“That’s weird,” Black Pete states matter-of-factly. It makes Stede wince. He thought so, but somehow, deep down in the scared part of his heart, he had hoped it would not be confirmed by someone who is much more versed in these kinds of matters.
“No it isn’t,” Lucius interjects. “Not wanting sex is absolutely valid, Captain.”
Stede makes a face. “Do you really think so?”
Lucius tilts his head to the side and nods a few times, a staccato of movements. Stede isn’t sure if he should believe him. The scribe has his eyes closed, and Stede – while often enough struggling with keeping eye-contact himself – would have felt better if he didn’t.
“It’s just as valid as desiring a person of any gender. It’s fine,” Lucius emphasises.
Stede knits his brow together. “But I do desire Ed. Just… not like that.”
Lucius puts a hand on his captain’s knee and squeezes. “The heart wants what the heart wants,” he speaks as if it were a big philosophical declaration. Maybe it is.
“Not wanting to bugger someone is weird,” Pete insists.
“Ah, shut up,” Lucius says. Pete looks disgruntled. “I’ll explain later,” Lucius adds a little softer.
“Could you explain it now? I want to understand,” Stede all but pleads.
Lucius sighs and brushes his hands over the fabric of his trousers. “I once was in love with a beautiful boy. He was perfect, inside out. He loved kissing and holding hands. We walked through the forest and along the beach, stealing smiles and glances. It was perfect. But then, he told me he wasn’t comfortable lying with me. I thought it was because he was worried to be caught. I gently pressured him, tried to ease him into it. At least that’s what I thought I was doing. But I harmed him, and for that I’m deeply sorry.”
Stede looks at Lucius with wide, damp eyes. “You…”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Lucius rushes to say. “None of that. I did things I thought would make him feel good, but I stopped as soon as he told me to. We were together for some time longer without me touching him ever again.”
Stede breathes a sigh of relief. “Puh. That’s good.” His eyes grow even more sad right after. “But you parted ways,” he states.
Lucius takes Stede’s hand and holds it gently. “Yes. But I’m sure he found someone who fit better with him and made him really happy.”
Stede nods. “But I don’t want someone else to fit better with my Ed.”
Lucius presses his lips together in a sympathetic display.
“I know, Stede. But who says that anything needs to change between you two? You love each other.”
“Oh, I think he should be scared. Blackbeard is known to chase all the skirts and all the breeches. He can have anyone,” Pete blurts out.
Lucius sets his jaw. “Not helping,” he hush-grinds.
“But he’s right, isn’t he? A man like Ed can snap his fingers, and someone will follow him gladly to his chamber,” Stede says and presses his face into his hands. He tries his best to keep himself from hyperventilating. He can’t imagine a world without Edward’s love. It would be void and colourless. What is a little discomfort in bed against being held by the love of your life through every night?
“He may well be able to, but who says he wants that? A relationship is more than sex, right darling?” Lucius addresses Pete. The man blushes and nods.
“I would still be with you if you didn’t… you know,” he whispers.
Lucius touches his arm and smiles at him gently. “I know, sweetheart.”
Stede smiles at the couple, still sorrowful, though. His Edward shouldn’t be forced to settle on the little he has to offer.
“I suppose I should tell him sooner rather than later, huh?” he asks, hoping for someone to let him off the hook.
“I really think you should,” Lucius says softly. Pete nods in agreement. Stede just sighs. He knows they’re right. But the fear has a tight grip around his racing heart, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to keep his mood hidden from Edward. Not for long, at least.
He swallows through the tightness in his throat and gets up.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he says before he disappears through the door.
***
Stede stops still in the vestibule leading to their chambers.
Their.
Not for very much longer, he fears. Izzy’s voice coming from inside doesn’t help in the slightest, but if he keeps on waiting out here, he might collapse from a lack of oxygen as his breathing grows more and more shallow. This just won’t do!
He pushes the door open and walks past the two men and straight into the en-suite. It’s time to get ready for bed, and he has this whole thing rather happening freshly washed and in the softests of clothes. He takes his time, even shaves. It’s a futile act in a hopeless endeavour. He knows that. But at least he can pretend it’s going to be alright for a few more minutes.
“What’s taking you so long?” Edward calls through the door.
“I’m with you in a sec, darling,” Stede chirps. He hopes his wavering voice carries enough not to raise suspicions.
He pushes the bathroom door ajar and glances out. Edward is already in the red dressing gown, his leather clothes lying over the backrest of the chaise longue. Stede’s heart that had settled slightly speeds up once more. Edward is so beautiful, his lean muscles looking soft with the flow of the fabric. Sadly, that he’s not wearing anything underneath isn’t really helping the situiation.
Stede watches him for a moment, soaks in every detail and files them to memory. His heart is aching, and his eyes fill with tears even before Edward realises his presence.
“You alright, mate?” he asks. Stede quirks a feeble smile, which makes Edward’s worried frown only grow deeper. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks. The sound of Edward’s tender voice – the one only Stede ever has the honour to hear – aches in his chest. He wants to play it down, but he’s not a coward. Not anymore.
Stede takes his beloved’s hand and tugs him down on the chaise longue. Edward sinks next to him into the cushion, his body facing his beloved swaying to and fro as if he wasn’t sure how close would be too close for Stede’s liking. It makes Stede’s heart ache.
“You must know, Ed, the time I spent with you was the happiest of my life,” he starts. His eyes settle on Edward’s chest that barely moves. Stede never wanted to hurt him again. But he will, won’t he?
“You… are the most attractive man I’ve ever set my eyes on, Ed. The only person that ever made me feel seen,” he continues. He has more words for him, but Edward knocks the breath out of his lungs with a searing kiss and every coherent thought right with it.
Stede gives into it without resistance. It’s likely their last, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make the most of it.
But… Edward seems to have way more in mind than this spectacular slide of lips and tongues. Stede finds himself pressed into the pillows, breathless, mind grasping for words, but none of them ends up in Stede’s mouth. Too wonderful are Edward’s lips on his neck, too strong his hands gripping his hips. It would be glorious, if… Yes, if.
“S-s-stop, Ed, we need to talk,” Stede huffs.
“Words would only destroy the mood. Don’t you agree, sweetheart? Let me make you feel good. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” Edward says and seals Stede’s lips with another kiss.
That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? He managed to do it twice with Mary. It can’t be that bad with the man he loves, right? The kisses feel nice, so he nods. Yes. He wants to try this. Maybe he could even enjoy it.
‘Breathe,’ Stede reminds himself when Edward’s lips and hands travel lower and lower with clear intent.
“I love you,” he breathes, more to remind himself than to confess his feelings. Edward tilts his head up, a bright smile adorning his face. Stede could look at him for all eternity.
“I love you, too. Relax. You’re all tensed up,” Edward says and runs his hands up and down Stedes sides. “I’ve got you.”
Stede chuckles nervously and nods. He lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. Edward shoves his nightgown up and dives right in. Stede’s body surrenders to warm hands, even hotter lips, and other body parts Stede doesn’t want to think too much about. This is worse than wir Mary. With her, he at least had the prospect of offspring. This here is… is… He doesn’t find words for it. He hates it. Everything about it. He wants to scream, wants Edward to stop. But if he does, everything will be lost. Stede wouldn’t survive this.
He thinks of Mary writhing under Doug, the joy and pleasure he could see on her face. This is nothing like it.
He’s broken. Beyond repair. He can’t do anything right. He’s such a disappointment. He’s truly a lighthouse, just that Edward is ignoring all the warning signs.
Edward moans and shudders between his legs. Stede throws his arm over his eyes. Not that it would help anything with the noises that Edward makes. But they are easier to handle without having to look at the man swallowing him down.
The whole chaise, much too small for this endeavour anyway, shakes under Edward’s sudden eruption.
‘Thank god, this is over,’ Stede thinks. He didn’t know that someone could be so aroused from this to orgasm.
“What?” Edward’s voice, still breathless and a little slurred, cuts through the space between them.
Fuck! He said that out loud, didn’t he?
“No-nothing, love.This was nice,” Stede says, but he sounds like a bad liar to his own ears.
Edward’s eyes burn into him, setting his skin aflame, but not in a good way. Stede’s cheeks catch fire, too, and he pushes his nightgown to his knees as Edward sits up, body on display as the dressing gown falls to the side, framing his spent cock.
Stede consciously ignores the wet patch on his chaise longue and the cum drying on his leg. He’ll have to ask one of the crew to wash the furniture. The mere thought to touch it makes him sick. But even worse than that thought is Edward’s sad face in front of him, all deep lines, heavy eyes, and furrowed brows.
“I thought you liked it,” he says, and Stede has never heard him sound so small.
You’ve even managed to bring history’s greatest pirate to ruin.
Yes. He truly defiles beautiful things.
“I’m so sorry,” they say at the same time.
“What are you sorry about?” Edward asks and brushes tears gently off Stede’s face. When did he start shedding them?
“I hid something from you,” Stede snivels.
“What is it?” Stede shakes his head. He can’t say it. “Come on, mate. Tell me. I hate seeing you like this.”
“Could you…?” Stede asks, gesturing to Edward’s clothings. He looks downs at himself and nods before he wraps the fabric around his body. Stede relaxes instantly. It’s only a thin barrier, but it’s enough to put him at ease. At least, a little.
“I’m broken, I’m afraid,” he presses out, brushing the sleeve of his nightgown over his face.
“Then we’ll fix you,” Edward says.
Stede snorts a laugh. “This was the last trial to fix me, Ed. If not even you can break the spell…”
“You don’t like a nice roll in the hay?” Edward asks softly.
Stede shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. It makes me physically sick.”
Edward deflates visibly. “Why didn’t you say something, man? Now I feel awful.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that!” Edward growls.
Stede stares at him for a long moment, watches Ed burying his face in his hands.
“You can have the bed, I’m sleeping here, if you don’t mind me staying,” Stede presses out, suddenly dead tired. His heart collects in a pile of tiny shards in the pit of his stomach. There’s no answer for a long time. Stede runs his fingers over the woven fabric of the chaise longue and follows the movement with his eyes. He can’t look at Edward, or the rest of him will shatter into pieces, too.
“You stupid…” Edward suddenly growls but stops himself. “Come. I wanna hold you,” he says softer. “I need to feel you.”
Stede looks up at that. “You don’t have to, Ed. It’s okay. I won’t do anything stupid. I promise.”
Edward breathes a long-suffering sigh. “Of course, you won’t. That’s why you get into bed and cuddle with your…”
“Ex?” Stede helps out.
“Extremely attractive gallant,” Edward says as if that was what Stede meant. “I’m not going anywhere, Stede. Buggery or not.”
“But you…”
Edward shrugs. “I wanna be with ya. The rest… Pff. I don’t care. I’ve got two healthy hands, haven’t I?”
“Maybe I could…” Stede trails off.
“Maybe. But not without talking it through… as a duo.”
Stede chuckles, and it conjures a smile on Edward’s face. He cups Stede’s face and runs his fingers over his cheeks.
“Promise me to never do anything that you don’t enjoy or that you don’t want to feel,” he says.
“But, Ed—”
He shushes him. “Never!”
Stede swallows. “Never,” he whispers.
“Good.” Edward smiles. “I just fetch a damp cloth, and then we snuggle, hm?”
Stede nods. He watches Edward taking care of everything and especially him as kneeling between his legs, he cleans his spent off Stede’s thigh.
“I love you,” Stede says under his breath.
Edward smiles up at him.
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
He leans forward, lips brushing over each other in a familiar dance. They kiss for a long moment until Stede pulls back.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
Edward presses his forehead against Stede’s shoulder.
“Yes,” he says.
It’s the most beautiful word Stede has ever heard.
You can find more OFMD fanfics of mine here on ao3.
The first time had been easy. They were both drunk on love and ale and the remnants of nearly losing each other on a monster hunt. But now, with a few days and a lot of kissing down the road, Jaskier wonders how to resolve the problem on hand. Or his arse, to be precise.
He can feel Geralt’s hard cock nestled in the crease of his buttocks and while the witcher doesn’t push—neither in the literal nor the metaphorical sense—Jaskier is torn which direction to take.
He could play possum for one, but he did that the last few days. He could press back and invite Geralt to do with him as he pleases. He could turn and lend the man a hand, so to speak, clean him after and feign an important task trumping the reciprocation.
Jaskier doesn’t know which way to go. It’s not a problem he had that often before as his trysts were usually a one-time thing and seldom one where he spent the whole day with a partner.
This whole relationship thing is new to him, and maybe he should have put their first time off as two lonely men helping each other out, avoiding this whole dilemma. But Geralt had been so soft and sweet, had called him his little lark and been so content that Jaskier’s treacherous heart, lost to the witcher for years, had convinced him to stay.
Big mistake. Because despite Jaskier’s not unfounded reputation as a Lothario and man of many talents (especially in the bedroom), Jaskier has no idea how to navigate the pitfalls of a recurring bed partner and how to hide what he knows to be his biggest failing as a man.
Jaskier knows he’s meant to sow his oats, to chase every interested skirt or any inviting breeches. It’s what he saw the other students in Oxenfurt do, the barmaids and posters along the Path. And he liked the feeling of being wanted, of warm skin pressed together, lips tracing his neck and fingers skimming over his bum.
He enjoyed the noises of pleasure falling from his lovers’ lips, his name a barely breathed prayer, their mixed scents, the closeness. But most of all, he loved their sated sighs, the way they curled around him afterwards, the contentedness as they slipped into sleep with only him there to witness the beauty of a person being satisfied because of him.
It was worth the flight from villages, the bruises and the loss of his voice after running away through cold nights. It had to be. How else would he have found someone to give him the warmth no blanket could give, the touch, the want, the feeling of being human despite his shortcomings?
Jaskier wishes he could have more, could have this right here without a need to choose how to proceed, just feeling Geralt’s chest against his back and knowing that it’s enough. That he is enough as is.
Because it would be enough for him. Jaskier doesn’t need sex, doesn’t feel the urge that often, and if, then never with someone specific in mind. If anything, thinking of someone kills the bouts he feels now and then.
He loves looking at well-dressed people, and a high-necked garment always pulls his gaze more than breasts or broad chests on display. And don’t get him started on genitals. Urgh.
He’s not against nakedness. Everyone should show whatever they feel comfortable with, but whenever Jaskier plays a partner’s body like he plays his lute, his vision turns into pieces, the body parts he concentrates on in focus, the rest falling away.
He’s a skilled lover, never leaving a partner unsatisfied, but the price is high. He’s still willing to pay it for the before and the after.
He’s popular with the ladies, his reputation of being a man putting their enjoyment first travelling ahead, just as the news that he likes taking it up the arse.
Okay, liking is probably a stretch too far for how he’s truly feeling during it. He doesn’t mind it most days, and the days he does? Well, he focuses on the nice things—their hands on his hips, their lips sucking bruises in his neck, the teeth marks he will feel on his shoulder for days, reminding him that he managed to please, to arouse, to be worth someone’s time.
It’s a wonder that Geralt and he didn’t end up in bed together earlier. Maybe because Jaskier knew that it would lead to this exact moment.
Geralt is still hard against him, and Jaskier does his best not to sigh. He pushes back and rubs his crease over Geralt’s cock, eliciting a moan from the other man.
“Want you,” Jaskier croaks, hoping it comes off as arousal tightening his throat.
Geralt’s arm tightens around Jaskier and a growled “You do?” sets in motion what every normal person would want in this very situation.
“Yes,” Jaskier breathes. It’s not a lie. Not really. He wants Geralt to feel good, wants their scents to mingle until they are one, wants to see Geralt unravel under his ministrations or in the depths of his body. He wants all of that. He simply doesn’t want this for himself. He doesn’t want him to return the favour, and that’s always the tricky part. All he wants is for Geralt to stay.
He’s not only used to fleeing husbands and wives, but he’s also good at escaping lovers realising what a freak of nature he is. Someone who scarcely bears someone touching his prick, whose throat closes up if someone asks him if he finds them hot or says that he's so sexy. It should be the greatest compliment, but Jaskier struggles with the concept.
He loves tender eyes and gentle hands, the display of strength by any gender and smiles. He’s a goner for smiles, and dimples, and arched eyebrows, and… nothing that counts when it comes to the intimacy everyone else seems to crave. Everyone but him.
Geralt’s hand roams his body, touches him just right to send goosebumps over his skin, the good kind. But Jaskier knows it won’t end there. His hand will wander to his cock and…
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Geralt asks, his hand frozen on Jaskier’s chest.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Witchers and their stupid super senses!
“Just got something in my eye,” Jaskier lies, but he’s sure distress bleeds into his scent.
“Try again,” Geralt’s voice rumbles through his chest.
“I’m fine,” Jaskier says airily, conjures a smile on his face and turns around. “Let me take care of you, dear heart.”
He presses a peck on Geralt’s lips and kisses his way down over the beautiful cut of his jaw, then his neck, his nice chest, his ripped stomach…
“You’re not smelling aroused,” Geralt states.
Jaskier ignores his words and goes down on him. No one can think about his fucking scent when he pleasures them, plays them by every trick in the book.
No one but a stupid white-haired witcher.
Geralt pulls his body away and sits up against the wall. Jaskier is shamefully grateful that he covers his crotch with the bedsheet. Genitals are just not pretty, no matter which way he looks at them.
Jaskier takes a deep breath and pushes himself into a sitting position. He exhales and draws air back into his lungs, worried he won’t be able to as soon as he meets Geralt’s gaze.
The witcher stares at him, brow furrowed and forehead creased. It could be worse.
“If you don’t like blow jobs, you could have just said it, my love,” Jaskier quips, but the joke falls flat.
Geralt hums. He sets his jaw, eyes flickering through the room. With every passing second, the panic in Jaskier’s chest spreads. He must stink of it by now.
“Are you afraid of me?” Geralt asks, wrinkling his nose.
“No,” Jaskier huffs. He truly isn’t. Geralt looks more hurt than angry. Maybe it’s confusion? The witcher isn’t always easy to read in the best moments, and right now, Jaskier isn’t exactly calm.
“I’m used to smelling indifference, sometimes worry or disgust in whorehouses. But you smell… all over the place.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says easily, waving him off. “You know me. My mind is never a quiet place. But I’m sure that’ll change if you give me something to concentrate on,” he teases and reaches for the sheet.
Geralt grabs his wrist before he can reach it.
“The last time, you didn’t smell of arousal either, but excitement so I was thinking none of it. But today…”
“How would you know what my arousal smells like?” Jaskier tries. He has no idea if arousal smells the same on everyone, but maybe he’s lucky.
“I’ve smelt you spill your seed in the woods. Not often, but…”
Jaskier nods. If he had known, he had suppressed his unsteady needs. It’s not as if he needed the release. It was more like scratching an itch.
But he can’t give up now. He can’t lose the man he loves to something as stupid as this. He’s good in bed. He knows he is. If Geralt just let him…
“I tell you something,” Jaskier coos in his most velvety voice. “I help you spill your seed and right after, you can spill mine.”
It’s the biggest token of love he can give him. He knows it works. With closed eyes and images of after playing in his mind, his body can pull off an orgasm. Flat and bland, nothing compared to what his partners feel, but he is an artist. He can put it on thick, fake a mind-blowing orgasm. It’s not his favourite, but if it pleases Geralt, it’s worth putting on a show.
He crawls into Geralt’s lap, rubs his bum over him, searching for the sign of his arousal, but there’s none.
“Come, darling. I’m all yours,” he purrs and keeps up his movement over soft flesh.
Geralt grabs his hips and stops his ministrations.
“Why?” he asks, and Jaskier thinks he’s never heard him this confused and devastated.
Jaskier shrugs. Of course, Geralt wants to know why he’s broken, why he doesn’t experience the most basic of needs. The bard doesn’t have an answer, though, tried to understand it in the past, but he never met anyone like him, only found books describing lust not the lack of it.
“I guess I was born this way,” he tries, forcing a smile on his face, but his lips twitch with the loss he expects any second. Geralt will push him away, will go to the whorehouse down the street or—even worse—back to his witch who can give him what he needs.
Tears run over Jaskier’s face. No one ever truly cared if he drew pleasure from their encounters, affront came about a lack of physical reaction never him not fucking smelling aroused.
Tender thumbs brush away the wet trails on his cheeks.
“I love who you are. Every part of it,” Geralt says calmly.
Jaskier snorts a mirthless laugh. “Sure. What’s not to like?”
“Exactly,” Geralt says, and for all his annoyances regarding the bard easily proclaimed in the past he sounds so damn genuine.
Jaskier can’t take it. This will either tip over to pity or disgust when he’ll understand, and he can’t sit in Geralt’s lap, naked and bare in so many other ways when it’s going to happen.
He tries to move away but Geralt’s grip tightens.
“Exactly,” he repeats.
“I don’t want sex,” Jaskier growls, and Geralt lets go of him immediately.
“I don’t want either. Not when you smell like sorrow and shame.”
Jaskier gets off the bed and dresses himself. Geralt joins him in silence. It helps clear Jaskier’s head seeing the vast expanse of skin disappear under fabric.
He loves this man, loves his soul and body, but… Geralt deserves better. Deserves someone who gets hard or wet when he presses against them, whose sounds of pleasures are their own and not copies of others. He deserves someone who appreciates his body for every curve and every edge, and not only for warmth his heart fills with when Geralt holds him close.
When he’s finished buttoning up his doublet and slipping into his boots, Jaskier stalls. What’s he supposed to do now?
“I guess this is where we part company,” Jaskier croaks, his heart thoroughly pressed into his mouth.
“Why?” Geralt asks.
Jaskier feels sick. “Why? Well, I can hardly tie you to myself with what little I have to offer you, so…”
Geralt knits his brow together. “You don’t want to be with me anymore?”
It’s a question Jaskier didn’t expect, much less the hurt laced into it.
“You want me to stay?”
Geralt works his jaw and blinks. “Yes.”
Jaskier can’t help but laugh. “For what? You can’t enjoy being with me because of me smelling wrong and…”
“I love your scent. Just not when you're… Did I hurt you last time?”
Jaskier shakes his head. “It’s not you. It’s me. My head and my body, they are… wrong. I don’t know. I want to feel it, but I don’t.”
“You mean love?”
Jaskier groans in frustration. Not about Geralt but himself. He’s been there before. People always think love and lust are the same. Maybe it is for normal people, but love has never been a problem.
“No. I love you.”
He freezes. They hadn’t exchanged these words yet. He glances at Geralt, worried about what he might find there. Tender delight wasn’t it, but it’s there, softening all the harshness of the witcher’s features.
“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier says. “I… I shouldn’t have said that. That only raises your hopes.”
“It does. Why would you leave if you loved me?”
Jaskier exhales slowly. “You’re a magnificent man, Geralt. You deserve to smell your partner’s arousal, and I can’t give you that. I can give you pleasure, but I can’t give you that.”
Geralt just stares at him, and Jaskier presses his lips to a thin line.
“Do you like to be close to me?” the witcher asks.
Jaskier nods.
“Do you like lying in my arms?”
Another nod.
“Do you like kissing me?”
Jaskier quirks a sad smile. “Very much so.”
Geralt nods pointedly and closes the space between them. He tips Jaskier’s head back with a gentle touch and kisses him, soft and slow, their bodies gravitating to each other until Jaskier’s fingers are in Geralt’s hair and Geralt’s splayed over Jaskier’s back.
“This is all I need,” Geralt whispers after what feels like hours. “You, content in my arms.”
“But…”
“No but. Stay. I love you.”
Jaskier snickers, high on Geralt’s scent and smile.
“More than sex?”
“More than sex.”
Geralt pulls him back into a kiss, and Jaskier melts into him, the last tension leaving his body.
“Sometimes I feel okay with it,” the bard murmurs into his witcher’s lips.
Geralt pulls back and brushes the hair out of his face. “You know I can smell when you lie?”
“But I don’t right now,” Jaskier smirks.
“Yes, you don’t. But whenever…”
“No faking to like it. Got it.”
“Good,” Geralt grumbles. “Can we go back to bed then?”
Jaskier nods and goes for Geralt’s shirt.
“We don't…”
“I like feeling your skin on mine,” Jaskier pouts, and Geralt chuckles.
“Alright.”
It doesn’t take long until they cuddle naked under the covers again, Jaskier’s head tucked under Geralt’s chin. The bard runs his fingers idly up and down the witcher’s side.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Geralt grunts. “No need to thank me.”
Jaskier thinks he has no idea how different he is to so many others, but he won’t jinx it with pestering his witcher. Not when he can enjoy his partner’s closeness without pressure and no expectations for the first time in his life.
Here’s the pic from the price list by itself c: I love Erika so much!! She’s so sweet Also reminding you about open commissions and art trades!! Check the post below for more detail!
I’m happy to let you guys know I’m doing commissions from now on! It’s a brand new experience for me as I’ve never really done this before, but here I am!! Feel free to DM me if you have any questions c: Also I’ll basically draw anything except for the things mentioned That includes furry characters, fanart, several characters interacting, full backgrounds and more! I’m also open for art trades c:
What it is: A webcomic following two rival high school gangs in the 1950s.
Why it’s on this list: I don’t think there’s a character introduced that isn’t queer in some way. It’s got a wide range of identities represented, both on the gender spectrum and the sexuality spectrum.
Where you can find it: It can be read on tumblr at @rockandriotcomic or on tapastic here. If you want to check out more of the creator’s stuff, she’s over here. It’s also finished, so if you’re one of those people who doesn’t like getting into stuff that’s not done yet, worry not! Her new project looks awesome, and I have a feeling I’ll be reviewing that on here eventually too.
My first thought after finishing this was why did I not read this earlier. It’s been a comic I’ve been vaguely aware of for a while now, and queer historical pieces are so up my alley. I think I was doing that thing where I knew it was something I’d probably love, and I was worried about clicking on it and then being disappointed?
Silly me. I was definitely not disappointed. I was delighted. Dazzled, really. A perfect way to spend an hour.
I’m gonna start by talking about the character design, which is also why I wanted to show off the first page on here. Look at those ladies! This is a diverse cast, not just in terms of identities but in terms of body shapes, builds, and backgrounds. This comic definitely goes for a light, uplifting take on the 1950s, but it doesn’t do that by ‘simplifying’ things (aka leaving out things that would maybe ‘complicate’ things). Each character is treated with respect, and although the characters are often larger than life it never comes across as being done in a stereotypical way. Really well done.
What I especially love about this comic is that it did what I often find myself afraid to do in my own stories. There’s a coming out moment, where a character decides to tell her friends she’s in love with a girl. This leads to everyone else in the room also coming out. There’s a few moments like this, and it’s so nice, because I often feel like ‘well, I can’t make everyone queer.’ But like… Why not? Rock and Riot does it, and it’s so lovely, I’m smiling just thinking about it. This is escapism, just like most 50s stories are (shared milkshakes and cool matching jackets, right?), but it’s escapism aimed at queer folk, which is so rare to find. And even the conflict is done in a way that is still bright and fun. I just love it.
The story follows the girl gang in the picture above, known as the Jaquettes, as well as a guy gang, the Rollers, and an entirely non-binary gang who call themselves the Bandits. The varied presentation that the Bandits all have made me so happy, as so often when there are nonbinary characters they all tend to fit the same mold. That is definitely not a problem with this gang.
“That’s great that you found your side. But my problem with your teams is that I don’t want to be viewed in either.”
“Then we’ll respect that!”
- Ace and Rolly, Episode Four: The New Kid
Also! There is some adorable romance, but there’s also some really nice discussion of sexuality and gender. Bisexuality and asexuality are both discussed, and done so in a way that felt really honest and validating, both as a reader but also validated by the other characters in the comic.
There’s a bit of cute fake-dating-to-seem-straight mishaps, some friendly gang rivalry, and a sleepover scene with the Jaquettes, made all the more wonderful by it including them inviting a former member of the Rollers over, and having her join the Jaquettes. It takes all those classic movie tropes and makes them very queer and adorable and awesome, and I can’t get over how much I enjoyed it.
If you’re feeling down at all, sit down and read this comic. It’ll help. It may also make you really want a cool jacket, a poodle skirt, and a date at a shake shop. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Reading Rock and Riot? Let us know what you think! And if you’re looking for more great queer content, reminder that this is Day 8 of 365 queer reviews, one for each day of 2018. You can find all the reviews here.
It’s been a long day, and looking back, David wants to blame what he says on the fact that he left one of the critical products in his nighttime skin care routine back at the motel and is therefore already out of sorts, because when Patrick climbs into bed with a sultry expression on his face the words slip out.
“Can we not do this tonight?”
Patrick freezes.
David feels a hot rush of shame, rushing to retract his words. “No, I didn’t mean, come here-”
“David, what’s wrong?” Patrick turns on the bedside lamp and studies David. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry,” David says, his heart racing. He pushes himself up and loops his arms around Patrick, leaning in for a kiss.
“David, wait, it’s okay.” Patrick disentangles them and gives David an appraising look. “Is it your head? Did you leave your contacts in too long? I’ll get you some ibuprofen.” He jumps out of bed before David can stop him, heading for the medicine cabinet.
David could take the out, swallow the pills and let Patrick pet his hair and hold him close. He could so easily have a headache, or a stomachache, or want to get to sleep early. But that’s not the real reason he doesn’t want to fool around.
To celebrate the end of season 2 I’ve prepared a special series of illustration with all the main characters and a selection of flowers that represent them! Today it’s King turn, with a compositions of lilacs and Queen Anne Laces, that both are used to represent children and the family bond! As for Lilith we have a special composition of yellow roses, daisies and blue hydrangea to reflect her AroAce Identity!
[id: A series of text reading “Someone trying to bully Kobold: you’re gonna die a virgin haha” followed by more text reading “Kobold’s AroAce ass:” Below that is a picture of some probably cringe white man in a suit on what has to be one of the ugliest “comedy” show backgrounds ever made, it’s all red and yellow stripes going into what looks like a giant wooden barrel??? either way the image is captioned with “First off, get out of here with your facts.” /id]
Leox Gyasi is the charming, rogue pilot of the Vessel who may or may not have a fondness for spice. Despite his undeniable good looks, romantic and sexual encounters are not imperative to him; in fact, he identifies as asexual. His primary focus is piloting the Vessel with his navigator, Geode, or the Byne Guild.
Leox - he’s your hookup for weed, but not for sex.
Some icons, lockscreens, and header images celebrating that Leox is joining Vi Moradi as a canon asexual character in Star Wars! You can find him in the YA novel Into the Dark by Claudia Gray. Feel free to use these (preferably with credit)
Malec | Rated general | tw internalized & external aphobia and homophobia | Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alec Lightwood-centric, Developing Relationship, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Good Sibling Isabelle Lightwood, jace is a bit of an asshole at one point but he gets better, Asexual Character, Asexual Alec Lightwood, Gay Alec Lightwood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, character growth!, learning to accept yourself!, Strangers to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Supportive Magnus Bane, Writer Alec Lightwood | Bingo Square: Forehead Kiss
Summary:
“It’s just unnatural,” Maryse said, shaking her head. “Everybody wants to have sex.”
“Well, not me,” Alec replied, nails digging into his palms to suppress an instinctive flinch at her words.
Or, Alec is ace and gay, Maryse is evil, Alec meets a certain Magnus Bane, and the road to self-acceptance is long and hard — but it’s a bit easier when you have friends and family to support you. (Ft. pining idiots and Alec writing books.)
“It’s just unnatural,” Maryse said, shaking her head. “Everybody wants to have sex.”
“Well, not me,” Alec replied, nails digging into his palms to suppress an instinctive flinch at her words. “I don’t want to do any of that.”
“Alexander.” She sighed, levelling him with a disappointed look that would’ve had him flinching away if he hadn’t kept himself viciously still. “Think about the family — what will people say about us if you don’t get married?”
“I never said I wouldn’t get married, just that I don’t want to have sex,” Alec huffed. He still wouldn’t marry anyone Maryse approved of — his, ah, preferences ruled them all out — but he still dreamed, sometimes, about a man with a kind smile who’d stand at an altar with him and hold him close. Marriage wasn’t the problem; it was just — sex.
“Sex is essential to marriage,” Maryse said, sounding scandalised. “How to you expect to consummate your relationship if—”
Alec cut her off, pushing down the guilt and self-hatred and shrinking, desperate pain that her tone caused. “Marriage doesn’t require sex to be meaningful.”
“Of course it does.” She shook her head, hands pressing to her temples. “Think about our family, Alec. It’ll reflect badly on all of us if you act abnormally.”
“I’m not being stubborn, Mother,” Alec said quietly. “I didn’t choose to be like this. If I could, I’d rather be normal, but I can’t.”
Maryse curled a derisive lip. “You could if you tried. You just need to actually do it, it’ll be far less daunting.”
Alec opened his mouth to reply, to protest, but she cut him off before he could speak. “I don’t want to hear any more about this. Go finish that social studies assignment.”
He left in silence. It wasn’t like he’d expected her to be perfectly okay with it — he knew well that she’d kick him out in a heartbeat if she knew he was gay — but for some ridiculous reason, he’d hoped that maybe she’d… try. Or at least not dismiss it all as unnatural and wrong.
Really, though, he should’ve known — the Lightwoods were the perfect nuclear family, regardless of his parents’ secret estrangement and their children’s general dislike of the family law firm. If his parents had their way, Alec, Izzy, Jace, and Max would all grow up and join the firm, get married, and have as many babies as possible to continue the line. Asexuality did not fit into that.
There was a creeping sense of guilt in his stomach, like he should’ve been better, should’ve been willing to swallow his distaste and be normal. Whatever was broken in him that he felt revulsion rather than attraction at the thought of sex, he shouldn’t let that rule his life — he should get over it. But how could he, when the mere thought of it had discomfort crawling up his spine?
Bad enough that he was gay, that he liked the wrong gender. Perhaps if he pretended hard enough, he could convince himself that he was what he was supposed to be.
~
It didn’t work out like that, of course. Alec’s last year of high school passed in a blur of self-hatred and shame and failed attempts to convince himself that he was in love with Lydia Branwell; Maryse seemed pleased that he was doing his part, but he couldn’t work past the disgust that rose in his throat. Lydia was nice, kind, hard-working, pretty — why couldn’t he love her like he was supposed to? Why did he flinch instinctively away from the thought of having sex with her?
In some ways, leaving for university was a relief. He shared a dorm room with a rather annoying homophobic dick named Sebastian, but at least he didn’t have Maryse constantly peering over his shoulder and pushing him to work harder, work longer, never have fun — not that he was exactly going out to parties every night now that he was on his own, but it was nice to know that he could.
He majored in English, with enough political science and law courses to set him up for law school but also with a creative writing course or two that he kept quiet about, because it didn’t matter that he’d long dreamt of becoming an author — he was a Lightwood, and Lightwoods were lawyers. His writing was nothing more than a hobby, a pastime that would be dropped when he no longer had enough time for it.
The problem, though, was that he loved those creative writing courses — they were the highlight of his week (and not only because of the gorgeous guy who sat next to him with his shirt half-unbuttoned and makeup carefully applied around his eyes). The writing was just interesting, in a way that law wasn’t.
(The gorgeous guy definitely helped, though.)
He met Underhill in one of the law courses, and Underhill flirted with him but stopped when Alec told him that he wasn’t out, would never really be out. He was still a friend, though, which was nice; Alec hadn’t really had his own friends in high school, only clung on to the outskirts of Izzy’s and Jace’s friend group. Underhill seemed to like him for him.
And Underhill was out. Not blatantly — not like Alec’s gorgeous neighbour in Creative Writing, who came to school with a shirt reading “I like my men how I like my women” in the colours of the bisexual flag, and that confidence was excessively attractive but Alec was resolutely not paying attention to it — but all of Underhill’s friends knew he was gay and didn’t care. His parents knew and didn’t care. He didn’t get a creeping guilty unnatural broken-glass feeling in his stomach when he thought about all the ways he was different.
Alec — Alec wanted that. He wanted to be able to ask a guy out on a date (never mind that it’d never go anywhere when Alec said he didn’t like sex; that was a different problem), he wanted his parents to know who he was and not hate him for it, he didn’t want to spend his life wishing that he’d been born another way.
So, when a guy named Raj asked him out, he said yes. He needed to swallow down the instinctive jerk of internalised homophobia at the thought of being out in public with a man, and the date didn’t go anywhere — by common consent, they decided there wasn’t enough chemistry between them — but Alec was glad he’d done it. He’d gone on a date with a guy. He’d been out, if only for a while, if only in one restaurant.
But then, somehow, Sebastian — his homophobic roommate — found out about it and determined to make Alec’s life a living hell. At first it was nothing that Alec could report — a wet toilet seat and no toilet paper, something rotting in the corner of his room that was driving him insane with the smell of it before he found it, a few tears in his clothing that he hadn’t seen before — but one day Alec woke up with all of his clothes gone and a slur scrawled in Sharpie on his door. He showed up late to Creative Writing in the undershirt he’d worn to bed and a pair of jeans he’d been able to salvage to make shorts (it was freezing outside, a November cold snap, but it could’ve been worse; never before had he been so thankful that he didn’t sleep naked). The gorgeous guy sitting next to him had blinked in surprise and asked what had happened in a gentle murmur soft enough that the professor at the front of the room couldn’t hear, and to his surprise, Alec found himself telling the whole story — including that he was gay.
The guy — Magnus, he introduced himself as — looked horrified at Sebastian’s behaviour and offered Alec his own jacket, which was blissfully warm against his skin. Magnus also suggested that Alec tell somebody about what Sebastian was doing, helped him deal with the university’s bureaucracy enough to file a harassment complaint, and even let Alec stay at Magnus’ own place in the meantime since his roommate was spending most of his time at his partners’ place — and suddenly Magnus wasn’t just a pretty face in Creative Writing, but a friend with a warm heart and a well of compassion that Alec probably didn’t deserve but was grateful for anyway.
And, because of course, a growing crush. Alec hadn’t had many crushes as a child, but there’d been his temporary infatuation with Jace, and at least by that metric, what he felt for Magnus was much more. Magnus was beautiful — that was the first thing Alec had noticed about him — but he was also unfailingly kind, as the help he’d given Alec showed. He let Alec stay in his dorm while the campus investigation into Sebastian went on; he went shopping with Alec in the thrift stores Alec’s budget allowed for (because Maryse was stingy with pocket money and Alec hadn’t planned to lose all his clothing in the middle of winter); he became a studying partner, a roommate (if only temporarily), a friend. How was Alec supposed to not fall for him?
Not that he was in love with him or anything — it was far, far too soon for that, and bisexual or not, there was no reason for Magnus to be interested in Alec, and anyway there was no way he’d stick around once he knew Alec was ace — but there was something there, and Alec hoped almost desperately that he’d keep talking to Alec once Alec went back to his own place. He still sometimes felt that horrible guilt at the thought that he was gay, but Magnus was so brilliantly sure of himself and his sexuality that somehow, impossibly, he was drowning out the shame with his own light.
Magnus’ half of the dorm was bright, his walls decorated with several pride flags, polaroid photos of various friends, a few surprisingly tasteful posters. Alec’s was, by necessity, much simpler — Magnus’ roommate had clearly all but moved out, and Alec didn’t want to bring over a ton of stuff that infringed on Magnus’ space. Or his sense of style, which was clearly superior to Alec’s. But also, Alec didn’t really have that much stuff, period — clothes, although he didn’t have many thanks to Sebastian’s interference; a few photographs of his siblings, which he left in a box. This was only temporary, after all, no matter how much Alec enjoyed Magnus’ company.
Eventually, the inquest was over, with repercussions for Sebastian (not enough, in Magnus’ opinion, but Alec wasn’t too concerned; he wouldn’t go after Alec again), and then began the search for a new dorm room for Alec. Unfortunately, there was a scarcity of dorms for various reasons that a harried-looking secretary explained to him in a rather jumbled mess, and in the end, they told Alec that they wouldn’t have another room for him until after Christmas, when the semester was over and a general reorganising would fit him in somewhere.
Magnus didn’t even wait for Alec to finish explaining the situation before informing Alec that he would be staying with him as long as he needed to. That was a relief, although Alec did insist that he pay half of the rent for the time that he was staying there — which meant that Alec needed to get a job, and of course Magnus promptly offered to help him find one. He ended up working in the coffee shop where Magnus himself, along with his friends and former roommate, all worked; it was owned by a history major named Ragnor who scowled at Alec but hired him on Magnus’ recommendation. The pay was enough for the rent and for the remaining bits of clothing that he’d skimped on due to a scarcity of money, and for once in his life, Alec felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
Exams were upon them soon enough, and Alec lost himself in the blur of studying. Magnus was double majoring in English and Physics, so they’d study together for their shared English courses and then split off so that Magnus could drown in equations and Alec in Latin phrases and legalities. Magnus was brilliant, easily keeping up with both majors despite the impossible tangle of physics; he reminded Alec of Izzy in some ways, with her budding career as a forensic pathologist and an understanding of biology that he could never match.
He decided to stay for Christmas — he really didn’t want to spend the holidays with his mother in icy silence. Magnus wasn’t going home for Christmas either (Alec didn’t ask why not, and Magnus returned the favour), nor were many of his friends.
So Christmas arrived in a blur of good humour following the end of the exams and a party or two which Alec went to thanks to Magnus’ puppy-dog eyes and enjoyed more than he’d expected. Somehow, he’d ended up incorporated into Magnus’ group of friends — Catarina, who aimed for a med degree and was volunteering at a local hospital in the meantime; Raphael, who worked at the coffee shop and greeted Magnus with sarcasm though he obviously cared for him; and Tessa, Jem, and Will (the latter being Magnus’ former roommate), who were at the coffee shop as well and were all dating each other quite happily. Those three had been… confusing, at first; it’d taken Alec a bit to figure out that they were all dating each other, and then a bit more to work out that while he knew his mother would consider them as unnatural as Alec, he himself was aware that they weren’t — they’d found love for themselves together, and that was the most important thing.
In the back of Alec’s mind was the nagging knowledge that he’d get moved to his new dorm after Christmas — on paper, Magnus still shared his dorm with Will, and he probably wouldn’t be willing to keep Alec on once there was no longer any need for it. The only reason he’d let Alec stay so long was because he’d taken pity on him; unlike Alec, Magnus definitely wouldn’t be wishing Alec didn’t have to go back. It’d be nice for him to have his own space back; Alec’s melancholy had no place here, and he did his best to swallow it down.
Strangely, Magnus also seemed… sad, despite the general Christmas spirit. Alec wasn’t sure what to say to cheer him up — or if he should say anything; would Magnus want him to speak up? Would it be invasive? Bothering him? Were they close enough friends for Alec to bring it up?
Before Alec could quite make up his mind, however, Christmas was over in a blur of spiked eggnog and laughter and far more joy than any of the stiff, official family celebrations he’d had at home. Magnus’ friends were rather chaotic — even Ragnor, though he huffed and pretended to be dignified; especially Will, who had no such pretensions — but it was fun, and Alec really, really hoped it would keep happening, even after he moved back out.
Halfway through Boxing Day, Alec made up his mind to corner Magnus and ask what was upsetting him — the cornering aspect of which was made much easier when Magnus sat down next to him with a huff.
“You know,” he said slowly, “Will’s officially moving in with Jem and Tessa.”
Alec raised his head from the book he’d been reading — for fun; it was surprisingly good, and he’d quickly found himself engrossed — to look at him. There was a sudden hope growing in his throat. “Is he?”
“Yes.” Magnus shifted slightly. “And, well, that’ll leave me alone, so I’ll probably be assigned another roommate.”
The hope dropped away immediately. Magnus probably wanted Alec to get his stuff together, prepare to move out, so it wouldn’t be awkward for his new roommate—
“But I don’t really want a new roommate,” Magnus went on, fingers twisting in his lap, oblivious to Alec’s emotional rollercoaster. “I mean, there’s a pretty good chance that they’ll be a homophobic asshole, which I’d like to avoid if at all possible, and there are some pretty weird people who I’d like to avoid, so if you want to, you could… stay?”
“I’d like that,” Alec said, grinning at him. He’d been dreading having to move out, and now, like magic, he didn’t have to. “Like you said — I don’t want to end up with another Sebastian, either.”
“Then it’s settled,” Magnus said, sitting up sharply and clapping his hands together in an overdramatic gesture which Alec only found endearing. “You should unpack that box that’s been sitting in the corner, we can put through the paperwork later.”
In the business of the next few days, Magnus’ obscure sadness faded away, and Alec never did ask him about it.
~
“—and honestly, Alexander, my Physics professor’s ties almost never match his shirt, he should just go without, in my opinion—”
Alec interrupted Magnus’ rambling with a thought that’d been spinning around his head for far too long. “You know, nobody else calls me that.”
Magnus blinked at him, pausing for a moment as he processed what Alec had said. “Alexander? Do you — not like it? Should I stop?”
“No, no,” Alec said hurriedly, because he definitely did not want Magnus to stop. “I don’t — I don’t usually like it when people call me that, but I like it when you do.”
A moment, Magnus blinking at him with his head tilted sideways and a grin climbing up his face. “In that case, Alexander…”
~
Suddenly, Alec had friends — proper friends, who cared about him and teased him and weren’t, you know, his siblings. Cat was usually the calm one, the “mom friend” who took care of the rest, but she had an instinct for chaos nearly as unerring as Magnus’; Will was probably worse, and Tessa and Jem generally went along with whatever harebrained scheme he came up with; Raphael and Ragnor were both sarcastic, caustic, and very good at pretending they didn’t like people, but both had a soft heart underneath. And Underhill, Alec’s first friend, had somehow joined them — bringing with him his boyfriend, Lorenzo Rey, apparently Magnus’ sworn enemy. (He wasn’t totally clear on everyone’s sexualities, but he was fairly certain that they were all some flavour of queer, and that was — well, breathtaking. With them, he couldn’t possibly hate himself for being gay, because that meant hating them.)
And, of course, there was Magnus. He was unquestionably Alec’s best friend, chaotic and occasionally insane and nearly as high-maintenance as Jace, and Alec loved it.
He determined not to let his stupid feelings get in the way of their friendship, especially not when a relationship could never work out between them — and he was doing pretty well with that, until, in mid-February, Alec came to a terrifying (and also rather obvious, in hindsight) conclusion: he was in love with Magnus.
With a man. Not a crush, not a temporary infatuation, but love.
And he still didn’t want to have sex with him.
Some deeply-buried part of Alec had been hoping that if he did fall in love, he might finally experience the attraction that he’d been missing out on. That maybe, falling in love could — could fix him, could repair what was broken, what was unnatural. That he just needed to find the right person, and then his asexuality would just — go away. Vanish in the night.
But that hadn’t happened, and Alec was left with a guilty shameful knot in his stomach. Magnus was beautiful — he couldn’t deny that — and Alec should have been at least attracted to him, right? How could he be in love, if he didn’t want to do anything more than kiss Magnus?
Intellectually, he knew that there was nothing to be ashamed of in being gay — he was a man who liked men; so what? Magnus liked men, and there was definitely nothing wrong with him, so by logical, deductive reasoning, there was nothing wrong with Alec, either. Sometimes it didn’t feel that way — sometimes he had to fight against his mother’s voice in his ear, whispering unnatural wrong perverted — but he was getting better.
Being ace, on the other hand — well. Maryse was right about it, wasn’t she? Wasn’t there something genuinely wrong with not wanting to have sex? Wasn’t he, really, just as unnatural as she said he was?
Being gay was simply liking a different gender. Being ace was not liking any gender — at least not for sex — and somehow, that felt far worse.
So: Alec was in love with Magnus, and while he was (mostly) fine with that, he was decidedly not fine with the fact that he wasn’t attracted to Magnus. Even though he was in love with him. Something in Alec was broken.
(There was also the issue of, you know, unrequited love, because Magnus would definitely not look twice at somebody like Alec even if he weren’t ace, even if he were normal, and Alec was decidedly abnormal. Unnatural. The words bounced around his head like ping-pong balls except they hurt.)
He was on his bed, breathing coming faster than it should, his heart rabbiting away. Broken, unnatural, wrong, wrong, wrong — he could recognise the signs of an oncoming panic attack, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, only hope that Magnus didn’t walk in on him.
It’s just unnatural, his mother’s voice whispered. Everyone wants to have sex.
You just haven’t met the right person yet, he’d heard other people say, poisonous insinuations that he was delusional, mistaken, wrong, wrong wrong wrong—
Unnatural. Broken. Distorted. Misshapen. Wrong. Fractured, ready to shatter like glass, like the sharp shards that lodged in his throat.
A voice, one he recognised, saying something, but from too far away. He felt like he’d been shoved out of his skin, like he was trapped somewhere deep inside with whispers that confirmed everything that he already knew—
Lips, on his forehead. Gentle. Hands on his arms, the voice murmuring again, and Alec caught hold of the sound that was so unlike the whispers. “It’s alright, Alexander. It’s okay. You’re okay. Deep breath for me, now.”
Alec obeyed, letting the air rush into his lungs and pull him back to himself. The feeling helped drown out the whispers in his mind — a little, at least. Enough to think around them. “Magnus.”
“Yes, it’s me.” Magnus pressed another kiss to his forehead, still almost unbearably gentle. “Are you okay?”
“Been better, but I’m fine,” Alec said, opening his eyes to meet Magnus’ gaze. There was kindness, gentleness, something almost tender, in it; Alec didn’t have the strength of mind to decode it right now. “I — I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for, darling.” Magnus smiled at him, still gentle. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
Alec hesitated. Talking about it meant telling Magnus he was ace, and it meant, well, talking about it, which he wasn’t sure he wanted to do.
But strangely, he found himself speaking. He trusted Magnus, irredeemably — he loved him, too, attraction or not — and the words spilled out almost without his volition. “I’m asexual. And I — I don’t — I’m not supposed to feel this way. I’m broken.”
Magnus inhaled sharply, but before Alec could even begin to fear he’d turn away, he was shifting even closer with an arm curling around Alec’s shoulders. “Being ace doesn’t make you broken, Alexander.”
“Doesn’t it?” Alec shook his head, though his fingers found themselves tangled with Magnus’. “My mother, she called it unnatural. ‘Everyone wants to have sex’ — except me.”
“You’re not broken, and you’re not the only one who feels that way, darling,” Magnus insisted. Despite the circumstances, Alec noted the nickname and, blushing slightly, nearly missed what Magnus said next: “Raphael’s aroace, Ragnor’s asexual like you, and Catarina’s aromantic.”
“I — didn’t know that,” Alec said slowly. It made sense — he’d never seen any of them show particular interest in anyone, though it’d only been two and a half months that they’d known each other. More importantly, though, it was making his head spin because it was rearranging all his assumptions: neither Raphael nor Ragnor nor Cat was unnatural, not like he was, not like Maryse whispered in his ear. And if there was nothing wrong with them being ace — well, was there anything wrong with Alec?
“You’re not broken,” Magnus murmured again, still softly, still impossibly gently. He pulled Alec closer and Alec wrapped his arms around him to hug him back.
~
It wasn’t that easy, of course. Some days, logic be damned, Maryse’s voice whispered unnatural until Alec couldn’t breathe around the weight of it; some days, he’d find himself wishing desperately that he’d been born a different way, any other way, any way that didn’t make him feel like he was wrong.
But here’s the crucial bit: it got better. Magnus helped, and Ragnor who’d been willing to sit down with Alec and talk to him about it, and just knowing Raphael and Cat helped too — and slowly, those bad days got farther and farther apart.
When summer came, Alec arrived almost reluctantly at the Lightwood mansion. (And a mansion it was — large and cold, dark passages in twisting patterns that Alec knew well, a butler and a cook and two maids living in the servant’s wing. Alec disliked being inside; Maryse had sighed, when he was younger, at his apparent dislike of doing his homework, but it was the cold dark inside that chased him out. He’d never shied away from hard work.)
He missed his siblings, despite all the phone conversations and occasional visits they’d held throughout the year, but he decidedly did not miss Maryse’s disapproving stare or Robert’s coolly uncaring absence, or the dark cold damp that seemed to reside in every corner of the big old house.
Maryse quizzed him on his studies, his GPA, his coursework, and — unexpectedly — his love life; when he admitted that no, he wasn’t dating anyone, her lips compressed into a white line and he understood that she’d hoped he’d “gotten over” his asexuality.
Izzy and Jace, both regularly berated for too much of a love life — at least, they had been a year ago, and Alec doubted that anything had changed on that front — watched the exchange in surprise. Izzy had almost certainly guessed that Alec was gay, but never that he was ace; Jace was completely clueless.
For the first time, Alec thought about telling them — about coming out, properly. Not just the half-worried, half-pitying looks that Izzy sometimes sent him, both knowing that the other knew but neither acknowledging it aloud, but coming out and saying hey, I’m gay.
(Not that he was ace — not yet, not when unnatural might come to their lips as easily as it did to Maryse’s, not before he knew what they thought of him. Someday, though, perhaps he’d be able to say all the words he wasn’t yet ready for. Someday.)
But they wouldn’t judge him for being gay. Maryse would kick him out if she knew, yes — and Alec couldn’t afford that yet, not when he had nowhere near enough money to get into law school without her — but Izzy had been quietly supportive all these years and Jace was an asshole about most things, but not this.
Decision made, Alec didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary. He knew perfectly well that Izzy and Jace would come piling into his room that night — they always did, when one of them was newly back from a trip or they were in need of comfort that Maryse and Robert would never provide — and sure enough, the door swung quietly open barely fifteen minutes after Alec had gotten into bed.
The quiet stopped there, though. Walls were thick in the Lightwood mansion — thick enough that Alec couldn’t hear his parents arguing unless he was going downstairs at night for a glass of water — and with the door shut, they didn’t really need to worry about Maryse and Robert hearing. Izzy squealed loudly and threw herself into Alec’s waiting arms, with Jace not far behind.
“We missed you,” Izzy mumbled, and Jace nodded.
“I missed you too,” Alec replied softly.
“But apparently not enough to come back for Christmas,” she returned, huffing, though fondly enough for him to know she wasn’t really offended.
“Maryse,” he said in explanation. There was no need to elaborate; they both knew what he was talking about.
Izzy nodded, shifting so that she was stretched out on the side of the bed opposite Alec with Jace sitting up between the two of them. “That’s fair. She’s always breathing down our backs.”
“It was particularly tense this year,” Jace added with a sigh. “Maryse and Robert are fighting again.”
“You say that like they ever stopped,” Izzy said, huffing.
Alec shook his head. “They’re clinging to the semblance of normality for Max’s sake, but honestly I think he’d be better off if they weren’t constantly sniping at each other over his head.”
Izzy hummed agreement, and then there was a moment of companionable silence.
Alec gathered his courage, hesitated, and then spoke up. “There’s something I want to tell you guys.”
Perhaps tipped off by the seriousness in his voice, Izzy turned on her side to face him properly and Jace looked down, frowning slightly. Both of them fixed their eyes on him, and Alec felt his nervousness mounting.
He swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. “I — I’m gay.”
A moment of stillness, probably only about half a second in length but still enough for Alec to panic because what if I’m wrong, what if they hate me, what if they react badly—
—and then Izzy threw her arms around him and Jace hugged him, too, and the worries ebbed away. He let himself sink into their embrace, their warmth and love chasing away the whispers in his mind. Maybe Maryse would kick him out for this, maybe even Robert, but Izzy and Jace wouldn’t, and that was everything.
“I’m proud of you, big brother,” Izzy said at last, leaning back to speak. “College has been good for you.”
Magnus has been good for me, Alec thought, but didn’t say anything, letting his eyes flicker over to Jace. He’d already known she’d be supportive; Jace, on the other hand…
“I’d be pissed you didn’t tell me before, but I get it,” Jace told him quietly. “And — a lot of things make a lot more sense now.”
Alec arched an eyebrow at him, and Jace went on. “You know, the way you and Lydia obviously cared about each other but had, like, zero chemistry, or all the times you laughed at me because of some stupid stunt I pulled for a girl—”
“I think that’s more you being an idiot than me being gay,” Alec shot back with a huff, but the last of his tension was bleeding out of his shoulders.
“Enough of that,” Izzy interrupted. “I know you told Mom you’re not, but are you seeing somebody?”
Alec tried to say no, but his blush gave him away, and she squealed again. “You are!”
“We’re not dating,” Alec mumbled, a blush still staining his cheeks. “He’s — well, we’re roommates, have been ever since—” and the whole story of Sebastian came spilling out, along with probably too many gratuitous details on Magnus.
“I like him,” Izzy declared once he was done. “Also, you need to point Sebastian out to me so I can punch him.”
“I’m not going to help you get in trouble,” Alec said sternly, leaning back. “I’m sure you’ll do plenty of that on your own, but—”
“No changing the subject,” she interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him. “How come you haven’t asked Magnus out yet?”
“Because he doesn’t like me that way,” Alec replied quietly. He knows I’m ace, after all. Why on earth would he like me knowing that?
“Then he’s an idiot,” Jace broke in. “Seriously, Alec, you’re a catch!”
Alec swallowed around the asexuality-sized lump in his throat and rolled his eyes, feigning unconcerned ease. “He’s just not into me, Jace. It’s not a big deal.”
Something in his voice must’ve told them that he didn’t want to talk about it, because they — thankfully — let the matter drop, and the night whispered away in quiet conversations and unquestioning support.
~
Summer passed in a mix of tense silence and laughter — an odd combination, but being home was a mixed bag for Alec. Maryse was always hovering, looking at him disapprovingly, obviously hoping he’d give in and say he wasn’t ace — highly unpleasant, but on the other hand, Alec had missed Izzy and Jace and Max and he loved spending time with them.
Alec was surprised only by his own unsurprise at how much he missed Magnus. For months, Magnus had been his best friend, his roommate, the person he talked to the most — and suddenly they were only talking over the phone. And they talked a lot; Alec had half-expected their friendship to fall by the wayside once they weren’t in constant contact, but instead, Alec had found himself texting Magnus as much as possible, feeling a surge of excitement whenever his phone chimed with Magnus’ text tone.
Izzy and Jace teased him mercilessly over it, though they stopped short of anything truly cruel. Maryse didn’t notice, which was a mixed blessing — she would’ve pried and insisted again that Alec wasn’t ace, but on the other hand, she hadn’t even noticed something that Izzy and Jace said was blindingly obvious. Even Max noticed — but not Maryse. (Nor did Robert, but Alec had grown used to a father who was only really present while arguing with Maryse many, many years ago.)
But at least neither Izzy nor Jace changed in their behaviour toward him since he came out. He’d been terrified of that — terrified that one or both of them would pull away, that Jace would become uncomfortable if he was left in the same room as Alec, that Izzy would look at him with unbearable pity.
They didn’t. Didn’t flinch, didn’t falter, and Alec began to wonder if perhaps, perhaps, they’d treat him the same way if he knew he was ace. It was different, of course — everyone knew what being gay meant, and it was steadily becoming more unacceptable to be discriminatory against it, but Alec wasn’t sure if Jace had even heard of asexuality. And if he had, what would he think of it?
Somehow, though, he found the words spilling past his lips. It was just the three of them, Izzy lying flat on the grass with Jace and Alec sitting beside her — the lawns and gardens on the Lightwood grounds were Alec’s favourite part of the place, and he spent as much time out here as possible. Silence had reigned since a brief wrestling match over who got the spot in the sun, which had ended in victory for Izzy.
He didn’t try to build up to it, mostly because he feared he’d end up bungling it or losing his nerve. “I’m asexual.”
Izzy pushed herself up to meet his eyes; Jace was obviously confused, so Alec elaborated. “I don’t — I don’t want to have sex. I want to — to be in a relationship, with a man, but I don’t want to have sex.”
Jace was still blinking at him, obviously caught unawares by the subject change. Alec had no idea what was going through his head; shock had masked anything else. Izzy was looking at him with wide eyes, also surprised, and Alec glanced away so he wouldn’t have to watch in terror whatever emotions they were feeling develop in their eyes. Would they, like Maryse, look at him with horror? Would they find him as disgusting, as broken, as unnatural, as he found himself? Or—
“I love you, hermano,” Izzy said, and Alec’s head shot up to take in the warm understanding in her eyes. “Ace or allo.”
But Jace was still frowning, and Alec knew that he, at least, hadn’t known what asexuality meant until now. Alec braced himself, but Jace’s next words still made him flinch away: “But how do you know you’re gay if you don’t want to have sex with anyone?”
Izzy spared Alec having to reply to that by punching Jace hard enough to make him yelp. “Love is about more than just sex, idiot.”
Jace shrugged. “Sure — I mean, I love you guys, right? — but what’s the difference between a platonic relationship and a romantic one without sex?”
Alec couldn’t suppress a second flinch. He wasn’t — he didn’t know the answer to Jace’s question, not really; he knew he wanted to kiss boys (specifically Magnus, his subconscious murmured) but not girls, but that didn’t seem like enough for a proper romantic relationship; shouldn’t he want to have sex? Wasn’t it unnatural, for him to dislike sex—
He only realised he’d said some of that aloud when Izzy made an irritated noise, punched Jace again and told him to get out before turning to Alec. “It’s not unnatural, Alec. Being ace is as natural as anything else. It’s part of who you are, and it’s definitely not wrong.”
“But Jace—” he began, but she interrupted.
“Jace is a dumbass who says the first thing to come into his head without thinking about consequences,” she told him sternly. “That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”
Alec swallowed hard, and tried to believe her.
~
It became easier when Jace showed up that evening at Alec’s door, obviously chagrined. “I’m sorry, Alec.”
Alec looked up with a raised eyebrow and studied nonchalance that Jace could probably see through. “Izzy’s been talking to you, hasn’t she.”
“What? No.” Jace shook his head, still hesitating at the door. “She didn’t need to lecture me. I’ve been reading up on asexuality, I found some articles about it online, and I — I’m really sorry I said that. It was insensitive and dismissive. I’m sorry, Alec.”
Alec almost replied that there was nothing to be sorry for, but the memory of the ache in his chest at Jace’s words, along with a voice that sounded like an amalgamation of all the people he loved in his life, made him change his phrasing. “You’re forgiven. You didn’t know what it was.”
Jace huffed out a breath through his nose, finally approaching to sit down on the bed beside Alec. “I’m still sorry. Even if I didn’t know what it meant, I shouldn’t’ve started off by questioning you.”
“Thank you, Jace.” Alec cracked a small smile, but Jace wasn’t done.
“I did a lot of research, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re not — unnatural, or whatever you said, and your identity is completely valid.”
“Some people don’t think so,” Alec said quietly, the words slipping out his lips almost without his permission. “Maryse, for one.”
“Well then, she can fuck off.” Jace always claimed to be cold-hearted, but he showed that to be a lie whenever anyone insulted those he cared about — the immediate surge of anger in his voice warmed Alec’s heart. “She — and Robert, for that matter — know nothing about it.” Jace paused for a moment, head tilted to the side. “Magnus didn’t say that, did he?”
“No.” Alec huffed out a small laugh. “In fact, he’s been very insistent that there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Good.” Jace relaxed, leaning into Alec’s side as a smile grew on his face.
~
Over the summer, Alec had almost forgotten how much he disliked law, and the first week of term was a harsh wake-up call. And he only had room for one more interesting Creative Writing course that term, which meant he spent most of his time bored.
He was roommates with Magnus again — Izzy and Jace were together in another dorm, Izzy studying forensic pathology and Jace taking a variety of courses on anything that caught his attention — and he’d also nearly forgotten how beautiful Magnus was. Seeing him again was like a fist to his solar plexus, but he managed to hide it beneath an honest grin at Magnus’ presence. Magnus was beaming too as he pulled Alec into a hug, and Alec pushed his unreciprocated feelings to the side for now.
Really, Alec shouldn’t be so irritated by the law classes — sure, he was bored and tired and frustrated and didn’t like law, but if he was going to do it his whole life, he’d better get used to it. And he was away from Maryse, which was nice, and with Magnus, which was arguably better; what did he have to complain about?
He said as much to Magnus one day (minus the bit about how amazing it was to be so close to Magnus), but to his surprise, Magnus didn’t nod sympathetic agreement or try to comfort him. Instead, he met Alec’s eyes with a frankness that surprised him, and said, “Then maybe you shouldn’t do law.”
Alec blinked at him, taken aback, and Magnus went on before he could speak. “I know it’s the family business or whatever, but you obviously don’t like law, Alexander. You don’t need to make yourself do something you hate for your parents. Your siblings aren’t; why should you?”
Still blinking as he processed Magnus’ words, Alec caught hold of the last part of his statement. “But — I’m the oldest. And I’m not bad at law, unlike my siblings. Izzy’s a brilliant forensic pathologist, Jace basically excels at everything he puts his mind to — but what can I do, except… this?”
“You can write,” Magnus said promptly. “You love those Creative Writing courses we take together, and I’ve seen some of the stuff you’ve written. It’s impressive.”
Alec shrugged. Sure, he wrote things, but they weren’t good — it was just… a pastime. Something fun to do. He remembered what Maryse had said when she’d found him, fourteen years old, scribbling down a story he’d dreamt up rather than doing his homework: You can’t make a career with that, Alexander. It’s a waste of your time. How will you become a good lawyer if you’re distracted this easily? The words had been cruel, but she’d assured him it was for his own good — he needed a bit of harshness to keep on track. Eventually, he’d learnt to impose that harshness, that discipline, on himself; he couldn’t let himself be distracted with dreams of writing. The Creative Writing courses were an allowable rebellion; choosing them over the family law firm was impossible.
Magnus looked at him sadly, a small frown marring his perfect features as he apparently read the train of Alec’s thoughts from his face. “Try, Alec. I really think you’re good enough to publish.”
Again, Alec shrugged, still unwilling — but the idea had taken root.
~
When Alec started writing down a few notes on a short story idea, he didn’t bring it up to Magnus — neither of them had talked about their discussion, and he suspected that Magnus was as reluctant as Alec to bring it up. But those notes started shaping up into an actual story, and then the Google Doc he’d written it on was nearly twenty pages long, and suddenly he had a forty-thousand-word short story that he actually liked.
At that point, he gave it to Magnus, who grinned at him with an absolute delight that definitely didn’t make Alec’s heart skip a beat and proceeded to read through it in silence while Alec did his best not to pace worriedly. It wasn’t a long story, and in a little less than half an hour, Magnus set it down with a grin slowly growing on his face. “Alexander, this is amazing.”
Alec’s head shot up in surprise. “It is?”
“Of course it is!” Magnus beamed at him, the printed-out pages still in his hands as he began to gesture dramatically, his energy filling up the room like sunlight. “The characters are magnificent — you’ve managed so much character development here, even though it’s super short, but it still doesn’t sound awkward. They’re each dealing with their diverse sexualities in different ways — don’t think I missed the bisexual one — and I loved reading about their journeys. The plot’s entertaining and fast-paced, the relationships just work — you’re even better at this than I’d expected, darling.”
A blush travelled down Alec’s neck at the praise, the term of endearment, or both, but he ignored it for now. “So you — you think I should…” He trailed off, uncertain.
“Publish it?” Magnus filled in. “Yes, certainly. I mean, if you’re comfortable with it; I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to do—”
Alec quickly shook his head, cutting off that thought in the bud. “No, I think — I do want to do this.” If only to remind myself there isn’t a career there.
Magnus’ grin brightened.
~
One short story, published under the pseudonym “Gideon Archer”. (And a request from the journal’s editors for more, but — well, Alec had long-standing habits of thinking more poorly of himself than Magnus would say he deserved.) Then, a second short story, and ideas for a longer one as well as several more novellas that spilled out onto the page of their own accord and were happily published by the journal, and abruptly Alec realised that he was getting a solid salary between Ragnor’s coffee shop and the royalties.
He wrote about a lot of things — some he knew of, some he didn’t. Stories of growth and coming out and liberty that Alec longed for. Gay subtext (or just gay text, if Alec were honest). Characters with twists and turns like real life, flaws that complimented their virtues, relationships that didn’t drown them out but buoyed them up. College students or knights in shining armour or witches or ordinary adults with jobs that tried and failed to crush them — Alec loved getting into their heads, figuring out how they worked. What drove them.
Magnus supported him with a single-minded ferocity that surprised Alec. His parents had encouraged him, of course, if you could call repeated lectures that he needed to do better encouragement, but Magnus was different. Magnus didn’t say that he needed to do something, only offered assistance or tea or quiet or noise or a sounding board or praise or whatever Alec needed to keep pushing himself forward. He complimented Alec’s writing effusively, but gave good suggestions when Alec asked for them; it was obvious that he really did like Alec’s stories, though Alec suspected he would’ve pretended to like them regardless.
That was simply what Magnus was like: unerringly kind, especially to his friends, which now included Alec.
(Just friends, Alec reminded himself. Magnus was the brightest star in Alec’s sky, and the warmth in Alec’s heart was impossibly fond whenever he looked at him, and if Alec had his way, he’d spend all the time he could at Magnus’ side because he loved him — but Magnus didn’t feel the same way.
It didn’t mean anything that Magnus sometimes looked at Alec with a light in his eyes that Alec could almost make himself believe was something more; Alec was ace. Magnus knew that. There was no way in hell that Magnus — beautiful, attractive, amazing Magnus — would want boring, blunt, gangly Alec who’d never want to, well, have sex. The whispers of unnatural in the back of his mind were quieter now, thanks to Magnus, but he knew perfectly well that his asexuality would rule him out for most relationships.
And Alec was fine with that. Completely, totally-not-lying-to-himself, actually-genuinely-truly fine.
If he told himself so often enough, perhaps eventually he’d believe it.)
~
Alec’s second Christmas with Magnus was somehow both better and worse than the first. He was more settled in his own skin, now, and (technically) a published author — but he was also desperately in love with somebody who wouldn’t love him back.
Mistletoe hung over the doorways of their dorm room thanks to Magnus’ decorating spree, but Alec was careful never to stand under them for long, because if Magnus only kissed him because he was standing under the mistletoe, Alec didn’t know if he’d survive it. The only thing worse than being friends with his unrequited love would be if he wrecked that friendship by pressuring Magnus to kiss him.
(Oddly, Magnus looked disappointed when Alec avoided every doorway in the dorm, but Alec pushed that thought aside in favour of throwing himself into the Christmas preparations — if only as a distraction from how cute Magnus looked in his various Christmas-themed sweaters.)
~
“Izzy, please get out of the kitchen,” Alec said, attempting to usher her away from the stove which, in her hands, was more lethal than most poisons.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I just wanted to heat up some soup!”
“I can make soup for you,” Alec replied, pulling a container from the fridge. It was the weekend, a useful break from classes, and Magnus was on a date with somebody he’d met earlier that week. Izzy, realising that Alec needed a distraction, had promptly come over and invaded the kitchen.
She beamed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and helped him set the table while the soup was warming up. She didn’t try to talk to him as they ate, for which Alec was thankful, but his grace period apparently ended there because once the dishes were cleared away, she sat down next to Alec on the couch and began the interrogation. “So. Magnus.”
Alec arched an eyebrow, feigning ignorance of her point. “Magnus.”
She didn’t let him get away with beating around the bush. “You’re in love with him.”
No point in trying to deny it. Alec swallowed down the ache that rose in his chest at the knowledge. “Yes.”
Izzy frowned, lips twisting sideways. “Are you sure he doesn’t like you back, Alec? I don’t know him very well, but—”
“He doesn’t,” Alec said, quickly and harshly to drown out her voice and the traitorous hope that bloomed in his heart like a rebellion. “He’s literally on a date with somebody else right now, Izzy.” And there’s no way he likes me the way I like him, not when he knows I’m ace.
Worry in her eyes. There was really no need for it; Alec was fine — he pretended the lie didn’t sound false, even in his mind — and anyway there wasn’t anything she could do. “But—”
“Magnus doesn’t like me that way,” Alec bit out, unable to bear her comfort. “Not — not romantically, not the way I like him—”
Izzy’s eyes were suddenly wide, fixed on something behind Alec, and he turned as if in slow motion toward the doorway, where Magnus was standing.
Panic rose in his throat like a tidal wave. If Magnus knew, it would be the end of their friendship; there was no way Magnus would still want to be roommates with him after this — “You’re back early,” he said, a desperate attempt to divert Magnus’ attention from what he’d just said — if only Magnus hadn’t heard his last words—
“My date was a self-centred biphobic bigot,” Magnus said absently, “and I’m an idiot.”
Vaguely, Alec noted Izzy slipping quietly out of the room to leave them alone, but most of his mind was taken up with Magnus and the heartbreak that he knew would be coming in a few moments. “Uh. You are?”
“Very much so.” Magnus’ voice was soft, now, and a smile was beginning to curl up his lips; confusion was threading into Alec’s thoughts, but he still heard Magnus’ next words. “I’d have to be an idiot, not to notice that we’ve both been pining hopelessly after each other.”
Alec’s world ground to a halt, his vision narrowing to the man standing in front of him. The light that was expanding in his chest was too bright, too hopeful, but Alec couldn’t bring himself to care with Magnus’ words echoing in his mind. “…Both?”
“I definitely have been.” Magnus stepped closer, the smile burning brighter on his face, something that Alec had seen before but never dared to trust in making his eyes glow. “I’ve been in love with you for quite a while, Alexander.”
The sound of his full name made him shiver slightly, but not as much as the rest of Magnus’ sentence. Alec stepped forward to meet him, hand coming up to cup Magnus’ face. “I love you, too.”
Magnus’ smile was like an inferno now, and Alec wanted nothing more than to let it consume him, consume the equally brilliant grin on his own face because Magnus loved him.
The rest of the world fell by the wayside as Magnus leaned in, gently, carefully, and kissed him.
~
“I love you,” Magnus said quietly, a few hours and more kisses than Alec could count later. The words still made Alec’s smile brighten with the glow in his chest, despite how often he’d heard them by now.
“And I you,” Alec returned, kissing him again, the only outlet for the love that was surging inside of him like a tidal wave.
Magnus smiled, impossibly fondly. “I’ve waited a long time to hear that — I didn’t think you’d ever love me back.”
Alec raised an eyebrow. “Of course I fell in love with you. Have you met yourself? You’re kind, you’re brilliant, you’re beautiful — you’re amazing, Magnus. If anything, it’s you who shouldn’t’ve fallen in love with me.”
A scoff, as though the mere idea was ridiculous, although a blush was staining Magnus’ cheeks. “You’re the amazing one.” He paused, then echoed Alec’s words from earlier, voice gentle and tender. “Of course I fell in love with you.”
“Even though…” Alec hesitated, oddly tentative. Magnus loved him, and yet Alec couldn’t help but fear that he’d leave if he realised all the implications— “Even though I’m ace?”
“Of course,” Magnus said again, though there was a sadder hint to his smile. “Your asexuality doesn’t change anything for me, sayang. It’s a part of you, and I love you.”
Warmth bubbled up in Alec’s chest, but there were still insecurities hidden away in the corners. “You’re okay with — with not having… sex?”
“I’m more than okay with it,” Magnus assured him. “You are perfect, exactly as you are, sex or not.”
Alec let his shoulders relax as his lips curved up into a smile, and the insecurities vanished like the dark when the sun rose.
~
There were still boring law courses with which Alec was getting steadily more fed up, and the fear of what Maryse would say if she knew all, and her voice in the back of Alec’s head that said he was unnatural, undeserving, wrong — but there were also a growing flood of stories that Alec wanted to write, and support from his friends, and Magnus’ voice that drowned her out to tell him that he was perfect, exactly as he was. I love you, he’d say, or you’re not broken, or I love you , or being ace is perfectly natural, Alexander, just like any other sexuality, or — again, always, most of all — I love you.
I love you too, Alec said, and the future looked brighter.
~
“What does it mean?”
Magnus looked up from his Physics notes, blinking at Alec. “What does what mean?”
Alec was half-regretting speaking up so abruptly, but he went on. “That thing you call me. In another language. Sayang.”
“Oh.” Magnus smiled, and if Alec didn’t know better, he’d say he was blushing. “It’s — well, it means something along the lines of ‘dearest’ or ‘darling’. It’s Indonesian.”
“Indonesian?” Alec tilted his head to the side, curious, though he didn’t want to pry. “Is that — is that where you’re from?”
Magnus nodded, and the evening spilled away in laughter and stories.
~
Alec’s book — a proper, long story, not just one of the short stories that were apparently making the journal popular; he wasn’t sure how to take his apparent fame, so he mostly ignored it — was, finally, finished. It was, of course, longer than the others; he’d let some of his friends’ personalities bleed into it a bit. A friend with Raphael’s sharp sarcasm but Ragnor’s fashion sense. A nurse, sharp and cutting and confident as Catarina, in a relationship with two men who echoed Will and Jem. The main character’s love interest had a laugh like Magnus’ and an interest in physics that Alec eventually stopped pretending was just coincidence.
(The main character was asexual. Alec didn’t use that word, but the reality of it was crystal clear, and when he wrote it down, he felt — right. Magnus beamed at him and hugged him tightly after reading it, and Alec felt happiness filling up his heart.)
He didn’t know if it was any good — okay, one journal liked his short stories, but would anyone actually want to publish a longer novel? Was he even any good at writing anything longer? He’d worked on the novel for months, now, and poured his heart out into it; only Magnus had read it, and he was unerringly supportive, but perhaps he was biased in favour of his boyfriend.
(Boyfriend. Even months after they’d gotten together, the word made a smile grow impossibly broad on Alec’s face.)
But there was nothing to do but try, so Alec sent the manuscript — still under a pseudonym — to a publisher, and waited with baited breath.
When the reply came back with an enthusiastic acceptance and numbers that made Alec’s eyes widen, Magnus only laughed and pulled him into a kiss.
~
Alec took a deep breath, focusing on Magnus’ hand in his to calm his racing heartbeat. The Lightwood mansion loomed up in front of him, cold and dark and imposing; Magnus seemed caught between being a supportive boyfriend and awe at their surroundings (which, Alec had to admit, were rather impressive from an outsider’s perspective), although the supportive boyfriend part was winning out.
Term was over, and Alec had already quit all of the law classes he disliked so much — he wouldn’t be going back. There was a first edition book with Gideon Archer along the bottom its cover in gold letters, in a bag at his side. The royalties were substantially more than his short stories had brought, though he was still writing those; his publisher had suggested making a collection of those short stories, and was definitely willing to publish another book if he came up with one. Alec knew that writing didn’t exactly bring in the largest paychecks, but he was set for now, and it was well worth it to spend his life doing what he loved: writing.
Unfortunately, however, he still needed to tell his parents about his decision — a conversation he wasn’t exactly looking forward to, but it had to be done. Magnus had agreed to accompany him, thankfully, despite Alec’s warnings that Maryse wouldn’t take it well — wouldn’t take any of it well, but especially not the fact that Alec was dating Magnus.
He stepped forward, Magnus still holding his hand, and knocked. The butler opened the door and gestured them inside with a bow; the servitude left both Magnus and Alec uncomfortable, but Maryse’s icy presence was far worse.
“Alexander,” she began coolly.
“It’s Alec,” Alec said tightly, and she scowled. It was clear that she hadn’t yet realised what Magnus was to him; Alec knew he’d be kicked out as soon as she figured it out, and he wanted to show her his book first.
“Alec,” she said, relenting slightly, although she still didn’t look at Magnus — she’d dismissed him as lower-class with a glance, and anger was bubbling in Alec’s stomach. “Good to have you home.”
She had noticed Magnus’ presence, then — she was offering a greeting rather than skipping directly to the questions on his studies, to keep up the pretense of a warm, friendly family that worried about each other. Cared about each other, didn’t call each other unnatural. Alec ignored her mimicry of affection. “I’m leaving law.”
A blink, as she stared at Alec in frozen astonishment, and then the mask of amicability fell away; Magnus was forgotten in the fury that Alec could see in her eyes. “Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you will do no such thing!”
“I already have,” Alec said, implacable, emotions curled up tight in his chest where they couldn’t bleed onto his face. Magnus squeezed his hand tighter, but Alec didn’t look away from Maryse to search his expression.
With an effort, she calmed herself — marginally. “Alec.” (He noted she didn’t call him Alexander, probably an effort to placate him.) “I’m sure we can get you re-enrolled in all the right courses. You cannot simply abandon the family business; we won’t pay your way any longer if you leave—”
There it was — the threat, wrapped up in a nice packaging of friendliness. Fortunately, Alec had recently gained sufficient fiscal independence to stare her down. “I don’t need your money anymore, Maryse.” He pulled the book out of his bag, pushing it across the table toward her.
She stared down at it in silence. Gideon Archer — the pseudonym he’d chosen for himself — wasn’t hard to figure out; she’d just called Alec by his middle name a f
