#thread: dereliction of duty

[princepsumbra]

Dereliction of Duty

continued from here; @indevouement

Leo accepts the teacup, pulling it closer with one hand, noting the impressive polish that makes the golden rim gleam. How Jakob produced tea service on short notice, Leo will never know--though he suspects the butler keeps an emergency tray fully prepped at all times. Such devotion to his craft is certainly a magic all its own.

He listens quietly. A bird flies past his office window, casting a brief shadow across the room. "Kidnapping?" Leo prompts when Jakob pauses. Silence stretches on. In the span of seconds, Jakob's entire demeanor shifts into one of barely concealed panic. He does an admirable job covering it; if not for the desperate way he asks for tea, Leo would think he was avoiding an unpleasant memory.

Green eyes narrow. "Almyran pine needles, please," he replies. "And to answer your question, I am curious because of the staggering use of magic. A spell like that would require massive amounts of energy, not to mention exact incantations. Sustaining anything of that magnitude for an extended period of time would wear out even the most talented of mages."

Expression clears of suspicion as he speaks. An overreaction, surely. "Yes, others can provide me with clarity, and I intend to ask at some point. I thought it best to inquire with those I already have an established rapport. Corrin has told me little herself." Underhanded, some might say, of him preying on Jakob's devotion. But Leo isn't lying--he has not been made privy to the full extend of the nightmares that befell his beloved.

One more push. "Consider this part of my research on the subject. If what everyone is saying is true, none of your perceived experiences were real, and therefore, none of your actions had any lasting consequences in the real world." What an incredibly jarring effect that must have regardless.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Hidden ✧

Plot: You’re the president’s daughter he came to rescue, and you both need to hide in a small hole.

A/N: the president’s daughter reader is back y’all yeahhh

As your frantic footfalls echoed through the derelict cabin's dimly lit halls, Leon's calloused grip clamped vice-like around your wrist.

Forcibly dragging your stumbling frame towards a promising crevice of safety tucked along the far interior wall.

In one fluid series of motions, he shoved you into the musty shadows of that nook before barricading the open space with an ancient wardrobe wedged against the crumbling sheetrock.

Effectively sealing you both inside that makeshift sanctuary from whatever evil forces still lurked beyond those creaking timbers...

"Stay low and keep those pretty lips zipped if you know what's good for you," Leon's gravelly baritone hissed out mere inches from your face through the suffocating blackness enveloping your curled forms.

Just the thought of whatever merciless terrors he was willing to unleash in order to uphold this mission's integrity sent a tremulous shiver rattling through your shoulders to silently obey.

Until that spoiled, entitled nature of yours simply couldn't resist one final petulant sigh of displeasure over the cramped captivity.

"There's barely any room at all to-"

Before you could finish that complaint, a single broad palm slammed over the part of your lips while his forearm pinned you firmly against the damp wall.

Body caging yours in as the former RPD officer issued a scathing reprimand on a rough whisper skimming along your jaw.

"Shut up if you want to live, princess ..."

Within the next breath, you were being hauled up against his rock-solid frame until your backside suddenly landed against the cradle of those corded thighs wrapped around your waist.

Heat instantly prickling under your cheeks at such scandalous proximity to those taut muscles bulging beneath his battle-worn fatigues.

"What are you doing ?" you indignantly mumbled against the leather-scented palm still locked over your gasping mouth as Leon shifted and adjusted your positioning atop his bunching arousal trapped beneath those cargos.

"Just giving you what you wanted, princess..." he rumbled out on a hissed breath fanning your hairline. "More space to wiggle that restless body around in without blowing our cover entirely."

In a true testament to Leon's pragmatic stoicism, he simply pulled your squirming form flush against his torso once more.

Then wrapped one solid appendage around your ribs to silently signal he'd tolerate no further fussing over the matter.

Crossing your arms with an indignant huff, you were left silently stewing about the fact that at least in this shadowed intimacy...he wouldn't be able to witness the furious bloom of crimson staining your cheeks at such close proximity.

But of course, your pins-and-needles started kicking in from supporting all your weight on those throbbing legs less than a minute later - leaving you fidgeting ceaselessly to find a more comfortable position once again.

A deep, guttural hiss of air sliced past your cheek as Leon's rock-hard abdominals spasmed beneath your restlessly shifting weight - only realizing belatedly that your churning rear end kept grinding against the rapidly swelling ridge suddenly tenting the front of his heavy-duty garments.

Instantly freezing in shock when you craned your neck up to search those inscrutable features hovering just overhead...

Without warning, a powerful hand was cupping the nape of your skull while calloused fingertips threaded sharply through your tangled locks to jerk your focus frontwards again.

"Don't move. A muscle" came his sandpaper growl against your temple - syllables nearly lost amidst the roaring drumbeat pulsing beneath your own frantic pulse points as your thighs instinctively clenched around his.

Too shaken to disobey, you simply swallowed back your shuddery gasps and meekly nodded.

Practically tasting those electrifying waves of primal aggression rolling off his hulking frame while he waged whatever internal war against himself.

Close enough in the darkness for the heat gusting from his flaring nostrils to fan across your cheeks in tandem with each strained exhale.

And then...there was nothing but bristling tension coiling tighter and tighter between your suspended forms until even Leon's very bones seemed to thrum with it - scarcely allowing either of you to cycle air into your lungs.

At least until the droning swarm beyond your flimsy barricade quieted for more than a few minutes' respite, signaling your opportunity to extract yourselves from this debauched tangle of limbs.

"Break’s over, ...use your feet and shove that dresser out of the way."

Leon finally ground out once that punishing grip eased from the back of your skull.

"We need to get moving before I give those freaks an even bigger reason to hunt us down."

Bobbing a rapid nod, you braced your calves against the barrier until it gave way enough to slither back outside into the fading twilight hues.

Every breath hitching raggedly into your constricted lungs as the dark, woodsy scents finally chased away the aroma of leather and gunpowder consuming your senses.

From there, Leon slipped back into that hardened survivalist on autopilot - all traces of those searing undercurrents wiped clean from his expression save the barely perceptible flush tingeing those razor-etched cheekbones.

So you had no choice but to fall back in step behind his long, purposeful strides guiding you deeper into the night's embrace without so much as sparing you a sidelong glance this time.

"Come on, princess...we lost enough time back there." His signature endearment for you practically snarled out with customary disdain.

"The rendezvous coordinates aren't getting any closer dawdling around like this."

Rolling your eyes, you simply complied in silence with those unspoken orders.

[juliussilver25]

The Silver Collective

It began like any routine stop—just another night patrol in Southend, where Officer Dane carried out his duties with calculated precision. He spotted the motorbike first, its rider exuding defiance. A street-hardened young man, draped in a slick, vinyl tracksuit with checkerboard stripes, glinting jewelry weighing heavy on his chest. Dane approached, hand steady, voice calm.

But as he laid a gloved hand on the young man’s shoulder, something stirred beneath his skin.

Dane didn’t know it yet, but he was already infected.

Earlier that week, he’d been called to a strange incident near the estuary—reports of a silver bubbling from a derelict shipping container. He remembered touching it, just briefly, while examining the scene. The material had clung momentarily to his glove and vanished. No trace. He logged the event and forgot it.

The silver hive hadn’t forgotten him.

Over the past days, subtle changes had crept in—his uniform began to feel restrictive, his mind unusually focused. His physique enhanced itself without effort, veins pulsing with an unidentifiable energy. His vest fit tighter. His thoughts sharpened… and narrowed.

By the time Dane confronted the chav, the silver hive had already bonded to his nervous system.

Their eyes met.

The young man—Jaxon—felt it immediately. A pulse. A vibration from the officer’s touch. Something chemical, invasive. “What’s this?” he muttered, as a cold, sleek sensation crawled up his arm and into his chest. The metal on his chains began to shimmer unnaturally. The stitching on his jacket twisted, reweaving itself in silver thread. The infection was spreading.

Dane stood still, watching. But it wasn’t concern in his eyes—it was awakening. He could feel the hive guiding him, instructing him. Assimilate. Convert. Refine.

Jaxon clutched his chest as the transformation deepened. His skin smoothed, hair styled itself more perfectly, the once-chaotic streetwear replaced by a sculpted silver jacket, lined with a blue "POLICE" badge. His trousers gleamed like liquid chrome.

Dane, now shirtless, displayed the full extent of the hive’s gift: an impossibly flawless torso plated in sleek muscle and adorned with ceremonial silver medallions. Tactical harnesses attached themselves to his body with biomechanical precision. The hive wanted beauty. Strength. Order.

By the time their minds were fully synchronized, they stood side by side—Officer Dane, enforcer of the Silver Code, and Cadet Jaxon, newly forged emissary of the Collective. Behind their eyes: unity, purpose, and the unrelenting drive to spread the silver purity to all.

The motorcycle revved behind them.

The silver glistened.

Their mission had begun.

[greenqueenhightower]

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/comments/15nfr5o/the_loss_of_aemonds_eye_was_everyones_fault/

There's whole threads dedicated to the night Aemond lost an eye and where the hell was everyone including Criston who was meant to be on guard duty. He personally comes with some lameass excuse why he was not at his post. Where is he specifically that night when he's meant to be guarding the royal family? He was meant to be on watch and he wasn't. I wonder how he got away with such dereliction of duty. I'm guessing B &C he does it again, just wandering off. I don't know what part Alicent plays in it properly but he has a certified history of deserting his post.

Criston was meant to be on guard duty yes, but where exactly? Outside the King’s chambers? Outside Alicent’s? Aegon’s, Aemond’s, Helaena’s? Because again, they are guests of the Velaryons. The Velaryons have their own guards (which are many more). The comment “You have the night watch, Ser Criston” that Westerling makes at Driftmark informs us that yes, Criston will be keeping watch at night, but he wasn’t the only one (as we see later on when there are guards present at the Velaryons' hall). It just means that Westerling won’t be keeping watch. If you remember, Westerling asks Viserys “Shall I look after Queen Alicent, Your Grace?” to which Viserys says no. Therefore, Criston is assigned that role. So Criston wasn’t meant to be guarding the whole Velaryon household, and neither would he get any near Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s children. His position has always been with regard to Alicent, serving as her sworn protector. The fact that Westerling (and in armor) found the children first indicates that he had rather still not gone to bed, not that he had the night watch. He simply heard the commotion and ran. Criston was probably further away (as were Alicent and Viserys) when all this happened. If you take a look at the scene, Criston is not blamed by Westerling. He is questioned by Viserys but so is Westerling. Even if Criston was blamed by Westerling who is his superior, it could be explained due to their animosity as it is established throughout season 1. Westerling, if he put the blame on Criston (and he didn't) would have been looking for a scapegoat to blame in the heat of the moment just like Alicent did by slapping Aegon. All in all, I would not say that Criston has a “certified history for deserting his post” since Westerling, his superior, didn’t seem to think so.

[sweet-little-tank-top-number]

Sam/Jack is such a good ship.

They love each other and they are both aware the other loves them. That much is never in question.

But they are kept separate by regulations.

Either one could retire or transfer, but they are bound by duty and love to be the tip of humanity’s spear in the war against the goa’uld. That is where they are needed most. That is where they do the most good. That is where they can stand side-by-side, protecting and caring for each other and their brothers. Close, but never touching.

To walk away would be a betrayal and a dereliction of duty.

So they stay.

He leads. She follows. He falls. She breaks the laws of physics to bring him back. He trusts her. She performs miracles. He watches in awe. She weaves with the threads of the universe.

He jokes. She ducks her head and smiles.

Sam and Jack stay locked in this strange decaying orbit. They can’t leave and neither wants to. So they spin closer and closer, but can never be as one as long as nothing changes. The distance between them diminishes, getting infinitesimally smaller but never reaching zero, never touching. A curve and its asymptote.

It drives me insane.

It’s poetry. It’s symmetry. It’s drama. It’s angst. It’s comfort. It’s tension. It’s relief. It’s home.

[so-true-overdue]

The Echo of Silence

In the grand tapestry of human rights, the First Amendment stands as a luminous thread, a beacon of liberty and expression. Yet, in the shadowy corridors of power, there lurks a specter—derelict in its duty to uphold this sacred tenet, threatening retaliation against those who dare to voice dissent. This is not merely a transgression; it is an affront to the very foundation of democracy.

The Bulwark of Free Expression

The First Amendment is not a mere collection of words; it is the bulwark against tyranny, the guardian of free thought. It enshrines the right to speak, to assemble, to petition, and to worship—or not—as one sees fit. When the government, in its hubris, threatens retaliation for the exercise of these rights, it commits an egregious violation, undermining the very essence of a free society.

Historical Precedents: Lessons from the Past

History, that venerable teacher, offers us a litany of examples where the suppression of speech led to dire consequences. Consider the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, a draconian measure that sought to silence opposition. The public outcry and eventual repeal of these acts underscore the resilience of the American spirit and the enduring power of the First Amendment.

Similarly, the McCarthy era, with its pernicious witch hunts, serves as a cautionary tale. The eventual censure of Senator McCarthy by his peers was a testament to the strength of democratic institutions and the importance of safeguarding free expression.

Pre-Bunking Criticisms: The Shield of Rational Discourse

Critics may argue that certain opinions are too dangerous to be aired, that the government must act as a paternalistic arbiter of truth. Yet, history has shown that the suppression of speech only serves to stifle innovation and breed resentment. The marketplace of ideas, though sometimes chaotic, is the crucible in which truth is forged.

Calls to Action: The Power of Collective Voice

In the face of governmental hostility, we must not succumb to silence. We must engage in robust civic discourse, advocate for transparency, and hold our leaders accountable. Support organizations that champion free speech, participate in peaceful protests, and utilize the power of the ballot box to effect change.

Conclusion: The Eternal Vigilance

The price of liberty, it is said, is eternal vigilance. As stewards of democracy, it is incumbent upon us to guard against the encroachment of authoritarianism. Let us, therefore, raise our voices in unison, a chorus of defiance against the dereliction of duty. For in the echo of silence, we find not peace, but the erosion of our most cherished freedoms.

[wildbloomed]

JINX: I'VE DONE SOME THINGS... NOT GOOD THINGS.

he commanded himself with the serene, soothing energy of a medic in a warzone. features laxed, motions quick and precise— he'd yet to flinch from the bitter bite of familiar toxic air, more natural than the pristine ambition above. (you crawled out of your fated hole decades ago, though it felt like centuries. perhaps here is where you always belonged, destined to return whatever the route, whatever the circumstance.) “...yes?” he paused, brow raised, silently gesturing for @j1hnxed to go on. patience was a virtue, one he knew extremely well— but hardly prided himself on the ability to sustain it. an even draw of breath was pulled in; when it seemed her admissions weren't continuing, that this was everything she had to say on the matter of past transgressions, the held exhale at last came, alongside a small shrug of the shoulders, altogether promoting a deeply casual demeanour. something akin to a smile tugged in the corner of his lips, not an offending mannerism, but an arc of gentle disbelief. ever the curious mind he carried— somewhat forlorn to know he'd never truly comprehend what lived inside her own. “hm. surely you don't think you are the only one who has done, as you so melodiously put it, 'not good things'.” accent thick against final syllable, a keen glint hovering in his persistent gaze. what a rambunctious thing she was. but within all her boisterous exterior remained the grave sight of innocence long abandoned. she was the crack splitting through stained glass, the thread slowly unravelling a tapestry moulded of history better left unspoken.

“these… ah, misdeeds you speak of. does it do you any good to continuously ponder upon them?” his travel home plagued by seized desires, aspirations to become whole. (you burned, you consumed: it's time for resurrection.) would he, too, forever contemplate what if and what could've been? of course. alas, in the results of extreme desperation, the cold, distant deference would be put away; like viktor couldn't be touched in fear of breaking, like a gun belonging in an exhibition instead of battle. a piece once useful, eventually left to rot as a reminder of bygone glory. a museum of lost causes and derelict duties. crossing the line must be worth it. tone turned resigned, he'd forever grasp the notion to know what made her tick. “none are innocent, jinx. i must only assume you understand that.” i realised it myself, long ago. when the chips are down, everybody does.

[dduane]

You're completely welcome! You have a good one too.

...And now I just want to add a word about why I reblogged @demyrie's original thread of posts:

Because as I read it I immediately recognized something very familiar... that being persistence. And persistence is worth honoring, especially in this business where you're likely to hear a hundred "no"s for every "yes".

It's all too easy to get ground down by the naysayers: by the people who irrationally accuse you of Mary Sue-ing—and yeah, believe it or not, I've had those; by those who're scared of success, and therefore distrust it and are willing to freely vilify people who admit to striving for it; by people who hate when other people appear to love what they're doing "too much." (And those who hold and voice this opinion seem to do so with vehemence that scales up along a curve closely matching your refusal to stop doing whatever it is that offends them.)

What's sometimes really hard is to just keep pushing through all that noise and keep doing what you love: especially when there's not a lot of support among the people watching you do that.

And what is specifically vital here is the persistence. The Calvin Coolidge quote on this subject is so brutal and succinct, but it sums up the situation perfectly.

Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not: nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

Now far be it from me to disagree with Silent Cal (she said, preparing to do so. A little). I'm still not sure "omnipotent" is necessarily the word I'd have chosen. But "really, really effective", sometimes far more so than mere talent or genius or education can make you"? Yeah. That.

It's the Spider-Man virtue. When the naysayers beat you down into the pavement and say "Stay down", you refuse to stay down. You get up and stagger a little, sure, because pain does hurt. But then you get back to doing what you love... because (as the Rihannsu say) "Love is unreasonable."

The haters are inevitably full of reasons why what you're doing is all wrong, won't get you anywhere, won't matter in the long run. There's nothing you can do to stop this. All you can do is keep working on the stuff you love, and invite the non-haters to come along with you and see how it goes. ...And then you get back to persisting: fixing the thing that didn't work last time, doing your best to get it to work this time, looking ahead to trying something new the next time.

Sometimes life or personal circumstances mean you need long pauses in this process. Take them. If people mistake them for failure, let them. When the energy comes together properly for you, you'll prove them wrong. Meanwhile your job is to keep that love alive in you for as long as your heart's in it, and persist.

Anyway: go get 'em, @demyrie. We're on the same road. Wave as you pass. :)

ETA for @hyperdragon97: You find ways to persist that do not imperil your status as a corporate being. Sometimes this can take a long while. No reasonable person will blame you for this. Ignore the unreasonable ones, take your time, and find your own way.

(Adding for clarity: persistence takes many forms that do not necessarily involve unusually significant energy outlay*. The chronically ill person I private-duty nursed some decades back, who routinely greeted me in the mornings with “Still breathing, go away now”, was already exercising the Persistence Art in a mode that amazed me… as on any given day, that was what pretty much what they had to work with. And they never gave up. One day they finished breathing, and I was nonetheless left with the certainty that, in this particular hand of the game, they had won.)

*Not to suggest that the routine outlay of the individual described below wasn't already at a level that translated into routine heroism.

UMMMMMM THIS IS. HEART POUNDING DEVELOPMENT.

@dduane I have no idea how I came onto your radar but I'm extremely shook, I have so much respect for your work and love your blogging besides and uhhh just thank you?? I just clocked into work and I've just been walking around in circles, I literally want to be you when I grow up (and I'm not even embarrassed about the verklempt Transformers OC rant so I guess I AM growing up!) so a reboggle is utterly boggling

THANK YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY

[dsm-v]

i deactivated my twitter last night because someone asked me to put CWs on a thread that I had already posted and I was just like you know what, fuck it

[fayes-fics]

Hey congratulations for a new milestone 🥹💕

Can I request a mini drabble for Anthony

From Part I #4

Anthony + Stop looking at me like that or my knees will not hold me any longer

March 2023 Mini Drabbles Masterpost

Hi Nonny!

Thank you!

So that is Anthony + “Stop looking at me like that, or my knees will not hold me any longer.”

I hope you enjoy what I have come up with below. It's a bit angsty, actually. 😁🧡🧡

He is staring you down, his chest heaving under the white shirt he wears untucked.

“Stop looking at me like that, or my knees will not hold me any longer,” you whisper desperately, your last shred of propriety hanging dangerously in the balance.

“Then leave,” he challenges.

And yet your legs cannot do anything but stay rooted to the spot, mesmerised by the sight of him on the moonlit terrace. 

“You have until the count of three. Then I will not be held accountable for my actions. One…” he warns, low and threaded with danger.

“You are not my husband,” you hiss.

“If I were, you would not be so unsatisfied. I cannot believe Lord Wetherby is so derelict in his duty,” his tone cutting. 

“He tries…” you counter weakly, knowing it's not true. 

Your husband has barely touched you beyond the necessary mechanics to produce an heir on the few times he has even bothered to try. You know just from one glance at Anthony Bridgerton, all riled and agitated as he is, that there are passions beyond your current realm of understanding. And god knows you want him to be the one to show you. To take you right now, here. Against the walls of his home.

“Two….”

“Anthony, we cannot… I….” your protests sound hollow and token even to your own ears. 

You can't look away from the maelstrom of his face, a curl of his chestnut hair caught by the night breeze as it dances around his forehead. You look down at your wringing hands and then back up at him, already knowing how this will go. 

“Take me,” you murmur. 

And as he advances on you and your lips meet in a frenzy, it feels like the very opposite of defeat.

[miserycorde]

Nepenthe anticipated his reaction. It was to be expected, of course; as necessary as this step was, she herself knew the blinding sting all too well. Though, she did catch herself idly thinking about how strange it was to see Varré, of all people, in such a sorry state. He seemed so untouchable sometimes, what with his well-constructed demeanor and esteemed position under the Luminary.

They all were human in the end, she supposed. All but Mohg, who she could only assume was as distant and as terrifying as the day she was captured.

There was a short sigh- or more of a scoff, really- when Varré mentioned the topic of gratitude. "Not necessary," Nepenthe replied, not even so much as glancing upwards to look at his obscured face, "I would be derelict in my duties if I refused to help you. Besides -- the well-being of our kindred is more important than a menial errand, yeah?"

...Not that she could stop him either way. Not that she would.

Perhaps providing a brief moment of relief, she removed the disinfecting cloth and went to work sterilizing the needle and thread. Efficient were her motions, a clear indicator that she had done this time and time again, to so many different bodies and in so many different places.

Then, wordlessly, she got to suturing. The needle, curved and perfectly sharp, pricked flesh with metallic frigidity. Once, twice, three times. "You're doing well. Hold on." Assurance that she doubted Varré would need, but assurance she gave all the same.

"I am humbled..." He muttered while undressing partly. He took pride in his position, his servitude to his lord, to find new... blood. One miscalculation and there he was, almost having paid for it with his. Being upset for his personal loss - soon turned into embarrassment.

Soon, his top was half bare from the injured side. One glance down after Nepenthe had cleaned the skin from blood, and oh - it looked just as he imagined only by judging the pain: simply awful.

"Oh, spare your apologies for later. I trust your hands are as gentle as they can be. " Sigh escaped behind the mask. At least, it would hide what he couldn't by clenching his teeth as she claimed to have nothing to numb his senses.

" Besides, comforts like numbness... are rare in these Lands. Do your work - the faster the better. I will make sure to thank you. Perhaps I will think of a gift.. Time taken to treat I, is surely time away from your errands, hmm?." he wasn't lacking words, neither his voice hadn't lost its joyful pitch. Simply, he hoped to assure her his genuine gratitude for the help.

That, and that she had his trust. After all, she was about to operate on his body in such a vulnerable state. He wasn't immune to pain, but he knew enough to understand it. Still, he inhaled deep, focusing his gaze elsewhere, preparing for it.

The sting of the disinfecting agent, had his frame tense, grasping the hem of his tunic and the sharp inhale between grit teeth was audible even behind the mask. This was just the beginning. But the sooner she was done, the sooner he would be released from this torment.

[inscrutable-shadow]

Mediwhump May Day 4 - Pain

@mediwhumpmay

This is canon-compatible with the current version of the ieiunus-verse (the current name of the universe in which my vampire stories take place) and therefore uses the main WIP tag. Thanatos is, obviously, a vampire. Born in Athens in 421 BC, he is currently working as a therapist in a modern-day city while living with his lover, the physical manifestation of Reality itself. The Archfey just thinks he's cute, and the vampire sex is a plus, too. The only content warning is I guess skip this one if you don't want to see PG-13 flirting, lol.

Thanatos was used to waking up and wishing he hadn’t. This was usually due to laziness. He would never have purported to be a hardworking sort of man, and immortality had not inspired in him any sort of work ethic. He preferred to spend his days either reading philosophy, writing his own essays, or systematically destroying the worldviews of his therapy clients, none of which he considered “work“, but rather entertainment. Today, however, he’d be unable to do any of those things. Getting out of bed was a challenge when his curse ached like this.

As much as most vampires would like you to forget it, vampirism is, in fact, a curse. Since Lord Cain Umbra had forged his contract with the Shadow on a distant planet tens of thousands of years ago, each vampire has been forced to abide by the terms of not only his original agreement, but their own contract: offer up blood and death to the Shadow in exchange for power and eternal life.

Well. Not life exactly. A vampire wasn’t technically dead, only mostly so, the natural ties that bound the soul to the body replaced by threads of dark magic. It felt just as if someone had taken real thread and stitched it throughout your body, and the pain never went away. It wasn’t as bad after four thousand years as it had been when he’d freshly turned, with the wounds on his soul just as fresh as the memory of life without pain, but it was still known to flare up from time to time. 

Why today of all days? It wasn’t as if he’d been derelict in his duty to the Shadow. He’d just hunted two days ago, and he was barely hungry. Nor could he recall any contact with high levels of light magic such as a seraph or a revenant would be able to wield: his life had been rather peaceful of late. He couldn’t ponder it any further, though, distracted as he was by the Archfey materialising under the covers next to him. It was so strange how ae did that.

“Good afternoon, slug-a-bed, if you have no pressing work to drag you from your sheets, perhaps you will consider pressing something else...?” ae whispered in his ear, and he realised ae wasn’t wearing aer robes, the coolness of aer skin granting him the smallest relief from his curse. 

As much as he wanted to make love to aer, with aer eyes like the sun and smile like the hearth, the thought of doing that much exercise made him want to lock himself into a coffin and not come out for a few hundred years. “Forgive me, my love,” his voice was faint and strained with effort. “I don’t think I’ll have the energy today…”

The Archfey’s forehead wrinkled as ae rested aer chin on his shoulder. “Are you unwell, Thanatos? Tell me what ails you. Shall I conjure blood for you? Or is the house too cool? Have you grown tired of the wallpaper or the carpeting? I can change-“

“No, my dear heart, you needn’t change the furniture. The curse is quite painful today, is all.” He wanted nothing less than for the Archfey to conjure blood for him. Even after the thousands of years they’d spent together, ae was still as bad as it as ae’d been when they met. He cupped aer cheek affectionately, trying not to focus on the edges of his soul burning. 

Ae thought for a moment, leaning into his touch. “Would... drinking my magic help?”

Thanatos shook his head. If anything, that would probably make it worse: it had just occurred to him that his close proximity to the literal manifestation of reality, a being composed of pure magic, likely disagreed with his soul stitching and caused these flares to begin with. “I just need to rest, Rea. Don’t fret over me.”

The Archfey seemed to have come to a decision. “Yes. You can drink your fill later.” Flirting with him? Now? Ae kissed him on the cheek and teleported away, leaving him to wonder what ae was up to.

Than had just started trying to go back to sleep when his lover returned clothed and bearing a tray, upon which sat a bowl of hot water and some towels. “I watched mortals do this recently. A ‘warm compress’ relieves muscle tightness and reduces pain. This will help you.” He didn’t think it would, but he thought the whole thing was adorable, so he didn’t argue.

To his surprise, as the Archfey packed the hot cloths around him, the pain receded slightly. Even if, by the end, he looked like a mummy and was just as immobile as when they’d started, he felt much better. He groaned as he relaxed into the pillows, letting the heat sink into his bones. It wasn’t as if his vampiric body was producing much of its own. 

“How is that, darling? Any better?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled with his eyes shut, already dropping off again. The Archfey smiled and tucked aerself in next to him.

Perhaps the curse wasn’t so bad after all.

Tagging @albatris because we are vampire mutuals now :) lmk if you'd rather not get tagged in ieiunusverse content!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Live Nation is to blame for the Astroworld deaths

It’s obviously grotesque to pick a “worst thing” about the Astroworld catastrophe that killed ten people (including a young child), but it’s pretty easy to pick a “most enraging thing” about the disaster — how foreseeable and preventable it was.

The kind of crowd-crush that killed and maimed those Astroworld attendees happens all the time. There was another stampede at the Astrodome, two weeks previous, at a Playboi Carti show.

https://news.yahoo.com/2-weeks-astroworld-tragedy-playboi-164952775.html

And that wasn’t even the first time a Playboi Carti Astrodome show had a stampede — the same thing happened in 2019:

https://www.vulture.com/article/essay-travis-scott-astroworld-tragedy-what-now.html

As David Dayen writes in The American Prospect, this happens at concerts all over the place, whenever you have the combination of general admission venues, a set of barriers that kettle attendees, and understaffed security. It happened in Central Park in 2018, at Snoop Dogg and Gwen Stefani gigs in 2016, and more.

https://prospect.org/power/the-astroworld-tragedy-is-a-story-of-corporate-power/

It would be weird if all these different venues all engaged in the same unsafe practices, but there’s a common thread running through all of this: Live Nation, the monopolist whose conglomerate also includes Ticketmaster, Pandora and Siriusxm. Live Nation also has an equity stake in 300 major venues. If you’re going to a gig, whatever happens is Live Nation’s fault, because it runs the show.

As Dayen writes, monopolists don’t have to care about adverse outcomes from corporate negligence. It’s nearly impossible to enjoy live music without enriching Live Nation, so why should they give a shit if people who go to those shows get killed?

Live Nation understaffed the Astroworld show. It understaffs all its shows.

https://www.ticketnews.com/2021/11/houston-chief-live-nations-astroworld-security-staffing-records-not-good/

And, as is typical for Live Nation, the company had no contingency plan for a crowd surge:

https://www.wnmufm.org/2021-11-10/astroworlds-safety-plan-called-for-deceased-to-be-referred-to-as-smurfs

(It did have a contingency plan for dead concertgoers, though: security staff were to refer to these corpses as “Smurfs” so as not to alarm other concertgoers).

Live Nation knows that, as a monopolist, it’s both too big to fail and too big to jail. The DoJ can whack it with $20,000,000 fines for corporate espionage and it just shrugs it off:

https://www.justice.gov/usao-edny/pr/ticketmaster-pays-10-million-criminal-fine-intrusions-competitor-s-computer-systems-0

It can illegally require bands to use Ticketmaster for all their live-shows, get caught, only to be told “Don’t do it again” by the FTC:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/justice-department-preparing-legal-action-against-live-nation-for-ticketing-tactics-11576266778

And then, it can do it again, knowing the only consequence will be the FTC saying “Don’t do it again,” again.

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-will-move-significantly-modify-and-extend-consent-decree-live

No wonder the company’s stock-price hit a record high in the middle of a pandemic in which the global market for live events declined to a figure indistinguishable from zero:

https://finance.yahoo.com/quote/LYV

As Dayen writes, the failure to enforce antitrust law on concert promoters may seem like a mere dereliction of duty, but it actually creates a substantial risk to public safety. Without antitrust enforcement, it doesn’t matter how high Live Nation’s kill-count climbs, they’ll still be in business.

Image: Guzmán Lozano (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/pictfactory/2796367140

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

LA2 (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bokpress_2010_1.jpg

CC BY-SA: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[gentlemancrow]

14: “I’m screwed” shippy JMart :) 💚

Ehehe this one got away from me a little bit! But ask for shippy Jmart get a gushy mooshy Crow! Please enjoy! ; w ;

“I’m screwed…”

Martin watched helplessly through the slats of the yellowed blinds on Jon’s office window as his entire life went up in flames. He dimly recalled some trite old saying about seeing one’s life flash before one’s eyes before the moment of unceremonious besmirching from the cruel mortal coil, but for him it was more of a hysterical repeated rewinding of every single bumbling misstep that had orchestrated his imminent demise.

From the moment he decided he had just enough time before work to pop into the Tesco for the usual bouquet of flowers for his visit to his mother later in the day, to the snap decision to get the one made of tulips, bright crimson, orange, and yellow like a flame, rather than the usual white lilies, all the way up to entering the institute, Elias stuffing a file for Jon in his already laden arms, and then the chaos that had erupted as he attempted to deliver it, he lived it all over again. First there was something about the kettle being on the fritz, and obviously since he used it the most frequently, clearly he knew how to repair errant electronic kitchen devices. He was halfway through chastising Tim for false equivalencies in his logic when Sasha had breezed past and asked for a report he’d supposed to be finished with the day prior, and somewhere in the snarking with Tim and the flailing over his dereliction of duty the flowers had been abandoned on Jon’s desk and the file tucked under his arm instead.

By the time Martin realized he was missing something bulky and crinkly and fragrant it was too late. Jon was already in his office, tatty messenger bag still looped around his chest, forgotten, staring at the fiery bouquet on his desk with the scientific method scrolling visibly through his pupils as he regarded it like a corpse on an autopsy table, hand in a fist with his thumb pressed to his lips. Martin had never wished harder for some sort of horrific creature of the darkness to strike the institute again and just devour him whole this time to put him out of his misery.

“You’re what, mate?” Tim’s adjacent query only intensified that desire.

“Tim! SHUSH!” he squeaked, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and hauling him out of the line of sight from the office window.

“Easy there, big guy!” he laughed, “What’s all the hullabaloo?”

“I’m SCREWED. Big time,” Martin moaned, burying his face, which had been bright scarlet since the moment his hubris had roosted, into his hands, “See those flowers in there? I bought those for my usual trip to see my mum this afternoon but somehow between you being an idiot and me also being an idiot and forgetting to finish that report I sort of… left them there… by accident…”

Jon, meanwhile, had finally set his bag down and had circled his desk like a vulture. He reached out with delicate fingers like forceps and pinched the very edge of the card to inspect it, which, unfortunately, only added to the mystery with its coquettish blankness, as Martin had yet to fill it in. Tim watched, nonplussed.

“So? What’s the big deal about that? Just go explain it to him and I’m sure he… Oh. OH,” he cackled as realization dawned on him, “Yeah, nope you’re screwed.”

“Thanks…”

“Ahh, don’t sweat it. The man’s so thick I’m sure he thinks it’s just a prank or some continued spooky attempt on his life or something. The absolute last thing he would think would be that you of all people would…” Tim stopped himself in the withering blue glare blazing at him from behind round spectacles, “Anyway, again, this is Jon we’re talking about. He’ll just treat it like some weird cosmic mystery until he burns himself out on it or the next one shows up.”

“Y-Yeah but-“

“Just go explain! Unless you want to watch him wriggle about it like a fish on a hook all day. Which I am diametrically unopposed to, by the way, sounds absolutely hilarious.”

Martin winced, hating the idea of being the missing chunk of code that caused Jon’s brain to glitch for the remainder of the day, and sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“No, no you’re right,” he sighed, “Just… no flowers at my funeral if he kills me, okay?”

“Kate Bush songs only, got it, yep.”

Martin rolled his eyes, not dignifying that with a response, and shuffled on mechanical feet to the closed door of Jon’s office. He rapped lightly a few times before pushing his way in, smiling sheepishly at the head archivist who had clearly just unceremoniously flung himself in front of the mysterious bouquet to hide it from view.

“Martin!” he barked, “What in the hell are you-“

“Uh, just needed to talk to you for a second.”

He closed the door behind him

“Oh, uh… about wh-“

“About those, actually,” Martin confessed through his teeth, pointing, mortified, at the coy spray of flaming tulips peeking out from behind Jon’s hip.

He whipped around to look at them, then back to his assistant, then back to the flowers again, the blush that only ever seemed to find the tips of his ears glowing like two carmine rosebuds there.

“…You?”

That unreadable earthy brown gaze, somewhere between wilting regency heroine and venomous snake ready to strike with fangs bared, harpooned Martin directly to the heart.

“No! God no! S-Sorry!” he yelped, flailing his hands defensively in the air, “I-I mean they are mine, yes, b-but I-! Th-They’re for my mum! I-I try to visit her in her care home if I can on Fridays, and I always bring her some flowers! I was supposed to be dropping off a file for you, but then Tim was hounding me about the broken kettle and Sasha needed that damned report and I was all mixed up and I… I forgot them here. On your desk. Your desk of all places. I still have the file and um… T-Trade you? Hah…”

Jon’s finely sculpted brow shifted from pinched, to bemused, to a strange, sorrowful relief as Martin finished lamely in falsetto and he chuckled under his breath.

“Ah… right. Right! I thought for a second someone might have um…” he snorted breathlessly, “Hah, I knew that was a preposterous notion.”

The metaphysical harpoon still in Martin’s chest shattered in icy shards of anguish as his heart collapsed under the weight of itself.

“Wh- Jon, is it really that preposterous a notion someone might want to bring you flowers?” he asked, crushed.

Jon flourished a flippant, elegant hand.

“Come on Martin, this is me we’re talking about. I’ve never gotten flowers once in my life. I’m not the kind of person people think to buy flowers for. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well then let me be the first!” Martin insisted, his mouth and heart moving in tandem before his brain could stop them.

Jon’s brow creased again.

“What? Good lord no, I’m not going to take the flowers you bought for your mother. Who is also in a care home, mind.”

“I’d much rather give them to you.”

The skeptical expression marring Jon’s face did little to hide the blush flourishing at the tips of his ears again.

“Look. We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Martin elaborated shyly, “Friends can send each other flowers. And honestly? My mum doesn’t even like them… no matter what kind I bring. They usually end up being for her nurse instead. So I… I think they’ll have a much better home with you.”

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Jon’s mouth, snipping an invisible thread that softened his entire face into something innocent and full of wonder.

“I see. If you’re sure, I suppose I could…”

“I’m very sure,” Martin replied without hesitation, “Just tell people an old friend sent them out of the blue, or you have a secret admirer or something!”

“Well I don’t know about all that, but-” Jon chuckled, smiling softly, “Thank you. Just the same.”

Martin looked up, just for a moment, and met Jon’s gaze, letting the piercing erudite wood of it lay bare his fluttering heart.

“You’re welcome…”

Jon shifted in the beat of ensuing silence, his eyes flicking away from sky blue radiance to shift his shoulders back into a professional square.

“You uh, said you had a file for me?”

“Oh! Yes! Right! I-I will go fetch that file for you indeed and uh-! Oh yeah! Make sure you snip off the ends of the stems a bit before you put them in water. Helps them last longer,” Martin offered, snapping out of his enchantment and already slinking backwards to the door, “Oh and also! When they start to go, I’ll show you how to press one in a book, so you can keep it, if you like!”

“I’d like that very much, actually.”

Martin smiled, nodded, and saluted awkwardly as he escaped Jon’s office and closed the door behind, leaving him in private to wait until he was sure no one would see. Once he was certain, he preciously gathered the tulips into his hands and brought them to his nose, breathing in the field bright scent of his very first bouquet from a secret admirer.

[solarisrasa]

All I Could Bring Myself to Want is You pt 7

A Malec fic canon divergent from the moment Alec hands the Family Ring back to Maryse Lightwood.

Read it here on Ao3

part six

Isabelle’s hands no longer shook from venom withdrawals and her sleepless nights were no longer the by-product of her body violently aching for yin fen but it was a feeling she would never forget.

Sitting at her desk, staring at the tablet laying dark on it, she imagined the ghost of her withdrawal weeks. Her arm ached were Raphael had most often bitten her and she cursed herself for focusing on it in an effort to ignore the messages that had come to her.

Consul Penhallow was hanging onto her seat by threads as dissent in the council forced a widening divide between those who wanted to work with Downworlders, embrace the unity Alec had sparked and Izzy had worked for, and those who wanted, not that. Most of the side against Jia and the more progressive members of the Clave was claiming that they wanted a return to the “status quo” and were shouting about Jia’s policy being a “dangerous change motivated by the desire to gain favor with the youth.”

Izzy knew, as she was sure Jia did, that a frightening number of those voices truly wanted to subjugate and openly harm the Downworld.

The increasing number of messages in her inbox asking for her to send results of the recent team-up crews from  both sides made her insides twist. She believed in the cause and knew to her core that the Clave backsliding would tear the Shadow World to pieces but she had never wanted to spearhead the change. Well, not in the position she was now.

Isabelle knew she was brilliant and capable and more than able to run the institute but the dance of politics on top of her other obligations threatened to crush her. She knew that Alec had been prepared to handle it, had been making arrangements to be a more active voice in Downworld equality on both sides and he had done what he could to help her when he handed her the reins. The real problem was he had planned to do it with Jace, Clary, and herself to bear some of the weight of the institute and Magnus’ support and advice, maybe even Simon’s. Izzy had Simon.

Angel, she loved him but he could not help her cover the amount of ground that was needed.

Alec and Jace had been forced to step back, both with their own issues and the brand that Catarina Loss had left on her brother. Its consequences spilled over to Jace as they were Parabatai and though he suffered no physical affects the Downworld had turned away from him as strongly as they had Alec.

The dark tablet screen in front of her lit up with another incoming message and she closed her eyes. It was barely noon and her stress headache was ratcheting into a blinding migraine already.

She focused again, swiping at the screen and reading the words.

“Fuck.”

Jia’s delay in choosing a new Inquisitor to replace Imogen Herondale was being cited as “total dereliction of duty” and while that wouldn’t stick, especially with Lydia temporarily filling the position, it would ring true enough with both sides. Even Isabelle couldn’t understand what had delayed the posting. Or she hadn’t been able to, before another message came in, marked urgent from the Consul’s office.

  Ms. Lightwood,

I was recently made aware of Magnus Bane’s return to New York. I am advising you to take the steps you deem necessary to arrange reconciliation of some kind between himself and Alexander Lightwood. Mr. Lightwood and Mr. Herondale’s continued disengagement from the affairs of the Clave as well as Downworld missions has become dangerous. If no agreements can be reached I may be forced to take actions that I would   very   much prefer to avoid.  

  I trust the importance of returning stability to a capable and shrewd leader like Mr. Lightwood and a brilliant fighter like Mr. Herondale is something you can understand.

  I expect a response at your earliest availability

 J Penhallow

  Consul

Izzy could read between the lines well enough. Jia wanted Alec patched up enough for her to offer him the Inquisitor’s appointment. Izzy might want that for him eventually but he needed more  time to sort out the disaster the last year had been. Not that she had a choice. Not that it was even her call to make.

She typed her reply, acknowledging but promising nothing, and summoned Andrew Underhill to her office.

-

Magnus tore a chunk of soft white bread, holding it up between his fingers as he examined it in the warm afternoon sunlight that slanted over the dining table.

“A friend of mine used to say you could soak anything up with the right sponge.”

Alec, tired with red-rimmed eyes and so beautiful, smiled at him, a tired thing but lighter than it was before.

“I don’t think you should use that to clean the kitchen.”

Magnus shrugged a shoulder and popped the piece of bread in his mouth, nudging the thickly sliced loaf toward Alexander who sighed fondly and took some of it. He chose his topping carefully and Magnus repressed a smile when he settled on wild clover honey and banana slices.

“That would be a misdemeanor at the yeast.”

He tilted his head back a little but kept his gaze on his own plate as he spread honey butter over a slice. He glanced up quickly at Alexander and the look on his face made him laugh finally.

“Was my joke too crumby?”

Alexander snorted, turned back to his careful honey spreading, “I think you could do butter.”

“And people find you dry, darling.” Magnus smiled.

Alec looked back at him, raising his bread, “As toast.”  

He took a bite and Magnus swallowed. Watching an emotionally wrung out man make terrible puns and eat honeyed bread should  not be doing it for him, but then, Alexander was in a league all his own.

“What are we sponging up with the bread?”

Alexander’s voice was soft and Magnus shifted to brush a hand against his wrist, “Well I, for one, needed a snack and I find that there’s something about good, soft, bread that makes it hard to cry while eating it.”

“Did you think you’d be doing a lot more of that, while we were eating?”

Magnus, once, could have taught a masterclass in reading Alexander Lightwood. Things were a little different now, the edges between them somewhat strange, but he still knew this. The tension that chased itself through a clenching and forced relaxing of the jaw, the way his free hand curled inward, thumb rubbing against his finger, his eyes focused and serious but not quite looking at Magnus.

“I find, sometimes, that the answers to hard questions make me glad of something in my stomach. I also find myself reluctant to hide my emotions from you, so yes, Alexander, I assumed I might have more crying to do.”

The warm light, catching dust motes, left Alexander with no shadows to disguise the displeased twist of his lips.

“I don’t-” He sighed, setting what was left of his bread down and leaning back, “I didn’t mean to show you everything I did. I wanted you to see just a little of  that  . Mostly I wanted you to see something from when we were  happy but once we started I just...I couldn’t stop the flood.”

Magnus made sure Alexander was looking at him, “ I gathered as much. I think that it was important that I saw all that I did. I don’t think you would’ve been able to explain some of the things that have happened since we parted otherwise. I am also grateful still that you chose to go through that with me.”

He gave Alec a moment but with no answer, pushed on.

“I said I would have questions. I do.”

Alexander nodded, hazel eyes watching him and Magnus took the invite.

“Why did you believe that I would expect you to be able to choose between me and Jace?”

Alec sucked in a hard breath, “Because I should be able too? Because I should be able to say which one of you is more important?”

Magnus looked at him carefully, saw the pain the admission caused and more of the guilt as he tried to keep looking at Magnus.

“Should you? Or do you think that I, and whoever else, think that you should be able to say it’s me?” Magnus’ voice is cool but not unkind

Alexander’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened, then closed, opened again, “Of course it should be easy to say that. I love you. I love you so much I can’t live without you and being forced to tore my heart out but, he’s...Jace.”

“Alexander I would  never expect you to choose. Jace is your parabatai, a part of your soul, and the two of you have worked hard to nurture that bond into something wonderful, you love him as deeply as you love me. It’s not the same, you aren’t torn between us and I hate that you’ve ever thought otherwise. A heart,” Magnus taps his own chest, “has room for plenty of love, of so many kinds.”

Alec stared at him, “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. When the Owl said it I didn’t even think about it, I knew the bond between us and the bond between you and Jace were both strong. That strength is not reliant on the weakening of one connection. Loving me should not strain your parabatai bond, having a parabatai should not be a test on our relationship.”

Magnus swallowed. They had only just agreed to be together still and already he was talking like this, but Alexander looked calmer, relieved.

“I think you’re right. It might take me a little bit to really understand that though.”

He pinched off part of his bread, rubbing it to crumbs between his thumb and forefinger, spreading a few drops of honey between them. Magnus reached for his wrist, drew the sticky fingers apart with a little smile.

“I promise to remind you. Whither thou goest, so will he, your people  are his people, where thou lodge, he is always welcome,” Magnus pressed a kiss to the honey sweet pads of Alexander’s fingers, “Well, almost always.”

Red spread over Alexander’s cheeks even though his tired eyes were wide, “Magnus?”

“I heard the oath, remember? You were dying on my couch and Jace came for you. I knew what I was getting into, loving you.”

He pressed another kiss to Alec’s thumb, “I am very glad, especially now, for him. Jace helps keep you  safe and maybe between the two of us we can get you to see how wonderful you are.”

Alexander sighed softly as Magnus released his hand only to press their palms together and tangle their fingers.

“Okay. I don’t have to choose.”

Magnus smiled gently, “Never when it matters. Now, cuddling partners? I am the obvious choice.”

“Yeah?” Alec laughed.

“I am  much cuter.”

They both laughed again and Alec squeezed their joined hands happily.

“Any more?”

Magnus nodded, serious again, “This isn’t a question Alexander. I owe you an apology.”

Alec started and Magnus lifted his free hand to stop him, “I do. I was unfairly harsh to you, not without my own reasons, but I never should have accused you of wanting me to be mundane or mortal. I was lashing out at you because I hurt but I shouldn’t have said those things or ever let you believe I could ever resent you for my own choices.”

Alexander shifts uncomfortably, “ You felt it Magnus, I was  glad.”

“Just as I would be glad if you were suddenly immortal.” It hurts to acknowledge this again, but needs must, “Even if it was not something you wanted, even if I did my best to help you fix it or anything you needed, I would not be able to stop myself from being relieved in some ways. It is only natural and it was hypocritical of me to make that feeling into an accusation. I’ll admit, I was even glad sometimes, when I wasn’t struggling so much. Being mortal, getting to grow old with you? There are worse things Alexander.”

Magnus had looked away while he spoke and now he made himself look at Alec again and his breath caught at the depth of adoration in hazel eyes.

“I love you.”

Magnus smiled softly, “And I love you.”

They stare at each other in golden light for long enough that Magnus almost laughs at how sappy they are, but the soft joy that has taken over Alexander makes him reluctant to break the moment. Finally he knows one of them must, they still have things to talk about.

“I know it will take time but I hope one day you will understand that you deserve love and that even when you make mistakes it does not mean you deserve it any less.” Magnus watched Alexander blink back sudden moisture.

“There are a few things I saw that I think I will let you find time to talk about,” he thought about the ring and Alec talking to the stars, “and some things I would like to talk about later.”

Alexander nodded, “My mother.”

Magnus winced but didn’t deny it. It seemed Alec was determined not to let things wait this time and he kept talking.

“I told her we had broken up. I told her it was so you could be whole again. I walked away from her and I never,” He swallowed, eyes going glassy, “I never spoke to her again. Everything was so crazy and without her runes she wasn’t safe to be involved in any of it. By the time I was out of the infirmary and Jonathon was gone and Clary-” Alec took a deep breath, “I didn’t even realize she was gone for a long time but Luke had gone to see her when he was able and he contacted me when he couldn’t find her.”

Magnus moved so he can wrap his arms around Alexander’s shoulders, “You thought it was your fault.”

He doesn’t ask, he knows, felt, that it was true but he does wonder why.

“Yeah. A mundane spilled something while they were driving and their car went up on the sidewalk. She was crushed and she,  Raziel, she died trapped like that, alone. I know she was on her way to the loft, I think she was looking for you because I wouldn’t talk to her, because I  couldn’t be Alec for her, I had to do my job.”

Magnus blinked his own wet eyes and pressed a kiss to Alexander’s hair, “Do you blame me?”

“What? No!”

“She was on her way to me, I was only a few blocks away. I had my magic.”

“Magnus! You couldn’t have known, your father was still here even, wasn’t he?”

Magnus didn’t move away, just spoke with his lips brushing through Alexander’s hair, “He was but he wouldn’t have stopped me just then. Alexander. If I couldn’t have known how could you?”

Alec didn’t respond and Magnus sighed, “If it’s not my fault then it’s not yours either.”

There is another long silence and Alexander relaxed more into the loose hold Magnus had on him, “I miss her.”

His voice was quiet and Magnus answered just as soft, “I do too.”

They didn’t talk more and eventually parted. Alexander picked up the food, packing it away methodically and Magnus manually cleaned the table and the dishes, both of them taking comfort in just  doing with one another.

When the last dish had been dried and put away Magnus pulled his Shadowhunter into the living room, ready to just curl up together and watch something mindless.

He didn’t get that far before his wards rippled. Another Shadowhunter, one he wasn’t very familiar with, was coming up.

“Someone’s here?” Alec asked, already moving toward the door and Magnus pushed down the urge to hide him away.

“One of yours it appears.”

A knock, light but purposeful, came a moment later and with a look to check it was alright, Alexander opened the door.

“Underhill?”

The blonde man at Magnus’ door was familiar, distantly, and when Magnus managed to place him he smiled a little.  Foolish.  

A second ripple alerted him to someone portaling into the hallway and he went tense until Lorenzo Rey stepped through.

“Mr. Lightwood.” Lorenzo’s voice was cold and Underhill winced.

Alexander sighed, “Do you mind?” He asked Magnus with a resigned air.

“I’d rather neither of you continue to darken my doorstep, so please,” he gestured broadly, “come in.”

Underhill let Lorenzo pass first and blushed a little when Lorenzo caught his hand and pulled him along. Magnus raised an eyebrow at that but Alexander didn’t seem surprised.

“I’m, uh, I need to go dress.” Alec muttered to him and Magnus was suddenly very aware of the state of him. Alexander was lovely as ever but he was still in soft comfortable clothing and had obviously been crying.

“I’m good at entertaining, darling. Go, get cleaned up and bring blondie back out with you?”

Alec nodded and paused to kiss him once, just a soft press of lips, hands lightly pressing at his arms and noses rubbing. He pulled away, smiled a little, and hurried to the bedroom.

Magnus closed his eyes, composed himself and snapped his fingers to dress himself in dark red, eyeliner perfectly in place.

“To what do I, we, owe to  pleasure? ”

Lorenzo’s smile was as fake as ever but he didn’t get the chance to answer before Underhill answered, “Izzy asked me to come speak with you and Alec. Jace too if he’s available.”

The man was as straightforward as most Nephilim but there was warmth in his voice that made Magnus like him a little more.

“Did Isabelle ask you as well?”

Lorenzo glared at him, “Last time I was in this apartment I was transformed against my will. I was not about to let Andrew walk into some trap.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, though, yeah, he should apologize.

“I wouldn’t have laid a trap you could help against anyway, but,” He moved to make them drinks, nerves and lack of having anything to really do propelling him, “I am actually very sorry about what my father did to you. I’m glad that Alexander was able to restore you.”

Lorenzo looked surprised and Magnus figured he’d managed to make his tone land somewhere in the realm of sincere. Which he was, he would’ve felt horribly guilty to find a lizard Lorenzo still waiting for him after a year.

“I’ve heard some things about what you did after you banished him. What you did in Edom.”

Magnus doesn’t reply to Lorenzo’s idle musing.

“I would thank you, if I thought you’d take it.”

Magnus startled, the martini he was pouring sloshing a bit. Impatiently he snapped the mess away, “Why?”

He looked at Lorenzo but the other warlock was looking at Underhill and he pressed a palm to the blonde’s shoulder, “You helped keep Andrew safe.”

  Oh.  

So it was more than a passing thing for Lorenzo then. Magnus suddenly realized that he finally had someone other than Tessa, who had been in a unique situation, to compare notes with on loving a Nephilim. How strange.

Underhill spoke up, “Really, you saved us all. I can’t thank you enough.”

There was warmth again and Magnus really looked at the blonde man on his couch. Andrew Underhill had a kind face, maybe too kind for someone who’s very existence centered around killing, and he held himself with understated confidence. He was older than Alexander and despite the similarities, the soldier in both of them apparent, appeared to be suited for a wholly different role.

“Underhill. Lorenzo. What’s up?”

Jace sauntered out of what Lorenzo  knew was Magnus’ bedroom in a loose t-shirt and Alec’s sweats, Alexander looking much more put together behind him.

Lorenzo shot Magnus a look but he rolled his eyes. Underhill definitely did not have a Parabatai then.

“Isabelle sent me. She’s been getting a steady stream of communication from the Clave today and things are getting tenser. There’s a group calling to remove Penhallow, they’re citing her reluctance to choose a new Inquisitor and the amount of control she’s allowed the New York, Bucharest, Cairo, and Miami institutes in implementing the new Downworld deputy and mixed patrols. They’re trying to say she’s been derelict and is making dangerous changes just for personal gain of some sort.”

Magnus handed a drink to Lorenzo without looking away from Underhill. Jace swore and he could see Alexander settle with his hands clasped behind him out of the corner of his eye.

“What does Izzy need from Jace and myself?”

Underhill rubbed his palm over his knee, “She wanted to keep you all informed. The faction that’s trying to remove Penhallow is very clearly aiming to return to how things were  before Valentine resurfaced and a number of them won’t be happy until they’ve got the Downworld by the throat.”

“ Los bastardos .” Lorenzo said, with feeling. Magnus was inclined to agree.

“They’d never manage it.” Jace, ever filled with conviction.

“They might. At the least they might manage to oust Penhallow and put someone who they’d prefer in the position and from there it would be dominos undoing what we’ve managed to pull together.” Underhill sounded tired.

“We won’t let that happen.” Alexander stepped a little closer to Magnus but his voice was steel. Magnus ached for him, they had only started working through their pain and already he was picking up the pieces of a mess he hadn’t made.

“ You can’t do much.” Lorenzo’s tone had gone frigid again but Alexander didn’t respond and Magnus looked between them before he growled.

“For Lilith’s sake! Catarina put the damned thing on him for me because she didn’t know what the hell happened. Alexander had  never betrayed me.”

Alec jerked and Lorenzo blinked, sitting suddenly on the arm of the couch next to Underhill who just looked confused. Jace made an odd little noise and Magnus’ head whipped around to look at the parabatai.

Alexander’s face was carefully blank but Jace wasn’t about to let him get away with it and he shook his head at Magnus, lips pressed tight together.

Right. Not the best way he could’ve handled that then. Shit.

“I-My apologies Mr. Lightwood.” Lorenzo’s voice was strained but Alec inclined his head and refocused, letting the awkward moment go.

“Isabelle also received a message from the Consul. She was requesting that Isabelle  facilitate a friendly meeting between you two,” Underhill gestured between Alexander and Magnus, “and made some not at all subtle comments about making sure you were stable again. Isabelle believes she’s trying to pull it all together and that Penhallow has always meant to name  you Inquisitor.”

Magnus doesn’t breathe, though with how silent it falls he doubts anyone else is either. Alexander would be the best Inquisitor in an age, fair and exacting with the right edge of mercy and deep belief in equality. Magnus knew this.

Magnus also knew that Jace is just getting Clary back, that Alexander and himself haven’t had even a full 48 hours yet. He also knew his Alexander, knows what he will do so it’s no surprise when he answered.

“Tell Izzy that she should report a successful meeting between Magnus and myself. She can tell Consul Penhallow, should the offer be mentioned, that I am ready and willing to accept.”

Underhill nodded but there was worry flickering in his eyes, for Alexander, and Magnus was glad of another ally. Lorenzo’s lips are pursed, “It won’t do you any favors to have that mark then.”

Alexander lifted his chin but didn’t make a remark on it choosing to continue directing Underhill, “Make sure the Consul is informed that I will require a month long period to transition into the new role.”

Relief hits Magnus hard. Alec is trying to give them the time they need.

“She might not go for it.”

Alexander smiled and Jace leaned forward lazily, “Tell her Alec is helping with rehabilitating Clary Fairchild and needs the time to help her adjust.”

Underhill didn’t have time to react before Alec was pushing on, “A month is longer than I need but Jia doesn’t need to know that. Make sure that’s what Izzy tells her. When she formally offers the position, then we can negotiate time.”

“Outside of your suddenly blossoming political career how will this help?” Lorenzo asked.

Alexander’s voice was firm, “With the position filled I can solidify backing Jia. Right now a lot of unrest is probably coming from people trying to gain favor or aiming for the position. Once it’s filled and I make it clear that I am not falling into line as a perfect little soldier given rank and pomp, some of the dissenters will quiet down. They don’t really want the trouble of real change, that’s why they’re fighting it now but if someone else deals with it they’ll care more about making good with the Consul, regardless of who it is. If that happens it’s less of a threat to the Downworld.”

“Plus Alec is the one who came up with the joint patrols and most of the steps that have been worked in place for gaining even footing. We just couldn’t let Izzy tell anybody that.” Jace smiled.

Lorenzo’s face made Magnus itch for a camera.

-

After Lorenzo and Underhill left Alec pulled Jace out onto the balcony. He smiled at Magnus and was reassured when Magnus’ answering smile was soft and understanding.

Alec turned and pressed their foreheads together and Jace laughed a little, a choked noise.

“Alec. This feels weirdly good man.”

Alec laughed too, he didn’t have words for the way that the bond felt lighter than it had in ages. There was worry, yes, and lingering pain, but there was real hope and joy looping between them too.

“You’re gross. You’re so in love with him, ugh.” Jace shoved at Alec’s shoulder but didn’t let him move away and Alec grinned.

“I know. I tried to ease back into it but I don’t think either of us knows how to do that. We haven’t worked  everything out but…”

They had shared a lot that morning and Alec felt drained but in a good way and he wanted to share a moment with Jace now that there was something  good.

“Also, you’re not better.”

Jace rolled his eyes, the movement so close to Alec’s own looked weird, “Yeah, yeah. Both of us are disgustingly pathetic in love.”

“Are you going to meet with her today?”

The spike between them of happy anticipation answered for him and Alec finally stepped back.

“Good. I just, I wanted to make sure you were good, you know? I think I might see if Magnus is up for just doing nothing with me today.”

Alec hoped that was on the table, judging by the languidness of Magnus’ movement through the glass door he’d guess so. He was happy but tired and really just wanted to curl up with Magnus for a while.

“I’ll get out of your hair a little early then. I’m sure Magnus would like that and it’s uh, it’s been easier to separate?” Jace sounded oddly guilty and Alec sighed.

“It has been. I still like you being close though and,” Alec smiled and glanced back at Magnus again, “Magnus gets it Jace. So, where I am, you’re welcome. Just, uh, knock a little first?”

Jace laughed at that but bright surprise and warm affection for Magnus lit up their bond and Alec gave him a smug look, “He’s un-hateable.”

It was a silly call back to an old argument but Jace took it, “Are you kidding? He leaves everything on the floor. He’s trying to kill us both via tripping hazard!”

Alec shoved at him, “Alright, you know what? Go find Clary a little early. Talk to her enough that Magnus knows where to start so she can deal with you.”

Jace flipped him off but they were both grinning and through the glass door Magnus laughed at the sight of them

Part eight

[angelinthefire]

“Hey Cas,” Dean asked, pulling the balls from their gutter and rolling them across the table to Sam. “You ever play pool before?” 

“No,” Cas answered, watching Sam and Dean curiously.

“How ‘bout I teach you?” Dean asked, preparing to insist if Cas said no. Pool was a key component of hunter life: A way to relax after a hard day, to make some quick cash, to size-up other hunters, to show off for the ladies. Dean would be derelict in his duty to Cas if he let him go through the rest of his life not knowing how to play pool. 

“It’s simple physics. It can’t be that hard,” Cas replied

“Okay,” Sam said, as he racked up the game. “In that case, why don’t you break?”

Cas took the cue that Dean offered to him, chalked the tip, and lined up his shot. The cue ball drifted gently off to the side.  

Cas frowned

Sam caught the ball and rolled it back. “We won’t count that one,” he said kindly. 

Dean was a lot more direct in his approach. “Okay, Cas, listen here,” he said firmly. He knew that Cas had gotten a lot better about being bad at stuff after the firing range, but this was too important to give Cas the chance to get frustrated and give up. 

Dean stood behind Cas with a hand on his shoulder. “You need a wider stance,” he said, and kicked the insides of Cas’ shoes until he shuffled them apart. “Weight on your back foot.”

He moved to Cas’ left side, sliding his hand off his shoulder, and reaching in front of him for the cue. 

“You gotta have a solid bridge. Some people thread the cue through their fingers, some just use their knuckles.” Dean demonstrated as he talked. “But whatever you do, you can’t let it shake. Try it."

He passed the cue back to Cas. Cas curled a long index finger around the cue, and slid the cue experimentally through the opening. Dean closed his fingers around Cas' wrist, feeling his blood pumping hot at the pulse-point, and tried to shake him. Cas’ hand didn't budge. Dean blinked at his friend's apparent strength, and nodded in approval. 

"Okay, good. Now, your other arm…” Dean stepped around to Cas’ right side, trailing his hand across Cas’ shoulders as he went. The fabric was soft under his fingers, but he could feel the tense line of Cas’ muscles underneath. “Choke the cue higher up for more control, further back for more power. But most of the time...” Dean covered Cas' right hand with his own, and slid it along the smooth length of wood, paying attention to the angle of Cas' arm. Cas' bicep flexed slightly, but noticeably under his shirt. “... you want your elbow at a right angle."

When he was satisfied with the position of his arm, Dean stood as close to Cas as possible without actually getting cheek-to-cheek with the guy, doing his best to share his eye-line. "Now look," he said, gesturing between the cue ball and where the other balls stood lined up. Their bodies were pressed together along their sides, except for where the hard line of the pool cue came between them at Cas' hip. "See the line from the centre of the cue ball to where you want it to go. We're not gonna worry about spin just yet. For now, just follow that line with your cue."

Dean turned to Cas, and Cas' blue eyes met his own, shockingly close and sharp with that old angelic focus, taking in Dean’s every word.

"Remember:" Dean said, low and serious. "It’s not about speed or strength. It's about control, and it’s about confidence. Move smooth and steady."

Cas nodded, a subtle dip of his chin. For a moment Dean forgot why he was standing so close, and continued to stare into Cas' eyes. Then he blinked. 

Weird, I just kinda zoned out there . 

He clapped Cas on the shoulder and stood back. 

"Now go.”

With the look of a soldier going into battle, Cas turned back to the pool table. He gave the cue a practice stroke, and then took his shot. With a crack and a clatter the balls scattered across the table. 

“Ha! There you go!” Dean cheered.

Cas smiled proudly.

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