he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Misplaced Lens Cap
cherry valley forever
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
@theartofmadeline
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
roma★
Three Goblin Art
trying on a metaphor
No title available
One Nice Bug Per Day
if i look back, i am lost
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
No title available
Product Placement
ojovivo
dirt enthusiast
noise dept.
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
@runescrafted
mathew daddario or alec lightwood? we’ll never know.
stripped. me, has aT LEAST six verses of canon and/or au material with @erchommai. but aLSO ME — goes ahead and manages to somehow?? accidentally?? construct, headcanon, and plot TWO FUCKIN MORE.
stripped. that moment when i revisit my blog from an actual browser for the first time in what is actually a millennia a hot minute and realize that some things on my info pages need updating. looks like i’m digging the laptop out, guys. it’s getting serious out here.
♕ for a kiss of swearing fealty.
— bestow a kiss prompt.
there was nowhere to run in edom, no place to go where jonathan couldn’t — wouldn’t — find her. the demon lilith gifted him a kingdom of his own, and here he was well & truly king. the land, the atmosphere, the castle; they all conformed to his will, and what jonathan wanted he got.
even, clary supposed, her.
a full month ( maybe more ) after they’d struck their deal, jonathan led her to the throne room — alone, under the bone-bleached brilliance of edom’s full moon. he guided her to the throne — her throne — and waited until she took a seat before moving to claim his own, dropping down into it with more lanquid grace than she’d ever manage. and there he sat, looking at her with his chin propped in his hand for several excruciatingly long moments, his fathomless eyes searching her face. a bored god, she thought. how shall i end the world today? and the tragedy of it was that he was beautiful, even in malice, but especially in repose. he was gifted with a face that should have been struck in marble; a masterpiece, hewn from stone & given the breath of life. warmed to a semblance of humanity, but with a heart frozen and cold in his chest.
( she wanted to think of him as a monster; wanted to hold onto that convinction — alongside her despair, her rage, her mislaid dreams of the future — for as long as she could. )
on that throne, sitting beside her, jonathan looked into her eyes and said, ‘ swear yourself to me.’
she wasn’t quick enough to stop the incredulous laugh that bubbled between her lips. ‘ what?’ she leaned back into the cradle of the throne, gaining a scant inch of distance from him. ‘ you won. isn’t that enough?’
something unnameable flickered in his expression; his jaw tightened. ‘no.’ it was said simply, flatly; an uncomfortable truth. ‘ because i’ve also spared your world, your friends — our viper of a mother and her lover. i’ve given you every comfort. i’ve given you a crown.’
it was her turn to grit her teeth. she knew what she got out of this deal — and she knew what she lost. ‘ so you want me to — what, thank you? promise to be good and obey you? love you? ’
clary wondered if she imagined the flinch. she blinked, barely a heartbeat, but when she looked again he once again appeared composed. a study in cruel beauty. the only difference was that his hand had dropped. no longer beneath his chin, it rested instead in his lap, curled into a fist.
‘ swear yourself to me,’ he said again — with more steel. ‘ swear to be my queen in more than name. you so love to fight me, but i enjoy crossing swords with you, sister. i don’t need your obedience — only your fealty. ’ his jet eyes burned over her. ‘ be mine, clary — mine in every way that matters.’
something uncomfortably like warning skittered down her spine. the thing about demons ( about jonathan ) is that there is never one straight forward purpose to anything. even a simple word like mine.
‘ or — what?’
jonathan’s brows lifted, a cool mockery of surprise. ‘ feeling brave, aren’t we? your friends could be spending the next few centuries rotting in a cell with no light or air, remember. lucian greymark would make an excellent rug. and your mother—’
‘ you’re threatening me.’ a whipcrack of an accusation. fury raged behind her ribs. ‘ you tell me how good you’ve been to me, and in the same breath threaten the people i care about. but whatever it takes to get what you want, right? ’
a beat of silence followed — stretched thin in the hushed atmosphere of the throneroom.
jon exhaled, slow and exasperated. ‘ i’m not threatening you. i was just — pointing out that there are a great many terrible things that could happen to your entourage and that, as of yet, have not. because i’m generous. let’s be clear on that.’
clary’s temples throbbed.
‘ besides, it doesn’t mean as much, not if i make you do it.’ he pushed a hand through his hair, disordering the strands in a way that made him look — infuriatingly — soft. probably on purpose. ‘ that’s not how oaths work, you know. you have to swear freely.’
‘nothing i do here is done freely,’ she snapped, and shoved off of the throne, done with this conversation. she started to storm down the dais — but jonathan simply reached out, snagged her arm and hauled her back.
she landed inelegantly in his lap, furious.
‘ case in point,’ she hissed, trying to sit upright. jonathan adjusted beneath her, but only just; one arm he banded around her waist, arranging her sideways across his thighs. his other hand crept up to curl in her hair, near her scalp. a firm tug dragged her head up, and clary found herself looking up through the oculus, at the stars that suddenly seemed to pinwheel in and out of focus.
jonathan’s lips brushed over the hammering pulse in her throat; his breath whispered across her skin like fingertips, caressing.
‘ i’m asking for so little, clary.’ he pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw; then another, and another, laying a trail that meandered back and forth, indecisive. ‘ swear yourself to me, and i promise to make you happy.’
‘ you can’t make someone happy. that’s not how it works, you know.’
he sighed against her collar. ‘ you won’t even give me a chance to try.’ the hand fisted in her hair loosened, then slipped away to settle instead at the nape of her neck, to guide her head back down. jonathan’s midnight gaze found her and rooted her to the spot, insistent. ‘ swear you’ll be mine — and i’ll be yours.’
she stiffened, just a little. ‘mine?’
‘ yes.’ it was a feverish acknowledgement. jonathan’s lips brushed the corner of her own, formed words that left the ghost of impressions there. ‘as long as you promise yourself to me truly — i’ll give you anything you want.’
the wheels started to turn, ever so slowly. ‘ anything? ’ experimentally, she turned her head — just a fraction, yes, but now her question fitted itself in the scant space between their lips. dangerous. provocative.
jonathan took a small, stilted breath, pulling back just far enough to search her expression. careful. ‘ anything, clary. except let you go.’
details. she could work on that later. her tongue touched the swell of her lower lip and she watched jonathan’s gaze drop to follow the motion; saw the way his jaw worked; the hard swallow. it took forever for his eyes to track back upward, to meet her gaze.
with excruciating slowness, clary lifted both hands to frame his face, his hard jaw cradled in her palms. curious, she swept the pad of her thumb across his mouth, and watched his lips part around a precarious exhale. back and forth, she brushed a gentle caress — and when his tongue darted out to wet his lips ( or, perhaps, to get a taste of her ) clary hummed in consideration.
jonathan’s eyes were riveted to her face, as if he couldn’t — dared not — look elsewhere.
clary inclined her head a fraction once more, her hair slipping over her shoulder to cast a burnished curtain around them. ‘ promise me, then. that what you say is true.’
‘ i’ll never lie to you,’ he murmured, hushed and reverent. ‘ anything you want, except to leave me — it’s yours. as long as you’re mine. ’
‘then i swear,’ she said, and felt him shudder between her palms; beneath her. ‘i swear myself in fealty to you, jonathan.’ she hardly whispered them, but the words seemed to hang in the air, heavy & real; magic. binding.
‘ prove it. ’ a quiet order — one, she suspects, of many to come. but this one she is prepared for; expected. because for all the ways demons twist words, setting aside all the clever mechaniations, and despite all the times she’d asked, screamed, demanded to know — clary has always known what jonathan wanted.
she lowered her head, a devotee in prayer, and just before her lips touched his, clary whispered, ‘ hail, master. ’
it’s the echo of words from another life ( from another world ) but in this one, it seals her fate. clary’s lips settle over jonathan’s, and for a moment she is surprised that carved marble could be so warm — but then jonathan’s mouth is opening beneath hers, and his hand is once against curled in her hair, the strands twisted beneath his grasping fingers, and she—
clary leans into him, over him; she deepens the kiss and jonathan quivers against her, his arm an adamas band around her waist. he says her name, just once, between kisses. she tugs his lower lip between her teeth in retribution.
jonathan groans beneath her and to clary it sounds like a lock breaking open.
✚ for a kiss on a wound.
— bestow a kiss prompt.
clary dragged an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball gently over the angry edges of the whip welt across jon’s shoulder, seething quietly. the skin was raised, bubbled up by the unforgiving lash of electrum — but worse, jon’s body had a demon’s loathing for the metal, and it showed; the welt had split open at the top, and only after nearly fifteen fruitless minutes of wiping away the blood that seeped through had it finally deigned to stop bleeding so freely. now she just had to mark it.
an iratze probably would have handled this just fine from the beginning — as it did so many of the standard training wounds — but there was something cathartic about attending to the small injuries they incurred in the course of their studies at the institute. something a little more human. it’s what spurred her into keeping the battered first aid kit beneath her bed, and what saw it well stocked. her own injuries weren’t usually bad enough to warrant anything more than a quick mark — but jon?
‘ i don’t understand,’ clary hissed, ‘ what her obssession with that whip is, but does she have to use it when you spar together? ’ she lobbed the blackened cotton ball at the garbage can with what was ( probably ) more force than necessary.
‘ izzy needs to practice with it if it’s ever going to be a viable choice in the field,’ jon murmured back, obviously trying to use his soothing voice. ‘ she’s my parabatai, clary. if she can’t use it when we spar, then that’s—’
‘ that’s what? not fair? ’ she heard the crack in her own voice and bit back the angry rant. it wasn’t like it was a new problem. jon was more sensitive to electrum than the average shadowhunter, thanks to their father, but izzy’s insistence on using the weapon only worried clary, not jon himself. starting another argument about it now was pointless.
struggling for calm, clary drew in a long breath — slowly — and exhaled. her stele was a solid weight in her hand, grounding, as she lifted it to jon’s shoulder. the iratze was still a beautiful rune ( it sang in her mind, made of light & warmth ) but she hated that they needed it at all. she traced it’s burning glory over jon’s wound as lightly as she could, and watched with only faint irritation as its fiery edges blackened and stained his skin. as the rune sank in like oil and dulled, it seemed to pull the split seam of jon’s skin back together along with it, and against the stark black of the mark, the redness & swelling looked far less severe. jon would be fine. he always was.
it didn’t keep clary from wrapping her arms around him, from dropping her forehead down against the bared expanse of his back and sighing. jon’s hands came down to cover her own, to hold them against his belly, a familiar comforting hold. his thumb traced a crescent carress over the back of her knuckles. ‘ clary— ’
‘ i know, i know. i’m sorry — i just get— ’ there was no word, really, for the emotion that overtook her sometimes. jon’s injuries were few and far in between, objectively speaking — but it rubbed something raw in clary any time it happened. her temper got the better of her.
jon’s fingers closed over her own, tightened. ‘ thanks. but you skipped a step.’
she smiled, rubbing her nose into his back. ‘ oh, did i? ’ she worked her fingers in between his, threaded them together. ‘ did you want me to kiss it better? ’
‘ yes. ’ an unhesitant answer. behind closed doors, he didn’t bother pretending.
and neither did she. lifting her head, clary pressed her lips lightly over the center of the iratze, over the less-angry looking wound. gently. once, twice. butterlfy kisses that first lingered, then alighted over the length of the lash, punctuating the hurt with kisses here and there.
jon’s head tipped back, his eyes closed; content.
clary hid her smile against his skin, and tightened her fingers between his own.
stripped. okay, but hear me out: in a world where jocelyn made it away from valentine with both her unborn child and her son, ( nevermind that he terrified her; nevermind that she knew there was something not right about him, she loved him as a mother would and she would have taken him if she could ) imagine this world where clary & jonathan trip into the shadow world at the same time, or a world where jocelyn had the good sense to teach them something about the shadow world before hand, maybe actually take them to an institute, who knows, or – i dunno, man, bUT JUST IMAGINE FOR ME IF YOU WILL: izzy & jonathan as bros, izzy & jonathan in battle, izzy & jonathan slaying ( on & off the battlefield ); izzy & jonathan as parabatai.
whispers, ‘ see, out of all of them, i liked you the best. out of all of them, i thought you were the most like me. ’ ––– and let’s maybe not talk about that fan theory about izzy having a touch of demon blood, because that too is great & hurtful, but jUST. listen, this would be cool, okay. you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be. nonsensical, maybe, but cool as shit.
stripped. always still thinking about this au, wherein jon & clary & jace are a complicated, near-divine tangle of good intentions and poor self-control ( & that uniquely morgenstern inspired desire for the forbidden things they should not have ), but they’re also damn near unstoppable, and it’s too late to pull them apart now. ( not that they’d let anyone try; not that anyone even could, because clary crafts runes in the language of angels, and she tied a knot between their souls; she forged an anchor & bound them to it, and what are mortal men against that kind of power? ) this au, where jonathan takes izzy as his parabatai, and jace has alec, and clary has simon, & they’re a clusterfuck of loyalties and heart bonds. where the clave doesn’t know what to do with a nest of shadowhunters who are more allegiant to each other than to the angel. this is the makings of an uprising all over again. a thing made to spin out of control — but at the center is them ( morgenstern’s monsters, jon & clary & jon ) and not to worry, all will be well. they’ll fight the demons, they’ll protect the world, and they’ll keep the people they care about safe. all the clave has to do is just stay out of their way.
Send my muse kisses you want to give them!
✚ for a kiss on a wound.
♕ for a kiss of swearing fealty.
✿ for a sweet kiss on the cheek.
♠ for a kiss that leaves a mark on the skin.
♆ for a kiss where there is a pulse.
ϡ for a kiss that lets you know I love you.
ღ for a kiss filled with passion and need.
† for a kiss to say good bye forever.
✄ for hateful kiss – gonna make you feel the scorn okay?!
☂ for a kiss in the rain.
one day i’ll be gone, and you’ll say “there was a boy i loved once.”
sowelcometothemovies: one day i’ll be gone, and you’ll say “there was a boy i loved once.”
stripped. when you’re ancient af in tumblr rpdom, and the styles of graphics / replies has changed yet again to some trendy bullshit that you know is gonna get a revamp in another three months so you don’t bother to quit using what’s comfortable.
a slightly altered timeline. send me ‘ timeline ’ and a number and i will tell you how my muse and their life would have turned out in a life slightly altered compared to their canon one—same universe, but where something little, or something big, went differently.
the timeline in which they live an ideal life, had no opportunities taken from them, were subjected to nothing terrible, where they grew up to fulfil their full potential.
the timeline in which they never met who would become the most influential or important person in their life, or that person was taken from them before they were capable of forming memories.
the timeline in which something important to them happened in a different stage of life.
the timeline in which they knew beforehand of something they would have prevented if given the chance.
the timeline in which they continue on from the current point in their lives to the best happy ending that is within their reach, where nothing that has happened so far is negated but from now on, the happy things start piling up.
the timeline in which everything that could go wrong from this point on… does.
the timeline in which they never experience the loss that taught them something important.
the timeline in which they gain everything they want, except for the thing they wanted the most.
the timeline in which they live the life they currently see the most likely for them.
the timeline in which something big to them never happened.
the timeline in which something very little happened differently, but it changed a lot.
the timeline in which they had a person in their life when they needed one the most.
the timeline in which instead of the most influential person in their life, they had a person who had the complete opposite effect on them.
the timeline in which they took a chance they didn’t in canon.
the timeline in which they let a chance go by.
did you just say [breathes heavily] fictional codependent soul-crushing homicidal [puffs inhaler] incest
@runescrafted
update no one needed to know but it totally scored the url morgenfucks because of @runescrafted
@runescrafted : hasn’t been on her blog in a year me, still shouting into the void: have you fallen in love with the wrong person yet??????
how to seduce me into a lifelong partnership: lets rewrite canon - chapter for chapter 😍
@runescrafted
look at me, looK AT ME. we are the authors now. cassie clare who?
its another day where i miss @runescrafted and our morgencest conversations
mobile. when you come back to an old blog and realize there's still one person who loves u?? i am actually touched, holy shit.
the MORGENSTERN FAMILY aesthetic, 1990 - present. ❛ viam inveniam aut faciam; find a way or make one. ❜
LAST OF THEIR BLOOD, heirs of INFAMY, but they own it well; that’s the thing about the family name: you can only live up to it, or live it down. they chose the latter. like all conquerors, they have stripped from the bones of their history those things which suit them, and have discarded the rest. the morgensterns of now are still PROUD & DETERMINED, are still WILD & HEADSTRONG; they lead with their hearts, as UNPREDICTABLE as any of their ancestors, because there is YEARNING in them still, and a BOLD RECKLESSNESS of the spirit. more so than ever it is apparent that they do not yield well to authority, or bow without protest to the law; like the CHARISMATIC angel they were named for, they treasure their INDEPENDENCE even from within the ranks; they seek always to snatch VICTORY from defeat, and to upset the balance of any engagement at the last second. find a way, or make one –– even if it is FORBIDDEN. this aspect of the family mentality has not ( will never ) change; its focus can only be redirected. what would their father say -- ? is their grandfather rolling in his grave -- ? ask them if they care. it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission. ( oh, how like their father they are. ) perhaps the rebellion is in their blood –– ? maybe they were designed to be DIFFERENT from their forerunners at their core. to be sure, they do not stand on ceremony, do not posture or maneuver; they do not interest themselves in politics, or in protocol. theirs is an informal GRACE and a certain subsumed SAVAGERY ( respectively ) and despite themselves they possess an ELEGANCE which unwillingly draws the eye ( and maybe, sometimes, the blade ). they have no love for the law but they ABIDE it; moreover, they are PROTECTORS ( for values of protect ) and when the clave has need, they answer. ( and yes, there will always be someone who remembers the past, someone who thinks history repeats itself when they look these two –– someone who sees VALENTINE’S CHILDREN and nothing else. ) there will always be someone who wants to say this is not what morgensterns do, and they will lift their chins ( their dispositions DIAMETRICALLY OPPOSED, but just the same in their bones ) and say, we are the last morgensterns and we will decide what morgensterns do.
