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Total funding amounts to $125.3M.

lee-and-honey-bee · 5 months

Note

If this guy is a dog hater, allow me to punt him into the sun.

(Also I love this blog. From one traumatized mobility aid user to another, Leonardo, you're killing it.)

Ppppffffttt

I give full permission to 'punt' him if he's an ass.

Though, you might have to wait till after the fam is done with him, lol.

And thank you! That's very sweet of you. I hope you're having a very pleasant day/night!

21 notes · View notes

the-great-lightwood-bane · 2 years

Text

bloody but unbowed Malec | Rated general | tw implied/referenced torture, discrimination against Downworlders | Canon Divergence, Bad Sibling Isabelle Lightwood, Bad Parabatai Jace Wayland, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Rescue

Summary: “Now,” Imogen says — quietly, sternly, insistently. A promised pain in her tone makes Alec want to flinch away, but the bindings on his chair keep him still as the statue he must pretend to be. “Tell me where the Downworlder base is.”

Twenty years ago, the Circle won. Six years ago, Alec Lightwood began freeing every Downworlder to enter the Institute’s cells. A week ago, he was caught.

Nobody’s going to free him.

A/N: This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2022: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver.

Art (above, you can also see it here) is by Twigen!

Title is from the poem Invictus by William Ernst Henley.

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

“Now,” Imogen says — quietly, sternly, insistently. A promised pain in her tone makes Alec want to flinch away, but the bindings on his chair keep him still as the statue he must pretend to be. “Tell me where the Downworlder base is.”

“I don’t know anything,” Alec manages, voice hoarse, throat sore from hours of screaming and dehydration. It’s only partially a lie — he knows where several Downworlder haunts are, places he makes sure to keep patrols away from, but they’re not technically Downworlder bases. The Hunter’s Moon is just a bar, Pandemonium is a club, and while the Hotel Dumort and Jade Wolf are the main headquarters of the vampires and the werewolves, respectively, the place most like a Downworlder base is probably Magnus’ loft — which Alec has intentionally never learnt the location of. Even so, Alec knows perfectly well she’d love to learn about the other Downworlder haunts, and therefore he cannot let her know anything.

Her lip curves up in disgust. “Liar.” A gesture, and the man standing beside her steps forward, stele in hand. Alec tries to cringe away, but it’s no use; he’s weak from too little food and too much pain, and anyway, he’s tied too tightly to the chair.

The stele traces remorselessly over the Agony rune on Alec’s shoulder, mostly black but tinged with red from frequent usage. Alec is well accustomed to the moment of breathless peace when the stele moves back, but there’s no getting used to the abrupt surge of pain that follows, and he loses himself in screams.

—————————————

A week earlier, Alec walked quickly and quietly down the hallways of the New York Institute, seraph blade at the ready although he hoped not to use it.

It was quiet — noon was approaching, and for now, most good Shadowhunters were in bed catching up on the sleep they’d missed overnight. Demons were nocturnal; therefore, so were Shadowhunters. Alec knew he was giving up on precious, already-scarce sleep to do this, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Magnus had told him about the most recent captures, including his friend Catarina Loss and her daughter, Madzie. Alec wasn’t about to let a child stay in the Institute’s cells a moment longer than necessary. Magnus’ message had been relatively short and to the point, anger visible in every line. Alec had immediately agreed to break everyone out of the Institute later that day.

By now — after six years of rescuing every Downworlder the Institute managed to lay hands on — Alec had plenty of practice in subduing opponents; he stepped silently up behind a guard, slammed the hilt of his seraph blade down on his head, and activated the guard’s somnos rune to keep him down. He’d wake up in fifteen minutes with no memory of falling asleep.

The next hallway had two guards, which he dispatched as easily as the first. Nobody, after all, expected Alec Lightwood — Head of the New York Institute, heir to the Lightwood name, scion of one of the proudest Shadowhunter bloodlines, eldest son of Valentine’s greatest devotees — to be the traitor breaking Downworlders out. The latest rumour going around was about an underground movement with several hundred people in it, as, apparently, only that could explain how Downworlders kept disappearing from the Institute’s cells. The guards on duty today would be investigated for misdemeanours, as would the people watching the monitors, but Alec was diligent in his efforts to conceal himself from all suspicion; as Head, his access to the camera feeds allowed him to hide his presence in the cell corridors and then remove any traces of tampering in the recordings. The investigation into this breakout would be as stumped as all the others had been.

He turned another corner soundlessly, and the last guard dropped to the ground. Cells lined this corridor, at least fifty on each side, but only ten were filled — it hadn’t been long since his last rescue, but he’d sped up the timeline for Madzie’s sake. He saw her immediately, a girl who looked younger than the six-year-old she was, and for a moment, he was frozen with a furious horror that they’d dare capture a child.

Shaking himself out of it, Alec pulled out the guard’s stele and swiped it over the cell doors, one after another, then activated the rune that’d unlock the prisoners’ chains. When he’d rescued Magnus a bit more than three years ago, Magnus had looked up at him with golden cat eyes which, even then, had taken Alec’s breath away, and asked how he knew Magnus wouldn’t just kill him where he stood. Alec’s reply — that without a Shadowhunter’s help, he wouldn’t be able to make it out of the Institute to a place where he could portal away — had, apparently, satisfied him; he’d followed Alec’s lead in silence and winked at him before portalling out. He’d been dirty and bruised from the Shadowhunters’ rough handling, but Alec had thought he was the most beautiful man Alec had ever seen.

The ten Downworlders climbed warily to their feet: two warlocks, Madzie and a blue-skinned woman, presumably Catarina Loss; a faerie, androgynous and tattooed with vines; four werewolves, including a Black woman with scars along her neck whom Alec recognised as Maia Roberts from the Hunter’s Moon; and three vampires, one of whom Alec knew as Simon Lewis. “You’re Shadow?” Catarina asked, head tilted to the side.

“Yes.” The pseudonym was a necessity — if they knew his name was Alec Lightwood, they’d never trust him, and they’d probably all end up getting caught. (Shadow seemed fitting, seeing as Alec worked in the shadows and was hunted by, well, Shadowhunters.) Only Magnus knew Alec’s true identity, and the fact that he trusted Alec despite it was one of the reasons Alec loved him.

(It was, perhaps, ridiculous to be in love with a man he’d seen a grand total of twice, but he’d seen plenty of Magnus’ personality in their conversations — his quips, comments, and clever questions, even before their communications had strayed from strict practicalities. By now, Magnus knew more of Alec than anyone else, and not only because he knew Alec was Shadow; Alec had told him secrets, emotions, dreams, and hopes, that he couldn’t even tell his parabatai.

He didn’t know if Magnus felt the same. In any case, it wasn’t like there was much of a future for them; after all, Alec’s people were doing their utmost to exterminate Magnus’. That thought always brought him back to earth from any dreams of love.)

Most of the Downworlders came out of their cells easily enough — they probably knew of Alec already; Magnus had mentioned that Shadow was fairly famous by now — but Madzie remained in hers, pressed against the wall as far from Alec as she could get. Catarina knelt in front of her, trying to encourage her out; judging by the wary glances the young girl was sending Alec, she didn’t want to trust a Shadowhunter. Alec couldn’t blame her, but he wondered what had happened in her short life to make her fear him so much.

Carefully (but quickly, as they didn’t have infinite time), Alec went down on one knee, a little way away, to make himself seem smaller. He caught a glimpse of small slits on the sides of Madzie’s neck and guessed they were her warlock mark. “Cool gills.”

She looked up, a small smile blooming on her face, and with the help of the friendly expression Alec wore, Catarina soon succeeded in coaxing her out of the cell.

Alec beckoned everyone forward, and took them through the winding route of passageways which led to the exit where the portal would be waiting. His watch told him it was 11:56; Magnus’ portal would open at twelve, so they had enough time. It was much easier to do this with Magnus’ help than it’d been before — he’d had to hope that one of the captive warlocks had enough power to make a portal, or else he’d need to help them across the city to one of the Downworlder haunts he knew. Shortly after he’d rescued Magnus, there’d been a close call with a guard, and a Downworlder had been injured to the point where he couldn’t walk; there’d been no warlock capable of portalling them to safety in the group. Fortunately, another prisoner had been Raphael Santiago, a friend of Magnus’, and he’d called Magnus using Alec’s phone. The High Warlock had opened up a portal, and Alec had seen the Downworlders safely to the other side before returning to the Institute to avoid detection.

(Magnus had given Alec the journal they used to communicate a few days later; it was spelled to mirror an identical journal of Magnus’ so they could write to each other without more traceable phones or fire messages.

Magnus’ inventiveness was another thing Alec admired him for.

The most stunning thing about the journal, though, was the level of trust it displayed: Alec could so easily have set up a trap for him using it, and while he was sure Magnus took precautions, there remained a chance they’d fail. It was a calculated risk, and Alec would ensure that it turned out for the best. He could not betray that trust.)

Their small group of Downworlders was only two hallways from the exit when the Institute’s alarm sounded.

Alec realised with a jolt that in his hurry and horror at Madzie’s treatment, he’d forgotten to activate the last guard’s somnos rune. The blow to his head had knocked him out, but that wouldn’t — couldn’t — last; he must’ve woken up, seen the prisoners missing, and hoped to sound the alarm before everyone was in the clear.

Before Alec could tell everyone to hurry up and get out, he saw Madzie’s pale, terrified face. “Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly, gently. “I’ll keep you safe, okay?”

“Okay,” she said trustingly, and Catarina smiled at him. That wasn’t enough, though; she was still too young to move quickly, and the Downworlders seemed too weak to carry her.

“We’re going to need to go fast,” he told her. “Can I give you a ride?”

She hesitated for a moment, and Catarina tensed slightly, but then she nodded, and Alec scooped her easily up onto his back. He barely noticed the weight; already, the other Downworlders were following him down the hallway. 11:58 — two minutes until Magnus’ portal would open up and bring the Downworlders to safety.

“Is your name really Shadow?” Madzie asked in his ear as he hurried forward, careful not to outstrip the slowest Downworlders.

“No,” Alec told her honestly. He knew it was unlikely he’d get out of here alive; keeping his identity secret didn’t much matter anymore. “My real name’s Alec.”

“Alec.” He felt her nod confidently against the back of his neck. “I’m Madzie. You can be my friend.”

“Gladly,” he said, lips pulling up into a smile. Whatever his fate, he liked this girl, too quiet and careful for her age but still with a child’s willingness to make friends.

They reached the exit only moments later, and Alec let Madzie gently down to the ground. She grinned at him, brighter than before, but he didn’t have time to smile back before the first guard came running out the door.

Alec moved without hesitation, pushing Madzie behind him as his seraph blade lit up in his hand. This wasn’t the time to spare lives with somnos runes and knockout blows; Alec’s blade sliced easily through the man’s neck, and blood spattered, thankfully more on Alec than Madzie. He hoped he hadn’t lost her good regard, but her life was more important.

“Behind me!” he called, hoping the Downworlders obeyed as he took up a position in front of the exit. Like this, the space was narrow enough that his opponents would have to come at him one at a time; he wouldn’t last forever, but he’d last the sixty seconds until Magnus’ portal opened up. A flash of movement farther down the corridor; he unslung his bow and sent an arrow through the next guard with enough force to kill the woman behind him, too; the third guard, at her side, growled and threw herself forward — directly onto Alec’s blade, swapped with his bow and held at the ready.

Those three would’ve been stationed closest to this door; he had about fifteen seconds before the rest of the Institute arrived, and then he’d need to hold them off long enough for the Downworlders to get through the portal, and then he’d— well. It was best not to think about what would happen to him. Only one thought pierced his mental shields: I’ll never see Magnus again. He pushed it away before he could linger on the emotions it brought.

“Alec?” Madzie’s voice, nervous. Alec spared a moment to turn to her with a small smile and nod for her to continue, one eye still on the doorway. “Are you coming with us when we leave?”

“I can’t, little princess,” Alec told her gently. “They’d be able to track me too easily, and then they’d find all of you.” He had a parabatai, after all; the Clave might not be able to track Downworlders through Magnus’ wards, but Alec doubted if any wards could stand up to the force of parabatai tracking. He couldn’t lead the Clave to the main headquarters of the Downworlder resistance.

Madzie looked upset, but the fifteen seconds were up, and now a group of twenty more people were hurrying down the hallway to confront Alec. Too many; he wouldn’t be able to hold them all off, not long enough for Magnus’ portal to arrive.

He threw back his hood, drawing himself up into the attitude of a commander, of a leader — the leader they’d all been trained to obey without question. “Halt!”

Instinctively reacting to his tone, the Shadowhunters paused, and Alec gained nearly three seconds to send arrows through the necks of those nearest to him. That left a total of ten bodies on the ground, hampering the other Shadowhunters’ movement forward; even once they’d recovered from their shock that Alec Lightwood was the one smuggling Downworlders out, they still had to climb over their fellows’ corpses to reach Alec, and he dispatched them one after the other. This was better; he could keep this up for as long as he needed to.

He heard the swoosh of an opening portal, then the sounds of people passing through — one, two, three, four — he blocked a strike and stabbed his seraph blade into a woman’s chest, but she managed to wrench away from him before he could pull the blade out again and he had to waste precious moments drawing a new seraph blade — seven Downworlders had gone through, eight, nine, ten.

The portal closed, and Alec let his weapons fall to the floor.

They dragged him in front of Maryse.

Of course they did; with the Head of the Institute out of commission — guilty of treason, in this case, but it would be the same if he were unconscious or dead — the Headship passed to his Second in Command: Maryse. Usually, that rank would be occupied by Jace as Alec’s parabatai, but leading the Institute didn’t really suit him; Izzy was in training to take over as Alec’s Second, but until she completed her training, Maryse would fulfil that role. She didn’t often need to.

Now, Alec’s mother looked at him with eyes full of nothing but disgust. If there was betrayal in them, it was buried deep; she wouldn’t let such a personal emotion show in front of anyone, let alone the son she now knew was a traitor. The traitor, really. Shadow.

She didn’t meet Alec’s eyes, but he could read her well. They both knew that now, in these interminably long seconds, she had a choice to make: she could use the influence and power of the Lightwood name to deny or cover up the evidence of his wrongdoing, perhaps blame it on one of the guards — she was unscrupulous enough for that — and shelter Alec from the worst of the consequences, although she’d lower the prestige of the family name; or, she could turn Alec in, distance herself from him as much as possible, keep the Lightwood name well clear of Alec’s disgrace to protect the rest of the family, and abandon him to his fate.

Logically, he knew — they both knew — that the latter was the only choice she could ever make. Maryse Lightwood was ruthless, and if she needed to sacrifice one son for the rest of her family, she would do it.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, however, when she ordered him put in chains.

It hurt more when she called in Izzy and Jace — Robert and Max, Alec thought dully, must have remained in Idris — and explained the situation in crisp, cold tones. Alec’s siblings stared at him in shock, then confusion, then denial; when Alec didn’t deny anything Maryse accused him of, their expressions morphed into betrayal hidden by cold anger. The three Lightwoods — Alec’s family, however flawed, however prejudiced — left the room without another word.

They just — left. Abandoned him, to torture and certain death, because he’d saved the lives of Downworlders they could never see as people.

The guards dragged Alec before a Silent Brother, mouth and eyes sewn up tight, who silently removed the parabatai rune from Alec’s side. Full deruning wasn’t necessary — it would weaken him to no purpose — but this would spare Jace the pain of Alec’s torture. Alec found himself grateful for it; even if Jace had abandoned him, even if Jace hated Downworlders with a passion that made no sense to Alec, it would be better if Jace didn’t have to feel any of the pain coming for Alec.

Their bond was already weakened by rejection and secrets; when it shattered, rune fading to a pale scar, Alec closed his eyes to ride out the ache and almost wished it had hurt more.

Then, they brought Alec to one of the cells he’d so recently broken the Downworlders out of, where he waited for Imogen Herondale and agony.

————————————————————

After a while, the Agony rune subsides. Thankfully, they don’t last long, although Imogen applies them again and again until Alec’s runes scream from overuse.

Alec can remember studying the rune at the Academy, learning how to draw it, learning what it felt like to experience it — first academically, then practically. They taught that the recipient would first experience physical pain, then recall painful memories, and then go through yet more painful mental delusions; then they seared the rune onto his skin, and he felt it all himself.

The thing with the Agony rune is that it only amplifies pain the receiver has already experienced. The first time Alec bore the rune, the physical pain was bad — every broken bone, every scrape, every ache piled on top of each other — but the memories were worse, combining fear for Izzy’s life the time she’d fallen off a rooftop with every disapproving glare Maryse ever sent him; his delusions were all of his family dying, desperate, dead.

Now, it’s different. The physical pain is worse thanks to the severing of the parabatai bond; he sees his family turning away from him, Maryse’s cold expression, Magnus chained up in a cell; he imagines Izzy and Jace dying, and worse, he thinks Magnus dies too, hurt and chained and broken. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

They’ve had him for a week, and he knows nobody will come to get him. His family chose to reject him rather than endanger themselves, and nobody else will break him out — not his subordinates who he’s betrayed, not Magnus who can’t gather the chaotic and opposing groups he leads to free Downworlders, let alone a Shadowhunter. A Lightwood.

Imogen is there every day, demanding answers; Alec wishes he knew less, wishes he couldn’t give away the few precious hideaways the Downworld has, because at least then they wouldn’t be at risk. He doesn’t tell her anything, of course — he is trained in both giving and resisting torture, and he has always excelled at the latter; perhaps it’s what Jace calls called his idiotic hard-headed stubbornness — but he knows eventually they’ll wear him down, whether it take weeks or months or even years. The Agony rune brings unimaginable pain; someday, he will forget to keep his mouth shut as he surfaces from it, and the secrets will come spilling out.

Thankfully, the Soul Sword is no longer an option — Valentine tried to use it to destroy the entire Downworld, but Alec stole it and passed it off to Magnus, who destroyed it. They can’t compel Alec to tell the truth with anything but raw, naked torture, and that is not a quick process. He has time, but sooner or later, he will give in, and he cannot let that happen.

The best solution, of course, would be to escape, but even without the parabatai bond to track him wherever he goes, there’s no way he can get out; Imogen still seems to think Shadow might be a group rather than an individual, and she’s tripled the guard on his cell in case any compatriots try to free him. (He wishes he had compatriots.) The guards watch him carefully, day and night (or what he thinks is night if his internal clock is still right); he’s never unchained, and the door only opens to admit Imogen. He can’t free himself.

The second-best solution is to set himself free in the other sense. If Alec dies, he won’t betray anyone; the Downworld will be safe — or, at least, as safe as he can make it, which is not very — and Alec, well, perhaps he’ll be better off dead than feeling the burn of the Agony rune again and again.

Unfortunately, the practicalities are harder: Imogen is well aware that he might choose that fate and has taken precautions. There aren’t any sharp edges near enough for him to reach, and he’s force-fed — or, if he refuses, knocked out and put on an IV drip full of enough drugs to make him worry he’ll let something slip. He’s been eating enough to keep them happy but not enough to stop himself from weakening; he’s heard stories of the Agony rune shorting out a heart, so he can at least hope for that. Otherwise, he’ll have to wait for an opportunity to present itself.

His muscles are tired, and possibly atrophying, seeing as he can’t move from the chair. They feed him regularly enough, but thanks to his voluntary starvation, his stomach rumbles with hunger; he’s weak, but he cannot falter. Mistakes endanger the Downworld, and he cannot let anything happen to them — to Madzie, to Raphael, to Maia, to Cat, to Magnus.

(Magnus, who he loves. Magnus, who he will never speak to again. Magnus, who he’s only met twice but knows better than anyone else.)

He made a mistake with the guard, forgetting to draw the somnos rune, and now he can no longer free the Downworlders that New York captures. The cells at the opposite end of the hallway are filling up, and he knows these Downworlders, like Alec himself, will not find a miraculous escape.

Alec wakes up when his cell door swings open.

It’s a different noise than it usually makes — the guards throw it open easily, carelessly, well-accustomed to opening it. Certain of their right to be there. It squeals harshly on the stone floor, loud enough to drag Alec from sleep.

This time, it opens slowly; the squeak is softer but persistent. The touch is more tentative, careful, as though the opener is uncertain of their welcome. Alec shakes off the last traces of sleep quickly, well-used to the aches of waking in his uncomfortable position in his chair. Whoever this is, they’re not the usual guards that precede food or one of Imogen’s visits, and that means he needs to be even more alert than usual.

The corridor is dark, lit only by witchlights at irregular intervals that brighten when Nephilim pass by; they’re not illuminated now, despite the dark outline in the doorway, and he blinks rapidly to make out who it is. The outline clarifies into a person as his eyes grow accustomed to the dark—

“Magnus?”

He’s dreaming. He has to be; Magnus wouldn’t come here, into the depths of the New York Institute, of his own free will. If this is a dream, though, it’s a strange one — he’s only met Magnus twice in person, after all, and although the memories are mostly distinct, he doubts if his subconscious could conjure up Magnus’ face in such precise detail. He’s even more beautiful than Alec remembers, clichéd as it sounds; he’s wearing dark clothing, more austere and utilitarian than the dirty, torn outfit his captivity left him in or the brilliantly-coloured one he wore when he portalled Raphael and the other Downworlders away.

“Alexander,” Magnus says softly, and Alec couldn’t possibly be dreaming because he’s never heard Magnus say his name aloud before, and no imagination could come up with this. Magnus has written Alec’s name often, in its full length, and Alec will never admit that he sometimes traces over the curves of Magnus’ handwriting with his fingers, but he thinks he might like it even more when Magnus says it aloud.

“What are you doing here?” Alec asks, rather than voice the I love you that sings quietly in his blood.

“Rescuing you, of course,” Magnus returns, a shadow of a grin visible through the dark as he bends down in front of Alec and sends blue sparks toward Alec’s chains.

Rescuing you. Magnus — Magnus has come here, into the Institute, into danger, to free Alec — to rescue a Lightwood, of all people, from Imogen’s clutches. Why would he risk himself—

But of course, he knows that Alec could tell Imogen about Pandemonium, the Hunter’s Moon, the Jade Wolf, or the Hotel DuMort. All the Downworld’s last sanctuaries, endangered by Alec’s stupidity in getting captured; Magnus would need to prevent him from giving anything away.

No, that doesn’t explain it. Magnus has never managed to free any Downworlder captives, although they, too, could have told where the Downworld gathered. It’s impossible to get anyone out of the Institute without all the Downworld factions working together, and Magnus has complained at length about how difficult it is to get them to do so; vampire/werewolf rivalries are, of course, common knowledge, but faeries don’t much like vampires either, the warlocks and the faeries fight over which race is older, and the werewolves are unwilling to participate in any rescue attempts as, due to the other races’ immortality, captivity would be just the blink of an eye for them. Magnus hasn’t been able to gather sufficient forces to effect a jailbreak.

And even Magnus can’t break anyone out on his own. The Institute’s cameras are heavily runed against warlock interference, and surveillance is constant; Alec knows the only way for a Downworlder to get into the cell corridors is if there’s another attack elsewhere in the building, drawing attention away from the cameras. Alec listens intently; sure enough, he can hear faint echoes of fighting from the corridors above them.

Somehow, Magnus has united the Downworld to rescue Alec.

Now, however, is not the time to marvel over that. Magnus has managed to break the chains binding Alec to the chair; Alec pushes himself to his feet, but a rush of dizziness makes him sway on the spot until Magnus catches him. He can’t walk like this, and Magnus needs to save his magic for their escape. “Can I have one of the guards’ steles?”

Magnus flicks his fingers, and a stele appears in Alec’s hand. Despite the burn of rune exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him, he activates iratze, mendelin to strengthen his constitution, and Stamina and Nutrition for good measure. His skin itches painfully, and he knows he’ll crash hard when the runes wear off, but it’s worth it as he steadies on his feet. Magnus hesitates to release him, so Alec pulls away himself, trying not to regret the loss of contact.

A fire message whistles through the air and into Magnus’ hand, still outstretched toward Alec. He glances at it and scowls. “The others are drawing back. We’re on our own getting out.”

Presumably, the Institute has recovered from the shock of the attack and is successfully fending off the Downworlders who’ve attacked upstairs. No matter; they’ve done enough, allowing Magnus enough time to get here. “We should get moving, then,” Alec says aloud.

Magnus nods sharply and thankfully spares Alec the indignity of asking whether he thinks he can make it out on his own. Alec knows what he is and isn’t capable of; thanks to the runes humming to life under his skin, he’s strong enough. Barely.

He takes the seraph blades of a guard at the door — best not to be unarmed if they’re seen and attacked — and follows Magnus at an easy run. The passageways twist back and forth in the familiar route from the cells to the exit; Alec is horribly aware of the cameras fixed on them, recording every movement rather than the looped videos he always uses while breaking Downworlders out. (Videos he used. He’ll never be able to break anyone out again.)

Fortunately, they get most of the way to the exit without being intercepted. Unfortunately, two corridors away from the door, Shadowhunters come spilling out of a side passage to block their way.

Alec activates his seraph blades, praying his runes hold up and wishing he had his bow. A blast of magic knocks about half the Shadowhunters to the ground, and then the rest are too close for Magnus to cast spells without risking Alec, so it devolves into close battle.

Magnus fights with magic wreathing his hands, though Alec knows it must be harder than usual, thanks to the adamas and magic-dampening runes surrounding them. He covers Alec’s back, and Alec does the same; being Shadow, combined with hours of training to keep up with his rather more gifted siblings, means that Alec fights better than most of their attackers even when he’s not at full strength, but he and Magnus are still outnumbered several times over. A Shadowhunter lands a deep blow to his side, but he ignores it in favour of killing her, quick and efficient. This is only a reserve group, not the full force of the Institute (thankfully), but if they can slow Alec and Magnus down enough, they’ll be trapped, and Magnus will be captured.

Alec cannot let that happen. (Not again.)

Two Shadowhunters fall to the seraph blades he wields; a spurt of magic knocks another one to the ground, and Alec steps over the body to sink his bloody swords into a ribcage, a neck, an abdomen. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining the tramp of disciplined footsteps in the hallways approaching them; if he isn’t, they only have moments left, and he fights with a renewed ferocity. Blood spatters, and Alec knows his runes will give out soon enough, but a last burst of magic kills the two Shadowhunters still blocking their way, and Magnus takes his arm as they run for it.

There are definitely footsteps behind them, running footsteps of properly-runed Shadowhunters who aren’t nearing collapse, but the door is closer than the guards at their heels, and Magnus opens a portal just beyond the doorway moments before they step through, Alec almost stumbling, falling headfirst through the swirl of blue sparks that vanishes behind them.

The last thing Alec sees before unconsciousness claims him is Magnus’ face bending over him, lips forming his name.

When Alec wakes up, it’s to three warlocks sitting by his bedside, bathed in morning light.

It takes him a moment to remember that he’s not in the cell anymore; he’s safe, Magnus came for him, but the feeling of that cell still casts a shadow over his skin and leaves a phantom ache in the Agony rune on his shoulder. To distract himself, he looks around.

Magnus is slumped over in a chair, head at an awkward angle, obviously asleep. Catarina Loss is in a second chair on the other side of Alec’s bed — or, Alec realises, Magnus’ bed; this must be Magnus’ apartment — but she’s in a much more comfortable-looking position. Madzie is sitting on the bed near Alec’s hips, watching him intently with a crease in her eyebrows.

Alec has barely enough time to note that he’s aching, though less than he should be, before Madzie’s eyes light up with the realisation that he’s awake, and he finds himself with an armful of excited warlock. “Alec! You’re okay!”

His aches don’t exactly appreciate the impact, but he sits up anyway, grinning at her. “That I am, little sorceress.”

“Cat said you would be, but I was still worried,” she tells him with all the earnestness of a child. “You were nice about my gills, and you saved all of us from the bad Shadowhunters. I asked Cat if they’d hurt you and she didn’t answer, so I asked Uncle Magnus, and he looked sad. Did they hurt you?”

Alec thinks of Agony runes and screams, of painful memories that drift into still worse hallucinations. He can’t exactly tell Madzie about all that, young as she is, but he doesn’t want to lie to her either, so he compromises. “I’m all right now. Don’t worry about me.”

“We were all rather worried about you,” a voice says from beside the bed, and Alec’s head whips up to see Magnus, apparently awoken by Madzie’s excited speech. There’s something warm in his eyes as he looks at the two of them, Madzie in Alec’s lap, and Alec remembers that she called him Uncle Magnus — he loves this little warlock, clear as daylight.

“You’re lucky I was here with Madzie when you two portalled back,” Cat adds, also apparently awake.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay after Magnus saved you,” Madzie explains, dark eyes serious. “Cat said I should let you recover, but I don’t think I’m hurting you — am I?”

“Not at all,” Alec tells her, ignoring the pain in his side. “I’ve never been better.”

Cat glances at him more critically than Madzie, eyes slipping down to his aching side where he could feel the pressure of a bandage below Madzie’s weight. “But as we know Alec’s alright now, why don’t we leave him to rest a bit more?”

Madzie’s lips purse, but she jumps off Alec’s lap without protest. “Bye, Alec! I’ll come visit you soon!”

“Please do,” Alec tells her with a grin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She beams back and waves enthusiastically as Cat leads her away.

That leaves him alone with Magnus, who’s also smiling, something gentle and fond on his face. “You’re good with her.”

Alec shrugs. “I’ve got practice — three younger siblings, remember?” The thought of Izzy and Jace brings an abrupt surge of hurt — they’d just left, so easily, as though he meant nothing more to them because he’d dared to save the lives of Downworlders — but he swallows it down.

Apparently, however, Magnus can read him well, despite the brevity of their in-person acquaintance, because he winces apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

It’s an expression of sympathy, not an apology, so Alec just shrugs. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Of course.” Magnus is smiling again, and although Madzie’s gone, there’s still that warm affection in his eyes. “I owe it to you, after all — you broke me out of there, and hundreds of Downworlders besides.”

That makes sense, Alec supposes, but he still doesn’t understand— “How did you get enough Downworlders to cooperate for the frontal attack of the Institute?”

There’s a hint of something in Magnus’ smile, now — pride? — that turns it into a smirk. “Everyone in the Downworld knows Shadow, Alexander. A fair number have escaped thanks to you, and those who haven’t been caught know those who have. You’ve saved more of my people than I can count, and they recognise that. When I asked for volunteers to get you out, I knew I’d get a lot, but every single Downworlder present wanted to fight for you, infighting and inter-race rivalries be damned.”

For a moment, Alec simply blinks at him in stunned silence. “For me?”

Magnus’ smile is still half-smirk, but it softens into something warmer. “For Shadow, who saved so many. For Alec Lightwood, who betrayed family and people for our sake. For the man who refused to portal out with those last ten Downworlders because he knew he’d be tracked, and gave up his freedom for ours.”

Alec doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what to think — the Downworld knows who he is, all that he is, his last name, and they fought for him like his parents and siblings refused to.

“But Cat’s right,” Magnus goes on when Alec says nothing. “You do need rest. You also need food, so—” he flicks his fingers, and an array of dishes appear in front of Alec. Despite the early hour — judging by the light, it can’t be past ten AM — there’re not only breakfast foods from all over the world but several more substantial-looking dishes Alec’s never had before. It’s far too much food for one person, or even for two, but Alec digs in with a will; he needs to regain the strength he’s lost thanks to captivity and starvation and Agony runes.

Magnus joins him, explaining what the dishes are that Alec doesn’t recognise, and they fall back into the easy cadence of conversation they learned in writing to each other through the journal. Magnus shares stories of the first time he had this or that dish, where it comes from, and some cultural tidbits — Alec knows he’s banned from Peru, so he’s curious as to how Magnus managed to obtain rocoto relleno from there; the spicy pepper burns his throat, but he’s always liked spice more than the Shadowhunters around him who’d rather have something bland and Western, so he eats it eagerly.

Eventually, Alec’s far too full to even think about eating more, and although his stomach might regret his indulgence later, he’s appreciating the feeling of having eaten enough. Sleep is pulling at him now, too; rune exhaustion doesn’t vanish with a few hours’ rest and a solid meal. He has enough experience with it to know that he won’t be able to use any runes for a solid twenty-four hours after this, and longer if he doesn’t get some rest.

“I’ll leave you to sleep,” Magnus tells him, perceptive of the tiredness Alec can usually hide so well. A wash of magic clears away the mess of food and summons a glass of water to leave by Alec’s bedside. The curtains close, fully blocking out the light from the window.

Alec’s asleep before Magnus shuts the door.

Imogen smiles at him, all teeth. “Tell us what you know.”

Alec shakes his head, refuses, but a stele lights up, and then there’s a burning in his shoulder that spreads like scattered starbursts of agony across his body, and he thinks the world whites out; he doesn’t know anything but pain, anything but the soul-deep ache that grows and grows and grows amidst fears and dreams and imaginings that tear into his heart with razor-tipped claws.

When he comes to, Imogen leans in closer. “Tell us, and it’ll all be over.”

Don’t, Alec tries to tell himself, but his lips don’t obey; he’s screaming inside, struggling not to speak, to protect the Downworlders that Imogen will kill, but the words come spilling out regardless. Places. Names. Everything Imogen needs.

She smiles and says in Magnus’ voice, “Wake up, Alec!”

Alec surges upright with a jolt, aching side protesting, and nearly slams his head into Magnus’.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, reaching out a hand toward his shoulder.

His shoulder. Alec flinches away, and Magnus’ hand falls to his side. “Alec, are you with me?”

Still silent — he can’t speak, can’t open his mouth, or he fears he’ll give everything away — Alec nods. His shoulder isn’t actually hurting, and while his side’s still injured, the Agony rune hasn’t been reactivated. It was a dream, only a dream. A nightmare, nothing more.

“You’re okay,” Magnus says softly, soothingly, somehow both a reassurance and an oath that he would make it so. “You’re safe here, Alexander, and I will not let them hurt you again.”

Alec relaxes into his voice, letting it wash away the last traces of Imogen’s. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Magnus replies immediately. “We’ve all got nightmares.”

Most of Magnus’ likely came at Alec’s people’s hands. “Still. It must be late” — the blinds don’t let enough light through to know the time, but Alec’s internal clock suggests he’s been asleep all day — “and you were probably asleep.”

Magnus shrugs in response. “My guest bed’s a bit less comfortable than this one, and I was lying awake when I heard you.”

Heard him screaming? Spilling all the Downworld’s secrets? Pleading with Imogen? Another thought hits Alec with all the force of a truck: “Wait, you mean this is your bed? You don’t need to sleep in the guest room; I don’t want to kick you out of your bed—”

A graceful wave of the hand. “It’s no trouble, darling. In all honesty, I’d likely have been awake anyway, guest bed or no.” Magnus’ smile reminds Alec of his earlier words. We’ve all got nightmares. Magnus has plenty of reason for them; the Downworld is fractured, on the verge of being hunted to extinction by the Clave.

“Still,” Alec says. “You shouldn’t need to leave me your room.”

Magnus dismisses that with a smile and a hand wave. “In any case, you’re probably hungry again. Midnight snack?”

As a matter of fact, Alec is hungry, so he agrees with a smile. Magnus summons up more food — a few of the dishes Alec particularly liked last time, including the rocoto relleno, along with a variety of new foods that Magnus explains with gusto. It’s all delicious, and the last vestiges of Alec’s nightmare drift away.

Magnus snaps away the last remains of the food when they’re done. “Tired?”

“Not really, actually,” Alec replies. “Sleeping all day has messed with my sleep schedule.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, either,” Magnus says, holding out a hand to help Alec up. It’s more reminiscent of an old-fashioned, courtly gesture than a way to get Alec to his feet; Alec is impossibly grateful for the small amount of dignity that affords him. He takes Magnus’ hand and heaves himself up, wincing as the pain in his side intensifies.

“Oh, I can help with that,” Magnus offers, blue wreathing his hands; at Alec’s nod, it encases his side, and the pain eases away. Alec doesn’t know if it’s fully healed or if Magnus’ magic is acting as a painkiller — probably the latter; injuries caused by seraph blades are notoriously hard for warlock magic to heal — but his shoulders relax as the ache ebbs.

Magnus directs him into an open space with a large table in the middle, chairs arranged around it and papers scattered across the top. Alec hesitates, but Magnus doesn’t stop him when he leans over to look at the papers; there’s a map of New York, the Institute in red, Downworlder hideouts in blue, lines and boxes in both colours indicating where it’s safe for Downworlders to go and where it isn’t. He recognises all the Institute’s patrol routes in bright scarlet — information he leaked as soon as he was sure he could safely do so.

Another paper has lists of names, presumably Downworlders, in one column, and then dates and times in the next — the label at the top of the sheet reads CHECK-INS, and Alec realises that the Downworlders are all making sure to check in at least once a day, so they know as soon as possible if anyone’s taken. There’s a pile of notes with MEETING MINUTES along the top; Alec glances through them, and they seem to be mostly arguments about supplies and refusals to concede to other groups’ requests, mixed in with dire warnings about the Clave — except for the last meeting, which ends with a consensus on rescuing Alec. The werewolf Alpha in that meeting is different from the one in the older papers; somebody named Theo has been replaced by Luke Garroway, who seems more cooperative than his predecessor.

Still, the Downworlders are obviously divided between themselves and terrified of the Clave’s next threat. Alec reads through the notes again; the old werewolf leader, Theo, was particularly unwilling to cooperate, and the faeries are (as always) isolationist. They can’t seem to work together long enough to form a coherent strategy to defend themselves, let alone fight back. He forgets for a moment where he is, lost in understanding and digesting the political situation, the Downworld’s forces, and the potential for resistance.

“We’re not very good at working together,” Magnus observes dryly at his shoulder, and Alec’s almost surprised he doesn’t jump at the sudden voice. “Nobody’s exactly trained in strategy, and nobody wants to listen to the other races above their own.”

Alec glances up at him, considering. “But you’ve got substantial forces. More Downworlders than the Clave knows about, for sure; with some preliminary battle training for everyone, you’d be able to overwhelm the Institute with sheer numbers.”

“If everyone worked together, yes,” Magnus agrees. “But that’s unlikely, and what about after that? Even with the New York Institute under our command, the Clave would simply send more Shadowhunters to fight us.”

“No, they couldn’t,” Alec replies. “The Downworld doesn’t know this, but the Clave is overstretched. There aren’t enough new Shadowhunters being born to keep up with the demon threat; between their insistence on fighting Downworlders, the lower birth rate of the last few years, and the loss of the Cup, our — their — numbers are dropping.” It’s odd to think of the Clave as a separate entity from himself, when he’s faked allegiance to it for so long, but it’s also a relief. “The Institute would be easy enough for us to fortify, and they could only get in through the permanent portal from Alicante; to overwhelm an Institute controlled by this many Downworlders when they’re in such a disadvantageous position, they’d need…” he pauses for a moment, calculating “…upwards of seven hundred troops. There aren’t seven hundred troops to be found.”

“It’s still a precarious position,” Magnus says slowly, but he’s clearly warming to the idea, light flaring to life in his eyes. “That won’t last forever; to have lasting peace, we’ll need to keep the Clave permanently out of New York, which means either blocking all portals from coming in — difficult and annoying, but possible — or defeating the Clave entirely, worldwide, which is harder, but if we succeed—”

“We could free Downworlders everywhere.” Alec’s grinning, ideas spinning almost too fast for him to follow; he’s always liked strategy, more than Izzy or Jace ever did, and he’s often spent hours planning out careful moves in his office that balance the Downworld’s needs and the necessary pretence of loyalty to the Clave. He’s always been alone while strategizing, though, and there’s a whole new thrill now that he’s talking with somebody else, somebody clearly as knowledgeable about strategy as he is. And now, he’s not trying to balance what he thinks with what he must do; he’s fighting for something that he believes in far more than the Clave, planning for a concrete future he actually wants. It’s freeing.

“We’d need worldwide support,” Magnus points out. “Right now, I’ve got some communication with other warlocks, but it’s nowhere near enough to actually form a global movement to take on the Clave.”

The words — a global movement to take on the Clave — send shivers of something between excitement and terror down Alec’s spine. “But it’s possible. And if we take New York, we’ll have a precedent, which will serve to bring more of them to our cause.”

“It’s possible. Our numbers are superior; if we work together—”

“—and if we can take down all the Institutes at once—”

“—even if we can’t take Idris itself—”

“—we’ll be able to stop them from hunting Downworlders.” The light in Magnus’ eyes is echoed in Alec’s soul, and he suddenly feels as if he could take on the world and more with Magnus at his side. This is hard — this is almost impossible — but it’s also necessary, and Alec had always prided himself on his ability to do what needs doing. “Demons are obviously a problem — that’s why Shadowhunters were created, after all — but between rebel Shadowhunters and Downworlders willing to do patrols, I think a permanent solution could be found.”

Magnus beams at him, lit up from within like a beacon, like the angels in textbooks. “First, we take New York.”

Alec pulls a blank piece of paper forward, and Magnus snaps up a pencil. The plans of the Institute are easy enough for him to recall and draw out; he can mark every exit, every camera, and every hub of activity, thanks to his dual life as Shadow and Institute Head. He knows where they can attack and where they should avoid, and he marks them all on the map in red pen.

Leaning over his shoulder, Magnus points to a spot, asks a question, and Alec explains. It should’ve been odd, planning an attack on the building he’s guarded all his life, but instead, it feels right: he has hated the Clave far longer than he ever loved it, and he’s been trapped into helping them for so long, unable to leave or fight back in any way except as Shadow. Now, he can finally do something about it, and sitting at Magnus’ table with papers scattered around him in a starburst of plans and ideas, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so free.

“This is incredible, Alexander,” Magnus breathes, at last, eyes fixed on Alec, letting a pen fall to the table. The plans are as complete as they can be without talking to the other Downworld leaders; by presenting them with something as fully fleshed-out as this, Magnus is hopeful they can convince them to help, especially with a Shadowhunter’s insider knowledge on their side. “We can — we can actually do this.”

“I should hope so — we’ve thought it through enough,” Alec returns, teasingly, but he feels the same way: a mixture of exhilaration and impossible hope that makes all their dreams close enough to touch, so close he can scarcely believe it.

Magnus huffs out a you know what I meant and pulls Alec up to his feet. “Dance with me?”

He tugs Alec out into the living room without waiting for a reply, music emanating from somewhere in the room. It’s dark outside, New York lights outshining the stars but not the moon, the lamps on the table spreading illumination into the living room in slants of gold. “I don’t know how to dance,” Alec protests, but weakly, because Magnus is looking at him like that, visible even through the darkness of the room, and he doesn’t know if he could ever say no to him.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Magnus returns, and guides Alec’s steps to the simple beat of the music. Alec’s not exactly a dancer, but he is a Shadowhunter; he knows how to use his body, and he’s at ease here, and the music seeps into his bones as he follows Magnus’ lead.

He spent a week in a cell, certain that he would not last long, and now he is here, free, and in Magnus’ arms. There’s a breathless incredulity blending with a determined joy in his chest, golden hope glowing through him, glowing in Magnus’ eyes.

The dancing devolves into quiet swaying on the spot. Alec’s wordless, looking at Magnus, brilliant and beautiful and full of life, with a heart that has suffered so much but is still brighter than the moon outside the window. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling in his chest, warm and heavy yet light at the same time, but he knows he loves Magnus, and the look in Magnus’ eyes whispers that it’s returned.

Despite all the planning they’ve done, all the dreams they share, the future is murky; something will go wrong, as it always does, and they’ll be fighting for their lives sooner or later. Success is possible but not probable. There are demons in Alec’s head in the red-black shades of the Agony rune; Maryse, Imogen, and the Clave are strong and stand together against them. But between Alec’s strategy and knowledge, Magnus’ vision and power, and the Downworld’s hidden strength, they have at least a chance, and that is enough — that is everything.

Alec leans in to kiss Magnus’ smiling lips, and somehow, impossibly, all is right with the world.

#fic #my fic #tsc #tmi #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #magnus x alec #alec lightwood bane #magnus lightwood bane #alec x magnus #shrb2022 #fanart #rescue #captivity

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gumnut-logic · 2 months

Text

Five pick up and one drop off (Pick up 5)

Pick up 1 | Pick up 2 | Pick up 3 | Pick up 4 | Pick up 5

This one took a bit of wrangling, but here it is.

Monique first appeared when Scott needed a little roadside assistance.

I hope you enjoy her second appearance :D

-o-o-o-

Monique was his pickup truck and he loved her.

She had been red a long time ago, but nowadays she was more brown and just old. He did keep her maintained and she was definitely road worthy. But she was old. And when you’re old, things sometimes broke down.

Which is why Virgil Tracy, billionaire, International Rescue operative, engineer, artist, musician and coffee fan was currently lying in the weeds on the roadside under the old girl.

There was grease in his hair.

It was his fault really. He had been so busy of late; he hadn’t had time to get out to the farm and service her. And since she was no longer driven regularly, well, he had hoped, but this was inevitable.

Sorry, Grandpa.

He sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to fix this out here in the middle of nowhere country Kansas, and consequently he was stranded.

Looking at the state of the bearings involved he was lucky he had made it out here without seizing something up and coming to a very sudden stop.

“Sorry, Monique baby, but you’re not going anywhere for a while.” He sighed and reached for the rag he knew he would be needing.

“Virgil?”

He jumped.

Unfortunately, being under the car with little or no clearance, he whacked his head on the gearbox.

“Ow! John, what the-?”

“Virgil, you okay?”

His brother’s voice came from his collar comms, of course. Johnny was not standing next to the car. Though, come to think of it, Johnny would be preferable to the brother he knew he was going to have to call.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Jus’hit my head. What do you need?” Please not a rescue. He was on leave and leaving Monique on the side of the road was just wrong.

And he was working out logistics on how to get Monique into Thunderbird Two fast enough not to slow them down. But then she would be in the way and could compromise a mission, and damnit, he really didn’t want to leave her on the side of the road!

“Just checking in. You’ve been stationary in the middle of nowhere for some time now and its not like Monique has a computer I can interface with for a tech report.”

“You mean hack. My Lamborghini has not felt right since you played in her processor.”

“I needed information! You looked like you were being attacked!”

“I was being kissed, John. Clean your lenses.”

“Over the hood of your car.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“TMI, Virgil.”

Virgil couldn’t help grinning. It wasn’t often he won a verbal spar with his space brother. “I am fine, John. No kissing happening here.”

The frustrated groan from orbit only made him grin more.

“So you don’t want me to notify Gordon that you need rescuing?”

The grin vanished and it was Virgil’s turn to groan. Okay, needling John was never a successful ploy. One day he would remember that his brother was a genius and had all the answers.

A sudden banging on the side of his truck startled him enough to hit his head again. What the-?

“You okay down there, mate?”

Uh? Virgil pushed himself out from under his truck and found himself squinting up at a guy about his Dad’s age.

“Broken down?”

“Uh, yeah.” He got his feet under himself and leaning on Monique, stood up.

There was a giant black pickup truck on the other side of the road, three times the size of Monique. A sticker with flickering flame towards the rear declared ‘Burning dinos’.

“Need a hand?” The guy had a grey beard and hair, bit of a belly, and tattoo down one tanned arm.

Virgil grabbed that rag and wiped his hands best he could. “No, she’s not going anywhere, I’m afraid. Thanks for stopping, though.”

“Not a prob. Just doing the neighbourly thing.” The man frowned. “Say, are you from around here?”

“Not quite-”

“You look familiar.” The man’s frown deepened.

Uh, oh.

“You been on the HoloV?”

“Uh-“

The man peered at his face, enough for Virgil to have to take a step back and collide with Monique.

“You look a lot like one of those rescue guys. You know, the ones who fly those planes that make all that noise.”

“Well, yeah I-“

But then the guy was laughing. “Sorry, you must get that a lot.”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s not like one of those billionaires would drive something like that, is it?”

And he was gesturing at Monique.

Virgil frowned. “Well-“

“After all, I earn enough and look at my girl. She’s got everything I can afford and still she needs more.”

A glance at the black monstrosity and there was definitely no need for more. He seriously doubted the vehicle had ever done a lick of work, or in some cases, could.

He could hear his father saying it now - ‘she ain’t pretty, but she’s practical’. Dad always was function over form. Monique may be old and worn, but she’d earnt every scratch and scrape, and she wore them proudly.

“So, you doin’ her up?”

“What?”

“Your truck. She a work in progress?”

“No, she just needs some repairs. My brother will pick me up soon.” He really should call Gordon, despite the ribbing involved.

“Sure you don’t want a lift?”

“Yeah, thanks anyway.” Was it rude to hope the man would leave?

Probably.

Unfortunately, either way, he didn’t.

“So, what is it? The money?

“Excuse me?”

“The reason why you drive a broken truck.”

“Uh-“

“Just imagine if we had the money. You could fix up it up, give it a new paint job.” He arched an eyebrow at Monique. “Or buy a new one.”

“I like my truck as she is.” Bar a busted bearing or two.

The guy eyed Virgil like he had a disease. “Why?”

“She’s an heirloom.”

“I can see that.” He took a step back as if to really look at Virgil’s truck. “Is that a backyard eco-conversion?” A look of pure horror crossed the guy’s face.

“Yeah.” Dad and Grandpa had done it together back in the 2030s. Grandpa didn’t want to take the truck off the road, so the gas engine got the boot and Dad had helped him install the eco-conversion.

“You do realise an eco can’t compare to a traditional gasoline engine? My girl has six hundred horsepower under her hood. She works hard and plays hard. She can pull 15,000 pounds and not break a sweat.”

Virgil folded his arms. “Impressive.” Except for the whole burning hydrocarbons issue, deal breaker that it was. He wasn’t going to mention Monique’s specs, she was after all, more than she looked.

Besides, he could hear the sound of his girl in the distance. She could pull a lot of things.

Thunderbird Two shot into a low hover above Monique, tossing hair and grass alike, her roar all encompassing. “Hey, Virg, Johnny said you needed a lift?” Gordon’s voice bounced around as big truck guy’s jaw dropped.

“Thanks, Gordon.” Virgil turned to his companion and held out a hand. “Thanks again for stopping.”

The man’s hand was offered absently as he stared up at Virgil’s girl.

“You might want to stand back.”

He vaguely nodded and backed his way across the road to his truck.

“Gordon, grapples will do the job. It’s not far.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and, pulling open Monique’s driver side door, climbed in and put on his seat belt.

The clunk of four magnetic grapples, a gentle tug, and Monique left the ground.

Virgil couldn’t help but look down at the man staring up at Virgil’s girl.

Was it wrong to enjoy the shock on the man’s face?

Probably.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #nuttyfic #this one fought me #Gordy didn't get the yellow motorbike I promised him #maybe next time

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romanarose · 11 months

Text

To the Rescue

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sarah gets her period, and Joel is a bit lost.

Warnings: So much period talk. so much. Thats about it.

EDIT Gotdamn two requests for part two already and it’s been up a few hours 😂 part two it is! Maybe with smut 👀

Let’s see. Comment if you’d like to be tagged!

************

You didn’t wanna assume anything… maybe he knew what he was doing. Maybe he was just trying to find a particular kind.

Or maybe the 30-something-year-old man was wandering lost around the feminine hygiene aisle overwhelmed because his wife, daughter, or sister sent him to buy some, and he had no idea what he was doing.

“Excuse me, sir?” You gently approach the nervous man. When he turns to you, wide-eyed and red faced, you can’t help but notice how handsome he is, soft brown curls framing a strong jaw and curved nose.

“Oh, ‘scuse me, ma’am.” He nods his head to you, and steps back, presumably to get out of your way.

You smile softly at him, trying to put him at ease. “No, no, you’re alright, I was just gonna ask if you needed any help?”

The man blushes harder at that, dodging your attempts to catch his eyes. He looks like he’s about to refuse, but reconsiders. Looking at the floor and shoving his hands in his pockets, he answers. “My daughter, she started… um… yeah. For the first time today… the nice cashier boy is an older brother of her friend so he let her in the employee bathroom, since apparently, they don’t have a public one.” The annoyance laced his voice, and it’s obvious it had taken a moment to get the poor young girl to privacy. He finally looks at you, not so much embarrassed, but more ashamed. “I should’a been prepared for this, but I thought… I thought I had more time, you know? She’s still a little girl to me, I guess I didn’t see it coming. So. Here we are.”

You nod, listening. “Are you able to contact her mom?”

Shaking his head, he looks away again. “She left when Sarah- uh, my daughter- when Sarah was two, I gave up tryna involve her in Sarah's life by Kindergarden- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this shit-I Mean, crap- on you.”

He was a southern gentleman, it seemed, not keen on swearing around women. You felt for him, you did. A single dad in this position wasn’t ease.

“I see, well, I’m happy to help, if that’s alright.”

An audible sigh of relief escapes him. “That would be great, thank you. I don’t wanna… well she’s already very embarrassed. The cashier was nice, but he definitely saw the blood on her shorts, and she’s pretty humiliated. You know, teenage boy she knows and all that… I don’t wanna make it worse.” He shuffles his feet. “I don’t wanna make her feel like this is something to be ashamed of, or that I’m grossed out. I’m not.” He glances at you before sighing again but keeping eye contact. “I just feel out of my depth that’s all.”

“I understand. This sort of thing can be confusing for adult women do. We learn new things all the time, what works better and what doesn’t. I don’t think anyone expects you to be an expert.”

With a shy smile, the young man extends his hand. “Joel Miller, pleasure to meet yuh, miss.”

You tell him your name, and get to work, not wanting to leave that poor girl waiting. “Any known allergies, Mr. Miller?”

“Please, you can call me Joel. And yeah, she’s allergic to latex.”

Nodding again, you move to a particular section. “Okay, good think I asked because some have latex. Here.” You give him a box of basic Kotex pads and a box of tampons. “This brand is latex free, and they are a good brand. Just make sure you check any new products if you get 'em. She probably won’t want to use tampons for a few years yet, but let’s get 'em just in case” You grab a box of larger ones. “And these are overnight pads, but the first day or two are always the heaviest each month, and if I’m being honest, I just use these the first day, even with a tampon.” Your face suddenly matches Joel’s blush. “Sorry, that’s probably TMI”

“No!” He reassures, wide-eyed. “I don’t mind, any information is helpful- uh- if you’re comfortable, of course.”

You can’t seem to stop smiling at him. “Yeah. I’m pretty open. Well, for me, my first two days are insanely heavy, and the tampons bleed through really quick, so if I’m at work it's better just to have a big pad on to prevent leaks. I think it’s safe to say she’s gonna like these while she is figuring things out.”

Joel nods, and you can tell he’s trying very hard to take in this information. He grabs another box of the over night pads, then looks at you. “Just in case”

“Okay, now, you said she bleed through her clothes right?”

Joel scrubbed his face. “Oh god, yeah, and they don’t sell clothes here, huh.” He sighs, before coming up with a plan. “That's okay” I’ll just wrap my jacket around her.”

“Here.” You toss him some baby wipes. “You go check out, I got some sweats in my car, I’ll grab them and meet you at the employee bathroom.”

His eyes go wide at that. “Oh! Oh no, miss, thank you but you don't have to-”

But you hold out a hand to quiet the handsome single dad. “I want to. And they are just shitty sweats, don’t worry for one minute.” Before he could argue, you leave him, and soon you return to the front where Joel is trying to get his daughter to open the door… but she’s refusing.

“Sarah, honey, it’s okay, it’s okay I’m just gonna hand you what you need-”

“No!” You can hear her yell from the bathroom, and you can’t imagine she’s older than 10.

You step up to the door. “Hey, Sarah? I’m a friend of your dads. I got some clean clothes for you, if you crack open the door I have a towel you can cover yourself with, and I can help you, or if they you think got it-”

The door unlocked, and Joel looked visibly relieved as you handed her the beach towel through the cracked door.

“Is this alright? I’ll keep the door unlocked and be in and out.” You assure him, and he agrees.

“I really appreciate all your help; I can’t say thank you enough.”

Sarah calls that you can come in, and with a towel covering her you show her the products and explain how to use them. You slip out again and lean against the wall looking at an anxious Joel.

“She okay? She good?” He asks you, the worry evident on his face.

You were quick to reassure him. “She’s alright, just embarrassed, but I managed to slip in that you were absolutely not weirded out and not nervous at all.”

“Already lying for me, huh darl’n?” He chuckles a bit, finally seeming to relax. “You really came to my rescue.”

You could stare at his soft brown eyes all day… “It’s alright. No one really prepares you for this as a dad.”

The smile on his face falls. “But I should’ve prepared myself, you know?” his large hand goes to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t try, really. When her mom left I really tried to… you know… learn how to do both, the mom stuff and dad stuff.” Joel chuckled a bit. “I can throw a mean tea party.”

Smiling softly, you hope your face doesn’t show one of judgment. "I bet you can."

“But then she just got older so fast… ”

“How old is she?”

“10”

“Well, in your defense, that is a little earlier than expected.” You can see his eyes widen, so you’re quick to assure him. “Not too early! Any time between 9 and 16 I think is normal and healthy. 12-13 is the average though.”

He wouldn’t stop beating himself up about it. “I should’ve been prepared, but my ma died before Sarah was born and I work with all men so I just… didn’t have anyone to ask, and then I know I could probably look it up but I didn’t even know what I’m looking for, plus it’s the internet so I wasn’t really sure what I’d see-”

“Joel!” You stop him, laughing and putting a hand on him, hoping to cool his anxious over-explaining… he relaxes into your touch. “I have been getting mine for ages, and I still find myself getting caught off guard without products. You’re a good dad, okay? You’re trying your best, and from what I’ve seen, you’ve raised a lovely, polite young lady. You’re not gonna traumatize her because you didn’t have pads.”

When he smiles at you, you can’t help but fall into those puppy-dog eyes just a little bit more.

Sarah emerges from the bathroom, looking at the floor but trying to put on a brave face. You decide to leave them be, let them go home so the poor girl could rest and Joel could calm down.

“I’m going to finish my shopping, any more questions before I go, sweetie?”

She gives a light smile. “No ma’am, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Joel?” You ask the girls dad, and he laughs as he shakes his head.

“Got about a thousand, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Dad” Sarah urges him to stop talking, so Joel does.

“Thank you, miss. I appreciate it.”

You say goodbye to both, and go to retrieve your shopping cart.

Meanwhile, Joel watches you leave, before Sarah speaks up.

“Who was that? She said she was a friend of yours, but you don’t have friends other than Uncle Tommy.”

“Hey now, little lady.” Joel looks down at her, but Sarah just gives him a look. “Fine, you got me. Just a nice lady helping a hopeless old man.”

“Well, she was nice. Can we go home? I think I deserve some of that candy you keep hidden away.”

“How do you know about that?”

“You fall asleep watching TV with your mouth full of chocolate.” Sarah then flops her head back, mouth open, imitating a loud snore.

Joel gently bonks her head, making the pre-teen giggle. “Alright I get your point, fine. Let’s go home.” Joel put his arm around his daughter, walking her outside as he carried the back of products and her dirty shorts.

When Sarah stuffed her hands into your large sweatpants, she felt something in the pocket. “Oh I hope he doesn’t need this.”

“What is it?” Joel hoped it was important so he had an excuse to find you and talk to you again.

Sarah handed him a business card. It had your name, and business and cellphone number printed on it, but it was the back that caught his attention. Written in blue ink, it said: “Call me, cowboy <3”

******************

First Joel with no smut XD

I was debating writing this or a dark!joel one shot, but christ, my dark joel series is *dark* so i needed to lighten myself up a bit.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

IDK who else is reading none smutty joel so i guess im just tagging fen bc they read all my nonsense XD

#joel miller #joel miller hbo #joel miller reader #joel miller fem!reader #joel miller fem reader #fem reader #fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us #pre outbreak!joel #single dad!joel miller #reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #tlou fluff

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satureja13 · 8 months

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After Jack fell from his horse in fading Moonwood Mill, he found himself in another realm - at the remnants of a broken bridge - alone...

What a strange place.

Jack walked away from the broken bridge to find Kiyoshi - or at least another way back. And then Lunatic found him... Lunatic, of all creatures... Jack: "Go away! You already caused me enough trouble!"

But Lunatic trailed after Jack and Little Goat joined them. They reached a homely abode where an old man yelled at the weeds and the bugs that are threatening his garden...

Jack: "Good day! I lost my way. Can you tell me how to get out of here?" Old man: "Sure, after you helped me with the garden."

And so Jack and Little Goat got to work.

Old man: "You're a good boy. Thank you." And in the background the garden is already overgrowing with weeds again. Just like the hassles in life. If you move one out of the way, three others are already waiting in line to bother you...

Old man: "You must be hungry after working so hard. But unfortunately I have nothing to offer. My garden, you know." Jack: "Don't worry. We could eat the horse?"

Old man: "Hm that would be a waste. But thank you for your generous offering! I'm not that hungry anyway. What about eating the goat instead?" Jack: "What? Are you crazy? No one lays hands on my sweet Little Goat!" And that was when Kiyoshi found them!

Kiyoshi bowed deeply: "Master Kōjin! Don't kill him. He wasn't aware of who you are." (Kōjin is the deity Kiyoshi and Dtui serve after he rescued them from their execution. Kōjin is the Japanese kami (god) of fire, the hearth and the kitchen. He is literally the god of the stove. He represents violent forces that are turned toward the betterment of humankind. And he is also considered a deity of uncertain temper.)

Kiyoshi: "Gods Jack..." Jack: "I didn't mean to yell at him. I was frightened and tired - and hungry..."

Kōjin: "Boys - don't worry."

Kiyoshi: "Don't worry? What does that mean? You are not going to kill him?"

Kōjin laughed: "I mean: don't worry. Like, don't worry. It will all be well in the end. We are watching over you."

Kōjin: "Now go. I paved a path for you."

Kiyoshi: "Close your eyes. Don't you dare open them again until I tell you so. No matter what happens." Jack: "Ok. I won't open them again until you tell me so. I promise."

omg Jack...

TMI: Kōjin was played by Kesuke, who also played Albert, the servant of DEATH and the guide of Jack when he was in his coma (and a few other roles ^^')

'Turned away from it all like a blind man Sat on a fence but it don't work Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn Why, why, why? Love, love, love, love, love Insanity laughs under pressure we're breaking'

Queen - Under Pressure

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest

#a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!#sims 4 horse ranch #lunatic and jack #simlit #jack callahan #lunatic #kesuke miyagi #kiyoshi ito #goats #kiri #underwater love #Magic Realm #sims 4 story #sims 4 #simblr #ts4

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f1xmalereader · 1 year

Note

I have come up with a fic idea. Forgive me if it make no sense it's 2pm and i just woke up.

But, what if, the reader is like, a childhood friend of daniel, and max is dating him, but they have a long distance rationship because the reader works in Australia (for comedic affect, he's on bondi rescue as a lifeguard). Then they do like a truth or dare/TMI type thing with the grid and max exposes that he has a boyfriend and he gives like a description and it matches daniels friend so he flat out asks, it's true. Then shit hit's the fan and all you can hear in the video is laughing and screams.

Does that make sense? It Probably doesn't lmao.

Is this where i sign off or something?

- star ⭐

Truth or Dare

Max Verstappen x Male Reader

You've been friends with Daniel Ricciardo for as long as you can remember. You grew up together in Perth, Australia, and even though he's now a world-famous Formula One driver, you still keep in touch.

Recently, you've been dating Max Verstappen. It's been a long-distance relationship, as you work in Australia while Max travels worldwide for his races. But you make it work, and you're both happy.

One day, Max decides to play a game of truth or dare with some of the other drivers on the grid. You're not there to witness it, but you hear about it later from Daniel. Apparently, Max revealed that he has a boyfriend and even gave a description of him. And when Daniel heard the description, he realized that it was you.

Daniel flat out asks Max if it's true, and Max confirms it. And then, as Daniel tells you later, "shit hits the fan." All you can hear in the video of the game is laughing and screams.

When you talk to Max later, he tells you that he didn't mean for it to come out like that. He just got caught up in the game and didn't think before he spoke. But you're not upset with him. In fact, you're glad that everyone knows about your relationship now.

It's not always easy being in a long-distance relationship, but you and Max make it work. And with Daniel's support, you know that you can make it through anything.

#f1 imagine #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 fic #male reader #x male reader #f1 #max verstappen x sibling reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x brother reader #max verstappen x male reader #max says things #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x male reader

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jjongscardigan · 1 month

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PAPER RINGS₊ ⊹⟡ — p.jongseong

13. jenjake 2 the rescue

note: TMI -> When I was twelve I was obsessed with all tales that involved the number 13. So obsessed I developed triskaidekaphobia and paraskevidekatriaphobia. It's getting better but I made sure that 13 wasn't the last chapter because the fear is still here. 🥲

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<- previous | masterlist | next ->

___________________________________________

taglist — @jayjongie @eclipse-777 @haechansbbg @luvnicho @kim2005bomi

Do NOT copy my work, thank you!

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kanekoii · 5 months

Note

idk if u write 4 poly but could i request for poly headcanons for meloco/kotoka/reader or scarle/aia/reader??

lyra’s notes -> an attempt was made-

pairings -> poly! meloco kyoran, kotoka torahime x gn! reader, poly! scarle yonaguni, aia amare x gn! reader

genre -> headcanons

song -> give me your TMI - stray kids

warnings -> poly relationship, some food mentions

MELOCO & KOTOKA ->

chaotic. hectic even. your two girlfriends are both very chaotic and beautiful people. lots of booba. so much booba. imagine the cuddle piles with them too??! heavenly. kotoka is a little bit of a jealous type so please take extra care of her and reassure her that you love her just as much as you love meloco. imagine dates with them, going to a cat cafe with one girlfriend who is a little sunshine and the other who is her polar opposite, it’s adorable really. meloco is a very chill person, so dates with her would be very chill, usually staying home with you and watching movies. dates with koto, she prefers to go out to cafés or shopping with you.

AIA & SCARLE ->

i think a relationship with the two of them would be so adorable! your two girlfriends absolutely love going on dates with you together! holding hands with the both of them and walking through the streets on warm days, shopping together, watching movies! dates with aia alone would be very adorable! imagine her with a new kitten she rescued and spending time with your new fur baby! scarle’s dates would also be super chill, probably just cooking together. all in all, i want to write more for both of these because i had so much fun with this <3

#lyr.fic #nijien x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #nijien #poly nijien #meloco kyoran #meloco kyoran x reader #meloco kyoran x you #kotoka torahime #kotoka torahime x reader #kotoka torahime x you #aia amare #aia amare x reader #aia amare x you #scarle yonaguni x reader #scarle yonaguni #scarle yonaguni x you

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claryshortredheadedwabadtemper · 1 year

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Okay so cassie has confirmed something will happen with tmi gang in twp1 that will send them in different directions of the main story. I’m almost sure it will be something about Clary and Janus, like he’s going to kidnap her and tmi gang will put the world down to rescue her OR Sizzy cause they were too okay in tda books.

#now im obsessed with twp theories #dont want to scare you guys #just a theory okay #clary fairchild #janus #the shadowhuter chronicles #the wicked powers #jace herondale #alec lightwood #magnus bane #isabelle lightwood #simon lovelace

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donnatroialove · 6 months

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@cassandraclare

Hopefully Kit will grow out of his chronically self centered victim complex but the more content we get and the older he is in it the more prominent it gets. It might be catering to the youngest side of the readers who crave a martyr of the likes of self insert fanfiction, instead of a well rounded character, but it does not work. His life has been easy compared to many of the characters he is resentful of for not catering to his every need, and of course the fandom eats it up since they love a Mary Sue. The blackthorns did everything they could to accommodate him and everything we see of him is bitter and resentful towards them or so delusional as to believe they wouldn't understand his struggles. Or telling a Blackthorn (whose biggest offense was to take Kit at HIS WORD, and to be too preoccupied with the loss of his twin to tell him he loved him) to get out of the Blackthorn estate. It is understandable that a teenager would be upset at that, it isn't understandable that the adults around him pretend it is a rational response, and that the others involved feel guilty about to such an extent. (What did he even mean Ty shouldn't have been there? What is Ty and every other Blackthorn and Herondale and Fray supposed to be so apologetic about? Their lives crumbling at the same time Kit realized he was a shadowhunter and not holding his hand enough through it? That happends to 1 out of 5 shadowhunters.) I understand people really wanted Jem and Tessa to have a connection with the last Herondale, but this way of pushing the narrative is so tired. He wasn't rescued from a traumatizing environment. How is he more understanding of Jace and everyone else but the people who took care of him before he was a Herondale. Why does he talk like they did him dirty. I hope he matures and we aren't stuck with another TMI Jace. The Herondale boy martyr is a trope that should have died with Will. @secretsofblackthornhall

#secrets of blackthorn hall #the wicked powers #ghosts of the shadow market #the shadowhunter chronicles #kit herondale

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nandawrites · 4 months

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Divine Cruelty

Fandom: The Mortal Instruments, The Shadowhunter Chronicles

Ship: Malec (Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood)

Summary: “You are very cruel, did you know that?”

There was a startled silence on the other end of the line and Magnus realised that no, Alec didn’t know.

A/N: One of my goals for 2024 is to clear out my wip folder so I started with this one that just needed some finishing touches. I started it back in 2016 after a TMI reread and it's based on the scene where Alec calls Magnus to help them rescue Jace from Valentine's boat with some insights from The Bane Chronicles. I had plans to make it a whole long thing, but looking at it now I think it's fine the way it is.

Sorry if I confused anything from the books, I haven't reread TMI in a couple of years. But I hope you all still like it!

If you prefer, also read it on AO3!

~~**~~

“You are very cruel, did you know that?”

There was a startled silence on the other end of the line and Magnus realised that no, Alec didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest clue what he had been doing to him, what he was doing to him right now, had no idea how Magnus felt or how much every word that left his mouth made his heart ache. Magnus felt a bolt of rage flaming up inside him, because how dare Alexander Lightwood have all this power over him and be just so damn clueless about it? He had always known the other was blatantly honest and innocent, only now he realised it wasn’t innocence, he was just plainly ignorant of everyone and everything in the world that weren’t him and that damned walking nuisance of a parabatai of his, and-

And he had to stop there because even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. Alec was acutely aware of everyone around him, always there to help them. He was blatantly honest and innocent, without any shield or armour between his soul and the world; it was what had caught Magnus’ attention at first, after all. And while it was true he seemed massively ignorant of his impact on Magnus, the warlock couldn’t hold it against him, because he didn’t have any ill-intent with it. It wasn’t Alec’s fault ignorance could be just as, if not more, harmful than malice.

He passed his hand through his hair and hung his head, defeated. He was done for, he couldn’t even bear to truly stay mad at the boy for more than a few seconds. The anger was gone and all it left behind was a gaping nothingness, a dull ache of resigned sorrow and futile love. Because this is what it was, wasn’t it? The touch of angels in its purest form. Magnus had to press his knuckles against his mouth not to let out a bitter laugh.

“Magnus, I…” The voice that sounded from the other end of the line was small and uncertain and Magnus promptly cut it off, he didn’t want to think about Alec hurting when his own feelings were the ones that had just been blindly shattered.

“Don’t. Forget it. I’ll send you an address, forward it to Clary and tell her and the others to meet me there.”

“So you are helping us?” The question was hopeful, excited even, as if Magnus agreeing to help was a welcome surprise, as if Alec really thought he had presented him with a choice. Magnus knew there had never truly been any.

“Yes, I am helping you”, he responded flatly, and if he had put a bit of extra emphasis on that last word, it was lost when Alec pulled the phone away to pass the good news to Isabelle. Magnus hung up before the other had a chance to come back and start thanking him for it.

He stared down at the now black screen of his phone for a moment, feeling drained and unable to think for a while. An unwelcome memory wormed his way into his mind, a fleeting thought he had had a few weeks ago when things were calm and sweet and good and he had been foolish enough to let hope take him over.

Maybe Alexander Lightwood would not break his heart.

Yeah, right.

But now wasn’t the time to wallow in his own self-pity and foolish heart. Now he had a job to do, and a terribly important one at that. Bigger than anything he had had to deal with in the past few years. He couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted now.

Straightening himself up, he thought about what he would have to do and quickly formed a plan and a list of the things he would need to execute it. He opened his phone again and quickly typed in an address and sent it to Isabelle’s phone - trusting they would do as he had requested and pass it on to Clary -, before walking to his supplies cabinet and starting to separate what he would need.

He wasn’t thrilled about having to go against Valentine Morgenstern yet again, but if he could in any way be thankful for the fact a psychopathic maniac was planning to destroy the city, he would. Because at least it gave him something to do, a purpose, it allowed him to slip into a different mindset and just forget about his own problems for a while.

Right now, the High Warlock of Brooklyn was needed.

Magnus Bane and all the cruel angels that owned him would just have to wait.

#Malec #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #TMI #the mortal instruments #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #city of ashes #fanfiction #writings #nandawrites #mine #outtakes #angst #AO3

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biteofcherry · 7 months

Note

I’m at work today on my normal day off so I’m going to ask you personal questions you’re not obligated to answer 😌

1. What kind plug you got in huh?

2. What are your top three go to kinks (in your writing, reading or other forms)?

3. If only one hole could be used for the rest of your life which I’ve is it going to be?

These are weird, you’re welcome and I’m sorry I’m bored and seeking ✨ entertainment ✨

You're at work?! I'm suiting up and coming to rescue you!

Your asks are not weird! I'm happy you sent them my way. I'm going with my answers under the cut in case some of my followers would like to skip TMI 😉

A small steel one with a pretty crystal ✨

2. Irl: D/s; spanking; sensory play. In fic: breeding; spanking; primal.

3. Pussy 😌 Mouth and ass are fun, but not as the sole source of pleasure.

#vonalyn #Eva's tipsy replies

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vickchan2 · 2 years

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my poor baby Mina. i hope this means everyone will be joining forces to rescue her (tmi gang, tda gang, will herondale ghost)

#sobh #the secrets of blackthorn hall #secrets of the blackthorn hall #Mina Carstairs #kit herondale #herongraystairs #tessa gray #tessa carstairs #Tessa Herondale Carstairs

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satureja13 · 9 months

Text

After a long walk they reached Martha's cottage. She invited them in for a late breakfast and told them - again - the unbelievable story that her family farm went invisible after a meteorite impact almost a year ago...

And again she told them about this guy she already found to work there and who told her that only supernaturals can see the farm...

They soon came to an agreement over the conditions (to receive a good share of everything they sell) and eventually went outside to fetch the goats before they go over to the farm. Martha: "Such nice and obedient little goats! They were the only animals I could rescue from the farm. No trace of the horses, though. Not even this guy could find out where they went."

Martha: "Ok little ones, let's go back to your old home with these nice boys who will care for you there! ... OUCH!"

Martha: "Uhm ... *nervous laughter* ...they usually don't do things like this..."

Jack (who is a werewolf and can smell a lie) whispers: "I think they do! We should leave!"

But Vlad and Sai won't listen. A bed and a roof over the head are worth dealing with bratty goats. And so they leave for the invisible farm... Martha luckily just picked three goats for the time being. (The same three goats who watched them in their first night in Chestnut Ridge!)

Martha: "The farm is right over there!" But even though Saiwa, Jack and Vlad are supernaturals, they can't see the farm...

Jack, mumbling: "I don't see anything!" The others shake their head, agreeing. Jack: "So - is she fooling us or did she get fooled by that guy?"

'Tambourines and elephants are playin' in the band Won't you take a ride on the flyin' spoon? Dood-n-doo-doo Wonderous apparition provided by magician Doo, doo, doo, lookin' out my back door'

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Lookin' Out My Back Door

TMI: Martha's cottage is inspired by Granny Weatherwax's cottage (Discworld).

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest

#A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!#sims 4 story #sims 4 horse ranch #simblr #ts4 #sims 4 #underwater love #vladimir tepesz #jack callahan #giga byte #saiwa #rider's glen #chestnut ridge #martha #goats #adriano #meteorites

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coldnerdnacho · 2 years

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Alec through the TMI books....

1st book : I am small and bitter just like an espresso

2nd book : I scream but god doesn’t listen

3rd book : Hide your wives and kids cause gays are in the town!!

4th book : I was born this wayy !!

5th book : ???

6th book : Raging gays to the rescue !

#shit posts #original #was just not feeling straight today #lmao #tribute to our fav counsel #😂😅🤣#tmi #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #malec #cc #midnight walk thoughts #suggestions for the 5th book #memes

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bakersimmer · 1 year

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Music Meme

🎶✨ when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, and publish. then, send this ask/tag 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)✨🎶

Thanks for tagging me, @natolesims 💛 How am I supposed to pick only 5?! I have about 20 songs that I listen to almost every day, repeatedly (+ other songs that get lost between them) 🙄🙈

Paradise (feat. Dermot kennedy) - MEDUZA (In my region, Paradise is still on the radio. So when Mr. Husband and I drive somewhere, and this song comes on, he always shuts up. When I asked about this, he said - you don't seem to hear me when this song plays...🙈🤣)

Woke Up in Love - Kygo, Gryffin, Calum Scott (TMI. Imagine you're in a labor ward on the busiest day, and the only thing you hear are people screaming and crying. Somehow this song silenced it all. Also, this is the first song I ever played to my nooboo, and she seems to like it more than any other song.)

Kuula,kuula - Dagö (I listen to most of Dagö's songs and have been a fan of their music for over half my life. Most of their songs have very complex lyrics, but this one is just a very beautiful and honest love song.)

The time to run (Finale) - Dexter Britain (I stumbled on this one a long time ago, I mean pre-Spotify and their curated artist radio era. It has been my phone's ringtone for the past 8 years.)

Rescue Me - James Gillespie (That sums it up well, only I have 1 song instead of a playlist 😂 ->

As always, feel free to ignore it because lately, I'm not sure who likes/wants to get tagged 🙃 @glammoose @zosa95 @idyllicephemera @oasivy @enchanting-whim @samssims @aurorangen @akitasimblr @bluehavensims @devotedsims

#rändom #nonsims

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