Okay but imagine socially awkward and closed off Alexander Gideon Lightwood is actually amazing with kids:
Babies love Alec. One day Izzy rushes in with an infant that is .1 seconds from exploding and just throws the baby into Alec’s arms while Clary, Simon, and Magnus look on in confusion. But Jace just laughs and goes “Do your thing baby whisperer” and Alec just smiles down gently runs a soft finger down the babies cheeks all the while making a little humming noise and the child just immediately goes silent. Magnus possibly dies on spot.
But it doesn’t really stop there because all kids just seem to love him. They find Madzie and take her away from Iris and the entire time she clings to Alec. Who is more than content to prop her on his shoulder or on his lap. Basically he walks with her propped on his hip as he quietly shows her the institution.
Luke hear’s about these abilities and he brings Alec around to deal with some of the pups in his pack who go a bit stir crazy around the time of the moon. The pup’s demand that Alec become an official member of the pack, the Nephilim can’t have him.
And the Lightwoods first realized this with Izzy. She was a difficult baby especially when it came to sleeping and nothing seemed to put her to sleep. That is until three year old Alec crawled out of bed one night and gently reached towards his little sisters hand her whimpers stilling.
Max’s first word was Alec. Honestly Maryse and Robert couldn’t even be mad because really what did they expect.
whatever you do don’t think about even coming up behind isak just to wrap his arms around isak’s waist and stuff his hands into the pockets of isak’s green jacket. he pretends that he’s freezing, but this fucker wears like 10 layers at a time, he’s perfectly fine. but isak had been stubborn enough to get out of bed in spite of a cold, and had even just seen a slight shiver? whatever it was, he’s not going to risk his boyfriend getting sicker. so he whispers “halla baby” and nuzzles isak’s ear, and it totally interrupts isak’s train of thought as he’s explaining spideypool to magnus (even had converted him okay he totally gave isak a talk about iconic pansexual fictional characters). isak’s face turns as red as a tomato, and by this point his friends are howling with laughter, and although isak protests, he totally cuddles even back.
I commissioned the most wonderful @xla-hainex to do a portrait of Anma from my novel, and look at how perfect it is! If you can commission her, I definitely recommend it! I’ll just be weeping over here about how gorgeous this is.
Summary: Rhys leaves Azriel and Mor alone, returning to the Night Court. Both of them find themselves torn from sleep by ragged nightmares as their pasts return to haunt them. Together, they work through some of the horrors in their past and find themselves drawn closer together as a result.
‘“Morrigan, Morrigan,” she looks at him without really seeing him. “It’s not real,” he whispers softly, knowing that those words are thin and empty as what she witnessed in that dream had been real. But not now, not anymore, he found her, brought her here, saved her. “I’m here,” he breathes quietly, wondering if that can possibly calm her, “I’m here with you, Morrigan. I’m here, it’s all right now.”’
Familiar silence once again folds Azriel into its waiting
arms. The cabin around him is quiet. Rhys left a few hours before, taking the
healer with him; Mor, thankfully, still sleeps soundly in the other room.
No-one has intruded upon their peace since Rhys left. Azriel hasn’t budged from
the chair he obstinately settled himself in after his talk with Rhys. He had promised
her that he would stay close; that he wouldn’t leave her, and he has no
intention of breaking that promise.
The domestic magic of the cabin urges him to look after
himself, offering food and drink in abundance and providing pillows and
blankets. He ignores it all. But even his iron cast will isn’t enough to stop
him from dozing. Using his power to jump between the Night Court and Autumn,
his frantic, terrified searching in the snow and then the hundreds of miles he
flew at breakneck speed to get Mor to safety all without pausing or resting
have taken their toll on him. His eyes are heavy and, in spite of himself, he eventually
sinks into sleep, reluctant but irresistible, like drowning in thick quicksand.
His dreams are twisted and dark. The faces of his brothers,
horribly contorted, spring up all around him, pressing in, getting closer and
closer and closer all the time, the way the walls in his cell had done when he
had been a child. Blackness, deep and complete, obscures his vision as they swarm
over him, blotting out the world once more.
Flame blazes, a
horrifying light in the darkness that he wishes to extinguish. His relief that
his brothers do not once more turn that wild, roaring hunger upon him again is
short-lived. A moment later he notices Morrigan curled, helpless, on the floor
of his cell. Her body is covered in blood and bruises as it had been when he
had found her only hours before in the Autumn Court. His brothers are advancing
on her. Azriel cries out in panicked desperation, fighting to get to her, but
his wings are pinned once more, staked to the wall behind him and he is as
helpless as he was all those years ago. His brothers reach her, pulling her up
from the floor and bearing down upon her with the sick smiles he came to know
so well. Her eyes go wide and she stares at him, pleading, terrified, as their
hands leave more marks upon her delicate skin, they douse her in the same oil
that had once covered his hands, the scent making him convulse and strain,
trashing to get to her, to stop them but then they-
Her scream pierces his soul and tears him from the
Azriel jerks awake,
covered in sweat and panting. The echo of that cry is piercing and so full of
terror it cuts straight through his ribs, jarring his bones, and strikes
directly at his heart. It takes him several pounding heartbeats to realise that
it does not exist only in his dreams.
Azriel is on his feet
in seconds, diving for the door of Mor’s bedroom. The cabin was impossible to
find, impossible to enter, how could they have gotten to her? How could he have
Drawing the sword in a single fluid motion from where it’s
sheathed at his spine Azriel bursts through the door to her room, sinking into
a stance ready to attack in order to defend on instinct. He quickly realises
however that the room is empty but for the two of them.
Sheathing his sword Az berates himself for not having seen
this coming. Of course she would have nightmares following what she’d been
through. Shaking off the memories of his own he crosses the room to her, swift
and silent and kneels down beside her.
She’s thrashing so wildly on the bed, clearly petrified,
that she’s tangled herself badly in the sheets which have wrapped around her
body and pinned her like twisting ropes. This restraint only terrifies her
further, no doubt reminding her of her ordeal and she fights even harder to
escape, her eyes wide and horrified as they had been in his dreams.
Afraid that she’s going to hurt herself Azriel
catches her wrists gently but firmly in his hands, stopping her struggling so
wildly, making her notice his presence. “Morrigan, Morrigan,” she looks at him without really seeing him. “It’s not
real,” he whispers softly, knowing that those words are thin and empty as what
she witnessed in that dream had been
real. But not now, not anymore, he found her, brought her here, saved her. “I’m
here,” he breathes quietly, wondering if that can possibly calm her, “I’m here
with you, Morrigan. I’m here, it’s all right now.”
He murmurs softly to her, repeating her name and soft, vague
comforts until her great, brown eyes manage to focus on him. The moment he sees
her take him in and understand her situation he releases her wrists, severing
the contact between them. Shifting in a little closer Az works to quickly and
deftly untangle her. The entire time he works on her she sits unnaturally still
save for her uncontrollable, violent trembling.
As soon as he frees
her, dropping the blankets to the floor to reinforce that, her whole body
becomes boneless and she folds in on herself, sobbing, knees drawn up to her
chest, slender body shaking with the force of her convulsions.
Mr. Graves always comes home late; when he does, he steps into their bedroom smelling like blood and alcohol. Credence doesn’t mind.
He watches intently as Graves removes his clothes.
He doesn’t protest when the older man pushes his legs open and positions between them - whispering, ‘Baby doll’ with a reverence reserved to deities only.