures with him.

They were precious; you hadn’t seen these in years. A picture snapped of the two of you by Steven the one time you visited them on tour somewhere on the east coast in a little Chinese restaurant. It was a candid; Izzy had his arm over your shoulders and you were laughing at something he had said, your hand against his chest, chopsticks on the table beside your half-eaten meals. You were both practically babies, your face youthful and your hair big, while Izzy’s was jet black from all the times you had helped him dye it. You reached up and ran your fingers through it. Now, it was dusky brown, and he had a few sparse strands of gray.

There were several pictures from your date at the state fair in Indiana. You had brought your camera along and asked strangers throughout the night to take pictures of the two of you.

“You hated taking these; you were embarrassed when I would stop someone and ask if they would take our picture.” You reminded him. There was one of the two of you standing beneath a glowing Ferris wheel, one of the two of you beside the balloon booth where you had popped enough balloons me that you won a teddy bear—Izzy held it for the photo. One where you’re grinning with your funnel cake while Izzy looked down at his critically—his was missing powdered sugar.

“You’re right,” he chuckled at the memory. “Well, I’m glad we took them now.”

The next must have been taken by one of your friends; you were standing in the crowd of an Aerosmith concert, neither of you looking at the camera or at the stage, but at each other. Izzy held your face in his hands and you stared up at him, your hands stuck down the back pockets of his jeans.

“I love this one,” Izzy said, staring at it the longest. “This is what I always felt whenever I’m with you. A crowd of people and it always just feels like it’s me and you. And seeing the way you’re looking at me…” You smiled at him, admiring the creases that had formed by the outer corners of his eyes and the lines beside his mouth—all evidence of the years you had played a part in making him happy. And he was still just as handsome today as 1987.

“Do I still look at you like that?” You asked him, affectionately teasing. He leaned his head back to kiss your cheek.

“Still do, and it still gives me butterflies.” His words gave you butterflies.

There were more memories, more recent ones—your honeymoon traveling the country in an RV, the time the Christmas tree had toppled on top of Izzy, your pumpkin carvings over the years, your vacation to Yosemite. Something with a dull shine caught your eye from the corner of the box and you gasped.

“I forgot all about that,” Izzy said, his eyes following yours as he reached and grabbed the small handmade ring. Izzy had broken a string on one of his guitars and had it made it into a ring as a present for your birthday one year.

“I never took it off.” You remembered as he slid it into your finger again. Somehow, it still fit. “...Until I got pregnant. Speaking of which, it’s almost three. You know your daughter is not going to be a happy camper if she has to stand outside on the curb of that high school a second longer than she has to.” Izzy chuckled—he knew you were right—and quickly gathered up the items in the box once more.

“She’s never seen these. Maybe now she’ll believe me when I try telling her that her dad used to be pretty cool.”

“Don’t kid yourself, babe. There’s a reason she prefers you picking her up over me.” Izzy reached forward and pecked your lips, his hand patting your leg.

“It’s because I let her play whatever music she wants.” Izzy stood, the rusted box tucked under one arm and the other hand reaching down to pull you up off the ground. The idea of going through the pictures with your daughter and telling her stories had you budding with excitement. You looked down at the handmade ring on your finger again.

“Maybe it’s time someone else get some use out of this ring.” You mused. Izzy smiled knowingly; your daughter loved vintage relics and clothes from the past.

“One of my guitar strings made into something you wore for years. A piece of me and you, for her.” He draped his arm around your waist.

“You know she’s probably going to be posting these pictures on her Instagram, right?” You asked. Your husband grimaced a little. “And me too, probably.” He sighed and smiled, shaking his head tenderly as he grabbed his car keys.

“Well…better you two than me.”

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, koryandr!

For @koryandr​. Thank you for your great prompts, I did my best to intertwine as many as I could. This is the first chapter of what will be a (hopefully) not-too-long multichapter. I hope I've come up with something that you'll like!

Read On AO3

*****

“We met by chance, one split decision to turn right instead of left, made no sense at the time, but it felt right and then there was you.”

― Nikki Rowe

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in hidden meanings and greater plans.

He’s never been the sort of person to cradle the thought that there’s something, out there, that has set up everything, even if he can’t see the bigger picture yet.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s not religious in the slightest, and that he definitely isn’t a man of God. There’s no divinity, no greater good, or fate whatsoever, nothing and no-one that makes things happen and that moves people as though they are puppets to cruelly play with. It’s simply not possible.

It might even be a bit cynical on his part, but – is there really someone out there who naively believes that everything has a hidden meaning?

Sometimes, things just happen (or they don’t). Simple as that.

And Alec Lightwood happens to be one of those people who’s never fallen in love before.

At the ripe old age of twenty-something, Alec’s never felt this overwhelming, fuzzy, messy tightness in his chest, like his ribcage is on the verge of bursting and let all those things called feelings pour out, finally free to swirl up to the sky or who-knows-where.

He always tells himself that he’s not had the time for this thing called love. He’s always so busy he doesn’t have the time to devote himself to love. He has more important things to do.

Sometimes, he tells himself he does have more important things to do, but maybe he hasn’t met The One yet. He hasn’t met someone worth blowing his own routine off – and Alec flourishes in routines; someone who makes him feel like burning the world up in flames for the ardour of his love, just to make it rise from its ashes again, phoenixilly, more prosperous and beautiful than ever before. He’s just not had the chance yet to –.

No. No, no, chance has nothing to do with this. He doesn’t believe in things like chance. It hasn’t happened, simple as that.

Alec tells himself lots of things. Lots of very articulate excuses, as Isabelle points out so accurately, to hide the intrinsic and visceral fear he feels gripped by. Fear of letting go. Fear of putting the deepest, most intimate part of himself in someone else’s hands – gentle hands that know how to handle gentle, fragile, delicate feelings.

“Isn’t everybody scared of that, Alec?” Isabelle is so keen to remind him.

It isn’t just fear, though. It would be easier, if it was. But it isn’t.

Izzy’s right. Partially. He does make up excuses. They allow him to wrench himself away from the most brutal truth he could ever come to: he’s not made for love.

He can tell himself what he wants: about his hectic, fast-paced, busy life; about his not having met someone-worth-it yet; about being scared. But he’s not made for love. He’s never been.

He hadn’t been until he turned eighteen, when he couldn’t hide himself any longer and he came out to his family. How was he supposed to love, how could he love, back then, when he didn’t even have the courage to be his true self? When he wasn’t being honest, neither with the people he cared about, nor with himself, to begin with?

And he hasn’t been after he came out, when his parents – his father, specifically – made it very clear that the life choice he was making wouldn’t only condemn him to a wretched, miserable life in which nobody would ever love him. That life choice, it would also bring disgrace and shame upon the whole family. That was the reason why it would be better if he kept this whole situation for himself, behind closed doors – even better, inside a fucking closet –, if that was truly the path he was deciding to follow. Or else, he shall show Alec the door (which he did).

And he isn’t made for love even now, almost a decade later, even though he is not hiding anymore. Why should he be hiding in the dark, why should he be wearing a damn mask and lie to everybody? He wasn’t making a goddamn choice, for Heaven’s sake. He would never change that part of himself, because there was nothing to change whatsoever. That’s who he is. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

He had spent so many years to hate himself for it, to hate every single atom of his body for that part of himself that he couldn’t ever change and that wrenched the love of his parents away from him, that simply getting to accept himself for who he is has been an interminable, painful, pulling-apart-and-becoming-whole-again kind of process.

It felt like his skin was being scratched raw. That’s how he’d describe it. Like a roaring fire scorched him and left him raw, his nerves exposed to the air, sensitive to the barest of stimuli. And how could he ever love someone else if he didn’t learn to love himself first?

And yet, there he is. Almost ten years later, with a job he liked, an apartment of his own, both his siblings and a circle of friends around him. Maybe he wasn’t made for love, but he could undeniably call that a progress, after all.

Surely enough, the biggest and unexpected progress was that his mother, after all those years spent without talking to him and pretending that he didn’t exist, was trying to reconnect with him. After divorcing Robert, Maryse had changed a whole lot. She was more compliant, more amenable, sweeter, if a woman like her could ever be defined that way.

But he couldn’t find any other reason to explain the way she tried and reconnect with Alec, her son. The way she had phoned him; the way she had apologised for what she’d told him in the past; the way she had promised him to listen to him and really try to understand him in the attempt to neutralise the huge stigma that had obstructed her relationship with her son for so long.

She was in detox. Her own words.

Alec had appreciated her effort. He truly had.

He grew up carrying the burden of being the eldest brother, the perfect son, the positive role model to follow: he never allowed himself a single slip-up, it was always him who had to do his best and even more, when his best wasn’t good enough. It was always him who had to try and knock some sense into his siblings when they stuck their necks out. It was always him who had to make an effort and accommodate others’ stands.

For once, it feels nice that someone else – a someone he never meant to let down – is trying to reach out and make an effort to accommodate him.

Nonetheless, the fear of disappointing his mother is still hanging like a sword of Damocles over his head. Maybe that’s why – when she phones him as he walks in long strides down the street to grab a drink with his sister at The Hunter’s Moon – those words escape his lips before he has the time to grasp them, to seal his mouth and prevent the catastrophic consequences of his blurting out.  

Yes, I’m coming over for Christmas dinner.

Yes, I’m bringing a guest.

Yes, he’s my boyfriend.

The thing is: it’s a lie – well, somewhat.

He is coming over for Christmas dinner – they’re trying to reconnect, aren’t they?

But, the whole boyfriend thing… that’s a whole ‘nother beast.

There’s no boyfriend in sight.

Alec is irremediably fucked.

_________________

Alec is fucked. He truly is.

That’s what he thinks as he steps into The Hunter’s Moon, out of breath, with scattered shards of sleet beading his dark hair. He hastily runs a gloved hand through his hair, but he doesn’t think it does much to make him look any better. Not that he actually cares about how he looks, let’s make it pretty clear.

But maybe…

Maybe, if he’s lucky enough, he’ll…

Yet again, no. There’s no such thing as luck.

He huffs out a tired breath, tugging at his gloves to take them off. With a shiver scampering down his spine, he accommodates to the familiar tingling in his frozen, heat-thirsty hands, which bask in the warmth of the pub.

Alec searches the room for Izzy’s dark hair. He spots her easily enough. She’s sitting at a table tucked across the room, and he stalks towards her.

As he walks, he nods a hello at Maia, who’s standing behind the counter. She rises the corner of her lips in that usual crooked smirk of hers.

Alec weaves his way through the room, heading towards his sister.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls out the chair opposite to Izzy and slumps in it.

“Hey, big bro,” she smiles, looking away from her phone, her dark, brilliant eyes meeting Alec’s.

Her face sobers quickly when she sees him, her eyes narrowing as she searches Alec’s face, looking for any clue of what might have happened.

She’s always been so good at reading people. And Alec makes no exception to that. In fact, he might even be the easiest book to read, for her. Always has been. Always will be.

“What?” Alec shrugs, reaching for the bar menu, a crinkled sheet of paper inside a plastic coat standing in the middle of their table.

He doesn’t really need to read the menu, he already knows what he’s going to drink. He only needs something to do with his hands and somewhere to focus his gaze on, to avoid Iz’s scrutiny. He already feels that strange heat trailing up the back of his neck, that uncomfortable feeling he always feels whenever Izzy’s unwavering stare sets upon him.

Izzy’s faster than he is, and she pulls the menu away from him, swatting his fingers when he tries to grab it back. She stares at him, an unimpressed look on her face.

“What?” Alec asks again, finally gazing up at her. “Come on, Iz, what are we, twelve –”

“I’m not giving it back to you unless you tell me what happened,” she tells him, defiantly crossing her arms over her chest. “As if you don't know what you’re going to drink, by the way,” she adds then.

Alec rolls his eyes fondly at that remark. She knows him so well.

“What if I told you I wanna try something new,” he dares her.

She puts on a surprised face, just to make him laugh.

“Do you mean something or someone,” she then suggests allusively, her eyes moving sideways towards someone behind Alec’s back and a smile blooming on her red lips.

Alec swallows thickly. He already knows whom he’s going to see when he’ll twist on his chair to look.

Magnus Bane.

He slightly turns his head, a bare movement that allows him to glance at Magnus from the corner of his eye. He already feels his stomach churn. He wets his lips nervously.

Magnus is as beautiful as usual. Today he’s wearing a magnificent charcoal-grey three-piece suit and a burgundy tie that stands out impressively against the pure white of his shirt. He gracefully slips out of his long, black trench coat as he steps into the room, and he bends it over his arm as he smiles gleefully at Maia.

Alec feels a strange, humid heat pooling on his palms, so he clamps them together and places them in his lap, under the table. He turns his attention back to Iz, who’s staring at him with a knowing look on her face.

“What,” he deadpans, for what feels the umpteenth time tonight.

“Nothing,” she retorts, but the tone of her voice makes what she’s thinking about very clear. “So,” she adds then, “Are you gonna tell me what happened or are you leaving me guessing?”

“Mom called,” Alec tells her, but when he notices the way Izzy’s brows alarmingly shoot up to her hairline and her eyes widen in surprise, he rushes to give her some context. “Well, you know we’ve been trying to… y’know… reconnect.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” he says, trying to gain time before he tells her the mess he’s made. He wets his lower lip, his mouth abruptly dry with shame.

There’s no point in delaying this, he thinks. Iz’s gonna pull the truth out of his mouth anyway.

“I told her that I’m bringing someone home for Christmas” he blurts out. “My boyfriend,” he clarifies, when Iz says nothing.

“Okay.” She sucks in a breath, her nostrils flaring a little. “Okay,” she repeats, placing her palms flat on the table. Her long, red-painted nails stand out against the dark wood. “What do you think you want to do about that?”

Sharply, Alec looks up to her, not expecting his sister to shrug this off and act like he hasn’t fucked up.

“I don’t know!” he exclaims, “That’s why I’m asking you! I don’t even know why I told her so.”

“You’re allowed to mess up and do stupid things, you know that, right?”

Alec looks down to his hands, still clamped in his lap.

“Alec.”

“Mh?” he mumbles under his breath.

“Alec, hey.” Iz reaches out, and Alec feels her fingers gently brushing his hair. “Hey,” she says softly, “Can I speak with my brother or am I meant to talk to his hair?”

A little snort escapes him, and finally he hesitantly gazes up at her. He finds her looking at him, a kind look in her stare, her lips slightly parted, a hint of a reassuring smile.

Izzy always knows how to make him feel better. She listens to him, she really does, and she does not judge him, whatever he might do. She’s always there for him, every step of the way. Always has been and always will be.

Alec slightly rises the corner of his lip.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Yes,” he says, like a plead. Yes, please. Show me the way out of this.

“Well,” she hums, wetting her lower lip and tucking her hair behind her ear. “You can tell her the truth.” A pause.  “Or you can pretend that you and your mysterious boyfriend no-one knows about have broken up just before Christmas,” she suggests ironically.

“God, no,” he replies in horror, “I don’t think I could handle the pity looks.”

“There’s one more path you can take, then.”

“Is there?”

“You can actually find a special someone to bring home for Christmas.”

Alec looks at her, his eyes widening and his body tensing, completely still. He must look like a deer, caught in the middle of an empty street in the dead of night by the abrupt, violent headlights of a solitary car.

“Think about it!” Izzy exclaims. “It would definitely be a win-win for everyone: you find a boyfriend; you get to spend Christmas holidays with your family and your special someone; we would all be happy!” she enumerates, proudly counting the advantages of her suggestion on her fingers.

“You do know that real life is not one of those cheesy romcoms you secretly adore and that you can’t really ask people to fake-date you or something, right?” he deadpans.

Izzy rolls her eyes, a grin blooming on her lips.

“Besides, I’ve been on my own for my entire life, what makes you think that I’m going to find a boyfriend in – what – twenty days or something.”

“You know what they say, will is power.”

Alec glares at her, his eyes narrowing in that peculiar look of reproach of his.

“I’m just kidding!” Izzy exclaims, holding her hands up in surrender. “Relax, Alec, it was just a joke, Dios mío. But really, I’m serious about the fact of bringing someone home for Christmas. You should really consider that.”

Alec opens his mouth to protest, but Izzy precedes him. She already knows what he’s going to say.

“Don’t,” she warns him, threateningly pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare say it. We both know whom you should ask to.”

Alec swallows thickly, that uncomfortable heat rising again on the back of his neck. He finally unclamps his hands and he nervously scratches his nape.

“I don’t think he’d accept,” he mumbles under his breath, gazing down at the plastic-coated menu in the middle of the table.

“You see? You don’t even deny it!”

“Deny what?”

“That you like him, you ass!” Izzy throws her hands up in despair.

“I don’t – it’s not – I mean –”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I’m serious, Iz,” he says, and he slightly turns his head to glance briefly at Magnus, who’s sitting on one of the high stools near the countertop and is lively chatting with Maia. Alec glances away, and his eyes go back to his sister. “I don’t even know him.”

“That’s what dates are for,” she says, imploringly, “If you never ask him out, you’ll never get to know him for real. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Iz –”

“Promise me, Alec.”

Alec pulls a face and huffs out a breath, defeatedly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” she retorts, “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d want my Pinot Noir.”          

_________________

Alec fumbles with his keys outside the front door of his apartment, muttering a curse under his breath. He eventually decides to fish his phone out of his pocket and use its torch to scatter some light and finally manage to jam the right key into the lock.

He opens the door, his hand feeling around the wall for the light-switch. He finds it and switches it on, the warm, yellow light flickering to life over his head. He stumbles into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind his back. He lets out a tired huff of breath and he kicks his work shoes off without untying the laces.

The shoes have left dirty footprints, wet with slush, where he has walked. He’ll clean tomorrow, he thinks with a shrug.

Alec takes his coat off and hangs it to the coat hanger, along with his bag, glad to get it off from where its strap was sinking into his shoulder.

He traipses to his bedroom, where he gracelessly takes his clothes off and carelessly slips into his bed. He scrubs his hand down his face as he sinks among the pillows, his skin unpleasantly goose-bumping for the cold of the sheets.

Rolling over on his side, Alec looks outside the windows. He forgot to shut the blinds. New York spreads out before his eyes, melancholic in the dead of night under the swirling snow, the white and light blue lights of the city dance before his eyes, liquid and impalpable.  

His hand moves cautiously on the bed, reaching out, as though he was searching for the company of a sleepy lover. But there’s no one there. Alec is alone. He longs for the human warmth of another body next to him, and he wonders what it’d feel like to let himself be so vulnerable to sleep next to somebody else.

Promise me you’ll think about it, Alec.

His thoughts cannot help but wander to Iz.

Well, not to Izzy specifically. They wander to Magnus Bane.

You don’t even deny that you like him.

Izzy is right – shocker.

Alec does like Magnus.

Actually, Alec doesn’t think there might be someone who doesn’t like Magnus. He’s sharp, and smart, and brilliant and charming. He is undeniably handsome, and Alec always struggles to keep his eyes off of him whenever he enters the room. It’s like there’s something magnetic about him, and Alec is just drawn to it.

Maybe it’s not a magical magnetism, though. It’s something gravitational. It’s something solar.

Yes, solar might be the right word. Magnus is like the sun. His golden light can’t be avoided, he is meant to shine, and people can only stop and stare at him in awe, like a devotee falling to their knees in witnessing a miracle of God.

If anyone asked him, Alec wouldn’t be able to say exactly what it is that he likes about Magnus so much. Alec can’t even claim to know him well. In fact, they met just some weeks ago and he could probably count on one hand the times they talked.

A snort escapes him, remembering the unfortunate event that brought them to talk to each other for the first time. Right away he wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. However, with the benefit of hindsight, maybe it wasn’t all too bad that Simon tripped over his own feet and bumped against Alec, who took a step back to brace himself and his back collided with a too-close Magnus. It was so sudden and unexpected for both of them that Magnus ended up spilling his glass of whiskey over his own shirt.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, I –”

“Never fear.” A pause. A beam. “I’m Magnus. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Alec.”

“ Short for Alexander, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Alexander, I think you owe me a whiskey.”

Alec hasn’t had the opportunity to get a drink with Magnus yet.

They have seen each other after that very first, disastrous meeting – they’re both regulars at The Hunter’s Moon, after all – but they haven’t really had a date. Alec doesn’t feel brave enough to ask Magnus out, even though everybody keeps telling him that he should, and that if Magnus isn’t flirting with him every single time they see each other, then they don’t know what that is.

But Alec knows that Magnus flirts. He flirts, he laughs, he uses his magic, his solar attraction. His sparkle.

Alec doesn’t mind being on the receiving-end of Magnus’ attention, but he just doesn’t believe that this makes him special. Magnus is the type of person who makes everybody laugh without them even realising. He is the type of person who makes people feel flattered by the simple pleasure of talking to him. And Alec is just like anybody else. He is not special. He doesn’t think so.

The thing is, however, that Magnus does make him feel special. And Alec treasures that. He doesn’t think he’s made for love, but maybe he can just have that: a platonic what if? to cradle and hold onto, the possibility of a what-could-be to dream about and hold dearly to his chest, like it’s the most pure and treasured secret to ever preserve.

If that’s how he makes you feel, why don’t  you give it a chance? You’re self-sabotaging, a voice inside his head points out. It annoyingly sounds like his sister.

If I don’t act on it, then I won’t be disappointed if things don’t sort out the way I want them to and I won’t be confirmed that I’m not made for love, Alec would tell her petulantly.

If you don’t try, you’ll never know, she’d retort matter-of-factly.

(Promise me, Alec.)

He promised her he’d think about it. Not that he’d act on it.

I can feel you clutching at straws from here, Alec, Isabelle’s voice inside his head reproaches him.

Alec frowns, a wrinkle forming between his brows. He purses his lips like a scolded child.

Do what’s in your heart. Make your what if come true, write your own narrative. Go for it.

(Promise me, Alec.)

And if it doesn’t turn out the way you expect it to, then you’ll know that at least you’ve tried. You have nothing to lose.

(Promise me, Alec.)

He pinches his eyes shut and sucks in a deep breath, in the attempt to shut out the voice of his sister. It’s difficult to do something exclusively for yourself, he wants to argue, when you’ve been trying to live up to people’s expectations for your whole life to avoid feeling like a walking failure. It makes him feel selfish, when all he’s ever been is selfless. How do you write your own self in your own narrative when you’ve always tried to write it out and make room for someone else’s wishes and wants?

It’s not a switch Alec can just turn off, even though Izzy claims he has a switch that is always on when it comes to being selfless. She might not be wrong, but it’s not that simple.

He rolls over on his other side, turning his back to the window and the city lights beyond it. Maybe he only needs to sleep this whole thing off. He can’t sleep though. He tosses and turns for great part of the night, his mind still running a mile a minute. He clenches his fists, incapable of decompressing.

His thoughts are very loud. They go adrift, they swirl, they spiral and entangle and he eventually realises that maybe he should just follow his little sister’s advice, just for once, and see what happens. Maybe it will turn out to be a huge disappointment. Or maybe something great will come of it.

When his alarm goes off and he gets up in the morning, he steps out of his bed like a man with purpose. After a night spent in the opaque labyrinth of his mind, he’s reached a decision. Maybe the bravest decision of his life, after his coming out.

He approaches the window and lightly rests a hand against the cold glass, which mists up around the pads of his fingers. He looks outside and he quirks up his lips at the corners: a pale sun is shyly lighting up the horizon, welcoming the break of a new dawn, a flimsy glow on the plate-glass of Manhattan skyscrapers.

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in hidden meanings and greater plans. He doesn’t believe in signs. And yet, he cannot help but admit to himself that the sun shining on the very same day he’s going to ask Magnus Bane out is the loveliest coincidence of his entire life.

TBC on AO3!

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

Carved in the Cradle Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dani bit back an amused smile at the sight of Malcolm Bright fidgeting like a shy preschooler talking in front of the class for the first time. She had a feeling that if Jessica ever showed Bright’s childhood photos, she would find that he had that exact same look since he was a kid. All fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform and luminous eyes too big for his face.

“Something you wanted to say, Bright?” 

Normally Dani would cringe at the thought of using the almost singsong lilt her voice had taken on, but he was ridiculously easy to tease.

“U-um...” Malcolm cleared his throat. His face like it was on fire and he knew it wasn’t because of the tea he’d just had. “So my mother sort of--well, demanded that I show up at her gala in a couple of days.”

Dani raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. Jessica Whitly was a societal force to be reckoned with and it was little wonder that even her son, who dealt with killers on a daily basis, was unable to say no to her. 

“So I gathered.” 

Bright being jittery was normal. The constant fidgeting, the mundane rambling, the sheer awkwardness was wired into him from a young age if Gil’s stories of a young Bright were all true, but he seemed almost… nervous? 

It didn’t make sense to her. Sure, he normally said some weird things and he had an unfortunate habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, but it was benign for the most part. It should’ve alarmed her about how comfortable she was around him, but the warmth of the tea she had still lingered, making everything about the already odd night pleasantly hazy. 

“She also wanted me to bring a date.” Malcolm let out a wry chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean I’m already bringing Isabella as a sort of fun-sized baby date given that Mother's so taken with her, but it’d be nice to have a friend there a-and--”

“Bright.” 

Dani’s voice slowed into a low drawl as she took a step closer, her face inscrutable save for the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty cute to see him so flustered.

“Are you asking me to be your date?”

“W-well, I--” 

The instant he cleared his throat, she could see a change in his demeanour. The determined set of his jaw, the squared shoulders as he drew himself to his full height, the clarity in his eyes. It briefly reminded her of something that Edrisa had said about the change that came with Clark Kent taking off his glasses. 

“I just thought it would be nice to take you to a fancy party where you wouldn’t have to arrest somebody and just enjoy yourself.”

“So it has nothing to do with you wanting to see me in a dress again?”

A teasing grin spread across Dani’s face as she tipped her head to the side. The sight of it made Malcolm’s confidence practically fly out the window, leaving him rambling so fast that he almost bit his tongue a few times. 

“Of course, there’s no obligation for you to say yes.” He nervously ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It’s just that you’re the only person I could think of when Mother said to bring a date. I know it’s probably not your thing, but--”

“Okay.”

“W-wait, what?” If his eyes got any wider, he could pass for a Disney Princess, all round and uncertain and saccharine sweet.

“Okay,” Dani’s eyes sparkled, the corners of them crinkling as she beamed at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” Malcolm’s anxiety practically melted away as he let out a relieved chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Dani nodded, “But a girl needs a night off for dancing every now and then--”

She nearly took a step back as he beamed at her, nearly as bright as the sun itself, the livewire tension in his body just melting away and it wasn’t until she caught the scent of bergamot and old leather that she realized what was happening.

Was Bright… hugging her? 

“Okay,” His voice was muffled, his face buried into her shoulder, “that’s amazing!” 

Dani couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she absently patted his back, feeling more like she had an armful of excitable puppy rather than gangly profiler. 

"Well, what are friends for, right?"

“Seriously,” Malcolm pulled away just enough so he could look at her, his arms still around her, “I owe you big time!”

“Bright--”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted with a shake of his head, still grinning ear to ear as if she had just given him the secret to all of life’s mysteries. “Anything you want, I’m yours for the week.”

Dani knew he would probably say something like that. Malcolm Bright was the kind of man who would go to the moon and back for the people he cared about, but she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had become one of those people.

She briefly considered having him buy her fancy tea blends every day for a year or getting tickets to a sold out performance at the New York Ballet, but he seemed so genuinely happy that she accepted that she could only think of one thing that seemed right.

“You can start with those waffles you promised in the morning.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

The bed was comfortable. Too comfortable. 

Everything in the room was too tidy, too organized. The high end furniture gave Dani flashbacks of playing Tetris at the local arcade with her cousins, all neat blocks fitting together. The only things in the room that looked out of place were Dani’s clothes on a nearby loveseat and her duffle bag of extra clothes on the vanity. There was no real character to the room she was in, no personal touch. 

Bright was right. These rooms were just like hotel rooms. At least there were silk pillowcases so she didn’t have to worry about her hair. Dani tossed and turned before she took her phone off the nightstand next to her and checked the time.

4:42 AM.

She stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought with a slight frown. When she was a kid, she would jump out of bed in the middle of the night to see what was on TV so early in the morning, curled up on the couch with her blanket wrapped around her like a cape. But it wasn’t like she could do that now. 

This not being her home aside, Bright’s TV was way too big to subtly turn on and just watch with the captions. The high definition alone would be enough to wake both him and Isabella.

Then again…

Bright could be awake right now. Maybe he could use some company. She could just sneak downstairs and check in on--

Before she could make her decision, she faintly heard a high pitched squeal coming from downstairs. She absently let her hair down from her pineapple updo and made use of the fluffy white robe that was hanging in the closet before heading down. No one needed to see her in short shorts and a thin nightshirt.

What she saw made her stop at the foot of the stairs. 

She found Bright on the ground with his legs tucked under him, a wide awake Isabella lying on a fuzzy blanket with numerous toys strewn about around them.

Wait.

Was he wearing glasses?

Dark thick frames that were so close to slipping down Malcolm’s nose as he sat with Isabella with a bunch of toys and blankets around her. It was unexpectedly cute. Something about those glasses stirred up a bit of fascination for stripped down, barebones Bright in the early hours of the morning-- 

She mentally shook her head. It was probably just her groggy mind that was thinking that though. Bright wasn’t even her type anyways, no matter how mesmerizing his eyes were.

Malcolm tried lulling Isabella to sleep again, but the little girl just kept smacking plushies in his face and blowing raspberries, her face crinkled into a happy grin. Dani bit back a laugh when she saw how Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at the baby girl as he gently grasped a chubby fist. Bright made a front about being strict with Isabella about bedtime, but he really was just a big old marshmallow when it came to babies. 

“Come on, Izzy.” Dani heard Malcolm cajole the baby as the little one batted at his face. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be cranky. And I don’t think either of us wants to see that.” 

Izzy. 

The nickname was enough to make Dani smile. She was too half asleep to consider that maybe forming a bond with the baby may not be the best idea. Isabella continued to gurgle as her tiny starlike hands patted Malcolm’s face, letting out a high pitch giggle when she managed to grab his nose. 

“Izzy,” he whined, inciting even more giggling from the little girl, “Could you let go of my nose please? I kind of need to breathe and contrary to what lolo Gil thinks, I’d like to keep breathing.”

His nasally voice did nothing to stop the laughter coming from the baby.

Malcolm was removing Isabella’s hand when he heard a tiny laugh from behind him. He turned to see Dani on the stairs, wrapped in a fluffy robe with her arms crossed, watching in amusement. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving him a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“No, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he picked up Isabella, “Did we wake you?”

“Hardly. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Dani’s footsteps were steady as she padded her way towards them, making Isabella turn her wide eyes to her with a coo. It still amazed her how much the little girl’s eyes were just like Bright’s, all guileless and moonlike in that shade that wasn’t quite blue or green. 

A smirk took over Malcolm’s face, a playful spark in his eyes as he made room for her to sit.  

“I thought we agreed you should avoid picking up my bad habits.” 

“Pot calling the kettle black, Bright,” she shot back as she took Isabella from him, the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around the detective’s neck, letting out a tiny kitten-like yawn as she rested her head on Dani’s shoulder. 

“For real, have you slept at all?” 

Malcolm shrugged. 

“Bright...” 

Dani narrowed her eyes at him as he simply shrugged, shaking her head as she felt Isabella tangle her hands in her curls. Her face fell into a familiar expression, what JT had affectionately named her ‘why you always lying’ face during the first case they worked together. 

“Got about four hours before I woke up,” he said, giving her a wry grin in return before nodding towards Isabella. “Then little miss night owl got up a few minutes later and I haven’t been able to get her back to sleep.”

Dani couldn’t blame him. She’d heard horror stories of sleepless nights from her oldest sister, but she could already sense Isabella starting to relax in her arms, absently rubbing the little girl’s back. Isabella was already much easier to handle than Dani’s niece and nephew. 

“Well, we’ve already exhausted all your options. Let me try something.”

She didn’t think his eyes could get any bigger, but leave it to Bright to prove people wrong. 

“You don’t have to--”

“You need to rest.” Her tone brokered no room for discussion. “We need to be up at six. Try to sleep for another hour. Make it an even five hours,” she added with a smirk.

“Five isn’t an even number.” Malcolm chuckled as Dani shot him a playful glare, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, but if you need help--”

“I’ll wake you, now go to sleep.” She gazed at him with stern eyes, practically daring him to ignore her. “Please.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Dani shooed him to bed with a roll of her eyes, her smile tender as she looked back down at Isabella.

Malcolm felt sore and exhausted, barely remembering to take off his glasses as his head hit his pillow. He could hear Dani softly speaking to Izzy as his eyes fell shut.

Wait.

That wasn’t it. She was singing.

“Moon river… Wider than a mile...” 

Dani crooned as she rocked the baby, who seemed to settle down the more she was sung to. Her voice was--

Malcolm already found her voice steadying for his nerves, honeyed contralto with the slightest hint of gravel to it, but her singing?

“I’m crossing you in style someday... Oh dream maker, you heart breaker...” 

He let out a content sigh, having no words for once. He didn’t realize he was smiling as he let Dani’s singing lull him to a gentle sleep. 

“Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way...”

And for once, he felt nothing but peace.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

“Our prime suspect is Evan Huntington.” 

Malcolm went straight into never-miss-a-detail profiler mode as he fed Isabella her bottle. The baby was kicking one leg with glee as she drank her milk. 

“He had a previous relationship with our victim, who’s vastly different personality-wise from his usual flings and even his own wife. The fact that Arianna doesn’t look like any of them is another inconsistency in his behaviour.”

“So let me get this straight.” JT interrupted with a grimace that Edrisa liked to refer to as his ‘turtle face’. “This guy sleeps with the women at his office…” his nose scrunched up as he tried to process what he heard, “and then to get revenge, his wife sleeps with them too?”

“Yup.” Dani had an identical look on her face and for a second, Malcolm mistook them for siblings. “Gwendolyn even tried to get me and Bright to sleep with her when we interviewed her.”

Gil let out a laugh of disbelief as JT looked like he swallowed a crateful of lemons. 

“Tell me you’re kidding, Powell.”

“I really wish I was,” she snorted before shooting a sly look at Bright. “You should’ve seen Bright's face. You could pinpoint the exact moment his brain started imploding.” 

Malcolm just narrowed his eyes at Dani playfully as she teasingly narrowed her eyes back at him. 

“Does Evan even know about Isabella?” Gil questioned, frowning at the idea of such a bright little girl being raised by someone as flippant and dismissive as a Huntington. 

Malcolm pursed his mouth as he looked down at the baby, who had abandoned her bottle in favour of playing with the grey silk pocket square tucked into his blazer. 

“He knows she exists, but he refuses to acknowledge that he’s her birth father. Arianna was already pretty adamant about keeping him out of Izzy’s life.” 

If he was being honest, he was hoping this little girl couldn’t be taken away by that man. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to Isabella if she were to grow up with that so-called family. Would she be loved? Would she even be taken care of or would she end up neglected like the characters in one of Ainsley’s historical romance novels?

“Who are the Huntingtons anyways?” JT cut in, his arms crossed. “‘Cause all I’m getting from this is bleach blonde one percenters who moonlight as cartoon villains and make deals with the devil.” 

Malcolm and Gil paused at this, giving JT identical sidelong looks in near perfect synchrony. JT rolled his eyes. Gil isn't my dad, my ass.

“Miri and Noa have been really into Gravity Falls lately. The Huntingtons sound just like the Northwests.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Malcolm adjusted Isabella in his arms, letting her sit on his hip as he set aside her bottle. “Let’s just say the Huntingtons are richer than most of New York combined--”

“Which means they get away with murder all the time. That’s why we need to find something concrete that could connect them to Arianna’s murder,” Dani added, “And I don't think Evan Huntington’s willing to take a paternity test.”

Isabella interrupted with a small shriek before playing with Malcolm’s pocket square again. The team let out a laugh at her outburst, Malcolm especially. 

“Exactly. See guys, she gets what we’re saying.” 

As he continued with his profile, Malcolm didn’t notice that Isabella started trying to copy the swift way he gesticulated whenever he talked, nearly in time with him. The sight of her waving her chubby little arms with the same wide, unblinking expression mirrored on Malcolm’s face was adorable. 

Gil couldn’t help but chuckle as he was paying more attention to the baby than the man she was imitating. Just as Malcolm was going to explain more about Evan Huntington, his face suddenly twisted. The older man raised an eyebrow in concern. 

“You okay, Bright? And don’t just brush it off with an ‘I’m fine’.”

“I’m fine. Really,” Malcolm insisted after getting a look from Gil before letting out a chuckle, “It’s more to do with Isabella here and the fact that she needs a change.” Isabella giggled as Malcolm shouldered her diaper bag with practiced ease, “I’ll be right back.”

“Just be glad you’re not dealing with two of them at once!” 

JT called out as Malcolm left the room, much to Dani and Gil’s amusement.  

“You think you’re done, but then the other one needs changing,” he grumbled. “And it doesn’t help when they look the same so you don't remember which one you just changed.”

“At least yours are both girls,” Dani quipped, the corner of her mouth tilting up as she remembered. “Mona kept confusing her kids for months and she had one of each.” 

 (~**~)                (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

When Malcolm returned, he was surprised to find that Edrisa had joined them. 

“Bright!” She lit the second she saw him. “Right on time!”

He chuckled as he placed Isabella in her stroller and gave her a few toys to distract her. He glanced at Dani for a second before doing a double take, his eyes comically wide.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out, his mouth suddenly dry. “What’s happening here?”

Jessica might have drilled the idea of being a gentleman into him, but even that didn’t stop him from staring at the corset that was hugging Dani’s slim frame. It was a more subtle design than most, but the champagne silk and delicate gold embroidery against her deep blue shirt highlighted her dark hair and made her olive skin practically glow. 

The only thing jarring this image was the gaping hole in the corset just below Dani’s sternum. 

“We found Arianna’s corset in the dumpster outside her building,” JT cut in, looking almost amused at the way Bright was looking at Dani. “Seems our killer didn’t account for the garbage not being collected until the weekend.”

“And according to the shop owners where Arianna would buy her corsets, this is one of their designs, but this isn’t their corset,” Dani explained before she let out a hum of appreciation, looking down at the corset in consideration.

Malcolm furrowed his brows, still not taking his eyes off her. 

“How could they tell?”

“That’s the best part,” Edrisa grinned in excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “If you take a close look at the stitching, you’ll see that this corset was machine stitched when they exclusively sell hand-sewn corsets only.” 

The coroner nodded in approval as she added, "Plus they pride themselves on being cruelty-free and using eco-friendly materials.” She paused at the incredulous looks everyone was giving her. “What? My stepdad talks about them all the time. He did a collaboration with them for his last fashion line." 

Malcolm’s eyes were sharp with focus as his hand hovered over at the stitching of the corset, ignoring the hole left from a knife having gone through it. 

“Amazing.”

His fingers barely brushed over the curved seam above the hip when he faintly heard someone clear their throat. Gil, most likely.

“Bright?”

Malcolm was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see Dani staring down at him with her eyebrows raised and her nose scrunched in confusion and he was suddenly very aware of just how close he was to her. 

“Right, sorry.” He cleared his throat, a high flush stark against his pale skin. “So why’s Dani wearing it?”

“So glad you asked,” Edrisa piped up, clapping her hands in excitement. “Since we need to figure out what about it killed Arianna, Dani volunteered to try it out...” 

Her smile turned into a pout, “So far no luck. We’ve laced it up as tight as possible, but it’s not like Dani’s squashed like a tin of sardines. It doesn’t seem like it’s difficult to breathe in it.”

Dani was reminded of a confused puppy at the bewildered expression that overtook Malcolm’s face.

“You’re fine?”

She nodded, her brow wrinkled in thought. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, her hands smoothing down the front panel of the corset. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m wearing it, honestly.”

Just then Isabella let out a very loud cry, startling everyone. Everyone turned to see her plush owl on the floor, the little girl’s face scrunched up when her stubby little arms couldn’t reach it. Malcolm was quick to grab it and hand it back to her, earning him a toothless grin that matched his answering one. 

He wasn’t expecting to hear someone suddenly collapse behind him.

They all turned and their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Dani was sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and lips turning pale as she gasped for air.

“Dani!” 

Malcolm charged towards her in a panic, ignoring the near scrapes as he fell to his knees next to her. He couldn’t help but curse as his fingers fumbled, desperately trying to undo the corset which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter by the second. Gritting his teeth in frustration when he couldn’t get the knot out, he whipped out a pocket knife from his suit jacket and slashed through the laces before ripping it off her.

He was so going to hear it from Gil later, a scolding about unauthorized weapons already ringing in his ears, but at the moment Malcolm could focus on nothing but Dani. 

He nearly slumped over her in relief as Dani started gasping as air began to flow through her lungs once again. She weakly grabbed Malcolm’s arms as he cradled her to him, keeping her upright against his chest. He barely registered flinging the damn corset away from her, now a pitiful crumpled mess on the floor. 

“I-I couldn’t breathe…” Dani finally managed to choke out, her knuckles white from her grip on him. “I couldn’t breathe!”

Malcolm’s heart thundered almost violently as he stroked her hair, not letting her go as cool air started to fill her lungs again. Dani could practically feel it from where she had her head resting on his chest, the rhythm soothing her as she closed her eyes in exhaustion. 

Malcolm briefly looked up at Gil, his expression grim, a spark of fury making his eyes electric. 

“I think we know how this thing is our murder weapon.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

"JT just texted, they’re on their way back." Gil reported as he pocketed his phone.

His expression was grim as he saw the man he considered a son freeze in the middle of his frantic pacing back and forth with a clingy Isabella on his hip. Malcolm hadn't been able to go to the hospital with Dani because the little girl saw him trying to leave the room and he wasn't able to do it in face of her tears.

“Is…” he hesitated, swallowing thickly. “Is Dani going to be okay?” 

If Gil noticed that his eyes were a little red, he had the sense not to say anything. 

“He said that both Edrisa and the hospital doctor confirmed that Dani only has some mild bruising. You managed to get the corset off her before any permanent damage was done.” 

Malcolm didn’t seem to take any comfort in that. The almost pout on his face was enough to make Gil smirk. 

“Kid, she’s gonna be okay. She’s from the Bronx, tougher than both of us combined, remember?” He unconsciously relaxed as he saw Malcolm let out a tiny smile. “Quick thinking with the knife, by the way,” he added, his tone almost smug.

He barely managed to keep his expression stern as the pout on Malcolm’s face dissolved into a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. It was the same face he had made the time the then officer had caught a twelve year old Bright attempting to smuggle a cageful of budgies--which Gil had later learned he ‘liberated’ from a neglectful owner--into his room, he couldn’t help but note. 

“I justified it at the time,” he admitted sheepishly as Izzy patted his stubble, “but in hindsight, probably not the best idea to have a knife on me if I’m taking care of a baby.”

“Common sense kicks in at last,” Gil chuckled as Malcolm’s face flushed with rare embarrassment, “At least I don't have to make that my next point.”

At least, he hoped he didn’t have to. Had the kid even kept his wall of weapons out of the baby’s line of sight? He kept a straight face, but he was practically screaming internally at the thought. 

“By the way,” Malcolm added as he placed Izzy back in her stroller, “my mother’s going to be stopping by to pick up Isabella while I go take care of something.”

“Where you off to, kid?” 

“I, uh, I’m gonna see Ainsley.” He glanced away, still fidgeting with the stroller’s handles, “I haven’t talked to her for a few days, though I’d check up on her.”

“And Isabella?”

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm let out a tense chuckle, “That’s why I already called Mother, she’s more than happy to watch her for a few hours.”

Gil gave an understanding smile. 

“I can keep an eye on Isabella until Jess gets here. Can’t be much different than babysitting Tala. Go see Ainsley.”

Malcolm’s smile was solemn as he knelt down to face Isabella. The baby just grinned at him and reached out to pat his face. 

“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, okay? Mother’s going to take you on another adventure, that’ll be fun, right?” 

Isabella gurgled as she hugged her owl, the plush toy squished against a chubby cheek. 

“I’ll be back soon, Izzy.” As he stood up to leave, he turned to Gil once more. “Thanks for doing this, Gil.”

“Anytime, kid.”

As Malcolm walked away, Gil knelt down and gave Isabella a smile. The baby let out a light squeal as she reached out to him, the tips of her tiny fingers barely grazing his beard. She reminded him of Tala, his only grandchild when she was that age, wide eyed and curious and grabbing anything that caught her eye. 

Once he took her back to his office, Isabella started to get fussy. He picked her up, immediately realizing what she wanted as he took the bottle of formula she hadn't finished yet. Gil couldn’t help the fond smile that overtook his face as her big blue eyes stared up at him, gurgling as a chubby fist stroked his chin. She started kicking a leg as if to say she was enjoying her snack. 

“You just wanna do everything at once, don’t you?” He would firmly deny that he cooed at Isabella if one of his officers saw him like this. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you took after Bright.”

He didn’t get a response nor did he expect one, but the gummy smile that lit up her face as she reached for her bottle gave him a sense of understanding.

Then a wave of regret hit him. If Evan Huntington knew about Isabella now, why hadn’t he taken her away? 

The lieutenant decided then and there that that sorry excuse for a man wouldn’t have a chance at ruining this little girl’s life. 

Not if he had anything to say about.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

After the rollercoaster that had been the blackout and Endicott’s stabbing, Malcolm and Jessica somehow managed to keep Ainsley from being sent to prison by the skin of their teeth. Malcolm was the first to admit that it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Gil, Dani, and Edrisa. Even JT, much to the surprise of both mother and son.

But it didn’t stop Jessica from finding it fit to send Ainsley to a rehabilitation facility of sorts. Phoenix Rehab, which the Milton matriarch had said had glowing reviews was a facility usually housed teenage heirs to fortunes with so-called attitude problems and wealthy housewives who found that something about their life just wasn’t enough and needed supposed space to breathe. 

Very rarely were there people like Ainsley, who genuinely needed help and needed to understand themselves and their actions.

Malcolm had been against the idea at first. It was already public knowledge that Ainsley was The Surgeon’s daughter, but if the staff were to find out what had really happened that night... 

He shuddered at the thought of Ainsley being raked over hot coals by the fallout. 

Jessica, still reeling from what happened, had suggested Ainsley stay there for at least six months. She was reluctant to cut Ainsley off from society, but she felt that her daughter definitely needed to be somewhere where she didn’t have to deal with media vultures. Especially when Ainsley couldn’t call herself the well-adjusted Whitly anymore. 

But from the start, their mother had made it clear that if Ainsley ever wanted to come back home, whether it be for the weekend or forever, she would welcome her with what Gil dubbed as the Whitly equivalent of arms wide open. 

His sister had ended up making a deal with Jessica. If she could find even one thing she liked about the place--whether it was the food, the meditation classes, even just the comfy mattresses and the freedom to decorate her room as she saw fit--within a week... 

Then she would concede to stay the six months Jessica had recommended.

Soon six months had come and gone, Jessica and Malcolm making various efforts to visit her at least once a week and Ainsley making quite a few visits back to the Whitly family home. Though she always stubbornly insisted that she didn’t need them to check up on her so much, especially considering the long drive. 

But for reasons no one seemed to understand, the youngest Whitly always seemed eager to go back. 

Ainsley clearly seemed to be improving. She half-begrudgingly admitted to Malcolm that she may have been ignoring her own mental health and she managed to come to terms with what she had done, making peace with it more or less. 

But it still didn’t stop the guilt that she felt every time she saw a crime news report. Nicholas Endicott was nothing short of a monster for all the trauma he had put them through and she wasn’t sorry he was dead. But what worried her the most was that something in her--something twisted, something she could have inherited from the dark underbelly of Martin Whitly’s psyche--had snapped and she just couldn’t stand by and watch scum like him get what he wanted. 

Whether it was him lusting after their mother or having Malcolm and Gil at his mercy, she couldn’t let him get away with murder. 

Not again. 

Not anymore. 

She was only sorry for how it had made her notorious, serial killer father downright giddy.

Even more sorry that her mother and brother had been left to deal with the consequences. 

And before long, six months turned to seven, to eight, then nine, but as time ticked on, Ainsley Whitly seemed to have no intention of coming home for good. 

Malcolm was brought over to where Ainsley was lounging on an open patio. She looked comfortable in a flowy white tunic top and matching leggings, her hair fabulous and effortlessly styled as always. 

She seemed at an easel painting... something? 

He couldn’t tell if she was trying for peacock feathers or she accidentally started channeling Klimt with all the greens and golds. 

“Before you say anything, I’m just playing around with this,” Ainsley said without looking up. “I will smear green paint in your hair.” 

And that was Ainsley all over. She always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her big brother trying to tease her. He simply grinned as he walked over to her, meeting her halfway for a bear hug before he sat next to her. 

“Hey bro,” she grinned, “it’s been eighty four years. Please tell me you brought truffle cupcakes instead of just your sorry mug.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but snort as he shook his head. 

“Hi Ains. Good to see you’re still you.”

She blew a raspberry, wagging her paintbrush at him in a way that reminded him of the way great-aunt Martha Antoinette would wag her finger, seafoam green manicure almost blinding whenever she scolded him or their mother. 

“Your last visit was over a week ago. You finally coming to terms that you don’t need to be checking up on me so much?”

“It’s not that. I’ve just been…” His mouth twisted as he tried to figure out how to even begin to explain everything, “busy the last few days. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. I’ve taken up painting obviously,” she smirked, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “You think if I grew facial hair, I could be Bob Ross?”

“Ains,” Malcolm barely got out, his shoulders shaking with laughter, “I think it takes more than mere facial hair to even pass for Bob Ross.” 

“Rude,” she scoffed playfully before trailing off. “I dunno,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been painting a lot of happy trees lately and I could do with another hobby.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” A relieved smile spread across his face. “How’ve you been doing?” 

“Okay for the most part. I’ve been binge-watching The Good Place the past couple of days. I don’t get all the hype, but it was actually pretty good. Though the philosophy bits just confuse the hell out of me.” 

“Well, it’s an acquired taste for some.”

Malcolm chuckled, remembering how JT’s face had scrunched up when he and Tally were debating about ethics in the latest episode during their last group outing. JT preferred everything straightforward while Tally liked diving into symbolism and the intricacies of foreshadowing.

And yet the two opposites had just celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. 

The siblings shared a moment of comfortable silence before Ainsley spoke up. 

“You came here to ask me something.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward, her knowing eyes befitting of her passion for journalism. “And don’t deny it, you know you can’t hide anything from Whitly women, bro. What is it?” 

For once, he carefully thought over his words. 

“You gave Mom the six months she wanted. Your doctors say you’re more than equipped to return to your job and your regular life.” He frowned in confusion as Ainsley looked down at the table, almost curled into herself. “You don’t have an insatiable bloodlust, you don’t take pleasure in hurting people. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head at the time--” 

His eyes softened when he saw her look so small, so unlike her confident self. As much as he initially thought otherwise, he hadn’t been the only one affected by their father.

“But I do understand being afraid of what you could be capable of. And I know that it was a result of trauma and stress, but what happened obviously came from a very logical and rational urge to protect our family.”

“I know,” Ainsley mumbled before looking back up at her big brother, “I’m usually good at getting that through my head--I’m still scared that something will happen again. I’ll suddenly get this pang in my chest at the realization that yes, maybe I did kill to protect my family. Maybe his death helped to save the lives of innocent people who would have died because of him...”

Her voice wobbled, her eyes suspiciously bright and it was like she was five years old again, confused and hanging onto the hem of her big brother’s sweater. 

“But none of that changes the fact that I did kill him. I killed him and I don’t even remember doing it.” 

Malcolm placed a hand on her shoulder as he noticed her eyes glaze over, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m not saying that I’m worse off than you or you can’t understand what it’s like--but you’ve had this stigma of being Martin Whitly’s son for twenty years. It sucks, but at least it’s a constant for you. Imagine feeling like you’re doing fine and then all of a sudden, you’re hit with the guilt of something you actually did and can’t take back. Something you can never change.”

Malcolm held out his other hand and Ainsley was quick to take it, much like when they had been kids and she had held her brother’s hand because she was afraid of the high dive at the pool at Grandma Liz’s house.  

“I feel that less here, but I’m still reminded.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ains. Single minded maybe, but that’s hardly the worst trait for a journalist to have.”

She let out a wry laugh. 

“But I still killed a man and that changes things.” She pursed her lips as she let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t know if I can ever feel normal again.”

Malcolm nodded. Didn’t he have so many sleepless nights over that during the past twenty years? Maybe it was something only family could understand. 

“Welcome to my world,” he jested, the beginnings of a teasing smile unfurling. 

“I guess it was only a matter of time.” Ainsley let go of his hand, her laughter given way to a resigned sigh. “And I know Mom misses me, but now she’s asking me to either come back for this gala or give great-grandma Catherine ‘the Great’ something to roll over in her grave about.”

“Well, she was the life of the party back in her day,” he shrugged. 

He vaguely remembered a larger than life old woman in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress and opera gloves, laugh lines around Milton blue eyes and streaks of silver in her chestnut hair. Malcolm had been four when she passed away, but he could still recall his young self balancing on her ruby red shoes as she led him in wide sweeping circles across the dance floor. 

“And let’s face it, you definitely take after her ‘cause you’re much better at the whole gala thing than I am. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to anyone, really.”

“Wait,” Ainsley turned to him in disbelief. “You, Professor Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, are actually going? Willingly?”

“Yeah, and here’s the kicker. Mother wanted me to bring a date.”

Ainsley let out a snort, her expression sly. 

“Because you’re so clearly fighting them off with a stick?”

“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. 

“What are you going to do when you show up without a date?” 

Malcolm went quiet, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and looking at anything but her. Ainsley’s eyes went wide with shock and delight, her reporter mind quickly connecting the dots.

“No. Way. Malcolm Alexander Bright! You actually have a date?”

Malcolm squirmed in embarrassment, his ears turning red. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a date exactly--”

“It’s Dani, huh?”

“Wha--” Malcolm just blinked at her in bemusement, “I just--how’d you even--”

“Figure it out? Oh please,” Ainsley rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You couldn’t be more obvious. I mean, you literally talk about her every time you come visit.”

He froze at that, eyes so wide that she thought they’d pop out at any given second. Malcolm briefly wondered how his sister could read him so easily now. It had to have been the result of her almost year long stay here. 

 “I do?” 

He winced at the way his voice almost cracked. 

“Yup,” she nodded, practically preening with unholy glee. “It’s always the same thing. You tell me about a case, update me on Gil, guess the JT name of the week, and you end on some hilarious joke Dani made, usually at your expense. Which confirms you being a masochist because you find those the funniest,” she added in afterthought. 

Ainsley settled back in her seat, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. 

“So tell me, big brother. How’d you manage to trick her into saying yes?” 

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Dani wasn’t normally one to simply stay at her desk, but she couldn’t help the soft smile on her face as she watched Gil and Isabella through the window of his office, the baby laughing as Gil made funny faces. It had been a while since she saw him like this, but lolo Gil was definitely a good look on him.

“Oh, Detective Powell!”

She snapped out of her thoughts a posh voice called out to her, accompanied by the crisp sound of heels clicking with each step across the floor.

“Hello, Mrs Whitly.” 

Dani looked up at the older woman with a polite smile. Jessica Whitly reminded her of the high society ladies from the reruns of Dynasty that her Granmè used to watch when she was little. Affably dramatic with those close to her, but scrappy enough to get down and dirty when she needed to if breaking an antique vase over Watkins’ head was any indication. 

Dani nearly had to cover her eyes when she spotted the bright, friendly smile on the other woman’s face, a sharp contrast with the navy suede trench coat and muted silver heels she wore. Well, at least she knew where Bright got it from now. 

“Oh no, dear, Mrs Whitly was my former mother-in-law,” Jessica chuckled airily, waving off the formality. “Given how attached my son is to you, you simply must call me Jessica. It’s lovely to see you again.” 

“It’s nice to see you too.” 

It should’ve been awkward, talking to Bright’s mother like this as if her relationship with her son was something more profound than friendship, but honestly? 

Jessica wasn’t as bad as some of the other high society mothers she had come across since meeting Bright. She was a lot of things; nosy, opinionated, a little judgemental at times when it came to Gil or her children’s choices. But she didn’t let her shortcomings stop her from trying to do right by the people she cared about. 

The subtle smile on Dani’s face was genuine, even as the detective cleared her throat upon recalling last night’s invitation. 

“Oh, by the way, I thought you should know that Bright invited me along.” 

“Invited you along...?” The older woman feigned ignorance with a quizzical tilt of her head, a rare moment of mischief for her. 

“Uh,” Dani hesitated for a second, absently biting her lower lip before she just came out with it. “Just that he extended the invitation for your gala... thing. He wasn’t really specific about what it was.”

“Oh,” Jessica lit up, clasping her hands together in delight, “So Malcolm did ask you after all! Finally. I knew that boy had a bit of the Milton persistence in him if I gave him a little nudge in the right direction, so to speak.”

Dani swallowed a chuckle, remembering the little family history lesson Bright had given them during the impromptu tour of the Whitly family home. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, this is wonderful, dear! So tell me, what do you plan on wearing?”

Oh.

Dani hadn’t really thought about what she would wear to an upscale event like that. Her family was comfortably middle class and the Powells’ idea of fancy was a night at the New York ballet and a late dinner at the Havana Café. 

“Um, I don’t really have a lot of options. Just that dress Bright bought me for a case a while back.”

“That fabulous oxblood gown you wore to the Taylor wedding?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dani let out a laugh, simply shrugging a shoulder. “I thought about having my mom upcycle it and add some sheer lace sleeves, maybe a peekaboo collar.”

“As inventive as that may be and I will be asking for your mother’s number later,” Jessica looked momentarily intrigued by the idea before she shook her head, “I cannot let you be seen in that.”

Dani was nearly taken back, her brows raised in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jessica started, “That dress is gorgeous and you looked stunning as always. I've lost count of how many times people have come up to me and asked who you were after you flawlessly took down the Countess of Monte Cristo, not even a hair out of place.”

Jessica’s expression turned sly as she recalled how her son would start to frown in annoyance whenever he overheard a wealthy scion ask if the lovely detective was single. It may have led to a few ice cold glares whenever Dani wasn’t looking and the occasional possessive hand cupping the small of her back as he guided her through yet another dance, but the Milton matriarch would let Malcolm have his dignity. 

For now, at least. 

“But it’s practically an unwritten rule in the upper echelon, you simply cannot be seen in something you’ve already worn, especially when it comes to these sort of events.” 

"I guess you have a point…" Dani conceded. 

She might have had a brief glimpse of high society at the Taylor wedding, but she could tell from a glance that there was a lot of cutthroat viciousness hidden behind polite veneers. She was not about to go to the gala like a country bumpkin put on display at the-- 

Dani mentally shook her head. She must have listened to Mona talk about historical Cinderella style novels one too many times. How did Bright even grow up in that kind of environment? 

“Oh, I know!” Jessica's face lit up once again, “Why don’t I take you shopping? I still need to get my dress as well and I’m sure we could find something that suits your taste. We can make a lady’s day out of it.”

“I don’t know, Mrs Whitly--Jessica,” Dani corrected after a pointed look from the older woman. “I can’t exactly take off work--”

“Actually, you don’t need to continue your shift. Given that it ended a little while ago.” Gil interrupted, his face smug as he walked out of his office, bouncing a very happy Isabella in his arms. “Powell’s just a dedicated worker.”

Isabella kicked her legs in excitement, squealing when she saw Jessica hold her arms out. 

“Oh, my little bluebell!” Jessica gushed as she took the baby from Gil, looking every inch a doting grandmother as she turned back to Dani. “Now then, if your work day is over, I would love to take you dress shopping.” 

Dani opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. Jessica was nice enough in small doses, but even she didn’t know if she could handle the entire day with Bright’s mom. 

“Powell,” Gil interjected, fatherly assurance bleeding into his usual no-nonsense lieutenant persona. “After all the hullabaloo, you’ve definitely earned a break today. Don’t let me catch you back here until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess…” Dani paused, looking at Jessica with a tiny smile. “Why not? I could use a day off right about now.”

“Wonderful!” 

Isabella started to clap and giggle as Dani stood up, the little girl’s enthusiasm making the grin on Jessica’s face grow even wider. 

“See, even Bluebell’s excited for you to join us.”

Gil chuckled with a fond expression, offering to get Isabella’s stroller when his phone suddenly rang. He hurried back to his office when he saw just who was calling. 

“Gil, I think I figured out how to get Evan Huntington to talk.”

“Bright,” Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still don’t have enough evidence to bring him in. There’s still a possibility that he’s not our killer.”

“Killer or not, he knows something. He’s just not telling us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned, a feeling of dread already starting to bubble up, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do I even want to know what you have in mind?”

“Probably not,” he joked before his voice turned serious. “We may have to talk to Evan Huntington’s father, Edgar. But in order for it to work--” 

He could practically hear Malcolm’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. 

“--I may need to pay my father a visit.” 

Hey guys!

I’m sorry this took so long... again, writer’s block plus online summer courses have not been a good combination. I’m hoping that chapter 8 doesn’t take this long to write but no worries, I’m not gonna abandon the story... if anyone’s still interested in the story lol

I hope you guys are doing well and staying safe, I’ll see you next time XP

P.S. extra special thank you to @s4karuna because I could not have posted these past few chapters without her edits

[antisocial-af]

Day 10: Jeliorn

Title: The Day the Roots Invaded

25 Days of Pairings: Day 10 Jeliorn

Promo:

If you are interested in Rare Pairs, think about joining Shadowhunters Rare Pair Gift Exchange. I’ve already sent in my form! Sign-ups End on December 19th so don’t miss your chance and don’t be afraid to be as specific as you want on the forms!

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1612

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Holiday Fluff, Christmas Tree Mishaps, and Small Misunderstanding.

Summary:

Seelies don't appreciate real Christmas trees.

Click Here to Read on Ao3

Story:

Jace rummaged through the disheveled storage closet. He needed to pull out the Christmas Tree decorations that the Institute kept tucked away. This year Jace had the honor of setting up and decorating the tree for the holidays. Usually, it would fall onto the Institute Head to decorate the tree as tradition, but Alec had been busy lately with some warlock winter tradition. 

Izzy then pulled the whole ‘Alec is your Parabatai, and he covers for you, so you should too.’ Jace was well aware of the times his brother had covered for him. So he sucked it up and played right into his sister’s hand. 

Jace had been relieved that Meliorn didn’t mind having to reorganize their date. They had planned to see some more of the Seelie Realm. Instead, Meliorn was going to come over and help Jace with the tree and decorations. 

Isabelle had told him the Clave usually had the trees delivered to the Institutes. Jace had never seen anyone do it before, so he hadn’t believed her till Andrew had woken him up by banging against his door this morning because they needed him to sign-off on the drop-off.  Dropping off a tree was one of the few things that the Clave never failed to provide on time. 

The tree had been massive when they had wheeled it in. Luckily the branches were being contained because of the net around the tree. They had carted it to the main entrance hall of the Institute and set it up. Jace figured it had to do something with appearances. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was true, after the first week of December, there would always be a Christmas Tree fully decked out with decorations proudly standing whenever you entered the Institute. 

“Hey, Mel just got here,” Izzy’s voice pulled him from the mountain of boxes and his thoughts. “Are you okay? Why are you here?” 

“I’m looking for the damn tree decorations!” Jace responded, irritated as he brushed some dust off his jacket. 

“They are in the boxes, Jace.”

“This whole room is filled with boxes, Iz. So you are going to have to be more specific than that!” Jace snapped back. His only thoughts right now were on how Meliorn was here, he looked a mess, and he still hadn’t found the damn lights! 

“No idiot, I mean the ones they delivered with the tree,” Izzy responded as she rolled her eyes at her brother. “You signed the inventory list. Jace, they delivered a tree and twelve boxes. What did you think the boxes were for?” 

“I thought it was just stuff to keep the tree healthy. Mom and Dad always put stuff at the bottom,” Jace explained. He couldn’t believe he had just spent the last hour down here searching for boxes that were upstairs next to the damn tree already. “How much of a disaster do I look?” 

“Well, since we are Shadowhunters, the scratches and dirt are on point with our aesthetic but maybe shake it off your face and hair,” she teased and patted the sleeve of his jacket to get some spider webs that fell on it off. 

Jace groaned and stuck his tongue out before rolling his eyes at his sister and leaving her behind in the mess of a room. He knew he would have to back and fix that later. Right now, though, Jace was mostly kicking himself for not checking the boxes before going off and wasting time. 

“Melio-” Jace stopped mid-sprint and sentence as he reached a very angry looking Seelie. “Hey, everything okay, Mel?” 

Jace had seen Meliorn angry before, but this was a mix between disgust and anger. He didn’t know the combination of those emotions could be displayed on a person’s face, but Meliorn had proved him wrong in other ways before. 

“Jace, why do you have this?” Meliorn asked with a scold as he waved at the now fully extended tree. 

“The tree? We have one every year,” Jace tentatively explains, all while trying to decipher what about it upset his boyfriend. “The Clave sends one to every Institute for the holidays.” 

“So you partake in the barbaric ritual of decorating dead trees?” Meliorn accused him with a growl. 

It then dawned on Jace what was going on. He had never thought that the tree might be offensive to Seelies. He knew that they were attached to all things that sprouted from the Earth, but Jace never realized it would extend to this. Jace then started to wonder how many times in the past years had Seelies been angered or made uncomfortable by this. 

“When you put it that way, I can see the fault in it,” Jace answered with a sigh. “I told you I would be decorating the Institute’s Christmas tree when I had to reschedule our date. I thought you knew. I didn’t know it would be offensive, I swear.” 

Jace watched as Meliorn’s anger dissipated. He moved towards Meliorn and reached out for his hand. 

“I know I can be an idiot at times,” Jace stated as he curled his fingers in the Seelie’s hand. “But I wouldn’t purposefully ask you over to do this with me if I knew it was offensive. I would never do that to you, Mel.” 

“I know, my petal,” Meliorn assured as he kissed the top of Jace’s hair and pulled him closer. “I just assumed you meant a plastic one, especially since you mentioned having to find the boxes for it.” 

Jace leaned into his boyfriend’s embrace and sighed. 

“I was looking for the decorations, which I didn’t have to since they deliver them with the tree as well,” Jace cleared up and started to play with the long strands of Meliorn’s hair. “The Institute has one every year. Have you never seen it before?” 

“It wasn’t till last year when your Parabatai took over that we were even welcomed to enter the Institute, my nectar,” Meliorn explained and received a groan and head shake from Jace at the new pet name. “Another fail?” 

“I don’t know why you insist on calling me by names or parts of flowers,” Jace grumbled into Meliorn’s winter coat. “I’m not fragile like them; I’m a Shadowhunter.” 

It had become a small game with them. Meliorn was always trying to develop new names to call Jace, and other than Petal, all were rejected. 

“That may be true, but you hold the beauty to rival theirs,” Meliorn complimented and laid another kiss to the top of Jace’s head. “On most days, you surpass it.” 

“Is this another stab at my snoring?” Jace redirected and buried his blush further into his boyfriend’s chest. “Just stick to petal, please, Mel.” 

“That’s not fair, you know I can’t resist your pleads,” Meliorn answered and tipped Jace’s chin so that he would be forced to look up at the Seelie. “How could I deny you anything, my petal.” 

Jace felt Meliorn lean forward and kiss him softly. He eagerly reciprocated and smiled. 

“How about I deal with the tree, and you go grab your coat,” Meliorn offered. “We can go out still.” 

“What are you going to do with it?” Jace asked and raised an eyebrow as his boyfriend stepped away from him. 

“Watch.”

Jace watched as Meliorn stepped up to the tree and brushed his hands against it. The scent of burning sugar and rain warned him of what Meliorn was doing, though. After being together for so long and at times in the Seelie Realm, Jace had learned to associate that smell will Seelie magic. Jace kept watching curiously as the tree rustled a bit. He saw the small tendrils of pastel green magic bleed off Meliorn’s fingertips. 

“There. All done,” Meliorn claimed as he walked back to Jace. “It was still holding on with the water you were giving it, so it was easy to coax the roots to take.”

“Root? Take where?” Jace asked, confused. He didn’t understand why the Seelie was talking about roots. 

“There is only one room below before dirt; so I fed it some of my magic so the tree could extend its roots down to the dirt past that.”  Meliorn nonchalantly explained. 

Jace felt the panic start rising as he understood what his boyfriend had done. Underneath, where it was mostly storage, there were now roots breaking through down to the dirt. There was a hole that extended two-floor technically since Jace assumed there was now a hole underneath the tree’s skirt. Jace would now have to explain to Alec why the hole that hadn’t been there previously was now there. He could already hear his Parabatai’s lecturing voice. Jace had started to wonder why the Institute alarms hadn’t been triggered yet, only to listen to the alarm signaling an infiltrator. Since Meliorn had broken the structure, Jace understood it. 

“Jace!” Isabelle’s voice called out from behind him, and he could hear the fast clicking of her heels. 

It was then he realized not only had Izzy heard the Institute alarm, but Jace had left her downstairs in the basement where there was no doubt now roots growing. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mel, we have to go,” Jace panicked and started to think of how long he could hide in the Seelie Realm before Alec would get Magnus to track him. “How am I supposed to explain the hole to Alec?” 

“Jace Lightwood-Wayland-Herondale!” Izzy’s voice came again, but this time she was at the hallway entrance staring at both of them. “Care to explain why we suddenly have a root infestation?” 

Jace groaned and buried his face in his boyfriend’s chest again.

[shadowsndaisies]

Paint

A/N: I know that Alec is gay, this is a figment of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

You sat down on your bed in Idris one last time. You take a look around as you notice how empty your room now looked. All the posters had been pulled off, pictures were taken down. Your mural had been painted over and the walls were now white instead of the soft blue you had grown up with. Your bed was bare along with your closet and drawers.

When the door opened to reveal Maryse Lightwood you knew it was time. Maryse was moving you to the New York Institute where she and the Clave believed you would be an “excellent addition”. With a sigh, you picked up your few bags slinging them on you and grabbing your suitcase you followed behind her. Maryse talked to you about the New York Institute and you vaguely remember visiting as a child for some training but you had lived most of your life in Idris.

The two of you stepped through the portal and came out the other side. When you arrive your eyes dart around observing and absorbing all the information available to you. Maryse takes the lead, guiding you through other people, many gaping at you. You kept your (e/c) eyes trained on the path Maryse blazed. She led you to the rooms and then to an open one, as you walked in you notices the style was different and so was the set up than your room in Idris but it would work.

“Unpack, get comfortable I’m going to send a few people up to meet you. These are going to be the group you’re working with.” She gives you a sad smile as if she could tell that you missed Idris.

You gave her a weak nod and began to open your bags. you heard her heels click and clack away as you opened the closet. You began hanging some clothes up and putting others in the drawers. You had finished the drawers as the clicking and clacking of heels return. As you look back you see Maryse and 4 others behind her, they all look to be your age a few a bit younger but close enough.

“(Y/n) meet your new team members, Jace Wayland, Clarissa Fairchild, and my children Isabelle and Alec Lightwood.” Their eyes rake you as they try to grasp information on you but you could tell they were failing.

“Hi,” you mumble.

“I’ll leave you to it, and Alec, Isabelle help (y/n) unpack her bags,” Maryse says walking out.

“Hi, (y/n), I’m Clary, and I really look forward to meeting you but I do have a friend who needs my help so I can’t stay,” the look the redhead gives you is pure guilt and you know she isn’t lying.

“It’s ok,” you offer with a smile, as she gives you a quick hug (which you are too surprised to recuperate) before rushing out.

You turn back to the remaining three to see Jace talking to Alec and Isabelle about something, you listen in, but mind your work as you continue to hang things up.

“-I gotta go watch Clary…” he whispers.

“What?” Alec complains.

“Yeah, she’s heading over to see Simon and with the state, he’s in, I don’t trust it.” Jace continues.

“Go, we got this,” Isabelle pitched before he mumbled thanks. Alec, however, let his eyes roll as the blonde rushed up to you.

“(Y/n)..” Jace calls wearily.

With a silent sigh, you turn to face him, “I’m really sorry but-”

You decide to cut him off, “You have to help Clary, the shadow world is dangerous, I get it.” you smile to him.

“You’re not mad?” he inquires.

“Go!” you smile, urging the blonde out the door, and with a smirk he is.

You turn back to the 2 dark haired siblings before sighing, “Anybody else got an emergency they need to get to?”

“Nada” Isabelle winks coming to sit on your bed.

You give the younger girl a smile, delighted to know you wouldn’t be abandoned.

“What can we do?” she continues sending a glare to her brother.

“Oh! um, depends are you willing to help me paint?” you ask.

“Paint?” Alec scoffs with an eye roll.

“Yeah, the first thing I do is paint the walls, make me feel more at home..” you trail.

“Sounds like fun, lemme go change into something more workable,” Isabelle winks before rushing out.

You stand awkwardly before the much taller boy, as you wait for his sister to return.

“So….” you begin, earning another eye roll from the boy.

“You know, if you roll your eyes too much they might just roll away,” you smirk, though he just rolls his eyes once more.

“Fine, don’t take my insightful advice,” you joke as Izzy returns.

She’s wearing some yoga pants and a tank top now but her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and out of her face.

“Alright! let’s get to it!” She smiled.

Together the 2 of you throws sheets atop all the furniture and across the floor, grabbing the paint you had previously brought with you, you set it up. Still smiling making small talk you grabbed a brush and she grabbed a roller, you both set out painting on opposite ends of the room. Alec sat on your covered bed for a bit watching the both of you, giggle as you paint and race back for more. On one trip you take a chance and hold your hand out to him. He looks at it, then to you, then to Izzy, and back to you and finally rests on your hand once again.

“C'mon, I’m pretty sure your mom told you to help me,” you smirk.

“Whatever,” Alec stands up rolling his eyes and pulls off his jacket. He grabs another brush and works on your wall with you, his height allowing you to get the areas you couldn’t reach before. together the three of you worked for hours until all the walls had been painted, you all collapsed on the ground next to the paint as you rested.

“I’m going to go check in with Jace, I’ll be right back,” Izzy smiled with a strange look as she rose up from the floor.

The 2 of you sit in a silence but it’s no longer awkward, you look up at the raven haired boy and notice paint right under his left eye. “You have a little..” you gesture towards the speck.

“Oh,” he says wiping under his right eye.

“No, it’s..um,” you giggle as your hand reaches out as your thumb swipes at the paint. Your eyes dart to his as he meets your gaze, his intense blue eyes searching your own.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“Why?” he whispered, eyes still trained on you.

Biting your lip to keep back the giggle, “I think I made the paint worse.” you admit honestly.

He rolls his eyes once more as he looks away from you. “Hey (y/n), I think you have a little something on your face too,” he says grabbing your attention once more.

Your head turns back to the highly attractive person before you only to be met with a paint brush to your nose. You hear Alec begin to laugh as your eyes travel from the brush to him. you study him before picking up your own paint brush and leaning forwards.

“No.” He says sternly, but to no avail, you reach forward and create a little slash of paint on his forehead.

He rolls his eyes and licks his lips before retaliating the 2 of you begin to wrestle in attempts to mark the other with paint. that’s how Isabelle finds you, she walks in to see you straddling Alec and painting him where ever you can.

“Ahem. Get a room.” She smirks looking at the two of you as you scramble off of him.

By now the two of you are covered in paint from head to toe, covering many of your runes and many of his in turn.

And that’s how everyone else finds you as well. Maryse walks in with Jace and Clary on her trail, they all stop short of the sight in front of them. 2 highly trained Shadowhunters are covered in a light blue paint that matches the walls around them.

“I don’t want to know,” Maryse decided to turn around and walking away.

“That’s too bad because I do,” Jace smirks crossing his hands over his chest.

Alec looks like a deer caught in headlights so you step up, “Lightwood here rolled his eyes at me one too many times.” you lie.

“Enough said, clean it up, Maryse needs to talk to us when you’re done,” Jace admits leaving as well. Clary sends you a funny look as she follows him.

“Imma leave you two to it then…” Izzy comments wiggling her eyebrows at you and a blush rose to your cheek. Isabelle walked out with one last smirk leaving you and Alec alone in your new room once more.

“I’m sorry about the paint,” you smile as you really take in his blue appearance.

He rolls his eyes and then looks to you, “I’m not.” he smirks.

“Rude.” you decide.

“Nah, I had fun, that doesn’t happen too often.” he admits grabbing his stele and walking over to you.stele and walking over to you.

“You have a cleaning rune?” He asks now in front of you

“Nope.” you smile.

“Turn around.” He laughs.

Alec’s hands glide over your shoulder and pull the strap of your tank top down, he burns the rune into the skin on your back, his other hand resting on your opposite shoulder.

“Done,” He whispered as you slowly turn to face him. When you do the paint has vanished from your body, your clothes, however, not so much.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” His face is closer now and you can feel his warm breath on your face.

“We should go down,” you mutter though you’d love to stay here just as you were.

“Yeah, but there’s something I want to do first.” he decides.

His hands come up to cup your cheek as his lips meet yours. They’re soft and the kiss is intoxicating as you both move in sync until the need for oxygen is too great.

As you pull away his forehead rests on yours, “So you, me this Friday?” he asks softly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’d like that,” you smile once again. “But we should go down,” you remind him.

You receive an exaggerated sigh in response, along with the ever so present eye roll.

[askisabella]

* HARRY POTTER AU ;

alternate universe from June 5th to June 12th.

Isabella ‘Izzie’ Regina Locksley sofia carson

sixteen years old

sixth year student

Atticus House at Durmstrang. Slythern house at Hogwarts.

important connections; daughter of Robin and Regina Locksley, twin sister to Henry Locksley. ride or die bad influences; Emma Swan, Killian Jones, Nathaniel Anthony, Evangeline. new friends to Samantha Bradshaw and Wyatt Bruno.

patronus; robin.

wand; 11 1/2 inch rowan wood with a dragon heartstring core.

things will be tagged * hp au ; pt 1

Isabella Locksley is the epitome of a Slytherin. Due to a somewhat traumatic past and nightmares that still plague her the sixteen year old has thrown herself into all things magical in hopes of becoming the best. The best comes with power; power comes with being able to protect oneself and maybe even approval from her very Gryffindor family. Years at Drumstrang taught the brunette you have no one to rely on but yourself, especially when her twin brother — the one person she thought she could always rely on— broke her trust without a second thought. Izzie is friendly enough unless provoked but really only relies on a handful of people because there is no way to know who someone can truly trust after her own families betrayal. She deeply misses living in the muggle world where things were simple and her family wasn’t at odds. She is a bit ashamed of being a Slytherin due to family history and the implications that come along with the house but hides it well from those who don’t truly know her. She excels at anything dark arts, potions and apparition and isn’t terrible at charms. When she isn’t in class, she can be found with friends, practicing anything magical or wandering about Hogsmeade. 

FULL BIOGRAPHY

Isabella Locksley came into the world just minutes after her older bother therefore setting the tone for their lives; always second best. Childhood was absolutely wonderful! The Locksley home never lacked love and constantly fostered children’s curious minds. It wasn’t until one night everything changed.

The Dark Lord and his followers attacked Hogwarts which was just feet from the Locksley’s home. The sounds of screams, cackling laughter, the smells of sulfur and something she couldn’t pinpoint, the air tasted of something strong enough to almost gag the young girl. Time was spent hidden in the depth of a closet as the battle raged on unbeknownst to the girl. As if things weren’t bad enough, a strange voice entered her head causing an immense amount of pain but she didn’t scream. Shaking hands remained covering ears with eyes slammed shut in an attempt to block everything out. After what felt like hours the young girl was tucked into a bed beside her brother in their grandparents home.

Growing up in the magical world seemed normal until they arrived on the muggle side of things. No longer were wands, flying brooms and potions. However, like most children, Isabella was resilient and quickly settled in. Nightmares of that evening — everything heard, seen, mother leaving and returning with father near death — never fully went away. Often nights she woke up shaking and in tears, but after a while kept the incidents to herself in fear of bringing back bad memories for mum and father, as well. The muggle world was wonderful to Isabella! Every day memories of their life before began to fade making it a little easier to breath, with the exception of nightmare. Friends were made, activities joined, school excelled in, family close and everyone was happy. This world was safe.

Acceptance letters flew through the door one day causing a sense of dread to set in. They were going back. Not only where they going back but the twins were being sent to opposite schools. Isabella to to Durmstrang and Henry Beauxbatons. Begging and pleading would do no good so Isabella accepted her fate silently with a broken heart. It seemed cruel to separate their family but if mum and father thought it was for the best it must be, right? Bags were packed, supplies were gathered, and meek goodbyes given as every emotion began to internalize. Brown eyes couldn’t even look into parents the day she was sent away. This all just felt — wrong. Most felt excitement but she felt nothing but paralyzing fear.

Once at Durmstrang, Isabella thrived academically! Everything magical seemed to come with ease. It was strange. After learning about the very battle that almost tore apart her family something clicked, the more she knew the better protected. Knowledge is power. Power is protection. Over the years, the darker parts of magic began to change Isabella. The final push over the edge was learning everything discussed with Henry seemed to make its way back to their mother. There was truly no one a person could rely on but themselves. Well, themselves a select few others. Along the way Isabella seemed to collect a handful of loyal friends. The Locksley’s were no longer the happy family they once were, but these new friends certainly helped her forget — until father and mother forced a transfer to Hogwarts upon it’s reopening.

Being around family every day was terrifying. It was no secret Isabella hadn’t wished to be forced back into the magical world, but feeling like an outsider after the fact only severed their connection even more. Isabella was horrified with the person she had become; a stranger to them. Having to face her parents every day feeling like she had failed them, having to see Henry knowing she could no longer trust him, hurt. Except Locksley’s don’t show pain — not according to grandmother — so hurt morphed into a wall painted with snarky comments and cold to the touch.

Hogwarts 2.0 sorted Isabella into Slytherin without a moments hesitation. It wasn’t terrible considering most of the linage had also belonged to the house, but the moment Henry’s Gryffindor was shouted out it was hard to miss the pride in her parents eyes. Gryffindor was the ideal house for any student after the great battle but even more so for the Locksley’s as a family. Father had been a Gryffindor, mother had wished to be one and now Henry. The feelings were pushed aside to celebrate with those she knew were proud of her; friends.

All Isabella Locklsey hopes for this year is for their family to find their way back together, if it’s even possible, or for them to finally let her go.