he should know what was there in the darkness before there was light

Warnings: idk flashbacks??? milk?? a shower (in which a person is NAKED :OOO) ok really there should not be anything to warn about here 
Word count for chapter: 4416 (:o)
Note: i am not putting itallics or whatever the fuck its called here bc tumblr fkn hates me so yeah. Chapter is a mix of throwbacks and other shit. Happens BEFORE the previous chapters, like should be somewhere after chapter 3? 4 and 5 happens after this, i think??? ya know yeah. doesnt matter anyways this is only malec relationship friendly building shit yes yes nice. 

What actually happened in that week that Alexander kind of lived at Magnus’s loft. (Chapter 5.5? Chapter 6? A filler?)

“You’re early,” Magnus stated as he opened the door to reveal Alexander standing there, dressed in such dark colors that he would melt into the night even if you shined a light right at him.
“I took the subway the second the sun got down,” Alexander confessed as he made his way in through the door. Magnus followed him inside the loft, his shoes making a clicking sound as he walked.
“So, what do we do now?” Magnus asked, letting his eyes rest at Alexander’s muscular chest. Alexander, who did not seem to notice how Magnus was staring at him, answered him casally.
“We look around until there’s nothing more to look at, I guess.” Magnus nodded quietly at his response, thinking that was probably the only thing they could do. He didn’t think that they were going to do great success in finding the missing vampires, but he didn’t mind having Alexander there. It was nice, having some live action hot stuff walking around your home.

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{ wb&sj } don’t ask, don’t tell

For a man who was almost seventy, Woobin’s father was one hell of a hurricane. If his mother–now peacefully resting in her grave–had been light, his father was the polar opposite: dark.

Woobin had been fortunate enough to have his mother as long as he had before cancer tore her from his arms. He still remembered her as all saints should be, as forgiving, kind, and loving as any mother should be with not a single seed of hatred to be found in her, ever. Knowing how seemingly flawless his mother was, Woobin always wondered what she saw in her husband who was everything she wasn’t. Was it his work ethic? Wealth? Because, no matter how desperately he searched, Woobin never found reasons that justified the man being a father or a husband.

He was too controlling, too cruel.

Woobin had grown up, of course, and was past his days of shutting himself in the closet out of fear. His father’s spontaneous outbursts of anger were a routine to him now, just as he came to accept that it was impossible to impress or even satisfy his father. He was always fuming about something–Woobin’s lack of discipline, his poor political choices, what have you–and it ended up the same way, with Woobin tucking tail and admitting full responsibility for his father’s disappointment. Except, this time, he was also livid (possibly due to sleep deprivation) and spoke when he shouldn’t have.

Furious, his father grabbed the glass dram with whiskey still inside and smashed it over Woobin’s head, seething like a bull that saw red. And red he saw, as a thick stripe of blood trickled down the side of Woobin’s face, dripping from his chin and onto his folded hands. He was clenching his jaws the entire time, willing himself not to ball his fists, and he had, until he caught a glimpse of Seungjun making his rather untimely appearance.

His father practically knocked himself into Seungjun on his way out, leaving behind a trail of blood that dripped from his injured hand. Woobin admitted his old man was a violent man, but none the wiser about the repercussions his unbridled rage may reap one day. He stood, holding a handkerchief to the side of his temple. “Would you get me a hand broom for the glass?” he asked of his half-brother, more upset that Seungjun had to see him this way than he was about the whole incident.