Robert Sheehan ☂️

Basically Will throughout the entire series

Will: Nobody can love me or else’s they will die, so I must make them hate me!

Jem: Uh Will, I love you…

Will:Nope, no one loves me!

Tessa: Umm, what about me?

Will: Nobody loves me!

Jem: *taking a nap on the couch*

*sound of the front door opening*

Will: *shouting* Jem!

Jem: *grumply* Whatttttt

Will: I CAUGHT A BIRD! *muffled chirping sounds*

Jem: *sleepily* That’s nice.

Jem:…

Jem: WAIT, WHAT? WILLIAM, PUT IT BACK!

Shadowhunters Series Finale

The whole Shadowhunters fandom walking into the FreeForm’s head office after Monday night’s episode:

A/N: Tiny waywood fic. They’re probably four or five here, so enjoy this it’s adorable. Dedicated to tumblr userr-a-z-i-e-lwho inspired it.

“Bubble-demons!” Michael’s voice rang out in the most fierce roar tiny vocal chords could muster. “We’ve found the nest! Chaaaaaaarge!” The tin nephilim soared, valiantly and head-first into the devil’s fluff blocking the mud-dirty water the little boys sat in. 

“There’s a lot of them,” Robert’s scowl took up half his round, newly cleaned face. His nephilim’s sword stabbed and thrased at the mouths of bubbles, making waves and splashes and barely denting the sheer numbers of their horrid, sanitary invaders. 

“Quick! more runes on me!” Michael thrust out his own arm, an extension of his bathtime avatar, for Robert’s finger to scribble in random marks that had no use in bubble-demon fighting, unless the power of love meant anything, or if he could kill them with soundlessness.

“They got me!” Robert, with a start, dropped his nephilim into the tub with a great deal of defeated flourish and bravado. 

“No you don’t you demon scum!” Michael’s little mouth tied itself in a knot of determination as he himself propelled his body face-first into the murky water, and came up sopping wet, gasping but triumphantly holding his rescuee like a trophy, high above his head of curls that now stood plastered to his face, so that Robert couldn’t even see his blue eyes anymore. 

Pheobe Lightwood stood from her stool where she monitored the boys with some difficulty when the wet floor threatened her stability to talk. “Alright, boys, that’s enough for tonight.” Her lips were always rouged and she always smelled nice, but a bit too strong, Michael thought. She was smiling at them as she plucked them both up.

“Mother,” Robert protested and wriggled all the way to the towel she had laid out for him. “There’s more demons still!” Robert, he was a very serious sort of boy, while his friend coped with bathtime removal by enjoying in the mirror all the silly shapes the water let him make his hair into. 

“I know,” Mrs Lightwood smiled again, kissing her child’s forehead. “I’ll kill them for you. You both did such a good job holding them off." 

Her heels clack-clacked as she drained the tub, running a bit of water to wash away all evidence of the tiny devils’ presance. "You’re both safe now,” She assured her son as she ushered the little ones upstairs to put on their pajamas and enjoy the rest of Michael’s overnight stay at the Lightwoods. 

“Hey Robbie.” Said Michael, the instant the door closed behind Pheobe’s fancy dress and finely pointed shoes.

“What?”

“I think we should kill the monsters in your closet.”

A/N: Maryse/Robert/Michael fic. It’s Robert’s birthday and his parabatai and girlfriend teamed up. Now, they’re all alone, wishing Rob a happy birthday

“I didn’t want a party.” His eyes were so pleasantly dark to match his mood as he glanced over the surprise they’d laid out for him. A party, indeed, but a party of three was something Maryse thought her lover just might be able to bear.

“Angel, you don’t even know what it is yet,” She leaned against him. Her hip had found a rather nice resting spot, one that she could sway and move from at any moment, but one he’d never want her to move from. No that Rob himself wasn’t a pretty perch. All those planes and depths of muscles, she just had to like them.

“It’s not a party, Rob,” Michael was a bust of Antonius, she swore, and the halo that quivered around his head when it shook was some extra armor of gold the angel had granted him. 

“There’s fuckin’ streamers.” Rob clutched at Maryse’s waist, anchoring himself to something safe, something that unlike Michael’s kitchen, would never be defiled by blue and green and violet paper. His nose buried itself into Maryse’s hair  and his warm, sudden breath hinted annoyance. “I hate streamers.”

She knew it was well as Michael, laughing and jubilant Michael, that that wasn’t just it. He was blushing red as Valentine’s girlfriend’s stupid hair and using Maryse’s own perfect inky locks to hide it away. She reminded herself how bloody cute Rob was. That’s how it was, when you were a little cute but wanted people to think you weren’t. You just got cuter, like her two big Children she called lovers.

“I know.” Michael always spoke either like he was singing or sleeping. This time he rang out somewhere in between, like the taste of honey and the sound of a slow love song.  "But ’s not your birthday without a little humiliation from a well-meant friend, Swordbrother.“ 

Michael hated how corny, how fancy they all made a bond him and Rob had always known, had learned to accept as a part of their life and live with, over at the Clave. If it was going to be sacred, it had to be something you could live unashamedly with your soul, body, mind and mouth. You can’t stop to stumble over funny terms like Swordbrother, and when he said it,it was a joke to make both quirk up a lip.

We could be twins, Robert and Maryse. That’s what some say. Maybe love makes you more alike. She honestly could not say. Robert kissed my hair and looked up at Michael again. "Yeah yeah.” His eyes roll a bit. “So what’s the point in all this?” He eyed the cake in the corner, the one they all decided they’d eat at midnight on the roof and then stay up all night after, and hoping it rained.

“I live alone,” Michael grinned. “And I’ve invited two divine works of art in… hmmm… and it's your birthday." His fair eyebrows wiggling look like dangling feathers rubbing on porcelain. "any guesses? No? How about the lady?”

“Real mystery.” She responded. “We’ll need to look for some… some sign, some hint.”

“My bedroom’s a great place for hint’s,” added the blond.

Robert was smiling now, to the soaring satisfaction of lovers both. Angel, did he shine and Heaven, there was nothing else they could ask for. 

“Happy Birthday, Rob,” Maryse whispered in his ear and Michael danced up the stairs, beckoning their follow. 

Jace: Rules are made to be broken.

Alec: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.

Clary: Uh, piñatas?

Izzy: Karate boards.

Magnus: Glow sticks.

Simon: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.

Jace:Rules.