sigh i had this in my drafts and forget to post it

Free Agency - an NHL!Bitty interlude

Jack is contemplating a move now that his contract with the Falconers is up. He and Eric weigh the options.

NHL!Bitty Masterpost




They’re spread out in the theater room, Eric on his second glass of wine, Jack on his third beer, staring down a whiteboard covered corner to corner in haphazard scrawl and laminated NHL team logos.

“The Kings are rebuilding next year.” Eric offers. “Good opportunity to start fresh. The endorsement market in Los Angeles is lucrative, and the team has more than enough cap space to match Carolina’s offer. Bonus: closer to yours truly.” Eric pauses. “Also Parson.”

“Kent won’t stay in Vegas.”

“You sure about that?”

“The Avalanche are gunning for him, and the legal weed is a draw. It seems to be helping Jeff’s back injury.”

“Kent’s not going opt for Denver just because Troy loves pot.” Eric sighs. “So, back to LA.”

“What’s the downside?” Jack counters.

“Downside: it’s Los Angeles. The Rams are hogging a lot of the sports coverage.”

“But the Kings are a great team. Consistent post-season appearances, good management, warm, sunny weather.” Jack takes a swig of his beer to emphasize his point, waggling his eyebrows at Eric while he pokes the Kings logo on the board with his toe, scooting it down.

“Next: Vancouver.”

“Hard pass.”

“No love for the Canucks?”

“Nope.”

“Edmonton and Calgary are capped but want to be considered down the line…Winnipeg and Minnesota showed some interest, but you might be fighting for attention if they draft high this year.”

“You’re ignoring the six.”

“I’m not, just building up to it.”

“Blackhawks are out because they didn’t float an offer. Boo, Blackhawks. Bruins would be uncomfortable because of the rivalry, Penguins are waiting on you, which I’m not fond of…and the Canadiens just don’t have the cap space. Unless someone retires you’d be playing for less than your current salary.”

“But I’d be in Montreal.”

“But you’d be in Montreal. And it’s the Habs. So, up-voting French Canada.” Eric moves the ‘Canadiens’ bar higher. “Well, maybe it’s alright to go home for a season or two. As long as you don’t start buying vacation homes left and right, money isn’t going to be an issue for a long time.”

“Oh, so you don’t know about my harem full of handsome young men with a penchant for Italian race cars.”

Eric pulls the Stars logo off the board and tosses it into the pile of discarded teams. “I always thought it was suspicious we had six pool boys living in the guest house. So rude of you not to share.”

Jack laughs and tickles Eric’s side with his toes.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

Eric wraps a hand around Jack’s ankle and pulls, the resulting tug of war causing the couch cushion to slide just enough for Jack to roll onto the floor.

“We’re forgetting something important,“ Jack grunts, sinking into the cushions as he tries to climb back up. "Customs.”

“Customs,” Eric sighs, flopping back into his chair. “Border security. That’ll definitely put a damper on things, won’t it? A whole extra fifteen minutes a trip. Wow. I don’t know if our marriage can handle that.”

"Bits,” Jack laughs and pulls Eric onto the floor with him.

“Nope. I’m sorry, we’ll have to get a divorce,” Eric laments, throwing an arm over his face and playing up his somewhat faded accent. “Seriously, though: is any of this helping? You only have a few days to decide.”

Jack pulls Eric tight against his side and nuzzles his neck – a move Eric has learned is right out of Guilty!Jack’s playbook.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I re-signed with the Falconers yesterday. Four years.“

"Wait, then what was all this for?”

“You put so much effort into it I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Eric snags a throw pillow and whaps Jack square in the face.

Trouble Man

Includes: Sam x reader, Bucky Barnes, fluff

Brief Synopsis: Sam leaves Bucky’s texts unanswered to annoy him without realizing that he is also annoying you. Based on this post.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: It has been way too long since I posted a fic, but I hope you all enjoy this one! Now that it’s summer, I’ve been working on some of my drafts and hope to post more often. Thanks for reading!

Originally posted by anthonymackiesource

Sitting up in bed beside Sam, you could not seem to focus long enough to comprehend what was printed in the novel laying open and unread on your lap. You had already asked him to turn the volume down on the television, which had helped, but then his phone began to belch out a portion of his favorite track by Marvin Gaye when he received a text. Eventually, the texts became so frequent that the tone would only play for a second before starting over again, the inharmonious repetition of sound no where near as euphonic as the entire song. 

“Are you going to answer those?” you nearly growled, your words sounding more like a command than a question.

“Nope,” Sam responded, unaware of your irritated tone as he popped another piece of popcorn in his mouth. He didn’t even bother glancing your way, his eyes glued to whichever movie he was intently watching on Netflix.

“Could you at least put your phone on silent?”

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April 7th.

Authors Note: Sooo I wrote this and then it deleted so I had to re-write it and to be honest the first draft was 100 times better, but it is whatever! 
Harry’s debut single is about to drop in a few hours: If my list is correct and the single hasn’t been released early. (This post is scheduled so if the song was released early. Ooops). 


You had gotten used to waking up at various hours to an empty bed, but you had hoped the emptiness wouldn’t be a thing while in New York. 

With dreary eyes, you look at the empty space beside you, the hotel room still darkened by the hour, the linen sheets draping around your body as you gradually sit up in the California King bed. With a heavy yawn, you pull your body from the softness of the sheets, forcing yourself to pad towards the balcony doors. 

He has been a mess the last few months, more so the last two weeks, it has killed you to see him so out of touch with himself, he has poured all his energy into this new development of his that he has managed to forget how to properly sleep. 

You and Harry arrived in New York in the early morning so he could prepare himself for the new step in his life, the dropping of his first single. To say the least, the hype is hurting him more than his own fans, the anticipation is killing him.

You reach for one of his jackets draped over the hotel chair and you pull it up your arms before you step outside onto the balcony where he is leaning against the railing, his arms pressed to the railing, his back slightly arched. 

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Wrapped Around Your Finger - Dick Grayson x Reader

GUESS WHO’S TERRIBLY INCONSISTENT AND FINALLY FELT LIKE WRITING AFTER SHARING THAT SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHEN SHE’D BE ABLE TO AGAIN. This girl

Anyway, I got a request one time on ask-a-robin that I didn’t carry over here from the blog, but the idea kept coming back to me–a Soulmate AU with the Red String of Fate. And I finally managed to think of how to write the thing.

Tagging: @aworldwideapart @memento-scribet

Words: 693


A red string.

All your life you’ve heard stories about the Red String—the string that ties two souls together but can only be seen by those it binds.

You’d met a few people who found their soulmate through the Red String; you’d even managed to see a couple of your friends meet their soulmate, and the experience was almost life changing. From the moment their eyes locked, you could see the change in their faces. You could see that their lives would never be the same, whether it was for better or worse.

Not everyone in the world met their soulmate. Not everyone in the world could see their string—your string is only revealed when you make physical contact with your soulmate. But, oh to be one of those who could! Most of the people who met by the Red String lived on an astral plane of happiness. Most soulmates had found their happily ever after.

Except for you.

You’ve stood in the sidelines all your life and watched as your closest friends have been tied by the Red String and wondered if and when you would find your soulmate. At first you were purely happy for your friends, but at some point you found yourself more jealous than excited. With every friend who found their soulmate, you grew a little more dejected.

Maybe there’s something wrong with you.

Maybe it’s never going to happen.

Of course your life doesn’t revolve around whether or not you found your soulmate. You went to school and got your degree. You have a great job and good friends… It just so happens that all your friends had slowly found their soulmates.

You try to ignore the idea that you might never find your soulmate. You go to work and do your best and go out with your coworkers and friends. And that’s all you could do.

So just like any other day, you go to work and try to live a normal life. Today was a particular struggle, as you woke up late and you found out your car needed gas when you turned it on to leave—very hurriedly—for work. But even though the morning was bumpy, the work day went well.

So by the time you make it to the end of the day, you’re exhausted, but not overwhelmed, and decide to make a quick stop at the store before heading home.

You take your time while walking to the entrance from your car, but when you get close and see that someone who has just gone in is holding the door for you, you pick up your pace and half-run through the door, uttering a quick thanks as you pass by, accidentally brushing against the stranger’s arm as you do so.

When you walk through the store’s threshold a draft whips your hair in your face, and you quickly try to brush it out of the way. Then you see it.

A flash of red.

Your Red String.

All of a sudden your heart is racing and your head feels light. Your eyes trace the red line for the other end’s owner.

The man who held the door for you is about to walk away, and your String is tied to him.

Without thinking reach out and grab his arm. “Wait!”

He looks at your hand first with obvious confusion that soon turns to realization as he notices the red string on your hand. He looks at his own hand for confirmation before turning to face you.

And that’s when you realize your life will never be the same.

His black shaggy hair stands in bold contrast to the bluest eyes you have ever seen, and when he smiles his entire being lights up like a beacon of hope.

For a moment all thought escapes you. For a moment you can’t breathe. For a moment it feels like you are the only two people in the entire universe.

“Hi,” he smiles with a breathless sigh. “My name is Dick. Dick Grayson.”

“Hello, Dick,” you smile back and hope he can see all the hope and love you’ve been longing to share. “I’m Y/N.”

Vampire Fic Snippet #3

(And the last one before the fic is posted!!!!!!!!! yay, sorry this is taking ages)

As always, I want to note that this is from the draft of the fic, so some things may be changed for the final version.

Warning: Mentions of vampire biting and so on, but still nothing graphic.

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I’m Gonna Woo You (Dean x Reader)

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Length: 2226+ words

TW: Mentions of kids dying 

A/N: This may be the last Dean fic I’m posting in a while (even though I have 3 WIPs. I have a lot in WIP/Drafts, but I wanna post some more Hamilton fics + Dreamer (Series) before I post anymore Dean stuff. So enjoy some more Dean fluff~ 


You had just broken up with your boyfriend. It was amicable. The distance was never a problem, but mentally you guys just weren’t invested in the relationship anymore. Then he told you he found another huntress that he really likes, and the moment he thought he liked her, he told you about it. You respected the fact that he was truthful to you, and you gave them their blessing- even going as far to make sure that he knew he still had a friend in you. When you told Dean about it, you were catching up over a drink in Lebanon where you knew he, and his brother resided.

You, and the Winchesters had known each other for two years, on a vampire hunt that you were checking out. He, and his brother were there first so they had dibs on the case, but they told you that you could stay, and help them, which turned out for the best because the pack was bigger than researched. Ever since then, you’ve stayed in touch with the Winchesters. Once in awhile you would ask them a few hunting questions, and vice versa. Soon, the texts were occurring more and more- especially with the oldest Winchester. The messages were becoming personal, and after that it became habitual for the two of you to exchange information on your latest hunts. If the two of you were close enough, it was a silent agreement that you guys would visit. It was a nice, comforting relationship.

“So, that’s what I’ve been up to. What about you, Dean? Anything new?” you asked, putting a hand on his arm.

He swirled the drink in his hand, staring at it intently. Finally, he exhaled. “Listen, sweetheart, I have shit timing, but I just need to say it.”

Dean paused, and you raised your eyebrow, wondering what he could possibly be telling you.

“I like you,” he blurted out. “A lot.”

“Oh.” It was your turn to be silenced. Your relationship with Dean was amazing, and of course you would consider dating him. He was handsome, kind, intelligent, strong, and an overall amazing person, and most importantly, he made you happy. “Wow.”

“You don’t have to say anything- We could just forget this ever happened,” he said quickly, his shoulder already dropping in disappointment.

“You should really give me a second here, Winchester. You kinda blindsided me,” you teased playfully. “I like you too.”

His gaze snapped to meet yours. “You don’t have to say it just because-”

“Oh, hush, Dean. Let me finish. You’re an amazing guy, and nothing would make me happier right now than to give us a chance, but-”

His face looked crestfallen, and you couldn’t help but reach out to caress his cheek.

“But I don’t want you to feel like you’re a rebound guy. You don’t deserve that. So I’m going to woo you.”

“What?’ he asked with a laugh, thinking you were joking. But you were not.

“I’m serious! I’m going to woo you. I’m gonna hang out with you, flirt with you, make more sexual comments than we have already, and-”

“You really don’t have to do that,” he said sincerely.

“I want to. You deserve to be treated right, and I’m going to make sure you know I want you as much as you want me.”

“And how do you know how much I want you?” His smile turned into a smirk as he leaned closer.

“Easy. I’ll just look down at your crotch.”

He threw his head back in laughter. “Alright, sweetheart. Do your best. Woo me.”

“Prepare to fall in love with me, Winchester.” You nudged your elbow on his ribs, missing the look he gave you.


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Writing A Musical - Step Four

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

TW: Alcohol consumption

Tag List: @starrynerd, @thehamiltonpost, @panacebean, @whiskey-eyed-stilinski, @keikoraventeller, @ihamilhatemyself, @lovebug1313, @superwholockbooknerd526, @moldychxrry , @deltablue202, @sonicscrewdriverandtulips, @shastakitkat, @defenestrate-yourself-please, @torrentmgc, @decayingtrash, @lrdisawesome, @21hamsteet

A/N: Guess who thought they posted this and it’s really been sitting in my draft for four days…. oops! Working on a few different things to make that up to you guys!

Originally posted by phantomsandrevolutions

Step Four: Don’t Forget the Music

“Yes, Dad, I understand. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as you hung up, Lin was back at the piano, trying to get a melody out before he forgot it. “Rum or Scotch?” He asked.

“Vodka. I need the burn.”

“Well, that’s a bit sadistic, don’tcha think?” He chuckled before directing you to the bottle.

“You haven’t met my father.”

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Winnie

Anon asked: hello~ I love your blog so much?? you write everyone so accurately and realistically! if its not too much to ask, could you please write one where you always see WinWin walking his dog around campus and always ask to pet it?? I’m sorry this is so random, but thank you in advance^^

You really like that time of day when the cute boy with the fluffy Chow comes and meets you.

…hopefully this is to your liking lil annonie ^^

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You’re Cute When You‘re Scared

Title: You’re Cute When You’re Scared

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 886 (sorry it’s kinda short!)

Warnings: light cursing, tiny bit of (fake) blood and gore, light violence (aka Dean punching someone), uhh… a Halloween-style haunted house + the stuff associated with one? (if that can even be considered a warning haha)

A/N: This was written for @luci-in-trenchcoats ‘s 2k Follower Challenge. Congrats on the milestone, Michelle, and I’m sorry this is late! (All of my challenge fics are late, why do I say this like it’s such a surprise?? XD)

I also accidentally hit post instead of save draft like the bloody idiot I am, so if this looks sorta familiar to any of y’all, that’s why lmao.

And it’s impossible for me to come up with short titles.


“Why in the world would someone come to a haunted house in the middle of spring?” Y/N let out an exasperated sigh and batted a fake cobweb away from her face. “And why the hell would someone hide a cursed object in one?”

She and Dean navigated their way through the fake corpses, searching for the ornate mirror while dodging the people who leapt out at them every few feet.

Dean chuckled at his girlfriend’s annoyance. “I don’t know, but the sooner we find the damn thing, the sooner we’ll be outta here.”

Y/N sighed once more as the two of them were led into a slender hallway, small enough that they barely fit walking single file. The hallway soon opened up into a large room adorned with worn furniture and creepy portraits hanging on the walls. Fake fog blew into the room, covering the ground and making it difficult for either of the hunters to see where they were stepping.

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One More Night - Chapter II

The last part of this was posted… forever ago! But I had this in my drafts for so long, so here you go! :)

Pairing: Daniel Atlas x reader
Summary: They are like the sun and the moon. Chasing each other, but never quite finding each other to finally become one. Daniel and the reader are solo artists with loads of charme and character. What happens when two stubborn minds meet and are forced to work together?
Words: ca. 1200
Warning: Smut

One More Night - Prologue / Part I


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eavesdropping - mcpriceley

hey!! i know i haven’t done any writing on here yet (oops) but here’s a little oneshot of my current otp mcpriceley!! i’m currently doing a book of oneshots on wattpad for mcpriceley and though it’s just a draft, i figured i’d share the first one on here and maybe post the others in the future? we’ll see :00 anyways this kinda sucks but heyoooo

{prompt}: Imagine Person A of your OTP being asked if they would kiss Person B for $100.00. They respond, “I would pay $100.00 to kiss Person B.” Bonus points if Person B overhears this.
——————-
  Connor sighed. It had been a hot and grueling day, and he was just dying to get into bed and go to sleep. But just as he was about to strip down to his temple garments, the door swung open to reveal his mission companion, Elder Poptarts.

  “Hi, Elder McKinley,” he greeted with a tired wave.

  “Hello Elder Poptarts. Where were you? It’s almost past curfew, and as your district leader, I need to know,” Connor said with a nod.

  Elder Poptarts grimaced. “Yeah…about that…Elder Price needed help with something. He was trying to move some crates down to the kitchen or something, I don’t really know. Sorry for being late, but there was something I needed to ask you-”

  Connor’s heart leapt at the sound of Elder Price. To be honest, he had been having gay thoughts about him for a long while. Everything about him was appealing to Connor. His smooth tanned skin, his perfectly smooth hair, his beautiful dark brown eyes that made Connor’s stomach drop whenever he saw them looking back at him, and don’t even get him started on his incredible butt-

  “Connor!” Elder Poptarts finally shouted. Connor looked at him with wide eyes, shocked that he had gone to first name territory. Elder Poptarts sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Were you really that zoned out that you didn’t hear me?”

  Connor blinked. He had zoned out? Oh, right. Because of Elder Price. Suddenly a thought traced his mind. Did Elder Poptarts notice he zoned out at the mention of Kevin?

  His face was all the answer he needed.

  Elder Poptarts was smirking at him, now sitting on the bed across from him. Connor gulped, knowing what was to come. Before he could speak and tell his companion that, no, he was not having gay thoughts about Kevin Scott Price, Elder Poptarts spoke up.

  “What is it about him that you’re so obsessed with?”

  “Huh?”

  Elder Poptarts chuckled and shook his head. “Every time I bring up Elder Price or he walks by you or talks to you or even does as much as look at you, you look like a lovesick puppy. I mean, I’m not going to blame you for having gay thoughts, but why Elder Price? He’s probably one of the most insensitive, narcissistic, selfish jerks I’ve ever met. And don’t even try to deny how you feel. Don’t forget the time he walked by and said ‘Hey Elder McKinley!’ and you tripped and fell. You’re literally falling head over heels for him,”

  Connor was speechless. Was he that obvious? Did the other elders know? Did Kevin know?

  Little did Connor know, Kevin had just walked up to their door to deliver something to him, and was now listening to their conversation.

  Connor quickly cleared his throat. “Y-yeah, well I probably tripped on a rock or something. It was definitely not because of Elder Price. And I’ve already learned to turn it off, so any gay thoughts I’m having are completely gone. Besides, Elder Price isn’t that bad. Sure, he can be selfish, and rude, and narcissistic, but deep down I think he’s just a great guy. I’ve seen him at his best. He can be funny, smart, friendly, tolerable, sexy-”

  Connor clamped his hands over his mouth. He didn’t mean for that to slip out. He couldn’t even bear to look up at Elder Poptarts. After a few moments of dreadful and uncomfortable silence, he looked up. Elder Poptarts looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh, and Connor knew he was done for. He sighed.

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  “Promise,” Elder Poptarts said back, laughing a little. “I still think he’s a jerk though,”

  “He can be,” retorted Connor, shrugging his shoulders. “But he’s not all that bad, have you seen his butt? And his eyes? And, oh Heavenly Father, those lips-”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Elder Poptarts said with a laugh. “Would you kiss him for $100?”

  Connor was slightly taken aback by the question, but he knew that there was nothing to lose at this point.

  “I would pay $100 to kiss him.”

  Elder Poptarts burst out laughing and threw his head back, while Connor sat there, lightly chuckling. Elder Poptarts’ eyes glanced over to the small window on the door and saw Elder Price standing there.

  Suddenly, he got an idea.

  “Hey, Elder McKinley?” Elder Poptarts spoke.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to, uh, go grab some poptarts from the pantry. I want to make sure I have some extra.”

  Connor cocked an eyebrow at this, but waved him off anyway. “Go ahead, but hurry. It’s already past curfew,”

  Elder Poptarts nodded quickly and practically burst out the door, shoving Kevin to the side as he did so. Once Kevin saw that he was completely out of sight, he hesitantly made his way into the dim room.

  Connor was sitting on the side of the bed with an almost unreadable expression. Once he saw Kevin enter, however, his face went pale as a ghost and he let out a quick scream. A few awkward and quiet moments passed before the colour started to return to Connor’s face, but now his entire face was red and flustered.

  Kevin decided to speak. “Hi Elder,”

  Connor gulped once again and gave a small wave. “Good evening, Elder. Wh-what, uh,” Connor cleared his throat. “What brings you here at this hour?”

  Kevin plopped down on the edge of the bed opposite Connor’s and handed him a letter. “This is just a letter from the Mission President. I came to deliver it to you and I couldn’t help help hear some of your…confession?”

  Connor felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “O-oh. Okay, listen Elder Price. I-I didn’t mean to make you, uh, uncomfortable or anything, I’m sorry, I know you don’t feel the same way, you can just forget me. I’m not even worthy of being your friend, Kevin Price.”

  Kevin was speechless. He had been waiting for Connor to say something, to return his feelings, but not like this. Never like this. Kevin’s heart sank as he saw tears begin to stream down Connor’s face. Kevin instinctively got up and wrapped his arms around Connor in a tight hug.

  Connor let out a small gasp, and after a moment, clutched onto the back of Kevin’s shirt, sniffling into his shoulder. He let out a shaky sob and Kevin hugged him tighter. They stayed like that for at least a few minutes, until Connor let out a few final hiccups, loosening his grip on Kevin’s shirt, and Kevin pulled away slowly. He knelt down and looked into his deep blue eyes, only seeing a sadness beyond compare.

  “Th-thank you..”

  Kevin only smiled and leaned in, pressing his lips to Connor’s in a burst of confidence.

  Connor’s eyes have never gone more wide in his life. After a few seconds, he fluttered his eyes shut, and lovingly kissed Kevin back, wrapping his arms around him in return.

  After a few moments, they parted, and Kevin pressed his forehead to Connor’s, closing his eyes and holding his hands reassuringly.

  They stayed like that for only a few minutes, but to Connor, it felt like an eternity. He was in absolute bliss, until a thought entered his mind. Does he just feel bad for me?

  Before he could ask, Kevin spoke. “Connor, I love you, and it hurts me to see you like this. Honestly, I had a feeling you felt this way for a while, but I was waiting for the right time to confess to you. I just want you to feel loved. And I love you so much. I have since I laid eyes on you.”

  Connor laughed quietly, pressing his lips to Kevin’s in a short but sweet kiss, and murmured against his lips, “I love you too.”

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (4/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: more plotting and lying, and mentions of unpleasant time spent in foster care.

Happy birthday to me! Today I’m going to make like a hobbit and post this chapter (though I’ll let you decide how much of a gift that is, haha.) Just know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first chapter, which you can check out here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3]


Chapter 4

Emma turns in some first drafts, and Killian sees another connection between them. His realization of how much her book means to her sparks a realization of his own.


Killian

Killian pressed his hand to his temple, willing the headache to stay away. He hadn’t seen Emma since his meeting with her at Granny’s a couple weeks before. They’d exchanged emails back and forth, terse on her end and exceedingly polite (he might be compensating for something, his brain whispered) on his.

But today was the day he’d asked for her prospectus and an outline. It was due at the end of the day, which was rapidly approaching. He glanced up at the clock, wincing when he saw that it was nearly three in the afternoon.

Then he heard a knock on his office door. “Come in.”

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Fluffy Blanket Monster

a Bucky x reader fluff for @bovaria ’s birthday!

A/N: Okay guys, this is getting posted on mobile because Tesla literally won’t shut up about it but Im doing this for her cuz it’s her birthday and I love her. This is really fluffy. So fluffy Tes might die. I pulled some strings with this and got some help from @metallicbuck and @marvel-ash. Thanks loves ❤️ Hope you like this, Ann! Happy Birthday!

Word Count: 906

🎈🌻🎈🌻🎈🌻🎈🌻🎈🌻🎈🌻🎈

It was your birthday, and Bucky had been out on a mission since the previous week. He promised he’d be home in time to celebrate with you, but it was almost noon and there was no sign of him or any of the rest of the team. You were moping all morning, walking down the hallway to the kitchen now. It was your birthday and you wanted to be happy, but it just wasn’t the same without Bucky.

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space for you

➢ fandom: bts
➢ pairing: yoongi x taehyung x jeongguk
genre: fluff, implied smut
➢ warnings: dom/sub, subs in subspace
➢ word count: 1,555
➢ notes: for @yoongsni​ my wonderful gf who’s birthday is today and who i love with all my heart. she deserves the very world because she is one of the greatest people on this planet and i hope that she’s always happy wherever she may go <33 i love you moog!! you’re the light of my life and a wonderful person through and through. the world truly doesn’t deserve you but thank you for loving me and showing me its okay to be vulnerable and for knowing what to say to make me smile when im sad <3333 ALSO HAPPY 7 MONTHS

summary:

Jeongguk latches onto him immediately, bringing Yoongi with him and it vividly reminds Taehyung of how they first came to be.

cross-posted on ao3

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Suit and Tie

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2,311

Note: As promised, here is probably the last scenario that I will ever be posting on this blog. This scenario was actually finished and has been sitting in my drafts folder since January 2016, and I wrote it because of unfortunate events that unraveled in my life. I thought it was too personal and too sad to post, so I didn’t know what to do with it, until now. Here is my last scenario, and I apologize for the angst.

~~

The first time you met Jongin, he had been wearing a suit.

A rather gorgeous and well-fitting one, if you might add.

You had been to few weddings in your life, and if you had known Jongin was going to be at your cousin’s wedding, you would have worn a dress less tacky and practiced your strutting in the heels your mother had gifted you.

It had been during the reception, dimmed lights and the soft gleams of colored glows in the hall with music ringing in your ears in a constant echo, that you had been sitting at one of the tables. The shuffling of feet across the floor and the pungent taste of alcohol made your head dizzy, until a pair of polished shoes came into a view, a low voice asking, “Would you like to dance?”

Your eyes flickered up to trace warm brown eyes and disheveled hair once styled neatly, a handsome male wearing an equally attractive gray suit. You recognized him immediately as the groom’s best man.

“I don’t dance,” you slurred.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t,” he smiled, his coarse hand taking yours and leading you to the dance floor.

It was with graceful swoops that he twirled you, his legs almost floating as he led you into a waltz. Perhaps he had a shot or two or perhaps he was just a natural flirt, for you felt your cheeks burning when he said, “You’re a very bad person, you know.”

“How is that?” you asked, slightly befuddled.

“Don’t you know it’s a crime to look more beautiful than the bride on her wedding day?” he smiled.

You turned away, cheeks flushed and hair hiding the affectionate glow in your eyes. You weren’t normally bold, but you knew it was the alcohol when you blurted, “You know it’s a crime for a man to look as good in a suit as you do.”

The male had chuckled, and you could never forget the first time you heard the soft ring in his beautiful laughter, the creases around his eyes as they melted into a smile.

“Do you think anyone will notice if we leave?” he whispered.

“They’re too drunk,” you laughed.

It was from that moment that you and Jongin were utterly in love.

The first time you and Jongin fought, he had been wearing a thin wifebeater and a pair of worn jeans.

Sweat glistened from his forehead, loud pants left from between his plush lips, his angry gaze avoided you, slowly travelling to the teetering boxes stacked around the dusty apartment. He had proposed moving in together, a year later, to which you gladly agreed.

But frustration had slowly begun to diffuse after spending hours heaving boxes up two flights of stairs, which flared, lighting up the fuse and causing an explosion of anger to ring through the apartment. It was at that point that you couldn’t even remember why you had begun to fight- it was something stupid, probably disagreement over the placement of furniture or your anger towards Jongin for not hiring a mover to carry all your stuff.

The atmosphere was tense, you had small disagreements once or twice, but Jongin had never shouted at you or kicked anything out of anger in your presence before.

“I’m going to step outside for a bit,” you sighed, your hand running through the tangled mess of your hair before dropping to your side.

It was before you could reach the door that Jongin’s arms were around you, lips pressed against your ear whispering, “I’m sorry.”

You turned around in his arms, meeting his apologetic eyes.

“You were right, and I was stupid,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sorry.”

It was from that moment that you knew Jongin was the one you would spend your future with.

The first time Jongin had openly expressed his love for you in front of others, he had been wearing a blazer and some nicely fitted pants.

Which was coincidentally the day he proposed to you.

He wanted to wear a suit, but the one worn to the wedding nearly four years ago had begun to lose its glamorous luster and was slightly wearing at the sleeves. Only chuckles are incited as you remember how he would complain nearly every day for about a month how he didn’t propose to you wearing something nicer than an old blazer and a pair of dark pants feigning to be dress slacks.

He had taken you out for dinner that day to a rather expensive restaurant nearly twenty stories above the streets, your eyes constantly travelling between Jongin’s handsome features and the view of the city skyline outside the broad windows of the restaurant. The evening was the literal epitome of romance, every fantasy that you had was played out by Jongin, from the expensive wine in your glass to the sunset splaying out like a vibrant painting outside.

It was after perhaps an hour that your head was lightly buzzing from being drunk on fine wine and Jongin’s intoxicating laughter.

You were still laughing about something Jongin had said, while the male remained silent, hands nervously fumbling with the pockets of his blazer as his eyes gazed with admiration at your smile. With your hand self-consciously running through your hair under Jongin’s intent gaze, you told him, “You’re awfully quiet.”

His lips cracked into a smile and the slightest hint of coral dusted his cheeks, as his hand reached for yours and tugged gently on it. When you simply raised an eyebrow in confusion, he had laughed, “I need you to stand up.”

Other than the kisses stolen between conversations in public and his hand holding tightly to yours, Jongin had never expressed to others his love for you in words. His arms steadied you as you anxiously stood up from your seat. You weren’t sure whether it was hard to balance on your heels because of Jongin’s sudden request or because of the alcohol.

“I know I’m not the best with words,” Jongin smiled bashfully, “but I just have to tell you tonight that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and I feel like the luckiest man alive to be in your presence.”

Though a bashful red began to dance along your cheeks, you were still wondering why Jongin was standing in an expensive restaurant and declaring his love for you.

“What I’m trying to say is, I am utterly in love with you,” he said, perhaps a bit too loudly. Your hand clamped over your gaping mouth when he pulled out a ring from his pocket, his eyes looking up to yours with so much love as he asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you had cried in a flurry of gratitude, surprise, and excitement. You threw your arms around his neck, as Jongin embraced you, lifting your feet off the ground and twirling you around.

Not even the applause and whistles of the others in the restaurant could whip you back into reality, especially when his lips against yours brought you to a paradise of pure ecstasy.

You knew euphoria was an elapsing occurrence that was bound to pass by, but you were still convinced that Jongin would bring eternal happiness once he had proposed to you. Your friends who once thought that you and Jongin were absolutely inseparable were mortified that you had somehow become even closer after the proposal.

The flames of bliss in the form of fingers intertwined and soft kisses pressed to flushed cheeks had died out as quickly as the match was struck.

It had been not even six months since the proposal and you feel as if the word is crumbling at your fingertips, waves of horror and despair swallowing you whole because Jongin is no longer there to save you.

The last time you see Jongin, he would be wearing a suit.

~~

Your fingers tremble as you hold up a dark suit jacket to the light, palms running over the smooth material and admiring every curve and crease. You hold it against Jongin’s old suit jacket, ensuring that it’s the proper size. A heavy sigh slips quietly from between your lips, but it’s not as quiet as you hoped for it to be, for you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Jongin would like it,” his mother smiles. “He likes everything you choose for him.”

It’s amazing how immense love can turn to utter hatred within a blink of the eye. You hate Jongin so much right now, so so much. If he was going to propose to you, he should have at least planned on staying with you. Instead, he’s decided to leave you and his family behind and go off to who knows where.

That jerk.

His mother takes the suit jacket from your hands, rummaging through her purse to find her wallet.

“This is the last gift we can give to him,” his mother sighs. “You know how much he’s been complaining about that old suit of his.”

You manage a bitter chuckle as Jongin mother whispers, “I’ll pay for this. Go pick out the tie before any of his sisters can.”

Even as your fingers run over the satin and the silk and the intricate patterns, you can’t help but yearn for Jongin’s skin and his warmth to be under your fingertips instead.

~~

Your head reels as tremulous fingers press a damp handkerchief to your burning eyes.

You can’t keep your tears from falling as you stand up from your seat, wrapping your black coat around your body as slightly familiar faces part for you to walk ahead. You feel a large hand rest on your shoulder, and you tilt your head up and blink through the tears to make out Sehun’s face.

“I’ll go with you,” he whispers consolingly.

Sehun is Jongin’s best friend, and they’ve known each other even before the awkward voice cracks of puberty. Besides yourself, Sehun is the only other person who has probably witnessed Jongin’s interludes of silent anger on bad days, the only other person who Jongin has trusted with the delicate fragments of his feelings.

Sehun reassuringly rests a hand against your shoulder as you walk up to the thick wood holding Jongin’s limp body. A torrent of tears come over you quickly as sadness wrenches your already feeble heart when your eyes rest upon the love of your life.

Fragments of the day you had heard of his death piece together in your shaken mind, your face contorting into a countenance of pain as you remember trying to comprehend how a collision with a truck near the exit of the freeway had led to a lethal stroke. There had been no tears then, in fact you nearly scoffed at how ridiculous the situation was. You were beyond foolish to think that your fiance would remain by your side, simply by a binding pact of love.

But your resolve had faltered and the tears had spilled once you laid your eyes upon the male at the hospital.

And now you see him once again.

His skin looks almost plastic, and his rigid lips once graced with a smile now unfamiliarly dressed in a frown. His hands seem stiff and lifeless, and you find yourself missing the warmth his coarse fingers brought when they lovingly caressed your cheek or playfully ran through your messy hair.

The man lying lifelessly before you is not Jongin.

Jongin never frowns, he never stays still, and he always reaches out to hold you whenever you’re around.

Your knees nearly give out when you see Jongin, or a body that seems to be Jongin’s, but luckily, Sehun has both his arms around you. The look of surprise on his face is written over by worry and concern as he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

All you can manage is a trembling nod as tears streak over your cheeks and your fingers rest against the coffin.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Sehun mumbles, before leading you away from Jongin and the hard wood carrying his cold body.

Sehun takes you to the bathroom and waits patiently at the door, until you finally emerge after splashing some cool water on your face and resting against the cold counter to recollect your thoughts.

“Thanks,” you mumble, your cheeks red from the tears and embarrassment.

Sehun tries to force a smile of gratitude, but the death of his best friend wrenches his lips into a rigid pout.

“No problem,” he sighs. “They’re going to close the coffin and prepare for the burial soon. We can wait out here if you feel uncomfortable with all the people inside.”

“No,” you rasp while shaking your head. “I want to see him one last time.”

Sehun pushes open the door to the stuffy room, the swarm of people wearing dark surrounding you in a sea of black as they hold their heads down. You stay along the back well, your eyes timidly searching through the sea of bodies until they find Jongin’s body once more.

His closed eyes remind you how you’re never going to wake up each morning to his swollen cheeks and long lashes looking at you with love, his rigid lips telling you how you’re never going to hear the words “I love you” once more.

Confidence falls from your limbs as your feet rest idly against the ground and your arms fall weakly to your sides.

You just don’t have the courage to touch his lifeless body once more.

As your eyes scan over the stiff hair, the almost plastic skin, and the immaculate dark suit wrapped around his body, you can’t help the tears of irony that spill once more.

The last time you meet Jongin, he is wearing a suit.

Jealous

pairing: dad!Yoongi x Reader

genre: fluff (mostly), parent!au

word count: 1k+

a/n: I am both ashamed and in love with this

also this was supposed to be a draft, oops

_______

Yoongi walks into the bedroom and smiles at you before walking over and kissing your forehead. You put your book down and reach up to touch his cheek.
“I’m gonna go get ready for bed,” he whispers and you nod, watching him as he walks to the bathroom.
By the time Yoongi is out of the shower and in his pajamas, you are curled up on your side of the bed, trying to sleep. But as soon as Yoongi pulls the covers back to lie down, you roll over to look at him.
“Oh, I thought you were asleep,” he says before getting in bed next to you.
“I really missed you, so I can’t go to sleep before seeing you,” you whisper.

Keep reading

Kinda Complicated | M.C.

Guess who’s back, back again? Noelle’s back, tell a friend.

Okay yeah, I’m sorry for that. But I’m back! I have like 7 drafts just waiting to be posted. By the way, I’m still looking for a co-writer, so if you’re interested, message this blog. Also, send in your requests! I’ll go now and let you guys read this.


Requested: nope. I just liked this concept

Summary: based off of the song by Scott Helman. If you haven’t heard it, you can listen to it here. This also may or may not be based on an adventure I had with my best friend.

Warnings: some swearing and mentions of drinking

By the way, for any of you who aren’t Canadian, American or Puerto Rican, Pet Smart is a pet supply store. I believe it is called Pet Supermarket in Europe.

Also, there is mention of drinking at the end. Drink responsibly kiddos and please don’t drink if you’re underage.

Last little announcement, I promise. I’m Canadian. I spell certain words with a ‘u’ (p.ex.: favourite). Please don’t get mad in my inbox if you spell it differently. 


“You are crazy! You can’t climb that, you’ll get us kicked out!” y/n said

“I am not crazy! Also, challenge accepted” Michael answered

“Michael I don’t care how hard you try, you are not Barney Stinson or Neil Patrick Harris.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I am! I am Barney Stinson IN THE FLESH y/n. And just because you said that I will climb this Pet Smart aisle and get us kicked out. And just to make matters worse for you I will do it all while singing Fergalicious by Fergie.”

“Okay firstly, you aren’t Barney Stinson, you can’t get laid for shit and you sure as hell can’t pull off a perfect week. Secondly, do I get to sing Fergalicious with you?”

“How dare you! I was gonna let you be my backup singer but then you said that. You only get to sing Fergalicious if you climb this shelf with me.”

“Oh fine. I will use my non-existent upper body strength to climb this shelf with you. But only because I want to sing Fergalicious.”

“Fergalicious is the best bait. We begin the climb on three, okay?”

“Okay.”

“One-.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“On three or after three?”

“On three! I just said that!”

“Fuck off.”

“Aww, I love you too.”

“Onetwothreego”

Y/n started climbing before she even hit two, leaving a pissed off Michael on the ground of the Pet Smart.Y/n began to sing Fergalicious right after the word ‘go’ was uttered, forcing Michael to be her backup singer rather than Fergie herself (bless her soul).

Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco. They want my treasure so they get their pleasure from my photo. You could see me, you can’t squeeze me. I ain’t easy, I ain’t sleazy.” y/n, who was already half way up the shelf, sung.

On the ground, Michael just rolled his eyes. Y/n got to the top of the shelf and threw down a dog bed to hit Michael in the face while yelling:

“Suck my dick, bitch”

“Rotostatic” He yelled back. It was their warning word.

The word they yelled to warn the other of nearby authority figures. They had used it since freshman year of high school. It was the name of the local carpet cleaner’s shop. His truck had passed them while they were climbing their school roof in the 9th grade. That word had helped them avoid expulsion so many times. That word was engraved on the inside of the gold heart shaped necklace Michael had gotten y/n the year they both turned 16. Many people would argue that engraving ‘rotostatic’ on a necklace ruins it but y/n loved it. The necklace is still being worn daily a year later.

As soon as the word left Michael’s mouth, y/n climbed down two shelves and jumped the remaining 4. Michael began pretending to look interested in the dog bed that had been thrown at him and y/n was doing the same, but with that bed’s competitor. 

Whenever this type of thing happened, they pretended to be a couple debating two competing products. They had done this with creams, ribbon, protein powders, eggs (that was their favourite story to tell. How they got away with smashing eggs on each other’s heads in public), condoms, tampons, and now dog beds. They both thought it was pretty amazing.  

An employee came to the aisle they were in and asked if everything was okay.

“Everything is perfect. The only problem is my wife and I seem to be disagreeing on which dog bed is better. What’s your opinion?” Michael answered. The employee let out a sigh and explained that the dog bed y/n was holding was of a better quality. 

They thanked her and she walked away. She mumbled to her co-worker:

“I think they got a disease or something.” Her co-worker nodded along. Neither of them tried to make it subtle.

“Disease huh? Last time I checked, I only had you and you only had me.” Michael whispered to y/n

“Fuck ‘em. Also since when did we agree to bump me up from girlfriend to wife?” y/n answered as they made their way out of the store, both of them subtly flipping off the employees and hoping they would notice.

“Why are you complaining?” he shot back. He wrapped his hand around her shoulders and they made their way to their ride.


“Hey, Mike you remember that one time we went to PetSmart?” 

“How could I forget? After all, we are banned now” He answered y/n’s question with a chuckle 

That was nearly a year ago. Nowadays, Michael and y/n rarely ever have time to have crazy adventures like that one, but when they do, you sure as hell can bet they’ll do the stupidest thing you can imagine. 

The only downside to that is that Michael is now famous, so everyone is on the lookout for his face. It makes doing borderline illegal things way more difficult.

“I miss that,” they both said at the same time. Once they realized what had happened, they were both laughing their asses off. They always thought they had some kind of telepathy and moments like those just confirmed their theory.

“Anyways, I got this tweet and it’s a link to the urban dictionary. Someone put our friendship on the site.” y/n said after they had both calmed down

“Damn that’s amazing! What does it say?” he answered

A friendship where some days you shine and some days you rust. Reminiscent of y/n y/l/n and Michael Clifford’s friendship” y/n read off of her phone 

“Is it just me or do I feel like they left out a meaning?” 

“See I asked the person who tweeted this out that and they said they ‘couldn’t find a word for our kind of insane’ I find that to be quite stupid, to be honest” 

“I agree.”

“With me or with the tweet”

“That’s up to you to figure out”

“Goddamit Michael”

“Aw I love you”

“I love you too you sick asshole. Wanna go do something borderline illegal?”

“Y/n you know I can’t do that. There’s gonna be paparazzi, we’ll get caught,” he said sympathetically 

“Fine. Wanna get drunk while listening to Green Day?” she sighed

“Sure. What song do we begin with?” he answered

“The usual,” she winked 


Part 2?

Masterlist

Roommate [Kim Seokjin]

1.4k words | Scenario | Fluff [☁]

Request:  “Hiii~~ I Wondered if you could make a jin scenario? Like when you guys live together (roomates) and he later confess to you his feelings, and he is like all shy and stuff^_^ Haha I hope this makes scense(=^_^=) Love what you have written so far!!! Keep up with the awesome work!!<3<3333″

A/N: This was my first ask and I was so determined to finish this today, and I have it drafted in my notes on my phone, but I just got off work so here I am again at 4am, lol. Before we get to this scenario I just wanted to say thank you for 100 followers, and thank you for almost 200 notes on my first post! It really makes these late hours worth it, so thank you all. I hope you enjoy this scenario, anon!

ALSO! I am using the Korean TV show, ‘Roommate,’ as a loose base for this scenario. Check it out if you haven’t yet. Enjoy~ ^^


It wasn’t very often that your group was asked to join the cast of a TV show. In fact, it had never even happened before, so when you were offered the chance three months ago to join the newest season of, ‘Roommate,’ you were floored. It took you ages to respond to your manager, as you and the rest of your group had sat wide-eyed, mouths agape for what seemed like hours before you happily accepted. You were never informed of any other members of the cast, but when you arrived and found out you’d be sharing a room with Lee Sung-Kyung of YG you were more than excited. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest when you realized one of the other major idols in the house was Kim Seokjin of BTS. At first you were skeptical, did you really belong on this show? Every one of the other cast members had much more popularity than you, and it made you feel so small that you were tempted to back out on the show in just the first week. It was Seokjin who changed your mind. He had found you one night in tears over it all, and to have him there to vent to was one of the most uplifting things you had happen to you recently, and it made you feel at home the first time that whole week. From then on you and Seokjin were the closest on the TV show, and everyone knew it. You guys would always end up in ridiculous yelling matches over just about everything, and they would usually end in fits of laughter. So much so that you two were actually considered the, ‘couple,’ of the show. And that’s where you are now…siting in your empty room with Kim Seokjin, arguing over which of you was better at telling jokes.

-rest under the cut-

Keep reading

AHS Imagine - The letter 

——

“Kit?”

Held in his hand was a letter he had written for you the moment he entered the facility. His thumb grazed the inked-stained paper, reading every word as if it were his last. His other hand became damp, and his heart fluttered as he began to contemplate if sending the letter was the best option. Once the impeding sound of Sister Jude’s nagging was heard he quickly stuffed the already crumped paper back into his pocket.

“Yes?” Unintentionally, his reply sounded uninterested.  He knew getting on Sister Jude’s bad side was damaging, but he simply didn’t burden the consequences. Sister Jude – acknowledging his lack of propriety, sighed and gave him a fabricated smile.

“Aren’t you gonna help out with the decorations?” Kit sighed,

“I would be honoured ma’am.” He said, flashing Sister Jude the same smile as he peeled himself off the tarnished wall, and walked into the crowd of panicked patients.

He was handed a box of ornaments, and sent off to decorate the stodgy tree that bent almost oppressively.

He couldn’t believe how someone managed to make the most joyful holiday into such a melancholic and simple festivity. His thoughts trailed back to the letter, bumping remotely into others unable to apologize for his anguishing trance. He missed you, more than he could handle.

– Flashback –

“Alright,” breathlessly, you popped open the large container that held all the Christmas decorations. You blew a strand of hair from your face before pulling out both a red and blue ornament.

“Red or blue theme this year?” Your question seemed to go through Kit’s ear and leave out of the other as his gaze only focused on your body.

“Kit!” Irritated, you threw a nearby sock at him, breaking him from his trance.

“Can’t a man stare at his pretty lady without getting socks thrown at him?!” Sighing, Kit flicked the sock from his shoulder and got up from his seat.

“I think we should do both this year, be a little wild” He said, pulling you close as he twirled you to the slow music that played.

“But it won’t be pretty! It has to have a theme!” You nagged. Kit danced calmly with you, ignoring your remark.

“Maybe the theme this year is messy? Thought about that?”

Teasing you was what he loved to do most; he loved how your cheeks turned crimson when provoked, and how your breath became short and sharp. Kit kissed the tip of your nose before twirling you out of his hold.

“Messy theme” Kit said, taking both a blue and red ornament and placed them on the tree.

“All right, messy theme” You mumbled, following what Kit was doing.

Kit took your hand in his once you placed the ornament on the tree. Carefully, he left a kiss on the back of your hand, a gesture you were familiar with. Kit was always one to show his affection by little things, such as kisses, or roses on your bed, or even cooked meals when you returned from your day out. He did everything he possibly could to put a smile on your face—and that’s exactly what he did.

“You’re my everything, baby doll…remember that” His hand cupped your cheek, delicately grazing it with his thumb.

“One day… I’m gonna put a ring on your finger, and show the world that you’re mine, the only thing that matters to me” Kit kissed your forehead,

“I love you so much baby girl”

“Lets make this our holiday, the marking of us…as a couple.” Kit quickly pecked your lips before running off to the kitchen. Within seconds, Kit came back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses held in one hand.

Kit popped open the bottle of champagne and poured the oozing champagne into the glasses.

“To us!” he chuckled, pecking your lips one last time,

“To you, the most beautiful, and caring person to have ever walked into my life”

“To me, the luckiest man in all the world, to have won the heart of someone as impeccable as yourself” Kit flashed you a smile before ending with a wink.

“I will make sure to keep you from harms way, and treat you like the queen you are.”

You would never forget the way Kit looked at you that day; his eyes looked deep into yours, and were large with infatuation. He was in love; the way he spoke of you was with pure affection.

“I will never leave you.”

– End of Flashback –

“Kit!”

Kit lifted his gaze from the box held tightly in his grasp.

“The tree!” Sister Jude demanded impatiently.

“Right” Kit whispered placing the box down and frigidly opened it.

The box held ornaments of every colour … messy almost. He picked up a blue ornament and thought back to your themed Christmas’ and organized personality. He wondered how the facility would be like if you were with him, possibly a little less gloomy – possibly a lot less gloomy.

“Hey sister Jude!” Kit called,

“We got any more red and blue ornaments?”

After decorating the tree for most of the day, it glowed vibrantly of red and blue. There were people who were confused about his choice of colours, but he simply ignored them as he continued to drown the tree with ornaments.

He found himself digging into his pocket and pulling out his letter. Revising it one more time, before quickly adding to the letter.

Do you remember that day, when we decided to make Christmas our day? The day we had a messy theme? I made a promise that I would never leave you… don’t take my absence as a breaking of my promise…take this letter as a reassurance that I will always be by your side, and that I will never leave you. Ever. I love you Y/N, and I miss you more than anything.

I will come back, but for now… let our day be reassurance that I will be with you always. Merry Christmas Y/N. See you soon.

Love, Kit.

——

REPOSTING THIS CUZ???? LATE XMAS IMAGINE I GUESS. TOMORROW I’LL POST ANOTHER IMAGINE CUZ IM IN WRITING MOOD. I’LL WRITE AT LEAST 3 TONIGHT SO I’LL HAVE SOME IN MY DRAFTS TO POST FOR YALL <3 

Family Life-16. A New Road

*Peeks worriedly from behind the theatre cutains*

Okay, I know I said I’d have this ready for February, and you see, I actually had something ready… the draft. Now, you know how old-fashioned I am… I always do my drafts by hand, and with everything going on I hadn’t had time to actually transcribe and publish, but here we are now.

As a peace offering, I’ll post two chapters today, hoping to make it better.

Now, I think this is long overdue already, so… I hope you enjoy!

PD: in this story Max is supposed to be around five and I have to apologize because I’ve never been around children, not even siblings or cousins, so I tried to drop some grammar mistakes and mispronunciation in his speech to make up for my ignorance, but if there is something that seems weird or if you want to point something out to me, please feel free to do so!

Also! This is some months before Rafael’s adoption, that’s why he’s not even mentioned here.


If someone had told Robert Lightwood that, one day, not very far in the future, he would be cradling a warlock child in his lap as he tickled the blue boy he would have rolled his eyes. If someone had warned Robert Lightwood that one day a little warlock would look up at him and claim “Gra'pa”, arms stretched out to be picked up and a smile big and trusting enough to make Robert smile back, he would have laughed. If someone had foreseen that Robert would love a downworlder child as if he were his own flesh and blood, he would have thought said someone was going crazy.

He should have known better.

Currently, he was sitting at the library of the Institute, a newspaper lazily sprawled on his legs while he kept an eye on Max, who was busying himself with building blocks, laughing gleefully once every couple of minutes.

He was supposed to keep an eye on Max for the day while Alec attended a meeting with the vampire clan of New Jersey and Magnus sorted out some things with a picky werewolf that had asked for his services. Looking over his reading material Robert couldn’t help the smile that climbed to his lips.

Noticing his grandfather’s heavy gaze, Max stopped his game and looked up, returning Robert’s smile.

Folding the newspaper to put it away, Robert gestured for Max to approach him. Without a second thought, Max walked over to the couch Robert was sitting on. Jumping on his chubby legs, Max struggled to climb the couch, crawling to Robert’s lap soon enough.

“What are you building, buddy?” Robert inquired, wrapping his arms around the small warlock.

“Castle,” Max smiled, nodding repeatedly.

“A big one, it seems,” the shadowhunter laughed, to what Max nodded some more.

For a long while, they remained in silence as Robert marveled at the simple domesticity of holding a child, of loving and being loved in return.

“Gra'pa, I ask something,” Max declared after a while, playing with the buttons of Robert’s shirt.

“Can I ask something?” Robert corrected gently.

“I ask something,” Max repeated, waiting for his grandfather to nod before continuing. “What’s the Circle?”

No sooner had the words left Max’s heart-shaped lips than the color was drained from the shadowhunter’s features. The smile that had adorned Robert’s lips until then froze and his fingers stiffened where they’d been playing with the warlock’s locks, He swallowed hardly.

“The… the Circle you said?” he questioned, forcing his voice to not falter. Max, oblivious to his inner turmoil nodded vigorously.

“Uncle Jace and Dad talked about the Circle,” he declared. “I asked uncle Jace what it as, but he said ‘Forget it!’” Max continued, mimicking out Jace’s expression with a furrowed brow and what he tried to make come out as a stern voice, although it sounded too high to be taken seriously. “But you always tell me 'Max, don’t listen Jace’, so I ask you now.”

“To Jace, Max, I always tell you not to listen to Jace,” Robert corrected numbly, his reply mechanic.

“To uncle Jace,” Max repeated dismissively, his eyes turned to his grandfather in expectation. “But what the Cir-Circle?”

“The… the Circle,” Robert echoed unceremoniously, feeling all over again as if the oxygen had been drained from his lungs, leaving only his dry throat behind. “Max, I don’t think I should―”

“Pwease?” the little warlock inquired, pouting slightly, just enough for Robert to feel bad if he denied an answer to him.

Then again, of course Robert had known that someday he would have to look at Max in the eye and tell him that, not far away in the past, Maryse and him had opposed to the relationship of his parents. More importantly, he had been aware all along that, one day, he’d have to hold Max’s hand and confess to him, with shame and regret and pain that he’d not always been the loving grandfather he knew, that only a few years aback he’d been backward and bigoted and a murderer.

Robert Lightwood knew very well that lying only made things more complicated than they had to be and that, if one lived surrounded by lies for long, the moment of the truth only became more painful. He knew there’d come a time in which he could have to come out clean to his young grandson―he had just hoped they’d have more time before Max stopped looking up at him with such trusting, beautiful eyes. He’d just prayed that they’d have more time before his grandson learned about the monster he was.

“I… I don’t think I should tell you, or at least not all of it,” Robert offered at last. “This is an… an adults’ thing, okay?” he continued, his breath hitching. On his side, Max pouted again and Robert could only smile with pain at what he would surely loose very soon. “You’ll learn more as you get older, but I can tell you a little today, is that alright?”

“Yes, yes!” Max clapped with excitement. Holding him to make sure he didn’t fall off the couch, Robert sighed, the shadow of memory darkening his eyes.

“Long ago,” he began. “There was a group of bad people, bad shadowhunters,” he corrected. “And they… they did bad things. They thought they were better than everyone else, that the world was meant to have a special place for them, because they were stronger than others.”

“Dad says Uncle Jace thinks he’s better than everyone,” Max interrupted with a scowl. “But uncle Jace isn’t bad.”

“No, Jace isn’t bad,” Robert smiled weakly, biting back his next remark―Jace had never killed innocents as a consequence of is boastful attitude. “But these shadowhunters were and they called themselves the Circle.”

»They didn’t like downworlders, like you or your papa, and they… they hunted them down.“

"Like Dad hunts down demons?” Max inquired in confusion.

“Yes, like that,” Robert nodded.

“But shadowhunters and downworlders are friends!” the boy replied. “Like Aunt Lily and Dad and Aunt Cat and Papa!”

“They are now, but these shadowhunters didn’t like downworlders, they thought they were bad, because they were different,” Robert tried to explain, making a fuss with his hands to illustrate. “Remember that woman in the park who said your parents shouldn’t be together because they’re both boys?” he offered, waiting for Max to nod before he continued. “The Circle was like that―they didn’t like what was different. They feared it.”

“That lady was mean.”

“Well, the Circle was mean too, worse than that woman,” Robert sighed, feeling his chest contract at the way Max’s brow furrowed, deep in thought, as if he couldn’t conceive a world in which that was possible, a world in which the malicious remark of an old woman wasn’t the worse there was to hear, a world in which shadowhunters thought of themselves so highly that they forgot the humanity of the downworlders.

“Dad says different is good, it makes us spe-special,” the little warlock declared at last.

“And your dad is right,” Robert replied gently, marveling once again at the fact that people full of prejudices and painful ideas as Maryse and him had managed to raise someone as loving and forging as Alexander.

“Differences are good. Like, like wawlocks, they have magic and they heal shadowhunters, like Dad and Papa, and welwolves help keep mundanes away from the vam-vampire nests during day, like Aunt Lily and Aunt Maia and that way we all happy, because we help each other!”

“Indeed,” the shadowhunter nodded. “But the Circle thought we’d be happier if there were only shadowhunters, with no vampires or werewolves or… or warlocks.”

Silently, Robert watched Max bite his lip in concentration, as if he had to stop and make an effort to consider what his grandfather was saying.

“That’s mean,” Max decided at last, his voice so sad that Robert had to stop himself from leaning down to pull the boy closer to him. “Downwolders aren’t bad.”

“No, they aren’t,” Robert all but whispered, letting his finger ghost over the warlock’s cheeks. “But they thought they were.”

After that came silence―dense, unnatural, something that shouldn’t have been there. An infant Max’s age shouldn’t be trying to imagine a time of history in which half of his family tried to annihilate the other half of it. Oh, and how badly, terribly, longingly did Robert wish he wouldn’t be forced to do it.

Now that he was older and ―at least he wanted to believe he was― a little wiser, Robert recognized the importance of honesty.

He wanted nothing more than to take Max into his arms and shield his ears from the truth, he yearned to pretend that the horrors of what Valentine had done ―with his and Maryse’s help― were nothing but an invented stories to scare naughty children, like the bogeyman Simon and Clary joked about.

On the other hand, Robert also knew that it’d hurt his little boy much more to learn about the dark past of his family later, and it’d be even worse of he learned so by someone else, say a malicious shadowhunter or a misfortunate comment.

If after coming clean his grandchild decided that he wasn’t trustworthy, that he was scared of him, then at least Robert would have the bittersweet comfort of the memories of Max’s carefree laugh.

“I… Maxie, there’s something else I want to tell you,” he began, short from a whisper. “But I need you to be brave for me, okay? Can you do that?”

“Like Dad when he goes dem-demon hunting?” he asked curiously.

“Like your dad when he goes demon hunting,” Robert conceded. “Though, for the record, your dad is always brave, demons or not,” he added in a second thought, recalling the countless times in which, during a meeting someone as close-minded as he’d been made a sarcastic remark about Alec’s relationship with Magnus or about the warlock child they were raising together.

Alec always remained quiet when that happened, perhaps too used to being treated in such a way, perhaps recognizing that there was no use in explaining the validity of his feelings for Magnus and of their relationship to someone thick as a bucket of shit.

Robert couldn’t do that. He felt his blood boil every single time one of those bigoted Clave members decided they could have a saying in the way his family lived. Sometimes, Alec himself had told him to let it go, to calm down when Robert was a little too close to punching someone. Whenever Alec reassured him that it was fine, that the best one could do was ignore those jerks Robert didn’t fail to notice how resigned his son sounded. And every single time he realized the pain behind Alec’s statement Robert’s breath halted in his lips.

The fact that barely six years in the past he would have sided with those assholes instead of with his son didn’t make it any better.

“Max,” Robert continued after a long pause, taking a deep breath. “I… the Circle started around twenty years, you know?”

“That’s a looot,” the young warlock decided, forcing a smile on Robert’s lips at his exaggerated pronunciation.

“It is,” he agreed. “Over time, when the other shadowhunters realized the Circle was bad they fought against it and they won,” he added gravely. “But, a few years ago, the Circle came back. There was a huge fight, and once again, the good shadowhunters won over the Circle, with the help of warlocks like your Papa and Catarina and vampires and werewolves.”

“Like Aunt Lily and Aunt Maia!” Max clapped cheerily. “That’s good! It means no more bad shadowhunters!”

If only it were that simple, my boy, if only, Robert thought wistfully.

“Yes, it was very good,” he said instead, not wanting to say anything about Max’s last statement, not when Alec and Magnus were still forced to listen to Thomas Hightower’s bigoted comments, not when they were equally attacked when they were around mundanes.

No, Robert didn’t want to admit that there were still a good number of bad shadowhunters, mundanes and downworlders, not when Magnus and Alec had done such a wonderful job shielding their son from it that Max still had the naïveté of ignoring their existence.

There was, however, one thing that Robert had to say.

“Max, when… when the Circle first started I… I was part of it.”

Gasping, Max recoiled in Robert’s lap, albeit the fact that she didn’t try to scoot very further away from him, his eyes denouncing more surprise than they did horror.

“But… but they were bad!” Max whispered in a shaky voice, his eyes glassy. Oh, Robert thought, how beautiful it was that the worst word Max knew was bad, how marvelous that his young mind was still too innocent to understand how atrocious the Circle had really been.

“They were,” Robert recognized, feeling the weight of his words as they rolled off his tongue. “They were worse than bad, and anyone that thinks like the Circle did can’t be a good person. But I… I was stupid and I thought they were… that they were right. How stupid I was! I… I know it’s no excuse for what I did, Max, but I’m very sorry, more than you can imagine.”

“Stupid is a bad word,” Max complained softly.

“It is,” the shadowhunter nodded as a bitter voice echoed in his mind that a bad word was fitting for a bad person.

He was brought back from his musings when Max’s small hands reached up to cup his cheeks, a feather-like caress.

“You look sad,” Max said, a worried tone taking the place of the scared one from before. “Is it because you helped those bad people?”

“It is, Blueberry,” Robert sighed, forcing a weak smile for the sake of his grandchild. “I feel terrible that I hurt downworlders.”

“Papa says that sometimes good people make mistakes and that those mistakes can be bad, but they don’t make good people bad people,” the little warlock explained. “You’re not bad, gra'pa.”

“Oh, Max…” Robert let out, finally leaning down to pull his boy closer to his chest, and if he shut his eyes tight enough to hold back the moisture that had gathered at the bottom of his eyes, then it was a good thing that Max didn’t notice him doing so. “Your Papa is a very wise man, Max, never forget that,” he said after some silent seconds, clearing his throat as he slowly pulled back.

“And he has magic!” Max declared, making a tiny fuss with his small hands.

“He does, just like you,” the shadowhunter said, stroking Max’s right cheek fondly. “And, Max, remember, if you turn out to be anything like your parents I will be endlessly proud of you,” he concluded, genuinely smiling at the innocent curiosity in his grandson’s eyes.

―*―*―

By the time Robert heard a knock on his door Max had already fallen sleep in his arms, head supported in the crook of the shadowhunter’s elbow, surrendered to a blind trust that Robert couldn’t fully explain after what he had just told him. A trust that, in all honesty, Robert was convinced he didn’t deserve.

Careful not to disturb the small warlock, Robert rose from the couch and, ever so gently, placed Max back on it, considering it just a second before he took off his jacket and covered Max with it. He couldn’t help a lopsided smile as Max nuzzled into the fabric of the cloth.

Surprised that the person at his door hadn’t knocked a second time, Robert hurried to open it, revealing no other than Magnus Bane on the other side.

“Magnus,” he greeted, stepping out of the doorway to allow the warlock to enter.

Magnus, ever so eccentric, had arranged his hair so it was falling in blue-glittered locks to the left side of his face, matching eyeliner surrounding his un-glamoured orbs. He wore a purple shirt with a deep v neck, not seeming to mind the cold weather. Hanging from his neck the warlock wore at least three different necklaces, each one a little shorter than the one before so they could each be appreciated separately. There were four rings around his fingers, among them, the Lightwood one Alec had given him after Max’s adoption.

In another time, Robert would have stared back at Magnus in contempt. In another time he wouldn’t have opened his door to a downworlder, especially not one dressed like that. Oh, but in that other time he wouldn’t have had a young warlock sleeping on his couch, tucked with his very own jacket.

“Robert,” Magnus echoed, a business-like undertone to his voice, just like every time the two of them spoke.

Over the years they had found a way to coexist and be civil around one another, if nothing else. Perhaps they weren’t close, perhaps they weren’t as trusting as they should have been, but they were civil, polite, and Magnus trusted Robert enough to watch over his child and not poison his mind, something that Robert sometimes doubted he even deserved, no matter how grateful he was that he’d been allowed to stay close to his family after all the damage he’d inflicted upon it.

It wasn’t that he thought higher of himself than he did of Magnus or any other downworlder, for that matter. That was the point of it all―he’d learned from his previous mistakes and now he knew better.

It wasn’t that Magnus actively avoided him either, or that he adopted a threatening demeanor whenever he was around his in-laws. Far from it, Magnus better than anyone, perhaps, understood the importance of family and he wanted to teach that to his child.

Life was both too short and too long to hold grudges.

No, it wasn’t that either of them held a disdainful attitude towards the other, it was merely that they had yet to find a way to become close, and while they both had come to an agreement in favor Max having a safe environment and a united family instead of a gathering that ended up with broken cutlery and slamming doors, they’d only come to a peace accord because of the little warlock.

Perhaps that was their mistake―perhaps it was time they forgave each other for the sake of themselves. Perhaps it was time they started building a road for them to follow, one in which they all fitted, not only the new generation.

“Can I… can I have a word with you?” Robert inquired, unable to hold back a grimace when Magnus’ laidback expression became more guarded.

“Did something happen?” Magnus asked back, a small scowl making its way to his forehead. Robert held back a bitter laugh, noting how, at the prospect of merely speaking with him Magnus immediately assumed something had gone wrong.

Oh, but he wasn’t mistaken, was he? Something had happened, or had it not?

“It did, actually, but not… not the something you might be thinking of,” Robert sighed, deciding to say it with no circumlocution when Magnus raised an eyebrow at him. “Max asked me about the Circle today.”

“He did what?” the warlock asked, choking on his breath.

“He heard Alec and Jace speaking about it and, you know how children are, he asked me and…”

“I assume you told him off and―”

“I told him the truth,” Robert interrupted, suddenly raising his gaze from the floor to look straight into Magnus’ eyes.

“Pardon me?”

“It's… he had the right to know, Magnus, I couldn’t lie to him,” the shadowhunter tried to explain with a shaky voice.

“Where’s Max?” Magnus inquired, raising his hands to push Robert out of the way, his calculating eyes searching for his son, a glimmer of something that was almost madness in his gaze.

“He’s fine,” Robert assured, catching Magnus by the arm before the warlock had time to get past him and storm into the library. “He’s so… forgiving, so innocent. I… I didn’t mention Maryse… that’s her secret to tell, and I didn’t tell him about the war, not much anyways, I didn’t mention Sebastian, but he… he knows there were bad shadowhunters hurting downworlders and I think that’s enough of a summary.”

“You… you told him that?”

“I did,” Robert managed, his eyes trained on Magnus.

“Why?” the warlock inquired, a confused tone making its way to his voice, his expression still defensive.

“Because hiding the truth won’t result in anything good,” the Lightwood answered gravely. “And because I don’t want him to grow up thinking I’m a better person than I really am.”

“You… you didn’t have to do that,” Magnus let out, eyes still scanning his interlocutor.

“I did, Magnus. I did,” Robert replied gently. “And I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I am infinitely sorry for all I did,” he continued, feeling the formality of his words slip away as his speech came out more rapidly. “I’m sorry I ever believed what Valentine said, I’m sorry for the way I treated Alec and, most of all, I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

For a moment, Magnus didn’t say anything, too wrapped up in staring back at Robert, disbelief clear in his made-up features. At last, he raised his right arm to awkwardly pat the shadowhunter’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he all but whispered.

“No, it isn’t,” Robert insisted, making a fuss with his hands to punctuate his words. “I could have killed you or Catarina. Had Max been born twenty years ago I could have killed him, Magnus, and I wouldn’t have regretted it.”

“It was war, Robert. For all that matters I could have killed you too.”

“It’s not the same,” the shadowhunter replied. “I enjoyed killing. I genuinely believed that, once the world was cleaned of these… these soiled creatures it would be better… purer, that I… that I would be seen as a hero,” he continued remorsefully. “I was so stupid. Oh, Angel, I… how many did I kill? How many did we kill? We showed no mercy for children or whatsoever, we murdered and we gloated of doing it.”

“I have blood on my hands too, Robert,” the warlock responded quietly.

“It’s not the same, for the Angel’s sake!” he said, almost shouting, a part of him still conscious of the small warlock sleeping soundly in the next room. “Downworlders were defending themselves, protecting each other. The shadowhunters of the Circle were just being assholes.”

Magnus cat-like pupils widened minutely, his hand still awkwardly placed on Robert’s shoulder, his breath caught up in his throat at the shadowhunter’s sudden confession.

“It was war, Robert,” he repeated, voice tired, resigned. “It’s over now, thank the gods. Besides, we had agreed to leave this behind us for Max’s sake.”

“Indeed we had,” Robert nodded, taking a deep breath, as if the oxygen he’d just inhaled could consume the regret that burned in his chest. “But I never apologized to you, Magnus. I never told you that, if I could, I’d give back all the lives I ended prematurely, at the cost of my own, if it were necessary.”

“You have now,” Magnus reassured after a moment of silence, still taken aback by Robert’s rush of sincerity. “That’s enough.”

Suddenly, and out of the same place that this sudden need of honesty had come from, Robert took grip of Magnus’ hand on his shoulder and pulled the warlock forward to embrace him tightly, as if he needed the touch to keep himself together, to anchor his rushing mind.

“I’m proud of Alexander,” Robert said in something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “And I’m proud of you, Magnus. You’ve done so much with so little that it makes me wonder… it makes me wonder where you’d be if it weren’t for jerks like me that stood in your way.”

Letting out a breath of air that he wasn’t even conscious of holding, Magnus relaxed into the touch, flabbergasted-ly raising his own arm to circle Robert’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” was all he managed, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Robert.”

A long time passed before Robert stepped back, clearing his throat as if he had suddenly remembered that such a way wasn’t one in which the Inquisitor was allowed to act. Magnus let him do, not wanting to be the first one to break the improvised embrace, perhaps fearing that, if he did, he’d break whatever spell that was making Robert so… open. And perhaps, because, he, too, was tired of that semi-civil attitude he felt whenever he was around Alexander’s father and wanted something… more.

“Thank you,” Robert echoed with an awkward smile, clearing his throat once again. “Now, Max is in the library. I think I have held you up enough.”

“Not to worry,” Magnus brushed off carelessly. “It was… good that you did.”

Robert made a face, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not if Magnus was being sarcastic, but in the end he decided to let it go and not make a comment, turning towards the living room instead.

“Robert,” Magnus stopped him, his right hand firmly wrapped around Robert’s wrist, to which the shadowhunter turned over his shoulder. “We’re free next Saturday, why don’t you come over? Just the four of us?”

“I would like that,” Robert smiled tentatively.

“Good. So would we,” the warlock added sincerely.

He wanted Max to have the stable he had lacked of as a child, that was all Magnus had been certain of from the beginning, and he was willing to make whatever sacrifice it took to ensure that. On the other hand, Magnus also knew how devastating losing one’s parents support was and he didn’t want that, let alone for Max, but for Alexander.

Sure enough, Robert Lightwood hadn’t been the best of people, not to him, at least, but Magnus knew how important his parents ―his whole family― were to Alexander.

More importantly, Robert ―and Maryse too, in her own way― was trying to make amends, to fix his previous mistakes. The gods knew there’d been a time in which Magnus would have sacrificed anything just for the chance to change the way in which things between his stepfather and him had ended, and if he could do anything to spare Alexander even the smallest of rejections or aches by forgiving Robert and Maryse Lightwood… well, his pride wasn’t bigger than his love for Alexander.

It was a chance―a new road that both downworlders and shadowhunters were building, side by side. It was an opportunity―to forgive, to let go, to accept and to start again.

And Magnus Bane was eager to take it, for it was, too, a chance to finally be happy and find a place where he belonged.


Right, so… this is definitely one of my favorite chapters. It’s sweet, there was character development (I’m telling you, ever since I started this story Robert has insisted in appearing! I just hope you’re liking the result!) and it has Hurt/Comfort.

To make up for Rafael’s absence the next chapter will be dedicated exclusively to him! Please stay with me for more Lightwood-Bane Family fluff and read you soon!