By the time you read this letter, my memories of you and the Shadow World will be gone.
It was the price the angels made me pay for the runes I’ve created.
It seems strange - and a bit cruel - that after everything you and I have been together, this is how we end. With me a mundane again and you reading a letter stained with tears I won’t remember crying.
But I have no regrets. These have been some of the best times of my life because of the people I was lucky enough to share them with. Because of you. You were right to think I loved you unconditionally. I do. And I always will. No angel or demon could ever change that.
And even if I don’t remember you, you will always be in my heart.
Love,
Clary
II. SIMON
Dear Simon,
This is really hard to say. I think it’s especially hard to say it to you, but I owe you an explanation. Well, I owe you much more than that, but this is all I can give you for now: when I created that rune today, to stop Jonathan, I made Raziel angry. So by the time you read this, I’m not going to know you’re a daylighter. I’m going to think you’re dead.
The hardest thing to come to terms with these past few hours has been the fact that I will never see you again. I can’t imagine my world without you, Simon Lewis. That can’t possibly be real. Life without you is just a horrible nightmare. But I’m going to have to face that nightmare soon, and I won’t be able to wake up. I’m just sorry that you’re going to lose a friend, too.
Please don’t do anything stupid like come looking for me or try to change this. You can’t change this. I’ve made my choice and I would make it again. Because this sucks. This really fucking sucks and I don’t think I’ve been in this much pain since my mom died but at least this time there is a point to all this pain: I saved people. I saved you. I’d give up anything to keep you safe. I wish I didn’t have to break your heart to do it, but I can’t change that, either.
I love you. I’m going to miss you. I wish we had more time.
Love,
Your Clary, always
III. ISABELLE
Dearest Isabelle,
I scrapped so many drafts of this letter. I don’t know where to begin in telling you what you mean to me. Asking you to be my parabatai was supposed to be my way of telling you how much I love you and how you make me better. A better Shadowhunter, a better friend, a better person overall.
But that’s no longer a possibility, seeing as by the end of the night, I won’t remember you or this life. Apparently Raziel doesn’t approve of my rune mixing angel and demon blood.
I know. I want to be angry too. But I killed my brother this morning and my runes are already disappearing. There isn’t a lot of fight left in me.
Give ‘em hell on my behalf, won’t you?
I should end this letter now, before I go off on tangent after tangent and run out of time and realize I haven’t written to anyone else. But before I do, I just want to thank you for being the kindest, strongest, most amazing woman in the world. I’m very sorry that I will never get to call you my parabatai, but I know that in some way, our souls are already bound together.
Love,
Clary
IV. MAGNUS
Dear Magnus,
A part of me wanted to write this letter and give it to you before anyone else’s. Before anything became permanent. I wanted you to run after and me and tell me that we can fix this, you and me. Point out a loophole, help me come up with a solution, help me do something. But there is nothing either of us can do this time around. Which is why I really hope you didn’t find this until after your honeymoon.
At times, I think you know me better than I know myself, so I doubt there is anything I can say that you don’t already know. But let me just say: thank you. For everything. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.
With love,
Biscuit
V. ALEC
Dear Alec,
If a couple months ago someone told me that I would be tearfully writing a goodbye letter to Alec Lightwood of all people on his wedding day, I would’ve laughed in their face. But that’s exactly what I’m doing right now, so I guess you were right: nothing in this world is impossible.
All jokes aside, I’m proud of how far we’ve come, both in our weird relationship and as individuals. During my time in the Shadow World, I’ve managed to build a whole new family, and you’re undoubtedly a part of that. You’ve been more like a big brother to me than my own could ever be.
I hope you and Magnus live a long and happy life together (by the way, congratulations! I can't think of a more perfect couple.) and I hope you don’t miss me driving you crazy too much. And I really hope I don’t forget the things I’ve learned from you all.
Love,
Clary
VI. MAIA
Dear Maia,
It seemed plain wrong to write to everyone but you. Truthfully, I don’t even know if you still kinda-sorta like me, or if Luke leaving the pack and you and Simon breaking up means you and I can’t be on good terms anymore. But I hope that’s not the case, because I really like you, and I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot for writing a heartfelt farewell letter to someone who hates my guts.
On the off-chance that you do, in fact, still like me, here is my heartfelt farewell letter:
I don’t know if the others told you, or if you even want to hear, but tonight is my last night in the Shadow World. By tomorrow, I won’t remember any of this, and I won’t remember any of you.
I wish you were going to be at Magnus and Alec’s wedding so we could use some of my borrowed time to get to know each other. I know it sounds like a waste, because I’m going to forget anyway, but I don’t see it that way. I mean, isn’t everyone living on borrowed time in one way or another? I wish I could use mine to do everything I’ve been putting off and get to know everyone I haven’t had a chance to.
Sorry, I’m probably being a little weird and depressing. I initially started writing this to tell you that I wish we’d hung out more, yes, but mostly to say I heard you were alpha now, and that’s how I know the New York pack is going to be just fine, and I’m more than a little disappointed that I won’t be around to see just how amazing you’re going to be.
(Also, Simon’s an idiot for letting you go.)
Sincerely (hoping this wasn’t too weird),
Clary
VII. MARYSE
Dear Maryse,
I’ve recounted this in too many letters tonight, and every time I bring it up or think about it my heart hurts, but here goes: tonight, Raziel is going to take my memories and my powers. I’m going to just be Clary Fray again, and I’m not even going to know what I’ve lost.
But that’s not why I’m writing to you. I’m writing to ask you to give Luke's letter to him when he gets back, and to say that I’m happy you’re in Luke’s life, and that you were in my life, however briefly. I’ll admit I didn’t like you very much when we first met, but seeing how much you’ve changed and how much Izzy and Alec and Jace and Luke and Magnus love you has certainly changed that. I wish the two of us had the chance to get to know each other, too.
Especially because right now, I could really use a mom.
-Clary
VIII. LUKE
Dad,
I’m sure the others have already told you what’s happened, so I won’t waste ink and precious time going into details. I’ll just say what I need to say. The important things. Which are these: I love you more than I could possibly ever say, I want you to be happy, and you should grow your beard back.
And this: I don’t know what’s going to happen now.
It’s only to you that I can admit just how scared I am, just how badly I wish this wasn’t happening. I don’t want to break your heart any more than I already have but I don’t think I could have said (or written) this to anyone else. And I needed to say it to someone. I'm no stranger to going blindly into dark, dangerous adventures, but I still hate doing it alone.
Selfishly, I hope to see you again. I don’t know if I will even remember you in a few hours (I don’t see how I could ever forget you, but the angels have their ways, I suppose), but I can’t imagine a life without you. You have always kept me grounded in this crazy, messed-up life every day since before I can remember, and even if I’m a whole different person tomorrow, that won’t change, and neither will my love for you.
But, anyways, I didn’t mean to make this letter so depressing. All I want to say is that I love you, and I’m going to be okay, somehow, so please just live your best life and be happy, because you deserve it.
And maybe be a little proud of me? I’m trying very hard not to let anyone down today.
i love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest
ao3
week 1 of the Shadowhunters Sapphic Ficathon. prompt was the quote “If I know what love is, it is because of you” by Hermann Hesse | tw for implied/referenced self-harm (non-graphic)
Isabelle Lightwood gives up on love the first time she overhears her father talking on the phone with another woman.
She freezes outside his office, presses herself against the wall and listens. She tells herself it’s to make sure before she bursts in and accuses him of something he would obviously never do, but even in the moment she knows, somehow, that there is no chance she’s misheard.
He laughs softly, in a way he’s never laughed with Mom before, and says something. Izzy will read the near-exact quote in a book later.
“My love for her is like foliage in the woods: time will change it, as winter changes trees. My love for you is the immortal rocks beneath.”
He recites it wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want the woman to know he’s reciting at all. But he mixes up the order, skips over words, says her name at the end of it like it’s the most important part. And Izzy runs away crying in a way she hasn’t for years and years. It’s not until nearly a year later, when she’s sitting on the floor at the foot of Jace’s bed, flipping absently through one of his books while he lies on the bed with a healing wound on his side, getting lectured by Alec, that she sees the quote and realizes Dad was reciting at all.
In a moment of indescribable rage and hurt, she throws the book across the room. She plays it off as getting frustrated by their bickering, and leaves before they can pry the truth from her.
Magnus holds out the necklace of the lover he can’t bear to look at anymore to Isabelle and reads, true love never dies.
And the books and the stories and the poets and the romantics all say that too, don’t they? Do they know how untrue that is when they say it? Or is it merely an expectation they don’t realize their relationships can never live up to? She thinks about Jace’s voice when he says to love is to destroy and Dad’s voice when he quoted the book to his mistress and the necklace she wears almost every day now, and she wonders if that’s all life is: reciting lies someone else told you about love until, inevitably, you start to question whether it ever existed at all.
The Shadowhunters have their own saying about love: Nephilim love once.
Isabelle lives in fear of the day she feels its deceptive pull for the first — and only — time.
Unless that’s a lie, too.
Meliorn kisses her neck and says, you are the most exquisite woman in the world.
And she wonders, as her heart leaps and she craves his touch more than anything, if her time has come, if this is what love is.
Clary brings Simon back, selfishly, and cries when she says, I can’t live without you!
Is this what love is?
Raphael looks more disappointed than Izzy has ever seen anyone, and he shakes his head at the tip of the blade she’s pressed to his chest and says, quietly, unyielding, oh, Isabelle…
Is this what love is?
Alec’s nails dig into the skin of his palm where he sits at Magnus' bedside and whispers, over and over, I’m sorry, baby, I'm so sorry.
Is this what love is?
Magnus’ smile falters as he takes one final look at them all before turning back to the portal, and he doesn’t say anything.
Is this what love is?
And then her time comes.
Isabelle Lightwood falls in love.
She’s grown so cynical, so afraid, so good at ending things before they’ve begun, that she doesn’t realize it until long after it’s already happened with no way to turn back. She doesn’t realize it until Clary is looking at her nervously, sounding almost close to tears, and asking Izzy to bind her soul with hers.
The scariest part is that when Izzy says, I was thinking of asking you the very same thing, she means it. She was, and she hadn’t even questioned it, what it could mean. For a while now, she had considered herself and Clary as an us first, an inseparable unit. She had wanted them to share more than secrets, she had wanted them to share joy and pain alike. She had wanted to be able to call Clary by a name, a word, a title that only she could call her by. She had wanted the loss she had felt when Simon and Jace had met them halfway in the stairwell, shaking as they told them Clary was gone, to have come with a warning, a physical ache. She had felt possessive — how dare they know first? How dare they feel her absence longer? How dare they look her in the eyes and tell her that she didn’t understand, that it wasn’t the same?
She holds Clary by the arm, gazing into her eyes, and starts to feel a little less skeptical about all those quotes and sayings and declarations.
She kisses Clary on the lips and starts to understand them.
She slips a pretty little ring on Clary’s finger and starts to quote her own.
Her favourite she puts into her vows, though she keeps the details of its significance to her private. Clary cries when she hears it. Izzy cries, too. And Mom, and Jace, even some of the guests who don’t know them as well.
“If I know what love is, it is because of you.”
If this is what love is — this unconditional dedication, this need to see Clary smile, the safety her embrace brings, the desire to be one with her in every way and never worry about the end, the knowledge that only she can say my wife and mean Clary — then it’s the most terrifying thing Izzy has ever faced.
“ I haaaaaate it !” Clary screams, tears still spilling steadily from big green eyes. “I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT!” She crosses her arms across her chest and stomps her foot on the ground, as if that will somehow reverse the fates.
Jocelyn sighs impatiently. The non-stop crying from the campsite through the car ride and during the entirety of the impromptu haircut has drained her. “Oh, stop,” she says, stuffing her scissors back into the bathroom drawer and ushering Clary back into the kitchen. “It’s just a bit of hair, honey.”
“No!” Clary’s hands come up to clutch at her cropped hair. “I look like a boy!”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do! I’m gonna look like a boy. I’m gonna look so ugly!”
“Hey!” Simon mutters, voice muffled by the sandwich he’s been eating as he watched the whole ordeal play out like a very sad movie.
Clary pays him no mind. “Mom, I don’t wanna look like a boy!”
“You’re don’t look like a boy,” Jocelyn says again. “And I’m sorry, Clary, but you were the one who got that marshmallow stuck in your hair. There’s nothing we can do about it now. Don’t worry, it’ll grow back soon.”
That does absolutely nothing to soothe Clary, who just scrunches up her face and begins to sob in earnest once more. Simon puts his sandwich down on the counter, hops off the chair, and runs over to give her a hug. Clary lets him, but still doesn’t seem comforted. Jocelyn looks desperately at Luke. He nods and makes his way over to crouch down in front of the kids.
He taps Clary on the shoulder and she looks up at him with watery, bloodshot eyes. How she still has any tears left is beyond Luke. “Why all the tears, kiddo?”
“My h-hair,” Clary half-screams, half-hiccups. “It’s t-too short. It’s gonna l-look all ugly and- and everyone’s gonna laugh at me and-”
“Well, that’s just not true,” Luke interrupts, feeling a wail building up in Clary. “I think your hair looks great. Besides, short hair, long hair, doesn’t matter, you’re still the prettiest girl in the world.” When she still looks unconvinced, he turns to Jocelyn. “Joss, isn’t she the prettiest girl in the world?”
Jocely, halfway through downing her third full glass of water, looks up and nods. “The prettiest.”
“What do you think, Simon?” Luke asks.
“You’re like a princess!” Simon says to Clary, hugging her tighter.
Clary sniffles and pouts. “ Liars .”
“ Manners , Clary,” Luke says. “Alright, c’mere.” He scoops her up out of Simon’s arms and into his own, and walks them back over to the bathroom. He points at their reflection in the mirror. “Look at that beautiful princess with the super cool haircut.”
“I just see two boys,” Clary says, and crosses her arms again.
“Oh yeah? Well, I see myself and the sweetest, coolest, prettiest girl in the world, who I will always love.”
Clary sniffles again, thinks for a moment, cocks her head to the side to study her reflection better. “Even if her hair is super short and makes her look like a boy?”
“Even if her hair was green and had birds living in it.”
Clary laughs at that, and Luke can feel the tension seeping out of Jocelyn halfway across the loft. Clary wipes at her eyes and her nose and turns to face Luke.
“Fine,” she says. Then looks around to make sure Jocelyn’s not close, lowers her voice, and whispers, “But if anyone’s mean to me because of it, I’m telling them my dad’s a policeman and will put them in jail. You can do that, right?”
Luke stifles a grin. “Let’s talk about the legality of that tomorrow.”
They nod seriously at each other for a moment before joining the others back in the kitchen. The kids finish their snacks and Luke and Jocelyn get them ready for bed. It isn’t until long after Clary’s tucked in and dozing off, Simon sleeping on the mattress at the foot of her bed with three of her stuffed animals clutched tightly in his arms, that Luke realizes what she called him.
*
The funny thing is, he never brings it up, not with her and not with anyone else. It seems to be a one-time thing, a slip in the midst of her exhaustion from problems that seemed so big back then.
There never seems to be any confusion between the two of them of what their relationship is. She’s his daughter. He’s her father. Sometimes more than other times. But it hardly ever comes through in words. Not until he hears that she’s in danger and decides he doesn’t care who risks their life, so long as she’s safe. Not until she’s eighteen and going through things he can’t begin to understand and she’s begging him not to leave her. And soon after it becomes more and more common to just say it, without thinking:
“I’m just here to support my daughter.”
“It’s okay, it’s my dad!”
“I don’t care if he’s ‘ the Angel’, that son of a bitch is not getting away with what he’s done to my daughter!”
“Dad, you coming to Taki’s with us?”
And still he doesn’t bring that first instance. Hell, he doesn’t bring up any of the instances. There is no point. There is no need to point out that the sky is blue, and there is no need to point out that Clary Fairchild is and always has been Luke Garroway’s daughter.
nobody needs to know that magnus isn’t fine (post-3a)
There are moments where he forgets.
The first few seconds after waking up in the morning. When he's too distracted by what he's reading or who he's kissing. Times when he's too sleepy to get up to turn off the lights.
In those moments, he'll raise his arm - not too high, just to his shoulder level - and reach for something that should be there. Something that's always been there.
Then it all hits him, suddenly and in agonizing detail: the fire, the deal with the devil, the feeling of everything he'd learned not to hate about himself being ripped away from him, leaving him bare and empty and vulnerable. Then his father's magic, too much for anyone. Far too much for a mortal body. Then Alexander's blood on his hands, and Catarina's furrowed brows, and Luke's haunted face when he came to Magnus begging for help only to be turned away, and Maryse holding back tears at Alec's bedside, the silence between them loaded with things they both should have said out loud.
When this happens, Magnus can usually process it quickly. Okay , he tells himself. So you don't have magic anymore. You're not a warlock anymore. You're not immortal anymore. There are worse things in this world. And there are, so he quickly wipes any trace of sadness or unease from his face and carries on with what he's doing. Grabs the sugar himself. Gets out of bed to turn off the light. Stops trying to draw out his magic.
Other times it's not so easy, and more than once he's jolted awake in the middle of the night and only been able to sleep again after he's cried his heart out, face pressed into his pillow to muffle the noise. This is always done in secret, because he's fine, really , and nobody needs to worry and nobody needs to know that he's not.
The only person he cries in front of is Catarina, that first night. She's just finished healing Alec and managed to get Magnus to leave his bedside for a minute to eat and drink something. It’s there, under the bright lights of her kitchen as she urges him to take off his bloodied coat that it all really sinks in for the first time. He collapses. She sits on the floor beside him and asks him what's going on. He tells her. Or, he tries to, but at some point he just starts crying, and she holds him until he's too tired to cry anymore.
Everybody tries to get him to talk , of course. Isabelle, who shows up with terrible homemade muffins and dark circles under her eyes, tells him she's there no matter what, and he can always talk to her. Maryse, who ushers him into the living room and pulls him into her arms once she's satisfied that Alec will be okay, whispers that she doesn't know what's going on, but whatever it is, he can talk to her about it. Raphael, who calls from three states away saying that he heard, and he's on his way, and he's so, so sorry, makes sure to remind Magnus to call if he needs anything or just wants to talk . Even Jace starts his brief but heartfelt apology with, can we talk?
Magnus really doesn't feel like talking.
He tells Alec exactly that one night a few days after the fact, when they're lounging on opposite sides of the couch, their legs touching, reading different books, trying to distract themselves from all the things going on in the world. He's been feeling Alec's eyes on him all evening, and the second Alec opened his mouth he knew what he was going to say. So before Alec can say anything, Magnus says, “I don't want to talk about it.”
Alec hesitates. “You will,” he says after a moment, “and I’ll be here when you do.”
Magnus has to admit, Alec’s quiet but constant support does make things slightly easier - which is a relief, because nothing has been easy these days: His makeup takes an hour longer to put on. He has to drive places since he can't make portals anymore. He keeps misplacing his apartment keys or forgetting to lock the door. He gets drunk now - worse, he gets hungover . And considering he's not a Downworlder anymore, he doesn't really know what to do with Pandemonium. Everything’s a mess.
And then, just as Alec fully recovers and gets the OK to go back to work, things get even harder: Magnus catches a cold. And for the first few hours he's very concerned, because he hasn't gotten sick in about two hundred years - and he's certainly never had the common cold before. Once he realizes he's not about to drop dead, he just becomes frustrated.
Alec brings him chicken soup and orange juice at Maia's suggestion.
“Thank you, darling,” Magnus says, voice unfamiliar from the stuffy nose and hours of coughing himself hoarse. When Alec bends down to kiss him on the forehead, Magnus moves abruptly out of the way. “No, you'll get sick too!”
“I'll be fine,” Alec assures him. He tries the kiss again but Magnus dodges him once more.
“Also, I'm disgusting.”
“As if,” Alec scoffs, and finally gets the damn kiss that he wanted so badly. He turns his attention on the soup and brings up hot spoonful to Magnus' lips, holding a napkin underneath with his other hand to prevent spills. Magnus has never been more in love with him.
It turns out that Alec is a wonderful nurse. He brings Magnus food and medicine, makes him tea, rubs his shoulders, even buys a humidifier for the bedroom. On top of that, he doesn't seem at all bothered by the constant sneezing and occasional vomiting. He even works from home two days in a row so he can keep Magnus company. They spend so much time together that Magnus runs out of "sexy nurse" jokes by the end of the first day. He decides to instead occupy his time by looking through job listings and typing out a resume, but with his splitting headache and frustration at trying to list his qualifications in a human way, he doesn’t get very far.
When he's feeling better, Alec takes him out on a date. They have to take a taxi there, which throws Magnus off a little at first, but it's a nice Chinese restaurant with romantic lighting and prices just high enough to make Alec's insistence on paying the bill sweet as opposed to idiotic. They eat and drink (water - they drink water because Magnus is still a bit sick and doesn't understand his own alcohol tolerance anymore) and hold hands across the table and tip the waiter two-hundred dollars because it's dinner rush and she's trying her best.
“You wanna take a walk?” Alec asks once they're outside, bundled up against the chilly - but not yet quite cold - weather. Magnus nods and they begin to walk hand-in-hand down the street.
“Thank you for dinner,” Magnus says. “Next one's on me.”
Alec shakes his head fondly. “No one's keeping score. I just felt like doing something nice for you since you've been cooped up at home for so long.”
Magnus squeezes Alec's hand with his own as he takes a deep breath, taking in lungfuls of the fresh, crisp night air. The walk is long and eventually Alec calls a taxi anyway, but the half hour stretching their legs in open air does wonders for their mood.
Back at the loft, Magnus makes tea and has Alec join him on the couch on the balcony. Alec wraps a blanket around the both of them and they both sit there in silence for a long while, sipping tea and watching the stars.
“I love you,” Alec says out of nowhere. Magnus doesn't mind. It feels like the right thing to say and the right thing to hear.
“I love you, too,” Magnus says.
“I know,” Alec leans in to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “And I'm really sorry.”
“About what, darling?”
He can hear Alec swallow thickly beside him. “Your magic.”
“Alexander-”
“I know you said you didn't wanna talk about it yet, but… come on , Magnus. It’s been over a week and you’ve refused to talk to anyone .”
“That’s not true,” Magnus lies.
“I talked to Catarina,” Alec says. “And if you’re not talking to her, and you’re not talking to me, and you’re not seeing a therapist-”
“I don’t need a-”
“-then that means you’re just bottling things up again.”
Damn him - he knows Magnus too well.
“If you need time to process, I understand,” Alec goes on. “But at least let me apologize.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Magnus starts to say, but Alec holds up a finger to his lips to silence him. Magnus gives him an unamused look but respectfully lets him continue.
Alec takes a deep breath. “I- I just want you to know that I love you more than anything. And the thought of you suffering because of something that I could've prevented is... it's killing me. But nothing hurts more than you hiding from me. So, please, don’t put on a facade for my sake or anyone else’s.”
Magnus takes a moment to let the words sink in. He doesn't quite know how to feel about that. He feels a little lost, a little ashamed at not having noticed Alec felt this way, and some semblance of anger deep in his subconscious because it’s not for your sake .
But mostly he just wants to fix this because he knows firsthand how damaging guilt can be.
He places a hand on top of Alec’s under the blanket and turns to him. "I made a choice in Edom,” he says quietly. “And, yes, it was because of you - but so what? I think I have made it clear by now that I would do anything for you, Alexander, and never regret it. Can you trust me on that?"
Alec nods.
"Good," Magnus smiles. "Now, I've come to realize that life is a gift and our time on earth that is not spent healing from stab wounds or throwing up into a toilet is very limited, so don't waste another second of it feeding your guilt. We're both alive, we're both here, and we should make the most of that. Yeah?”
Alec has started tearing up, but they're not sad tears. He quickly blinks them away. Magnus cups his face and kisses him before wrapping his arms around Alec and going back to stargazing. He meant every word he said. He just didn't mention the underlying fear and bitterness that accompanied his optimistic worldview.
A week or two later, Magnus is still trying to get used to living without magic. He's started googling things religiously. And thankfully it seems he's not the only person out there who needs a step-by-step guide on how to do the simplest mundane things like call a cab or use a dishwasher or buy condoms.
Simon’s a big help, too, with the mundane stuff, and Raphael when he finally comes back to town. Magnus wants to ask Luke how he and Jocelyn adjusted to being out of the Shadow World, but Luke has stopped coming over and calling and joining the others on missions. Simon, on the other hand, seems happy for a chance to make himself useful and has taken to shadowing Magnus like he used to shadow Clary.
It’s all very depressing, really. Magnus wonders if there is a WikiHow article on helping all your friends deal with their respective traumas.
“Uber Eats: mankind’s best invention,” Magnus announces one evening, pressing “track order” and settling into Alec’s side on the couch in front of the TV.
“Yesterday, you said that was Netflix,” Alec says, wrapping an arm around Magnus’ shoulder. “And the day before that, waterproof mascara.”
“And I meant it every time.”
“Hmm. Do you wanna get married?”
If Magnus was eating or drinking something, he would be dead now from how violently he chokes at those words. “ What ?”
“Not right now,” Alec says quickly, as if that’s supposed to make it any less shocking. “But...in the future. Do you see us getting married?”
“I… well, I haven’t really thought about it…” That’s a lie. Magnus has thought about it plenty. But always in a fantastical sense - it has never felt within the realm of possibility, not with Alec and not with anyone. Not ever for Magnus. He can’t even list all the reasons why anymore. At some point it’s just started to feel like one of the sad truths of life. “Why do you ask?”
Alec shrugs. “Just thinking about the future.”
Magnus briefly and bitterly thinks about making a comment about how Alec must be loving this, not having to worry about being forgotten or replaced or turned into a memento in a box. But that’s just cruel and - probably - hopefully - not true, so Magnus stays quiet.
Instead he says, “I don’t know, I’ve never really had a bucket list or anything. Maybe I should make one and add that?” It’s a subtle hint, but Magnus hopes Alec understands what he’s trying to say: Not the fucking time or place, babe.
Alec tenses momentarily at the reminder of Magnus’ mortality, but recovers quickly and instead tightens his hold on Magnus, mumbling a quick apology.
Magnus starts thinking about the future. He’s never been able to picture anything specific before.
He still can’t.
The next day, when Alec gets back from work, Magnus has cooked dinner and decorated the table with rose petals and candles and everything. Alec seems to have also had a similar idea: he’s bought flowers and chocolate.
“What’s the occasion?” Magnus asks playfully.
“Could ask you the same thing,” Alec hands him the bouquet and kisses him softly. “I saw these and thought of you, that’s all.”
“Oh, darling, that’s so sweet,” Magnus says, smiling uncontrollably at him, before gesturing to the dinner table. “This was meant as an apology for snapping at you last night. I know you didn’t mean anything bad by your impromptu proposal. I’ve just been a little on edge.”
“I know, it’s okay. And I’m sorry that it came off… well, however it came off. But that wasn’t a proposal. That was just speculation. I’m not gonna actually ask you to marry me without a ring, you know.”
Magnus laughs, and they sit down to eat, but he can’t get Alec’s confident tone when he spoke so surely of their future marriage out of his head and focus on dinner no matter how hard he tries.
Maybe it’s just Magnus’ luck that he’s going to get the one thing he wants solely because he’s lost everything else.
Later that night - almost morning, really - they’re lying in bed in each other’s arms and Magnus asks, “do you really want to marry me?”
“Of course,” Alec says without hesitation. “Why wouldn't I?”
Magnus shrugs. Where do I begin?
“Magnus,” Alec says forcefully when he gets no reply. He places two slender fingers under Magnus’ chin and tilts his head up until they’re looking in each other’s eyes. “You’re literally the man of my dreams. All I’ve wanted to do since the second I met you was spend every waking moment with you for the rest of my life. Why wouldn’t I wanna marry you?”
Magnus is dumbfounded for a moment, as he often is when his boyfriend says things like that as if it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. Then he’s shaking his head and setting his jaw and pulling away from Alec. “Because!” he cries. “Nothing that good can come from this !”
Alec’s confusion at his words melts away when Magnus stares down at his hands - his cold and sparkless fingers - replaced instead by a hurt, incredulous look.
“Hang on, you think I wanna marry you because-” Alec sputters. “You think I only want this because you’re mortal now?!”
“Well, why else have you never brought it up before?”
“Because I’ve never come this close to losing you before!”
It’s quiet for a moment. Magnus wraps his arms around himself. Alec sits up and tries desperately to catch his eyes.
“You went to hell , Magnus,” he says, softer and quieter. “You had the highest fever I have ever seen on anyone in my life. You’re pulling away from me and you’re pretending you’re not hurting. I didn’t want to go another second without reminding you what you mean to me.”
Magnus takes a deep breath. “It feels like pity,” he admits.
“It’s not pity,” Alec says. “I would marry you whether we both had a day or a thousand years to live. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I don’t care as long as I get to be with you.”
“It feels like pity.”
“Then I’ll shut up about it.” Alec promises, then after a moment reaches out and playfully shoves Magnus. “See what happens when you talk to me?”
He’s got a point. So a few hours later, after a quick nap and a lovely breakfast prepared by Alec, Magnus finds Alec in the library and finally starts talking.
At first he talks about everything but himself, but he can't avoid that topic for long. So “Catarina asked us to babysit next week” turns to “how's your family holding up?” to “I watched her grow up, you know. She used to make these drawing for me... I couldn't keep them - no one could know I knew her for everyone's safety - but I still remember them all. I can't believe she's really…” to “it's strange, not being able to use magic anymore, I don't know how to get used to it” and finally it all goes back to the root of the problem:
“I'm scared.”
Alec, who’s gone from listening intently from five feet apart to hugging him so tightly Magnus’ words are muffled into his shirt, looks down at him for a long moment when he says this.
“Of dying?” he asks quietly.
Magnus shakes his head.
“Then, what?”
“Of being…” Magnus sighs. “Of being powerless. Of not being able to help people or defend myself or fix thing. Of…not knowing who or what I am anymore if I’m not…”
A warlock. A healer. Useful .
“You’re the best person I know, and you always will be,” is what Alec says in reply, with no hesitation. “And we’re going to figure this out.”
Magnus feels himself smile without meaning to. He buries his face in Alec’s shoulder and Alec holds him for a while longer. This doesn’t answer any of his questions or solve any of his problems, but Magnus can’t deny he feels a little better, a little lighter, after their talk. Alec doesn’t understand (no one understands, really) and his words could be empty promises as easily as they could be an unbreakable oath. But it helps, somehow, to hear this kind of unwavering support and reassurance. To not have to pretend all the time.
The next time Magnus forgets, Alec is there to lace their fingers together and remind him to breathe before the world starts to feel like it’s crumbling down all around him again.
That’s the only explanation Clary can come up with for why she’s walking in a daze down an unfamiliar part of town. For why she can’t remember what she was doing right before, why she’s been crying, where she left her jacket. She must have been out with Simon, drank too much, lost sight of him, decided in a moment of intoxicated confidence to walk home alone, and ended up here.
And clearly, drunk Clary is an idiot, because it’s cold out and sober Clary has no fucking idea where she’s going.
She ducks into the first store she sees - a vintage little cafe that’s just about to close up - and asks the irritated-looking barista to use the phone, since drunk Clary has apparently lost that , too. The barista begrudgingly agrees and turns the landline over to her.
Clary’s first instinct is to call Simon, check in with him, see if he can give her a ride home. But he doesn’t answer, and she doubts a voicemail would do much good if he’s in a similar state to her, so she hangs up and dials Luke instead. He’s bound to go easier on her over the drinking and the losing-her-phone and the walking-home-alone than her mom is. Besides, she’s starting to recognize some of the streets she’s been walking in as being way closer to the station than her house, so if Luke’s still at work, she’s in luck.
But, of course, he doesn’t answer either. “Luke, I need a ride,” Clary says after the voicemail tone, growing antsy now. “Please, it’s urgent, can you call this number back right away?”
She hangs up and stares at the phone for a few minutes. The barista throws her a dirty look. Clary sighs and picks up the phone again, calling her mom’s number this time.
Her heart is pounding as the phone rings. She’s really not in the mood to be yelled at. But when Jocelyn, too, lets her go to voicemail, Clary realizes she would prefer yelling to the silence she’s faced with now.
A silence which she decides to fill: “Hi, mom,” she starts awkwardly. “So, uh, I’m okay and all, but I can’t find my phone, so if I’ve missed any of your calls…that’s why. It’s been kind of a weird night. And I know you’re gonna yell at me about it later, but honestly I’m a little lost and I can’t really remember how I got here and I probably just need sleep so…do you think the scolding can wait ‘til tomorrow? Anyways, I was just calling to let you know I’m safe and I should be home soon. I think the police station is nearby, so I’m gonna go fetch a ride with Luke or Vargas. So don’t be worried or anything. I’ll see you soon.”
She hangs up. The barista very deliberately flips the sign at the door from “OPEN” to “CLOSED”.
*
Maryse runs her fingers gently through her son’s hair as he clings to her and sobs so violently that she thinks he’s going to fall apart, break beyond repair, right there in her arms.
“It’s alright,” she says, again and again, hoping against all hope that it’s true. “It’s alright, my love, I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Shakily, he holds up a crumpled piece of paper to her.
*
“Oh, Clary…” Izzy whispers, voice shaking, a feeling somewhere between love and anger and regret making her chest feel tight. “What did you do ?”
*
Clary really only starts to feel nervous when she realizes she can’t find any familiar faces at the station. Luke isn’t there. Alaric isn’t there. Captain Vargas isn’t there. There are very few people there that she even vaguely recognizes.
“Are you lost?” a middle-aged woman in uniform asks her when she finds her way to the bench in the cafeteria that she always meets Luke at when he’s supposed to drop her off.
“Uh, no,” Clary says with a polite smile. “I’m waiting for someone.”
She knows she looks a mess and probably more than a little suspicious and out of place, but she also knows that Luke always checks his messages. That he won’t ignore a missed call or a voicemail from her. That, if nothing else, her mom will tell him where Clary said she would be and he’ll come looking for her. And everything is going to be okay.
The officer nods and leaves. A few minutes later, she comes back with a chocolate bar from the vending machine that she wordlessly places in front of Clary. Apart from that, everyone leaves Clary alone.
Until, eventually, she dozes off with her head in her arms on the table in front of her.
*
“So much has changed recently. I know it’s a lot to keep track of. That’s okay. I’m here to help you remember. Just look at me and listen to me, okay, Clary?
“Your mother is dead. There was a fire, your apartment burned down, and she…didn’t make it out in time. There was a funeral and you…you were crying too hard to speak. But that’s okay. Because she knew how much you loved her, and everybody knew how great she was and how proud she was of you, so it’s okay. You didn’t have to say anything at all. And Luke was there, right next to you, the whole time.
“And your best friend, Simon, he was there, too. He’s not here anymore, but that’s okay too, because what matters is that he loved you when he was here. He loved you so much , Clary. And if you believe in another life after this one, just know that wherever he is, he misses you more than you’ll ever know, and not a day goes by that he doesn’t think of you.
“Hey, please don’t cry, okay? It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. You have a new life now. And you’re gonna be so happy. That’s what your mom and Simon want - for you to be happy. That’s all they ask. And that’s all you should focus on.
“Don’t dwell on the past. You deserve a good life, Clary Fray. Get out there and live it.”
*
When Clary comes to in her bed in the apartment she’s not quite done moving into yet, she’s crying.
She was dreaming of Simon.
*
“Ew, you shaved ?” Clary laughs as she throws her arms around Luke for quick hug when he finally makes it to the theater. She can’t remember ever seeing him without a beard before.
“Well, you moved out,” Luke says. “I wanted to make some changes, too.”
“Hell of a change.”
He looks like he’s about to say something, but stops, shakes his head. “How’s school?” he asks instead.
“Great,” she says as they make their way over to the ticket booth. “I was actually gonna tell you…I got offered a scholarship!”
“That’s amazing, kiddo! What kind of scholarship?”
“Full-ride.” They move forward with the line. “Apparently it’s a new offer from a new anonymous donors. And three months into the year? I am scarily lucky.”
“ I’m the lucky one,” Luke scoffs. “Don’t forget who was supposed to be paying your tuition, missy. Two tickets for Rogue One at 8:30 please.” He says the last part to the box office cashier, who hands them their tickets a moment later and tells them to enjoy the show.
Clary’s not sure she can, because she’s starting to remember how excited Simon had been about this movie when he watched the trailer. “Hey, now that I don’t need the tuition money, let’s go crazy on the movie snacks,” she says to Luke in an attempt to distract herself. “Or did you already blow it all on your new turtleneck collection?”She gestures at his shirt - a grey, long-sleeved turtleneck that doesn’t leave any skin exposed.
Luke’s hand flies up to his neck, almost like he’s just remembered he needs to hide something, but he quickly drops it and gives her an adoring smile.
“Like I said: I wanted to make some changes.”
*
Izzy’s not looking at him, but Luke knows she’s struggling to hold back tears, to keep her hands from shaking as she polishes her sword. She made this one herself when Cleophas said she could keep some of the tools.
“How is she?” Izzy asks, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“She’s good,” Luke says. “She’s happy.”
“And she really doesn’t remember m- she doesn’t remember us?”
Luke feels a sudden surge of guilt at being the only one in a position where he can be the bearer of this awful news in the first place. “No,” he tells her truthfully. “She doesn’t remember anything.”
Izzy nods. She hangs her head, and for a moment her shoulders and bottom lip begin to quiver. But then, through sheer force of will, she shakes herself and straightens up, taking in a deep breath. “It’s better this way,” she says. “It’s… she’s safe. That’s all that matters. That’s…”
“Isabelle,” Luke says softly, taking a step closer to her. She shakes her head, face turned completely away from him, trying to make them both believe that she’s okay - that any of this is okay.
When he touches her shoulder, she crumbles. A strangled noise escapes her and she turns to him, tears running free.
“It’s not fair !” she cries, and falls sobbing into his arms.
*
Clary hasn’t been on many dates. By extension, she hasn’t been on many bad dates. But she’s fairly sure being stood up counts as one.
She rests her chin on her hand and pouts, watching other couples and families wine and dine and dance to live music at the restaurant while she sits alone in the corner, checking her phone every 10 seconds and feeling humiliated and sorry for herself. Fuck dating apps. Fuck dating in general. She wasn’t that excited about the date anyway.
The waitress approaches her and Clary braces herself, waiting for the inevitable pitiful “will someone else be joining you, or are you ready to order?” But the waitress just sets a shirley temple and a folded napkin on the table in front of her and smiles.
“Oh, I didn’t order anything yet,” Clary says.
“I know,” the waitress winks. “It’s a gift. For ‘the lady in red’.”
Clary frowns and looks up at the waitress, even more confused than before. “From who?”
“Secret admirer.”
The waitress gestures with her head at a table across the bustling room before walking away. Clary looks in the direction she indicated, but she sees nothing. For a moment she thinks she catches a glimpse of a woman with big curly hair done up and a high-waisted black skirt, but then the woman steps through the exit and Clary loses sight of her. Most likely forever.
Some admirer, Clary thinks, but she drinks the shirley temple anyway.
*
Clary has her hair in a side braid and a pencil in her hand and she’s talking excitedly to one of her classmates about the piece she’s working on. Apparently she’s not focusing on realistic sketches anymore: her unfinished painting has hues of blue in short, sure brush strokes that probably convey a lot more meaning to her than they do to non-artists. But if Jace looks closely, and stops trying to make sense of it, the darker colours almost remind him of something. The Institute’s halls, the lights at Pandemonium, the water in Lake Lyn.
Clary looks up at him. Her smile widens. Jace's heart stops.
“There you are!” she cries excitedly, hopping off her stool and making her way over to where he’s standing by the door, glamoured, just so he can watch her for a moment. “I can’t believe you kept me waiting this long!”
She walks past him like he was never there, and Jace turns to watch her pull a stranger into a hug.
aka: i wrote the 3x12-3x13 reunions myself because canon was underwhelming
At first it’s just a glimpse of portal-wind-blown red hair and trembling arms and she’s so close - so within reach - that Luke begins to wonder if it was too good to be true after all.
Then she turns to them and their drawn weapons and screams, “ don’t shoot! ” and the world collapses around Luke. Collapses so it can build itself up again, the right way this time. Collapses so she can fix it.
His body is tense, like it is before he transforms, and he feels such intense relief that he thinks he might collapse - or actually turn - because she’s here , and she’s alive , and she hasn’t left him yet.
Clary screams as the blade rips into her her flesh, making Luke jolt out of his trance and focus on the mission again. Jonathan (and dear god, that’s Jonathan? That’s Jocelyn’s little boy?) yells something and activates his speed rune as he runs away. Alec and Jace chase after him, but they all know it’s useless: he’s faster than they are, they don’t know where he’s going, and they can’t hurt him without hurting Clary.
Clary looks up, blinking tears of pain from her eyes, and looks right at Luke. Relief floods her face and she smiles at him for a moment before she looks away again to pull the knife out of her leg with a pained grunt.
Next thing he knows, he’s at her side, holding her under the arms to support her weight on her uninjured leg. Jace calls his name and tosses him something. Luke catches it - a stele. He hands it to Clary to activate her healing rune with. He watches the pain disappear from her face, slowly but surely. She blinks blearily up at him like she can’t quite believe he’s here.
And even though he never once doubted that she was alive and waiting for him to find her, Luke knows exactly how she feels.
“Luke-” Clary starts, but is instantly cut off by him pulling her into the biggest hug he’s ever given another person, her words getting muffled into his shoulder.
It takes her a moment to shake off the shock and hug him back. But when she does, it’s like she never wants to let go. It’s an awkward angle for a hug, half-kneeling with Clary’s leg still soaked in blood and Luke shaking all over, but he wouldn’t exchange it for anything in the world, and he doubts she would, either.
He begins to speak, voice trembling from the onslaught of emotions. “I thought I’d lost you.” And he had - for only a few brief, horrible hours that felt like a lifetime before he decided, no, she’s not dead, she can’t be dead, I’m going to get her back , he had thought he would never see her again. “I was so scared something had happened to you…”
“I’m sorry,” she gasps into the hug, tightening her hold on him. She sounds close to tears.
God, Luke thinks, she must have been so scared.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, and realizes he’s actually crying. “You did nothing wrong. But please- don’t leave me again.”
He feels her nod against him and wraps his arms even tighter around her. He doesn’t want to let go. If he does, she’ll slip out of his grasp again. She’ll go away again. She’ll get hurt again.
“Luke?” Clary laughs lightly into his shirt. “I kinda can’t breathe.”
I couldn’t breathe when you weren’t there, he thinks. But he says, “Sorry, kiddo,” and slowly loosens his grip and lets her pull away.
His place in her embrace is replaced by Jace, who’s laughing almost giddily, tears streaming down his face, before she’s even registered that he’s there.
“Jace?” she mutters, then throws her arms around his neck and says his name again, more softly. He pulls back to cup her face with both hands.
She smiles at him. “I’m here,” she assures him. “And you are.”
“Clary,” his voice cracks. “Clary, I am so sorry. About everything. I-”
That’s when she steps back, breaks the hug. “Not now,” she says. Her voice is kind, but strained. “We can talk later, okay?”
*
The Paris Institute gives Clary a change of clothes and provides a portal for them back to New York. They don’t ask Clary a lot of questions about the dead Shadowhunter, and she appreciates it. Right now, she just wants to get home and sleep and forget all of this for just a little while.
She’s confronted with the rune in the mirror as she’s changing and is reminded that that’s not going to be possible.
She meets Alec in the room the portal’s supposed to open up in.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” he says. He looks tired, but smiles at her anyway. “I should’ve known you couldn’t be that easy to kill.”
Clary laughs. “Guess you’re gonna have to get used to me,” she shoots back lightly.
“I guess there are worse things in the world.”
A moment passes, and Alec’s smile disappears. Clary immediately fears the worst - no one has told her what happened after Lilith’s banishment yet. If Alec looks happy to see her, that means Izzy and Magnus are okay. But Simon-
The last time she saw him he was being flung out of a penthouse. Only because he agreed to go through with her plan. If anything’s happened to him…
“What’s wrong?” she asks Alec before she can picture any of the horrible things that could have happened to Simon.
“I texted the others to meet us at the Institute. Simon and Izzy don’t know you’re…you know, alive, yet.”
Clary didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing at the thought of Simon being hurt, but she’s thankful to have oxygen back in her lungs again.
“But, listen,” Alec goes on. “It’s Magnus.”
And she’s not breathing again.
“He’s lost his magic. So just don’t bring it up.”
“Oh my god, how-?”
They’re interrupted by Luke and Jace’s arrival, followed by the Parisian warlock whose portal they’re using. Luke takes her hand and, as soon as the portal opens, they step through it together.
*
“Magnus!”
At the sound of Alec’s cheery voice, Magnus halts his nervous pacing in the Institute’s hall and turns towards him.
“Look who’s here,” Alec says. But he doesn’t need to say anything. Magnus couldn’t miss her if he tried. Not with the way she bounds in, alive and well, red hair flying behind her with her quick, happy steps.
He thinks of her at six years old, with wide eyes and trembling lips. At eleven, with a long ponytail and paint under her fingernails. At thirteen, sketching on his couch while he and Jocelyn argued in hushed voices in the kitchen. Sixteen, asking a thousand questions and making him feel worse and worse about taking her memories with each one.
Eighteen, a rune on her neck and a sword in her hand, promising him that they can do this, that everything will be okay.
He was right to believe her.
“Hi!” she greets with a bright smile. Magnus doesn’t respond - just engulfs her in a hug so tight and sudden that the breath gets knocked out of her. Clary laughs at the suddenness of it. “Yeah,” she says softly, rising on her tiptoes to hug him back as best as she can. “I missed you, too.”
Magnus swallows around the lump in his throat before pulling back to look at her - really just look at her for a moment. She looks a little pale and disheveled, but that’s probably nothing out of the ordinary. He’s probably just noticing it more because he’s worried about what’s happened to her in the week ( has it really only been a week? ) she’s been gone. Allegedly dead .
But she’s not dead. She’s alive and he’s holding her and she’s clutching his arms like she knows how badly he needs to feel the pressure against his cold skin. It makes him forget about how crazy everything is and how little time he has left for a moment.
“I more than just ‘missed you’, biscuit,” Magnus says. “What happened? You’re not hurt, are you?”
Clary shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s a long story. I’m magically linked to my evil brother and I stabbed myself in the leg, but all’s well that ends well, right?”
“I’m…going to need more detail on some of that.”
“Honestly, me too.”
They share a short laugh just before they’re interrupted by-
“Clary?”
It’s Simon, frozen at the other end of the room, trying to decide if he should believe his eyes or not. Jace nods and Simon starts to run . Magnus swiftly but reluctantly lets go of Clary to step out of his way.
Simon skids to a halt in front of her, looking her up and down before pulling her into his arms. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with tears. “Am I dreaming?” he asks.
“No,” Clary promises.
“I’m not?”
“No.”
Magnus watches with a smile on his face and Alec’s hand on his shoulder as Clary laughs when Simon picks her up in his arms and spins her around. Isabelle walks up to them, a disbelieving smile on her face, and almost shoves Simon in her eagerness to hold Clary herself.
Magnus’ eyes drift to Luke to find him looking truly alive for the first time since Clary was arrested in Idris. Magnus doesn’t know exactly how Luke must be feeling - all the pain and denial and hope and relief he must have experienced in such a short time - but he knows what it’s like to lose the people you love. It feels like having a piece of your heart ripped out of you, again and again every time you remember they’re gone.
in which someone understands. | tw for mentions of violence and abuse
Maia's not used to seeing her out alone. She looks around for Jace or Luke or Simon or Izzy, even Magnus. But no - it's just Clary, hunched over an empty glass in the corner of the bar, staring off into space.
Maia walks over to her as casually as she can, trying to mask the fact that she's been staring. "Hey," she says cheerfully; Clary's head snaps up. "Need a refill?" Maia holds up her bottle of bourbon. Clary nods.
"The last guy gave me a virgin drink," Clary says with a smile. But it's a hollow smile, her mind clearly elsewhere. And it's hard to miss the bags under her eyes that concealer can't quite hide. She looks exhausted .
"That is because you're eighteen," Maia says as she fills a new glass up. "But I'll cut you some slack since you look like you need it." She places the drink in front of Clary. Clary mumbles a thanks and wraps her fingers around the glass, but doesn't drink. Maia frowns. "You okay?"
Clary looks up at her, for just a moment, and then back down again. But it's enough - enough for Maia to see a deep vulnerability in her eyes she hasn't seen there before.
But then it's gone and Clary smiles and says, "yeah. Thanks."
Clary is the type of person to wear her emotions on her sleeves, so Maia doesn't understand why she's trying so hard to hide them. It could be because they're not close. Then again, she clearly needs someone to vent to, and though Maia hates conforming to bartender stereotypes, she can’t deny that…well, she’s worried.
"You sure?" Maia asks, deciding that if Clary plays it off again, she's not going to push anymore. She can only do so much for people she barely hangs out with.
Clary opens her mouth, then closes it and swallows. "A lot has been happening."
Maia nods. She waits for Clary to go on.
Clary shakes her head and forces another smile, changing the subject. "You seen Luke around?"
Okay. So she doesn't wanna talk.
That shouldn't bother Maia half as much as it does.
"He's on a date," Maia says. "With your boyfriend's mom, actually."
Clary's wince is barely noticeable, and gone as fast as it came, but Maia catches it. She hadn't meant for the comment to actually upset Clary. It was supposed to get an eye roll in response, maybe a chuckle, if Maia was lucky. Not... this .
Maia puts down the bottle she's holding and leans closer to Clary across the counter. "Is Jace okay?" she asks. She hopes Jace's well-being is the only reason Clary reacted like that at his mention, because the alternative is so much worse.
The alternative might make Maia kill someone tonight.
"Yeah," Clary says in a small voice. "He...I don't know if Luke told you, but-"
"He was possessed by the Queen of Edom," Maia finishes for her. "Yeah, Simon told me."
Clary nods. "He's fine now. Unpossessed and everything, thanks to Magnus. He needs time to recover, though. He didn't take any time right after it happened."
"He'll be fine," Maia says reassuringly. "He has a supportive family-" she raises an eyebrow at Clary. "-a great girlfriend...and he's strong. He's got this."
Clary nods and thanks her again, but doesn't look much better. She lifts her glass and downs the whole thing in one go.
"Whoa!" Maia reaches out in time to take the empty glass from her. "Christ, okay, here," she fills a different cup with water and forces it into Clary's hands. "If I let you get drunk alone at a bar, your dad's gonna kill me."
Clary obediently drinks half the content of the glass and makes a face. "You look tired," she says abruptly with newfound bravado. Maia rolls her eyes.
"The Downworld has had things going on, too," she says simply. "And I'm not getting you another drink, lest you start saying everything that's on your mind."
That gets a genuine smile out of Clary. "I do that sober."
"True." Maia smirks. "But, hey, I've got Simon to talk to. Where are your Shadowhunter groupies?"
"At work," Clary says matter-of-factly. "Or, in Alec's case, at Magnus' place. So, you know, everything is normal."
"Except you're drinking alone."
Clary shrugs. "Needed to clear my head, I guess." She hesitates. "Hey, um...are you staying over at Simon's tonight?"
"No, why?"
"Well..." she shakes her head, as if ashamed of the idea. "I was gonna ask him to sleep over at his place. If that's okay with you, I mean."
“You have my blessing," Maia chuckles. She wishes Clary knew that just because they've both dated him, it doesn't mean Maia's going to be weird about her and Simon spending time together. She trusts Simon. She’s not going to prevent him from spending time with his best friend.
Clary breathes a sigh of relief and takes out her phone to type a text to Simon while Maia mixes a drink for another customer. When she returns to Clary, the other girl looks a little less anxious, but just as tired.
“You want something to eat?” Maia asks. Clary considers for a moment, then orders a plate of chips and retreats to a table in the back. That in itself would be fine, except two hours later, she’s still there.
“I can’t believe you still haven’t finished these,” Maia comments, sitting across from Clary and startling her. Her shift is over and Clary isn’t even halfway through the chips she’s bought. They’re very good chips. It’s ridiculous. “What’s going on with you?”
“Simon’s gonna be out late,” Clary says. “I’m just killing time.”
“Uh-huh,” Maia grabs a handful of chips and chews thoughtfully, studying Clary. “Any particular reason you don’t wanna go back to the Institute?”
Clary tenses, but forces a smile and shakes her head.
Maia hesitates. “Do you want me to call someone? Maybe Luke?” She asks; Clary shakes her head again. “How about Jace?”
Again, Clary’s reaction is worrying, to say the least: her shoulders hunch automatically and her bottom lip begins to quiver. She struggles to hide it, but the exhaustion must be catching up with her. Maia stands up.
“I have a key to Simon’s place,” she says quickly. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”
Clary nods wordlessly and follows her out of the Hunter’s Moon. Neither of them says anything as they walk down the busy streets towards Simon’s new apartment.
After about two blocks, Clary breaks down.
The sobs seem entirely involuntary and utterly draining. She collapses against the nearest wall. Her hands come up shakily to cover her face. Her phone drops to the ground at her feet, the edge of its casing chipping on the concrete. Maia can only stand there in stunned silence and watch as Clary curls in on herself on the dirty street corner and cries.
“Fuck,” Maia breathes, and crouches down in front of Clary. “Clary, are you…” She trails off, realizing are you okay? is a rather stupid question. “Hey, what is it? Are you hurt?”
Clary shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I- I can’t-”
She starts to fumble around clumsily for the phone she’s dropped. Maia picks it up to hand it to her - it’s still vibrating. She glances at the caller ID.
“It’s…Jace,” Maia says. “Do you want me to…?”
Clary swallows thickly. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots and realize golden boy’s call is what triggered such an intense reaction in her. Maia rejects the call and helps Clary off the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Clary says again.
“Clary, did he hurt you?” Maia asks abruptly. Her voice is low and quiet and sure - she already knows the answer.
Clary begins to shake her head, but stops. " He didn't," she says shakily. "But...when I ent to confront him after I found out he was the Owl- I shouldn't have gone after him. It was stupid. I was just so shocked and scared and-" she cuts herself off with another involuntary sob.
Maia is suddenly overcome with the need to protect her. Whether it's because Clary's young or her friend or just another girl who didn't deserve the horrible things that have happened to her, she doesn't know, but it doesn't stop her wanting to skin the person who's hurt her alive.
Clary clears throat and goes on, "I fought the Owl and he won. And I tried to reach out to him, to get him to break free from Lilith's control. I- I told him I loved him...and he threw me off an eight-story building and shattered my spine."
She's not crying anymore. Not really. Her eyes are red and puffy and her jaw is still quivering, but instead of tears, there is a cold, resigned look in her eyes.
And Maia feels like throwing up.
"Are you-" she tries to speak - but there are really no words for this situation. "God, Clary, that's...are you okay? I mean, how-"
"Magnus," Clary says, and for some reason there is an edge of guilt to her tone. "And Simon, and Iratze , and some Shadowhunter medics. But mostly Magnus. Because all he does is walk around solving problems that I caused."
Maia swallows. "Clary, some guy breaking your spine isn't your fault."
"But everything else was."
Maia doesn't ask her to elaborate. Whatever it is, it doesn't feel like a conversation to be had tonight.
Instead, she changes the subject back. "You can't look at Jace the same way, can you?"
"No," Clary admits, her voice cracking. She leans back against the wall, the bone-deep tiredness she feels evident in her eyes. "No, and it's not fair because this wasn't his fault! But I can't- I don't want him to touch me. I don't want him to kiss me or say my name or tell me he's sorry or that he loves me. I can't stop thinking about how stupid I felt when I told him I loved him and he just laughed. I can't stop thinking about how much it hurt , how I couldn't move ... I just...I want things to go back to the way they were." Fresh tears fill her eyes and she shakes her head, trying to will them away.
Maia doesn't say anything for a long time. She doesn't know what Clary's feeling. She was never in that situation. And she's certainly never broken her back. But while it's a vastly different situation, she knows a thing or two about being left for dead by people who are supposed to love you.
"I know," she says quietly.
Clary looks at her, fresh horror on her face. "You do?"
"Yeah," Maia purses her lips. "My abusive ex is back in town. And I won't let him leave." Clary blinks and tilts her head like a confused puppy. Maia can't help but savour the affectionate thought as she continues to explain: "He was sent by this organization to help Simon with the Mark on his head and I won't let him leave until Simon's safe."
"He's a Downworlder?" Clary asks.
Maia nods. She doesn't want to go into detail. "Point is, sometimes people you're supposed to trust will hurt you. And it doesn't matter whether they meant to or not. Whatever you're feeling - anger or pain or whatever else - you're allowed to feel it."
Clary looks at her for a moment, letting the words sink in. Then she steps forward and hugs her.
Maia is stunned for a second, not having expected it, but it's not a bad feeling, being wrapped up in Clary Fairchild's arms (no - she's Clary Fray right now, no big intimidating Shadowhunter name attached to her, no legacy. Just a scared and angry teenage girl searching for any comfort she can find in a life that offers none.) She's small but muscular under her skin, her body running hot from all the crying as she presses her face into the crook of Maia's neck, wetting it with tears. Maia returns the hug, and feels instantly calmer and warmer, and they stand like that for a long time, reminding themselves and each other that they're not alone.
clary/maia canon divergence for the shadowhunters wlw bingo event
The impossible happens during dinner rush.
Maia’s just grabbed the order for table seven and is maneuvering her way across the crowded floor towards them when the bell above the entrance rings, drawing her attention to the door and the new customer.
At first, she ignores when her heart leaps at the sight of long red hair - it’s been doing that all the time for the past year, constantly yearning for the impossible. After a while, it became easier to ignore it.
But when the woman turns and their eyes lock, it’s not possible to ignore it anymore.
Maia doesn’t realize she’s dropped her tray until until everyone’s - including Clary’s - eyes fall on the broken plates at her feet. Maia shakes herself out of her daze just as Clary starts towards her, probably to help her clean up but also looking like she wants to say something. Maia doesn’t think she can handle that right now. Actually, she knows she can’t handle that.
She steps over the mess she’s made and bolts into the kitchen and through it to the storage room.
"Wait!" Clary calls after her. "You-"
But Maia doesn't stop until the door swings shut behind her, muffling the sounds of her busy diner and putting a physical barrier between her and her latest heartbreak.
*
They’re taking shelter from a storm on the doorstep of a convenience store, waiting for the rain to let up so they can walk back to the Institute or the Jade Wolf, when Maia just can’t hold it in anymore.
They have to wait because Clary’s covered in blood and ichor and weapons and Maia has a cut on her lip and a tear in her pants leg, so a cab probably isn’t the best idea. One of the demons broke Clary’s stele too, so if they want a portal, they’re going to have to call someone else. But neither of them have done that. Maybe because they’re trying to be considerate and not bother anyone else. Maybe because with how busy the past few weeks have been, this is the first chance they’ve gotten to be alone together in days. Even if it’s under pouring rain after a demon attack.
Clary sighs. “Sorry about my stele. I could’ve portalled us back to your place and we could be cuddling by the window sipping hot chocolate by now.”
“A, I don’t have any hot chocolate at home. And B, inviting yourself over to my place now, are you?” Maia teases.
“Well, I do have a key.”
Clary steps closer and smiles knowingly as she says that, her face mere inches from Maia’s. She’s completely drenched in rainwater but she looks beautiful: cheeks flushed, blouse clinging wetly to skin, raindrops on her eyelashes.
Maia closes the space between them by pressing her forehead gently against Clary’s. They both close their eyes. Maia takes a moment to savour the moment. The warmth that flows through her when her skin touches Clary’s. The way Clary holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. How safe and content she feels when it’s nothing but the two of them and the rain and the silent promise of happiness.
Maia says, “I love you.”
Clary’s breath hitches. They open their eyes at the same time and look at each other for a long moment.
“You do?” Clary asks in a small, shaky voice, like she can’t bring herself to believe it. In case it’s not true.
Maia reaches up to cup Clary’s face with both hands. “I do,” she says again. “I love you.”
Clary sniffles, overcome with emotion. “I love you, too,” she whispers as tears well up in her eyes. She places a hand over the one Maia has on her left cheek and begins to lean in for the kiss that they both feel should follow to seal the deal.
At the last second, she pulls away.
“This is so cliche!”
Maia laughs. “What?”
“Kissing in the rain after saying ‘I love you’, I mean,” Clary says. “That’s, like, the oldest trope in the history of tropes.”
“We’re not in the rain,” Maia reminds her, gesturing up at the little roof above them.
“That’s even worse! It’s right there and we’re not taking advantage of the moment.”
Maia laughs, shaking her head, and cups Clary’s face in both of her palms. “Can you make up your mind so I can just kiss you already?”
In reply, Clary simply steps forwards and crashes their lips together before throwing her arms around Maia and burying her blush in her shoulder. They hold each other for a long time, laughter slowly dying out as the rain does the same, but the happiness never fading.
“I love you,” Clary whispers, and it already sounds so natural Maia feels her heart flutter.
“I love you, too.”
*
Maia’s crying in the back.
Bat tells the new waiter to keep the Clary girl busy and unsuspecting and escapes to the storage room as quickly as he can to see Maia sitting on a crate with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking and muffled sobs echoing.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you okay?”
Stupid question. She nods anyway. After a moment, she raises her head and wipes away her tears and smudged mascara with the back of her palm. He hands her a napkin from his apron to help in whatever little way he can.
“I’m fine,” Maia says in a voice that makes that hard to believe. “I just… Are you guys gonna be okay without me for a bit? I can’t go out there and face her when…” She gulps and purses her lips together. “I just need a minute .”
“It’s okay,” Bat says. “You stay here as long as you need to. I’ll take care of it.”
Maia nods shakily. Bat gently touches her knee as a show of support and goes back to work and to do as he promised. Maia immediately drops her head back into her hands and lets the rest of the tears out.
She can’t get the way Clary was looking at her out of her head. Her eyes had held none of the affection or gentleness or desire reserved for Maia.
They hadn’t even held recognition .
Maia has lived the past year both yearning for and dreading this very moment. Life has gone on and so has Maia. She’s made so many new friends, realized so many dreams (some she didn’t even know she had), seen so much positive change befall the Downworld. And it’s all been wonderful.
But none of that changes the fact that this kind of heartbreak - the kind that’s sudden and cruel and leaves no room for closure - isn’t something you can get over by comparing it to all the good in your life.
And now the chance for closure and all those unspoken words and the cure for all of Maia’s loneliness is standing just outside the door.
And she doesn’t have a clue who Maia is.
*
Maia looks up from her assigned reading and there’s Clary, leaning against the doorframe in what can neither be described as pyjamas nor lingerie but is somehow both, smirking like she can read every thought that goes through Maia’s head at the sight of her.
“I’m studying,” Maia says, already closing her textbook. “I don’t have time for whatever you have planned.”
Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Clary crosses the room and climbs onto the bed beside her. Maia keeps their eyes locked together, even when from the corner of her eye she can see the lace ride up Clary’s thigh, can see one strap from her top fall loose from her shoulder. Clary all but crawls over to Maia, sitting close but not touching her, and sits there, exposed skin glowing in the dim light.
“You can study,” she says very, very slowly. “I’m not distracting you, am I?”
Maia stifles a grin in favour of a shrug. If Clary wants to be a tease, then so be it. “Not at all,” she says dismissively, reaching to open her book again.
Her fingers have hardly touched the thing when Clary, with a huff of annoyance, picks it and throws it over the side of the bed before climbing into Maia’s lap.
“How about now?”
Maia raises an eyebrow as her hands, almost of their own accord, trail gently up Clary’s legs. “If I fail accounting, I’m blaming you.”
Clary lets out a satisfied hum. “I’m sure I can find some way to make it up to you,” she says in a low voice. Maia never stood a chance.
To prove her point, Clary leans in and captures Maia’s lips with hers, slow and deliberate only for a moment before desire and impatience get the better of her and she deepens the kiss. Maia follows suit, opening her mouth just enough to let Clary slide her tongue between her teeth. She grabs the hem of Clary’s shirt and pulls. Clary reluctantly breaks the kiss to rid herself of her top, then tugs at Maia’s t-shirt until that’s off too, and piece by piece the rest of their clothes come off, and soon their kisses from moments ago feel chaste in comparison.
Maia doesn’t get much studying done that night.
Afterwards, lying in bed in a comfortable silence with Clary’s arms around her, Maia whispers, “I don’t ever want this moment to end.”
“Me, either,” Clary whispers back, leaning forward to gently kiss her neck.
“I’m serious,” Maia says. “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy and…content.”
Clary hums into her neck, just behind the scar that used to make her stomach turn when it was so much as touched by anyone. “Then I’m gonna make sure this moment never ends,” she says. “And if it does, I’m gonna make sure every moment after this is happier than the last.”
“You’re so corny,” Maia laughs, turning around in her arms to kiss her.
“I am,” Clary says proudly. “And you love me.”
“I do,” Maia says. “And you love me, too.”
“I do,” Clary says. “Forever.”
*
Maia stands and wipes away what she can of her tears. She can’t hide back here and feel sorry for herself. That’s not her . She owes herself - and Clary - better than that.
Isn’t that the funniest part? That she owes Clary better than to run away from her without answers - but she also owes Clary the safety simplicity her new life provides? The reason none of them got involved when she left was to protect her - in her letters, she’d begged them not to follow her, thinking her fate inevitable, and they had known that if they tried to interfere with Raziel’s punishment, she would be the one to suffer the consequences. So those of them who didn’t know her in her past life (and those of them who were supposed to be dead) had done their best to leave her alone.
And at the first opportunity, she’s waltzed back into Maia’s life demanding answers.
Maia sighs. She could call Luke, or Alec, or Izzy, or Magnus, or anyone else who will know what to do. She could go out there and lie. She could go out there and tell the truth. She could stay here until she doesn’t have to make a decision anymore.
No. She’s not going to do that. She’s going to go back to running her restaurant - back to her life. And send Clary back to hers.
At least, it will give her a chance to see Clary again. And maybe the lack of recognition in Clary’s eyes will give her some incentive to move on. Really move on this time.
Before she can reach for the door, it flies open and Clary bursts in.
Maia almost leaps back in shock. Bat runs in a second later with an apologetic look on his face. He turns to ask Clary to leave, but Maia has made her decision: she tells him she’ll handle it herself. Bat doesn’t look like he loves the idea, but he nods and leaves them in their tense silence.
“Hey…” Clary says awkwardly after a few moments.
“Hi,” Maia says. “Is there something I can-”
“I know you, don’t I?” Clary interrupts. “Your name is Maia, right?”
Maia gulps. She knows she’s not wearing a nametag (she doesn’t need to - everyone around here knows who she is), and her name isn’t exactly plastered around the diner. So either Clary asked around or…
Actually, Maia can’t let her mind go there right now. If - when - she turns out to be wrong, the disappointment is going to be crushing.
“Maia,” Clary says again; the name rolls off her tongue more naturally this time, almost like old times. “I’m… This is going to sound crazy, but… those guys out there with the tattoos, and that lady with the funny ears, they’re… real , aren’t they? I mean, I’m not imagining things, right?”
“You can see them?” Maia blurts out without thinking. Of course Clary’s regained the sight, despite the angels’ best efforts. Of course she has. How did Maia ever doubt her?
“Uh, yeah, they’re, like, super jacked, kinda hard to miss,” Clary laughs nervously. “So, I’m not imagining them, then?”
“No,” Maia says in a small voice. “No, you’re not.”
“Then I’m not imagining that I’ve been here before, either, am I?” Clary asks, taking a step closer. “That this place feels like home? Or that I know you? And that you know me?”
Maia shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Okay,” Clary laughs, a little wildly, and suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “Wow, this is…impossible. Holy crap, I… I have a lot of questions, for starters.”
So do I, Maia thinks, and a lot of impossibles wishes that just came true.
She gives Clary the smallest of hopeful smiles. “I have a lot of answers.”
*
Clary’s still talking to Luke when the slow dance starts. He looks up and sees Maia staring and waves her over.
“Hey,” Maia greets, instantly sliding her hand into Clary’s. “May I borrow my girlfriend?”
“Take good care of her,” Luke says with a kind smile directed at both of them. He squeezes Maia’s shoulder before he walks away, leaving them alone on the dancefloor.
“May I have this dance?” Maia asks, offering her hand.
“You certainly may,” Clary accepts her hand and pulls her close, hand immediately coming to rest on Maia’s waist as she rests her head against Maia’s shoulder. She feels a little stiff in Maia’s arms. Tense. When she exhales into Maia’s embrace, she shakes a little.
Maia frowns, pulling away to look at her. “Baby, are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah!” Clary nods quickly. “Just…emotional, I guess. Sentimental.” She steps back into the embrace and starts to sway to the music. Maia goes along with it.
“I’m feeling pretty emotional too, for a lot of reasons,” Maia admits. “I really think change is on the way. Big change. The kind that’s gonna make the Clave shit their pants. I’m gonna make sure of it.”
“I know you will,” Clary says. “I always knew you were going to change the world one day.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Clary lifts her head once more to give Maia a knowing smile. “You changed my world.”
Maia can’t hold back the smile that tugs at her lips or the way her cheeks start to feel warm all of a sudden. “Hey, I was just returning the favour.”
Clary laughs and lets Maia twirl her around before holding her close yet again. Maia looks around at the festivities and sighs. “This is such a beautiful wedding,” she says.
“Yeah,” Clary agrees. “I’m happy for them.”
“Me too. And you know what else?”
“What?”
“I think I want one.”
Clary tilts her head to the side, confused. “One what?”
“Wedding,” Maia says. “Eventually. Maybe. Not here, though.”
Clary stills. The laughter slowly fades from her eyes. “With…” she whispers shakily. “With me ?”
“I mean, yeah?” Maia says, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She hopes she hasn’t killed the mood by being overeager. “Not right this second, obviously, but…we have been going out for a while, and we love each other. I wanna see where it goes. And if that’s the direction, then…yeah. I'd like that that. With you.”
“I…” Clary looks about to cry. She swallows thickly and it’s her turn to hold Maia’s face in her hands. “We deserve that much, don’t we?”
“Are you alright?” Maia asks again.
Clary smiles, blinking away her tears. “Yeah,” she says again, less convincingly this time. “I just love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
Clary kisses her like she’s trying to memorize the curve of her lips. They both hesitate to pull away.
“I, um,” Clary clears her throat and laughs. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. I’m gonna get some air. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll get you a drink,” Maia offers.
But Clary’s already gone, and it takes Maia just a few minutes too long to realize she’s never coming back.
*
Clary laughs in that way that lights up her whole face and hands the menu back to Maia. “I can’t believe you named a salad after me!”
“I was trying to be sweet!” Maia says. “Honour your legacy and all!”
It’s a few weeks after Clary unexpectedly walked back into her life and they’re sitting on Maia’s couch, discussing what’s changed and what’s remained the same from the things Clary remembers.
“Ah, yes, my restaurant order legacy,” Clary teases. “It is very sweet. But I can't say I wouldn't have preferred a gold statue in my honour.”
“You’ve been to Taki’s. Where the hell would I fit a gold statue?”
“Uh, your bedroom?” Clary says matter-of-factly.
It’s Maia’s turn to laugh. Clary joins in. Maia feels something warm settle over her at how easy it still is to joke around with Clary, despite the time that was stolen from them.
“So,” Clary says more solemnly a moment later. “All that aside, what are we gonna do about…us?”
“I don’t know,” Maia admits. “We could pick up where we left off. We could start over. Or I guess we could…not do any of that.”
Clary nods thoughtfully. “I have to say, I hate that third option.”
Maia smiles a little. “Yeah, so do I.”
She wants to reach out and hold Clary’s hand in hers, but she stops herself. They don’t know what they are yet. It wouldn’t feel right to do it expecting for them both to feel what they did once upon a time.
“I have a proposal for an option four,” Clary says.
“I’m all ears.”
Clary smiles, even as her eyes darken. She leans closer to Maia. “I get my powers back, and then you and I make that son of a bitch regret ever coming between us.”
Well, Maia did always want to change the Shadow World. Even if even thinking about confronting an angel is rash and impulsive and could have disastrous consequences, no matter how many times she's imagined doing it. Even if there is going to be a different Clary by her side than the one she always imagined.
She brushes a stray strand of hair behind Clary’s ear and returns her smile.
“I think that sounds like a perfect second first date.”
clary/maia au for the shadowhunters wlw bingo event
“I’m gonna get fired and die young and unfulfilled with my artistic potential unrealized.”
Magnus sighs over the phone. “Do you always have to be so dramatic about everything?”
“Yes!” Clary cries, flopping down backwards onto her bed. “I interned at this place for two years and the second they give me an actual job with actual money in it, I get hit with the worst art block I’ve ever had. It’s like the universe is against me achieving my dreams.”
“It’s not the universe, it’s you struggling to adjust to a different routine,” Magnus says. “You’ve been in school your whole life. It’s a big change. But you didn't study all those years for nothing, you know what you’re doing. This is just something you have to work through.”
Clary groans; partly because she doesn’t believe him, but mostly because she knows he’s right. “ Please don’t go all therapist on me right now.”
“I’m not playing therapist, I’m playing godparent. Get off your ass and draw.”
“But how ?”
“I don’t know, you’re the artist!” Magnus says. “Draw an apple or something. Or go to the beach and draw some seashells. You always loved drawing those when you were little.”
Clary glances out the window. It looks like it’s going to rain.
“It’s too cold to go to the beach.”
“I know for a fact you own at least one sweater.”
Clary sighs. He’s right, as always - moping and waiting around to screw up the job isn't going to help. She might as well try to do something about it. She does have a mostly-empty sketchbook and new charcoal pencils she hasn’t had a chance to try out yet.
“Yeah, alright, I’ll give it a shot,” she tells him. “Thanks, Magnus.”
“Anytime, biscuit.”
The beach is cold and grey and ugly, but not as deserted as Clary had expected. There are a few people idling by the water, in various degrees of undress, and even more people lounging around on beach blankets, conversing among themselves. Clary sets down her own blanket and, trying to ignore the sand, puts on her headphones, takes out her sketchbook, and begins to draw. So far, she’s only found one seashell pretty enough to even want to look at, let alone draw, and no crabs, but she decides it could be worse.
After drawing that same seashell in every way imaginable and hating every single iteration, she decides that no, actually, it couldn’t be worse, this sucks. She picks up the seashell and tosses it angrily behind her.
Just as she’s about to call Magnus so he can talk her through this again, someone taps her on the shoulder. Clary turns, startled, to see a woman standing above her with a beach towel and a book tucked under one arm while the other arm is extended towards Clary.
Clary rips off her earbuds, mortified, when she sees what the woman is holding.
“You lose this?” the woman asks, holding the previously-discarded seashell out towards Clary.
“Please tell me that didn’t hit you.”
“Just my arm,” the woman says. She doesn’t sound particularly angry about it, though.
“Crap, I am so sorry.” Clary takes the seashell back and begs whatever higher power is watching over her to drag her under the sand right now before she dies from embarrassment, which will undoubtedly be more painful.
“Seashell kill your family or something?” the woman teases. “I have to know what it did to be shunned by you like that.”
“I was trying to draw it,” Clary admits. “But my hands weren’t cooperating. It wasn’t its fault, it just got caught in the crossfire.”
“That’s always sad to see,” the woman says. “Well, best of luck to you.”
She smiles at Clary. Clary tilts her head up to smile back, humiliated as she feels. It's only polite. That’s when she gets her first proper look at the other woman: brown skin glowing under what little sunlight has managed to part the clouds today, big dark eyes and long eyelashes, full lips pulled into a bright smile, curls blowing in the wind.
Clary almost blurts out “marry me” on the spot.
The stranger begins to walk away to a less crowded part of the beach. Clary leaps up. “Wait!”
The woman stops and turns back to her, frowning in confusion. Clary runs up to her, wringing her hands together nervously, and takes a deep breath.
“Can I draw you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m an artist,” Clary explains quickly. “I’d like to sketch you, if that’s okay. You can keep the drawing if you want. I could just really use the practice.”
“Um, sure,” the woman looks suddenly self-conscious as she fixes her hair and smooths down her dress. “But why?”
“Because you’re beautiful,” Clary says. She shuts her eyes and curses herself for her lack of filter when the woman’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. But, sadly, still no response on the sand-opening-up-and-swallowing-her-whole end. “I mean…I would love to draw you. Or at least try to. If that's okay with you. May I?”
The woman cocks her head to one side. “Are you hitting on me?”
“No!” Clary says quickly. As much as she wants to, she has bigger problems, like needing to get over this art block so she can draw the damn comic and ensure herself a job for the next year or so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t say I was uncomfortable,” the woman says, quickly looking her up and down. She offers Clary her hand. “I’m Maia, by the way.”
Clary lets out a sigh of relief and shakes her hand. “Clary.”
“Nice to meet you, Clary. Is it okay if I read while you sketch?”
“Yeah, that’s totally fine,” Clary says, unable to keep herself from smiling. “Thank you so much.”
So Maia places her blanket down near Clary’s and makes her way through chapter after chapter of Frankenstein while Clary studies her and tries to get the lines of her face right. Clary stops herself from starting conversation multiple times, not wanting to interrupt her. But, surprisingly, Maia is the one who finally breaks the silence some time later.
“So…” Maia starts, keeping her face turned to her book to keep her pose the same. “You’re an artist?”
“Yup,” Clary says. “Comic artist, to be specific. But it’s hard to draw twenty pages of monsters and werewolves in epic battle when you can’t even bring yourself to draw a freaking seashell. What about you?”
Maia sighs. “Well, I just graduated top of my class with a degree in marine biology,” she says. “So, naturally, I’m still interning and bartending.”
Clary makes a small noise of acknowledgment and sympathy as she adds the finishing touches to Maia’s neck and hair in her drawing.
“It’s not so bad, though,” Maia says a little more optimistically. “I might get offered a job as a research assistant soon. That would be pretty cool.”
“I’m sure you will,” Clary says encouragingly. “It’s tough when you’ve just graduated. Guess we just gotta hang in there, work through it and all that.”
Maia chuckles. “Wise words.”
“Just something a friend of mine said earlier.” Clary carefully tears the page out of her sketchbook and holds it out towards Maia. “I’m done, by the way.”
Maia finally looks away from her book. Her eyes widen at the drawing. “Oh my god, Clary, this is amazing!” she exclaims.
Clary can feel herself start to blush. “You think so?.”
“Yes! I can’t believe you’re letting me keep this for free.”
“It's not half as pretty as the model.”
“Oh, shut up, it's perfect.” Maia looks up from the page and Clary nearly melts at her smile. “Can I give you something in exchange? You don’t have to keep it, but I thought you might want it.”
“Yeah, sure, of course.”
Maia gestures at her sketchbook and pencil and Clary scrambles to hand them to her. Maia opens the book to a blank page and scribbles something down quickly, then shuts it and hands both items back to Clary with a grin.
“I hope you like it,” she says, sitting back to pack her things up. “I gotta get going, though. Good luck with the comic.”
“Thanks,” Clary says. “And good luck with the research assistant job.”
Maia waves goodbye and walks off the beach towards the parking lot. Once she’s almost out of sight, Clary finally opens her sketchbook to the page Maia was using.
Maia has written a phone number - her phone number - with a little heart next to it.
Clary hugs her sketchbook to her chest and tries her hardest not to squeal in delight. She’s going to buy Magnus his third “World’s Best Godparent” mug of the month. She’s going to dedicate an entire museum to that stupid, impossible-to-draw seashell. And most importantly, she is definitely going to call Maia.
Clary comes back into her life the same way she does most things: headfirst, with no warning, and knocking the breath out of everyone in her path.
It’s the voice Izzy recognizes first, when they bump into each other at the Institute, where Izzy’s heading to the weapons room after a meeting in Alicante and Clary’s staring around the familiar-yet-unfamiliar space, distracted in her awestruck state. Izzy nearly topples over with the force of the collision, but manages to straighten up at the last second. The red-haired girl who bumped into her is quick to smother her with apologies, at least.
And Izzy freezes, because that voice .
She quickly banishes the thought. It can’t be Clary. Clary is gone. And it’s taken Izzy the better part of a year to come to terms with that. Clary is not here.
But then she looks up into those startled green eyes and it’s like she’s falling again.
Clary blinks. Something like recognition passes through her features. It’s gone too soon, though, and Izzy wonders whether it was ever there, because that shouldn’t be possible.
Then again, when has Clary ever cared about what is and is not possible?
A word slips from Clary’s lips, shaky and hesitant and lower than even a whisper, but there nonetheless:
“Isabelle?”
Izzy’s breath hitches. Before she can think of a way to respond - before she can even really process what’s happened - Jace is running into the room, grabbing Clary by the arm and letting out a sigh of relief.
“Where did you run off to?” he asks breathlessly. “I was just about to introduce you to-”
“Jace,” Izzy interrupts. “What the hell is going on?”
“Iz!” Jace says, surprised to see her there. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and Alec.”
“I was at a meeting. Now tell me what the hell is going on .”
Clary answers instead of Jace. “I remember,” she says. There is a proud, triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Well, some things. I know I’m missing time. I know I used to live here. I know you. But I don’t remember all of it, so Jace and Luke are helping jog my memory.”
Izzy looks between the two of them. But her eyes keep drifting to Clary. Clary with her new haircut and her new clothes and her new life and this new beginning.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Izzy asks quietly, voice shaky with the array of emotions she’s trying to contain.
“What?” Jace frowns. “No!”
“Then am I dreaming?”
“No!” Clary says. “No, I promise- Oh, Izzy, it’s okay…”
She steps closer and places one hand on Izzy’s shoulder, another on her cheek to wipe away tears Izzy hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. The next thing Clary does is pull her into a hug - which Izzy of course melts into. It’s warm and sweet and comforting (it’s Clary , how could it not be?). But it feels different. Like something is missing.
History.
And something else.
“How did this happen?” Izzy asks once she’s done crying her heart out into Clary’s shoulder. Right there in the middle of the Institute she’s supposed to be running. For some reason, that doesn’t make her feel as weak and vulnerable as it should.
“I don’t know,” Clary admits. She’s still holding Izzy by the arms.
(Izzy tries not to think about the last time Clary held her by the arm.)
They decide to figure it out. In the following weeks, Clary spends most of her time at the Institute, being led around by Jace or Simon or Luke and even Max, once, when he comes to visit Izzy and Clary immediately recognizes him. Whenever she can, Izzy shows her around, too. They spend most of their time in Clary’s old bedroom watching her go through the things she left behind with a look of deep concentration on her face, or in the library trying to figure out what the hell happened to her. They don’t get very far with that, but Clary’s memories do start to return more and more each day.
By the fourth week, Izzy breaks up with Simon.
He’s quiet, trying to understand. She doesn’t know what to say to make him understand. To make it hurt less.
You were a dream , she wants to say. You were a fresh start. You were a mirror to my fucked up family and my fucked up heart and all my unresolved issues. You were what I needed. You made me feel needed.
Past tense.
You’re not her .
“You deserve the world,” she says instead. And I don’t deserve to settle.
Simon nods, inhales, looks up. “I love you,” he says.
Izzy shuts her eyes. “Simon, please-”
“But I don’t want us to be together if you have doubts. I think we both deserve better than that.”
Izzy feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest. She feels guilty for feeling that way.
“Yeah,” she says. “We do.” And then, hesitantly, she adds, “Friends?”
Simon takes in a deep breath and stands. He smiles. “Always,” he says.
She can’t tell whether he’s lying for her sake or his own.
But life goes on. And a few nights later, Izzy is awoken from her sleep by a loud knocking at her bedroom door. She drags herself out of bed, ready to kill whatever employee or demon or brother thought it was a good idea to wake her after the exhausting day she’s had, but when she opens the door, a tearful Clary is on the other side.
“Was it you?” Clary demands before Izzy can get a word out.
“What?”
“Was it you?” Clary asks again, her eyes never leaving Izzy’s. “Jace wouldn’t tell me. But it had to have been you, right? I know it was-”
“Clary!” Izzy snaps. “Please just tell me what this is about. Did something happen?”
Clary holds something up: her sketchbook. A new one. Not one of the ones she left behind, the ones Jace and Izzy took turns flipping through and trying not to stain with tears when Clary first left. It’s open to a page with a small sketch on it. Of a woman, her face mostly hidden behind long dark hair, smiling at a snake that’s curled its way up her arm.
Underneath it, in her messy handwriting, Clary has scribbled, my first love .
“I dreamt it,” Clary explains. “A few months ago I had this dream about a beautiful woman with a tattoo on her chest and a snake on her arm, and I woke up in tears because I was just so in love with her. And I don’t mean I thought she was cool or pretty, I mean I was in love. And when I woke up, she felt real, and it felt like I’d actually lost her, even though I knew she was just a dream and I’d never been in love. But…” She laughs a little through the tears, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “She was real, wasn’t she? She was you.”
Izzy waits to wake up. Actually wake up, because this can’t possibly be real. She steps back inside her room and, ignoring Clary’s confused frown, walks over to her dresser drawer to turn it inside out. When she finally finds what she was searching for, she marches back over to Clary and hands her the creased, crumpled, tear-stained letter.
Dearest Isabelle , it starts.
It was touching, at the time, that Clary spent her last remaining hours writing them each a letter. But as time went on it just started to feel cruel. To have this personal, physical thing left behind by her, offering closure none of them were ever going to get.
“‘Forever your…parabatai…’” Clary reads the end out loud, her own words unfamiliar to her. “Oh.”
“Jace was your first love,” Izzy says. Quickly, hoping that will make the reality of it hurt less. “I was your best friend.”
Clary looks about ready to cry again. “So you didn’t love me like that?”
Izzy can’t say no. But she can’t say yes, either. Not without betraying the most important people in her life.
And there she goes again! a little voice in the back of her head cries. Isabelle Lightwood, the fucking saint , pretending she has no choice because she chooses to put other people’s happiness ahead of her own. And she wonders who keeps breaking her heart.
Clary’s eyes light up at her hesitance. “You did, didn’t you?” she asks, too much hope in her voice and in her eyes and in her heart for Izzy to stand looking at. “You do . I know you do. Please say you do.”
Please say you do.
Present tense.
“Clary…” Isabelle whispers. And it’s confession enough.
Clary hugs her. It’s their first hug since their reunion almost a month ago, and it feels different again. This time, Izzy doesn’t know what’s new and what’s missing. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. She just lets Clary hold her and lets herself hope.
“I love you, too,” Clary says softly. She pulls back to look into Izzy’s eyes, smiling like they’re the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. Izzy can’t help but reach up and hold Clary’s face in both her hands. It’s her turn to wipe Clary’s tears away.
“I didn’t realize it before, but I do,” Clary goes on. “In every way a human being can love another human being. In every way that matters. I know you do, too.” Her eyes flutter closed and she leans in. Marginally. Waiting for permission. “Tell me you do, Iz.”
The last part is a whisper, and it makes Izzy want to scream her answer.
“I do,” Izzy says. “I love you.”
And when she closes the last of the space between them, it feels like she’s putting her heart back together.
Clary turns, wincing as her head starts to swim, to see Maia walking into the Institute's infirmary with her arms crossed across her chest, wearing a tight green dress with a large black overcoat and an expression that’s somewhere between annoyed and amused. Mostly annoyed. Which makes sense, seeing as Clary has had to cancel their long-anticipated date last minute.
“I know,” Clary says apologetically. “I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to-”
“You’re an asshole,” Maia interrupts, looking at her indignantly. “Because I had to hear about the reason you ditched me from your boss. Are you okay?”
Clary nods, though it makes her dizzy, and smiles up at Maia. “Didn’t want you to worry. Did you have dinner?”
Maia leans against the foot of the bed Clary’s sitting on. “Did I stay to eat lobster at a fancy restaurant after getting the memo that my date was in the infirmary with a head injury?” She raises an eyebrow. “Take a guess.”
“I’m fine,” Clary says, pressing the ice pack they’ve handed her to her forehead. “Honestly, it’s just a bump. I would’ve made it to dinner if Luke hadn’t made me get checked out. So, really, I think we should be blaming him.”
Maia rolls her eyes and closes the space between them, leaning down to face Clary. “What happened?” she asks. She reaches out, and her fingers gently graze the side of Clary’s head, examining the cut there. It’s a sweet gesture, even if it makes Clary flinch.
“Ow,” Clary grimaces. “I got into a fight.”
“With who?” Maia slides her fingers down to Clary's chin and she frowns at the cut on her lips.
“Ex-Circle member, took me by surprise. He was three times my size.” She knows Maia's too much of a badass (and often too fed-up with Shadowhunters) to be impressed by her recount of an insignificant brawl, but a little bragging never hurt anybody. And judging from the way Maia looks at her teasingly as she talks, Clary thinks it's working. "He head his strength rune activated and everything."
Maia scoffs out a laugh as she begins to run her fingers through Clary's hair. “You shouldn’t pick fights you can’t win.”
Clary raises an eyebrow. “Who says I didn’t win?”
“Oh?” Maia’s other hand finds its way to Clary’s collarbone, playing with the straps of her dress. “I bet it was quite a fight.”
Before Clary, who can feel her cheeks turning red at Maia’s proximity alone, can say anything in reply, the other woman is sliding her hands over Clary’s shoulders and leaning in. Clary lowers the ice pack (head injury and bruises be damned) and parts her lips, waiting for the space between them to close.
“Fairchild."
Maia steps back, letting her hands slide off of Clary as a medic approaches them, tablet in hand. Clary raises the ice back to the bump on her head. Without Maia's breath only inches away, the pain feels much worse. The medic lowers his tablet and takes out his stele instead.
“Nothing major,” he says in a detached tone that makes it clear he had no personal stake in Clary's well-being. “An iratze should fix you right up.” Clary nods and pulls her hair out of the way so he can draw the rune at the base of her neck, barely wincing at the initial burn. She can feel the pain in her skull subside as the injury heals, clearing her head. Now all she has to do is take a shower and it will be like the fight never happened at all.
She thanks the medic and hops off the bed, quickly interlacing her fingers through Maia’s and starting out the door and down the hall towards the exit.
“Do you think we can still make it to our dinner reservation?” she asks.
Maia laughs. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh.”
Maia catches her disappointed - and somewhat guilty - look and pulls her closer. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s New York, lots of places are still open. And some of them won’t even mind the dried blood in your hair.”
Clary chuckles, shaking her head. They reach the grand front doors and she pushes against them, opening them to a beautiful night. They walk out and down the steps hand-in-hand.
“Sorry, again,” Clary says as they make their way down the path away from the Institute. “I know it's kind of a given that nothing in the Shadow World goes as expected, but still. You deserve a nice, fancy, normal meal.”
“Maybe,” Maia shrugs. “But I knew what I was getting into when I decided to go on a date with a tiny spunky redhead who would fight anything that moves. Those are all traits that attracted me to you, by the way. Besides,” She slows down and turns to Clary, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close so they're standing chest-to-chest. “I’m just glad you’re not seriously hurt.”
Clary feels her heart flutter as Maia's breath tickles her nose, their bodies pressed together. “I’m not hurt at all,” she says as she runs her hands down Maia’s sides to hold her by the hips. “And I wiped all the blood from my mouth already. You know, in case you wanna kiss me or something.”
Maia smiles, amused and adoring. "Good to know," she says, and kisses her.
Au where Clary's a closeted fashion designer and Izzy's her model, if you're still taking prompts!
ao3 ❤️
disclaimer: I have no idea how the fashion industry works
Clary knew she was a goner from the moment Isabelle Lightwood stepped into her workshop. Clary had been working on a new design when the woman walked in like she owned the place, introduced herself as “Izzy, looking forward to modelling for you”, and hugged Clary in greeting as if they were old friends.
She had inspired a strange feeling inside Clary. A weird mixture of affection and inadequacy, because Izzy was beautiful and smart and confident in the way she spoke and the way she posed and the way she linked her arm with Clary’s when there was no reason to. Clary always felt a little lost around her, but in a good way. The way you felt when you first dove into cold water and didn’t know which way was which for a moment, that split second before the shock of the cold and the need for oxygen caught up with you. Disoriented. Weightless. Surrounded entirely by something bigger and more powerful than yourself.
Clary had tried to fight those feelings at first - not only would it have been unprofessional to be crushing on one of the models working with her, but there was also the matter of Izzy being a woman.
Clary had known for a while that she could never be happy with a man, so the surge of feelings for a kind and beautiful woman who always held her gaze or her hand for just a split second too long wasn’t exactly a surprise. The problem was that nobody else knew. Not her friends, not her parents, not the businesses that looked forward to and bought her designs, and certainly not Izzy.
So she tried to stay afloat, focusing on her dresses and her fashion shows instead of the way Izzy would fix her hair behind her ear when Clary was too focused to notice herself that it had fallen out of place.
It was almost working. And then, mere hours before Izzy was to go on the runway with Clary’s newest line, it suddenly wasn’t working at all.
“Do you like me?” Izzy asked as Clary finished marking up the long silver dress she was wearing for adjustments.
“Hm?” Clary stood, gesturing to her to take off the dress.
Izzy reached behind her to pull down the zipper, and Clary looked away. “I said, do you like me?”
“Of course I like you,” Clary said. “You’re the best model I’ve ever had.”
She could almost hear Izzy’s proud smile. A second later, Izzy was at her side, holding out the dress to her with her hair pulled over one shoulder and the front of her silk robe left open. “That’s not what I meant,” Izzy said. She was close enough that Clary could feel her warmth. She didn’t elaborate, but the glint in her brown eyes said it all.
“Oh,” Clary breathed, her mind racing so fast it wasn’t working at all. Her heart beating so fast she might as well be dead.
“Well?” Izzy stepped even closer. Their chests were almost touching now. They were breathing the same air.
Clary didn’t answer. She just put her hands on either side of Isabelle’s face and crashed their lips together.
Izzy made a cut-off sound of surprise before throwing the dress somewhere over the desk and using her hands instead to grab Clary’s hips, pulling their bodies closer. Their lips, parted and gasping for breath, moved in sync, and Clary was lost. In Izzy’s heat, in her scent, in her touch.
She was drowning, and she didn’t mind.
The kiss ended far too soon, at the sound of Clary’s phone buzzing of all things. She gently pushed a very eager Isabelle off of her and reached for her phone. She decided very quickly as she read the text that it could wait, but the time caught her attention.
She turned back to Izzy, who was leaning against the desk, cheeks flushed, smiling, waiting patiently. “Iz, we should get ready for the show. I still have to fix the dress.”
Izzy’s face fell. Maybe she had expected this to continue. Maybe she had expected a proper confession, one that Clary was not ready to give her. Either way, she didn’t say - just pushed herself off the desk and mumbled an affirmation, heading for the door.
“Wait,” Clary called after her. She briefly thought that Izzy’s confidence must be contagious, because the next words out of her mouth were, “What do you say we leave the afterparty early and…hang out at my place?”
Izzy’s smile returned, slowly at first but lighting up her face in no time. She walked back to Clary and let their fingers brush. “That sounds amazing.”
please ignore that you sent me this 50 years ago and that it’s Not Good despite all the time it took me to write it. but thanks for prompting! i love my girls and this was super cute!
The second Maia steps into the kitchen, before she’s even spotted her girlfriend, a sunflower-patterned apron is tossed into her arms. Maia barely catches it and raises a confused eyebrow at it and, by extension, Clary.
“Hi!” Clary says. She’s standing over a mixing bowl across the kitchen table, which has a collection of bowls, measuring cups, and ingredients laid out on it. She has her hair up and is wearing a too-big apron herself, and is gently holding eggshells in her right hand.
“Um,” Maia says, drawing out the word in confusion. “What’s going on?”
“We’re baking,” Clary says matter-of-factly. “You said you’d help, remember?
Maia does not - Clary called about a half hour ago, talking rapidly about Simon’s birthday and Luke’s confusing stove. Maia assured her she would be there as soon as possible, and Luke had been nice enough to lend her a key. So, yes, she’s technically agreed to help, but she’d also assumed “helping” meant something more along the lines of “brainstorming” and “booking drive-in tickets”.
“I remember,” Maia says as she watches Clary search for the compost bin and toss away the eggshells. “But I gotta say, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Why not? You don’t like baking?” Clary smirks. “Or did you think I was just looking for an excuse to get you here?”
Maia chuckles. “Luke’s kitchen at eleven in the morning? Yeah, doesn’t exactly get a girl’s heart racing. But seriously, you do remember that Simon’s a vampire, right? So unless the main ingredient in this cake is blood…”
“Cupcake. And I know.” Clary sighs somewhat miserably. “This is just so I’ll have something to take to the party. I’ve done it for a couple years now, tradition or whatever. Besides, I already said I would draw cartoon characters on them and Simon seemed to really like the idea.”
“Okay…” Maia says; she’s not entirely sold on the idea, but she supposes if it gives Clary some peace of mind, it’s worth a shot. “How can I help?”
Clary smiles and gestures towards an electric mixer on the counter. “Get that working while I add the flour, and then beat the ingredients.”
“Sounds violent,” Maia says teasingly.
Clary laughs. “Okay, cute. Just mix the batter.” She shoves Maia playfully as they cross each other on their way to perform their respective tasks. So Maia mixes the ingredients, managing to only spray a minimal amount of sugar and flour everywhere, while Clary greases the cupcake pans. Then Clary comes up beside her, dips a spoon into the batter, and holds it up to Maia’s lips.
“Taste this.”
Maia leans back out of her reach. “Whoa. Is there any-”
“Chocolate in this?” Clary rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, I’m trying to poison my girlfriend.”
Maia smirks, both at Clary’s sarcasm and being called her girlfriend. She lets Clary guide the spoon back to her lips and licks the cake mix off it perhaps a little too eagerly.
“Well?” Clary asks expectantly after a moment, lifting her eyes from Maia’s lips to her eyes with what looks like a considerable amount of effort.
“It’s good,” Maia says. “Really good, actually.”
Clary smiles brightly. “Made with love.”
“I know, I was there.”
Clary’s grin widens. She reaches up to wipe away a bit of flour from the tip of Maia’s nose with her thumb before stepping away with the batter. Maia watches as she pours the batter into the pans and licks a few drops off her fingertips. Maia steps closer and places a hand on Clary’s hip. Clary turns and, chest-to-chest with her, raises a knowing eyebrow.
Maia kisses her, Clary’s lips sweeter than the sugar on her own.
“Bet I got your heart racing now,” Clary mumbles, slipping her arms around Maia, careful not to touch her with chocolate-covered fingers.
It’s storming outside and Maia’s a hundred and fifty-three pages deep into Pride and Prejudice when there is a sudden knock on her door.
Every horror movie she’s ever seen sets off alarms in her head, but, being a werewolf, she’s not the slightest bit concerned as she folds down the edge of the page she’s on and gets up to answer the door. She does become a bit concerned, however, when she sees Clary Fairchild standing in the dimly-lit hallway of her apartment building, soaking wet. Maia guesses there isn’t a waterproof rune, and then says the thought out loud instead of a greeting.
Clary doesn’t seem to mind. “Hey, Maia,” she says casually, as if it’s not two in the morning and she’s not getting Maia’s welcome mat wet. “This a bad time?”
Alec loves watching Magnus work. There is something fascinating and admirable about how focused he gets, taking notes and magicking his options in and out of sight, occasionally getting so into it that he starts mumbling to himself while jotting things down in the notebook he hasn't put down since the planning started.
Alec is trying to help, of course - it is his brother’s rune ceremony, after all - but he got distracted watching Magnus work and now he’s not sure what page either of them are on.
Magnus looks up at him, eyes wide and a little frantic. “Sangria?”
“Right now?”
“For the party!”
“The par-” Alec stammers. “Magnus, he’s ten years old.”
Magnus gives him an unamused look. “For your mother.”
“Lots of sangria.”
Magnus makes a quick note in his little notebook before snapping his fingers to summon a table lined with plates of different appetizers to the middle of the living room. “Hors d'oeuvres!” he announces. “I had the chef at my favourite restaurant prepare samples of everything on the menu.”
While Magnus samples a minuscule bite of the tiniest cheese souffle Alec has ever seen, Alec sees his chance to become involved in the process again and jumps at it, picking up a samosa from the nearest plate and taking a bite.
“Well?” Magnus prompts, carelessly tossing his spoon and the rest of his souffle back on the table, apparently unimpressed. “What do you think?”
“It’s good,” Alec says.
“‘Good’ isn’t good enough!” Magnus grabs the rest of the samosa out of Alec’s hand and takes a bite for himself. Alec starts to protest, but stops - Magnus looks adorable chewing that intensely, frowning like he’s concentrating very hard on the pros and cons of the taste.
It suddenly strikes Alec just how nervous his boyfriend is.
And then it strikes Alec that he just casually thought of Magnus as his boyfriend.
He finds himself smiling. Magnus, who’s licking crumbs off his lips and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, also finds him smiling, and frowns self-consciously.
“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”
“No, you’re fine,” Alec reaches out and pulls him close by the waist. “You’re better than fine.”
Magnus laughs lightly. It’s a beautiful sound. “You’re very sweet,” he says, his hands coming up to rest on Alec’s shoulders. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re looking at me like that.”
Alec shrugs. “I’m just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Something Max said earlier. About us.”
Magnus’ own smile falters and Alec can see him struggling between curiosity and premature disappointment. “Oh?” he says very, very softly.
“He said that my mother doesn’t like me having a…‘warlock boyfriend’.”
Magnus clears his throat. The look of disappointment on his face is heartbreaking and Alec decides to cut his dramatic pause short because he can't stand that expression.
“Well, I suppose I should’ve expected-”
“Max doesn’t mind, though,” Alec interrupts. “He doesn’t really care that I have a warlock boyfriend .”
It seems to dawn on Magnus after a second what Alec is trying to imply. Soon, the disappointment appears to be forgotten, replaced by a very big, very bright, and very beautiful grin. “Alexander…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I know we haven’t talked about all that, but…” He pulls Magnus even closer so they’re chest-to-chest, their faces only inches apart. “I do like the sound of it.”
“Of having a boyfriend?”
“Of having you as my boyfriend.”
Magnus honest-to-god blushes . Alexander Gideon Lightwood has just made a powerful, centuries-old High Warlock blush simply by calling him his boyfriend. Magnus’ hands move to the sides of Alec’s neck and he tilts his head up until their lips meet. They’re both smiling into the kiss the whole time and it's one of the sweetest kisses of Alec’s life.
“I like the sound of that as well,” Magnus says once they separate.
“Great,” Alec says. “Then I’m really glad you’re my boyfriend.”
dot/catarina au written for the shadowhunters wlw bingo event
As if this day wasn’t already bad enough with the exhausting shift and the late bus and someone eating her lunch from the break room again , now Catarina’s starting to think her cat’s run away.
She wouldn’t blame the poor thing. With all the chaos going on lately and all the playdates they’ve had to host, Cat herself would do virtually anything for a moment of peace and quiet, too.
Just as Cat’s about to go turn the backyard upside down in her search, the doorbell rings. She goes quickly to answer it, hoping it’s Raphael coming back to tell her he accidentally kidnapped her cat when he dropped Madzie off from school earlier.
It’s not Raphael.
“Hi,” the neighbour Catarina vaguely recognizes greets. “I believe this belongs to you?”
In her arms sits an orange ball of fluff and bad attitude, better known as-
“Magnus!” Cat exclaims, scooping him into her arms. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”
The neighbour (Catarina racks her brain trying to remember her name, but all she can muster up is “pretty lady three houses down across the street”) cocks her head to the side amusedly. “Magnus? Fancy name for a kitty.”
“Yeah, my daughter named her after her uncle,” cat explains. “So now he’s Magnus and my brother’s Human Magnus.”
Pretty Neighbour laughs. “Oh, I bet he loves that.”
“Are you kidding? It’s an honour to share a name with this evil little bastard,” Cat quips, making faux annoyed expressions at Magnus. She looks back up at Pretty Neighbour and smiles. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing him home.”
As Pretty Neighbour tries to convince her that it was no problem, really, even in the dead of night, Cat glances down and notices, for the first time, a second adorable little ball of fluff. This time a black cat twisting itself around Pretty Neighbour’s ankles but with its piercing golden eyes on Catarina - and Magnus.
Pretty Neighbour catches her looking and leans down to pick up the other cat. “Oh, right, this is Salem,” she says. “And, yes, she’s named after the one from Sabrina the Teenage Witch. No regrets. She’s also grown pretty attached to Cat Magnus, to be honest with you.”
“He’s just Magnus,” Cat says, and to Magnus she adds, “How many times have I told you not to go stringing random girls long, huh?”
Pretty Neighbour laughs again. “I’m pretty sure Salem seduced him , actually. She can be very charming.”
With Pretty Neighbour’s eyes narrowed and her voice suddenly lowering on “very”, Cat can’t help but look her up and down. “I’m sure,” she says. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? The place is a mess - I’ve got a five-year-old - but I’d love to actually get to know one of my neighbours. Especially now that you’ve saved my entire life by finding my cat.”
Pretty Neighbour hesitates for a second out of politeness, then nods. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Cat steps aside to let her in. “I’m Catarina, by the way. Friends call me Cat.”
“Dorothea,” Pretty Neighbour says as she steps inside, maneuvering Salem in her arms to offer Cat her hand. “Friends call me Dot.”
Cat shakes her hand before closing the door behind them and leading Dot to the kitchen. They put the cats down and let them play around the living room while Catarina pours herself and Dot a cup.
“So,” Cat says conversationally when they sit down at the kitchen table across from each other. “What do you do?”
“I’m an elementary school teacher,” Dot says. “Maybe I’ll get your daughter in my class in a couple years. How about you? What do you do?”
“Stress, mostly,” Cat admits. “But professionally, I’m a nurse.”
“That’s really cool,” Dot says. “I can’t believe I’ve lived a couple doors down from you for over a year and never knew you were a nurse. Or your first name, for that matter.”
“I bet it was fate,” Cat teases. “So our cats would only meet and fall in love when they were ready.”
Dot laughs, her eyes drifting to Salem and Magnus (well, okay, admittedly, Cat has to call him Mags in her head, because all jokes aside, Human Magnus has thirty years on Cat Magnus, so he gets dibs on the name) cuddling under the dining table. Salem gently licks at Mags’ cheek and Mags purrs, cuddling closer to her.
“Um,” Dot starts awkwardly. “Can cats…actually fall in love?”
Cat doesn’t know. She could Google it - her phone is right there on the table - but she decides not to. Whatever the cat definition of love is, those two clearly feel it.
“Ah, crap,” she mutters under her breath. “He’s really clingy. Salem might as well move in right now.”
“However clingy Magnus is, I’ll bet you anything Salem’s ten times clingier. She literally followed me here, remember?”
Cat gives her an amused look. “It’s not a competition,” she wants to say. But isn’t it?
“Well, either way, it looks like we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other,” she says instead.
The smile Dot gets on her face is bright and sudden and catches Cat off-guard, and she tries to hide it behind her teacup. “There are worse things in the world,” she says.
Cat imagines, for a moment, a future where she does see a lot more of Pretty Neighbour and her clingy cat - a future where they talk every day and wave to each other at the grocery store and mention each other to their families more often than they do other neighbours.
Her mind strays to less plausible - but certainly more exciting - situations. Drinking coffee together at the park. Taking Madzie to the movies. Going to the movies without Madzie. Walking home together. Dot spending the night.
There certainly are worse things in the world.
“Well, in that case,” Cat says, “Maybe I should give you my number. You know, in case Magnus runs away to see his lady love again.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Dot says, no longer trying to hide her smile - or her blush, for that matter.
“Plenty more where that came from,” Cat says, and returns the smile.
clary/aline pirate/royalty au written for the shwlwficbingo
The plan had been simple: infiltrate the palace under the guise of a diplomatic mission, get the king drunk, then wait for the princess to murder him and make sure she had reinforcements when she took the throne.
The plan had failed.
Two things had gone wrong, though they did not both necessarily contribute to the plan failing.
One: there had been a mole. Details of the plan had gotten out, and so the king had been prepared for the attack before it had even begun.
Two: Aline had fallen in love.
Aline did not mind love. She read books about it and she listened to her crew talk about it and she caught herself staring at beautiful women time and time again. But ever since she was still a duchess living with her mother, she had always assumed that when - if - she ever did fall in love, it would be with someone who shared her lifestyle, her interests. Someone she would meet at a pub or a festival or the market and instantly feel the sparks fly with before marrying on her ship. And then things would continue as they always had, except Aline would be in love.
She had never pictured herself with a princess, and she had certainly never imagined herself with someone like Clary.
From the moment they met, the princess had grated on Aline’s nerves. She was spoiled. She was stubborn. She was running headfirst into things she did not understand.
But she was the best chance they had of taking down the king, and she had come to them with the offer herself after the queen’s mysterious death.
If there was one thing everyone in Idris agreed on, it was that King Valentine was a menace. He was ruthless and cruel - and dangerous because he wholeheartedly believed he was doing what was best for his kingdom.
He had been so unjust in his short rule that the people of Idris had stopped fearing the pirates when they docked because they knew that any horrible thing the sea rovers could do would pale in comparison to what the king had already done.
And Clary had volunteered to kill him. Who were they to refuse?
While planning their attack, Clary had been almost amiable. She was focused, which Aline respected, and she had good ideas, even if she was reluctant to admit that sometimes, they weren’t the best at the table.
While discussing strategy, their common goal was more important than all their differences, like how Aline didn’t think a sheltered princess could lead a nation or how Clary thought that the threat of pirates frightened her people too much. How Aline held a certain respect for a fair fight whereas Clary was willing to do anything to win faded into the background and killing Valentine became the most important thing in the world.
But the second the meetings adjourned and Aline and Clary were left alone together, it was a different story.
It started off as thinly-veiled insults, neither fully trusting or respecting the other yet but unwilling to risk an important partnership. As time went on, the insults became more lighthearted and teasing, a way to lighten the mood after hours of discussing dangerous strategies. Then, somehow, at some point, it became something completely different. Something that brought the word "love" to mind when Aline thought too long about it in the dead of the night.
Aline first noticed it one night a week before the coup, when Clary snuck onto her ship in the middle of the night and shook her awake, eyes gleaming with mischief and determination. A combination that Aline had to admit piqued her interest.
“What are you doing here?” Aline asked. Every meeting between the princess and the pirates was a risk: the palace was miles away from the docks and Clary couldn’t keep risking being spotted by the guards or her father when she snuck away. In answer, Clary grinned and drew a sword from under her dark cloak. “I want you to teach me.”
“You don’t need that, princess. We’ll be there to protect you.”
Aline turned to go back to sleep, but Clary wouldn’t let up. She sheathed her sword again and climbed onto the side of the bed to shake Aline again. “Well, that’s very gallant of you,” she said. “But I’d rather know how to hold my own against my father.”
Stubborn as they both were, Aline did realize a backup plan was necessary. So she dragged herself out of bed, picked up her own sword, and took Clary to the lower deck to teach her some basic techniques.
“Your stance is all off”, “stop only using your arm for balance - you’re leaving your side vulnerable to an attack”, and “remember you’re trying to cut through human flesh, not poke a hole in wet parchment” were practically the only words Aline spoke for the next several hours.
“Do you do anything but criticize?” Clary asked breathlessly, blocking one of Aline’s strikes with the edge of her sword.
Aline smirked as she managed to knock the weapon out of Clary’s hand anyway. “No.”
“You’re a terrible conversation partner, you know that?” Clary retrieved her sword and gestured to Aline that she was ready to continue training.
“And you’re a terrible student,” Aline said. She went in for a strike but Clary parried it with considerably little effort and raised the tip of her sword to Aline’s chin. She winked.
“Or maybe you just need to be a better teacher.”
Albeit impressed, all Aline had to do was tap Clary’s blade with hers before it flew out of the princess’ hand and fell to the floor with a clang.
“Damn,” Clary muttered.
“Don’t feel bad, princess,” Aline said. “None of your other opponents are going to be as good at this as I am.”
“Do you have to call me that?”
“An opponent?”
Clary rolled her eyes. “ Princess ,” she said distastefully.
“Why?” Aline asked. “Don’t tell me you want to be referred to as a queen before you’ve even succeeded in your quest to commit patricide.”
“No!” Clary said incredulously. “I just mean… it’s not like I call you ‘captain’.”
Aline raised one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you calling me ‘captain’.”
Clary looked taken aback for a moment, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. She quickly shook it off and looked away from Aline. “But that feels so impersonal ,” she said. “We know each other’s names, why not use them?”
“I can’t name you, I’d get attached to you, and then how the hell am I supposed to rob your ships once this whole ordeal is over?”
Clary laughed. Aline didn’t think either of them had expected that reaction from her.
“Oh, my, how charming,” Clary said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you say to all the pretty girls willing to give you the time of day?”
“Time of night ,” Aline corrected, gesturing with her head to the moonlight seeping in through the open door. It took her a moment to realize how that sounded and she quickly struggled to change the subject, even as she felt her cheeks flush. “I bet it works better than breaking into a girl’s cabin to ask her to kick your ass in a swordfight.”
Clary smirked. “I believe that’s up for debate.” She glanced outside and sighed. “Well, I should get back home before someone notices I’ve snuck out.”
“That’s a good idea,” Aline agreed. She gestured to Clary’s sword. “Try not to stab yourself with that thing when you practice without me.”
Clary rolled her eyes again, already turning to go. “Goodnight, Aline.”
“Goodnight, Clary.”
Halfway to the exit, Clary stopped and glanced back to smile at Aline. “Goodnight, Aline,” she said again.
Well, Aline thought, that just isn’t fair.
*
Clary was certain of only three things.
One: her father was a despicable, evil man and everybody was going to be so much happier once Clary finally managed to kill him. (And next time, she would manage to kill him.)
Two: though their initial plan had failed, her best chance was still with the pirates - they had resources and she had their trust. And most importantly, they shared her goal of killing the king and freeing the people of Idris from his tyrannical rule.
Three: she was seasick.
“You okay there, princess?” Captain Penhallow shouted from the deck after the third time Clary heaved over the side of the ship, forehead beading with sweat and stomach turning as if imitating the waves down below. She had never been on a boat before. She was starting to wish she had been, so she would have at least known what she was in for before she ran away with pirates.
“‘M’fine…” she mumbled, certainly too low for Aline to hear. “And I thought I told you not to call me that.”
She heard Aline chuckle and walk down the steps to her side. “You’re right,” Aline said, leaning on her elbows on the side of the ship and breathing in lungfuls of the ocean breeze that was making Clary feel sick. “‘Damsel’ has a nicer ring to it.”
Clary turned her head slightly to glare at her. “If you mean ‘in distress’-”
“Oh, I mean ‘in distress,” Aline laughed. “Good thing I was there to save you from your father’s guards and whisk you away on this ship, wouldn’t you say?”
“I had it under control.”
“What you had was a knife to your throat.”
Suddenly embarrassed at her own incompetence in battle, Clary looked back down towards the waves with a sigh. “I owe you for that,” she said quietly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aline said. “You owe me nothing. I don’t get into business with people I wouldn’t rather keep alive.”
Clary opened her mouth to joke about how that was clearly not true, but before she had a chance to, Aline was pulling a flask from her belt and holding it out to her.
“Here. Drink this.”
“What is it?” Clary asked, taking the flask and peering inside suspiciously.
“Something I whipped up that might help with the sickness.”
Clary stared at her, half-touched and half-disbelieving. She had not run away with pirates because she had expected hospitality. “Thank you.”
Aline made a dismissive gesture. Clary thought she saw the other woman’s cheeks turn pink under her gaze.
“Anyways, you should get some rest,” Aline said. “We have lots of planning to do and lots of people to motivate. And don’t worry, princess, we’ll be back on dry land soon.”
“Hey!” Clary protested at the nickname. But she didn’t really mind anymore. It was actually almost nice to still be referred to by a title she wasn’t sure if she still had.
Aline winked. “Hey, at least this time we’ll have enough time to get you properly acquainted with some weapons.”
“Oh, yeah? Why would I need weapons?” Clary bumped Aline’s shoulder weakly with her own. “I thought you’d be there to protect me.”
Aline’s cheeks did turn red this time, and she couldn’t stifle her smile as she struggled to come up with a retort.
And suddenly, Clary was certain of one other thing.
