Have you always wanted our muses to meet, but didn’t know how they would first interact? Send me one of the following ice breakers so we can embark on our roleplaying adventure!
- "Good morning, sorry I’m late!"
- "I’m not late am I?"
- "I don’t think we’ve met before…"
- "You look familiar, have we met?"
- "Do I know you?"
- "Sorry! You dropped this!"
- "Oh, sorry I thought you were someone else, I didn’t mean to hug you!"
- "Watch where you’re going!"
- "Are you okay? You didn’t fall too badly did you?"
- "I should have said something earlier, I’m-"
- "I’ve seen you around, I’ve just never had the guts to say hi."
- "You must be new…"
- "Do you need a hand?"
- "Have you just moved in?"
- "If you want me to show you around, I don’t mind helping."
- "I saw you from across the room and I had to say hi."
- "I wouldn’t buy that if I were you."
- "Do you need some help?"
- "Is this yours?"
- "Sorry, I’m not from around here, do you know where the nearest pharmacy is?"
- "Hey, have you got change for a note?"
- "Want some gum?"
- "Ah, sorry. I’ll move my bag, this seat is free."
- "Not every day you meet someone with such a smile!"
- "Thanks for holding the door open for me!"
- "Uhm, excuse me. Hey, wake up! This isn’t your stop is it?"
A tired groan left his lips as the warlock walked from him to the window. Alec’s tone softened as he spoke to Magnus. He did see where the other was coming from. Yes. It was understandable the warlock didn’t want to see him hurt again. But he needed to get that this was his job. Being a Shadowhunter was what he was born to do and would gladly do for the rest of his life, however long that life would be.
"…I know dating someone who murders demons for a living isn’t what you wanted," mumbled the Nephilim, walking to where his boyfriend stood at the window. "I understand that you must be worried a lot of nights and wondering if I’ll even come home. But if anything so much as cut me, I know I’m in the good hands of my siblings and they’ll help me as much as they can. You don’t have to worry.."
Was it fair to reproach Alec for constantly putting himself in danger? He had been raised to do it; it was his job, his life and more than that: it was in his blood. He was born a Shadowhunter and his one true destiny was to fight and kill the evil that came to this world without permission. He didn’t really have a say in this, just like Magnus didn’t have a say in his being a warlock. He was born like this and it would mark him for the rest of his life - how long ever that would be.
“You have no idea what it is I wanted,” Magnus spat out before he could stop himself. He hadn’t intended to sounds so angry, but it was true nonetheless. Compared to the years Magnus had lived already the time he and Alec had spent together was very short. He barely knew him, and probably vice versa, and yet Magnus had never before felt so connected to anyone.
“Alec—” Magnus said, sounding calmer and gentler than before. “I know you are in good hands. That doesn’t stop me from worrying about you. I just— don’t want to lose you.” Not sooner than I have to.
"I don’t know why everyone else is, but mine was a peace offering," Camille replied as her eyes watched the warlock. "I knew you liked cats, so I thought you might appreciate it."
Magnus’s lips curled up in a soft smile but he lowered his eyes for a moment, looking at Camille’s shoes. He knew she meant well - at least he wanted to believe it - but everything that had happened between them didn’t make it easy on him to forgive and forget.
“I appreciate the gesture, Camille,” he said, looking up again.
“But it takes more than a kitten to fix what broke between us.
But since you called it a peace offering—
I can assure you, we are not at war.”
In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they'll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
Three girls and none of them were it according to this stupid number on his wrist. How it was still counting down, he didn’t know. He was pretty much dead —or undead anyway. He’d always loved Clary, and never have dared to fall in love with another, he might have assumed what was brotherly love to be more. But then he had a sister, and he never thought of her like he had about Clary at times.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t his soulmate, which he knew from the fact that she’d met hers already. Jace Wayland, the golden boy with shiny undyed hair. He still loved her though, but just —different than from what those two felt for each other. Weird.
And then there were Maia and Isabelle. Maia was simpler, like him and he loved hanging out with her, and Isabelle —well, she was intimidating, lethal and hot as hell. Simon didn’t know what it was about them, but he felt drawn to both of them, but maybe the fact that he couldn’t chose between them said enough. They weren’t his soulmates either.
Five more minutes, he noted as he looked down at his wrist —again. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he ran back inside the house. Not because it was day because he could survive the sun for some reason, but simply because he didn’t want to deal with the pressure of it all.
Instead of following his mother’s advice, who was already shouting and banging on his door to get back out on the street where people could find him —where his soulmate could find him, Simon flipped through channels until he came across Naruto and then cranked up the volume to drown out his mother’s cries. He respected her, but he was panicking and couldn’t really deal with it right now.
Blood. He kept thinking about blood. It was the stress of it all he knew. It made him hungry and he decided for himself that it was the best decision he ever made by staying cooped up inside for the whole event. What if it was a nice girl and he ended up tearing her throat out? No. This was better.
There was so much noise outside his window, like the sky splitting in half and thunder collapsing on their front yard. He could even hear it above the sound of his tv, but when he muted it, his mother was still yelling, so he figured she hadn’t heard it. Weirder.
Moving to his window, he pulled open the curtains to see if there had been some awful explosion or this might be a War of the Worlds reenactment. Only, he didn’t see anything of the sort, just the bright blue of a portal closing behind a very familiar face. Magnus.
Looking down at his wrist, he saw the numbers had reached their end, staying frozen on 0.00.00 and he shook his head in disbelief. “Go—” Simon nearly choked on his own blood as he started coughing at the mention of His name. He was going to pass out. Did vampires even pass out?
Raphael was always used to nightmares. They were natural occurences, especially when someone had a stressful life, and more than enough things to have horrible dreams about. But lately, the nightmares were getting significantly worse, and he knew he had to do something against them. He wasn’t sure a warlock would have something to help, but still, it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?
Not right. Of course, getting into Magnus’ dept (again) could have hurt him, thank you very much, but he trusted himself that he would figure something out. Finally, he reached Magnus’ flat and rang the doorbell.
The shrill sound of the doorbell made Magnus, who had just decided that a nice cup of tea would be pleasant before his next client showed up, freeze dead in his tracks. Apparently said client had decided to break the general rule of proving bad manners by coming too late and had arrived half an hour early instead. That was definitely a first, but Magnus wasn’t sure if he preferred it over the alternative.
Putting the tea kettle down with calm hands, he straightened his back and walked to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open with a welcoming smile. A smile that dropped as soon as he looked into a familiar face.
Magnus couldn’t recall his new client’s name on the top of his head, but he knew one thing for sure: it wasn’t Raphael Santiago. Pulling up his eyebrows he leaned against the doorframe, wondering what it could be that brought his old roommate.
”What do I owe this pleasure?”
“Curiosity, I get that.” Stiles couldn’t say he wouldn’t have been curious and he would probably have asked about it, too. The moment people didn’t answer things and got evasive, he always felt like there was a secret to unravel, so he only got more curious.
“Well, I wasn’t sure you had any, I just met you.”
Stiles frowned and narrowed his eyes, repeating the words in his head as if he hoped they would make sense once he did. They didn’t. And with every little thing he added thing just got more and more bizarre. “Company? What company and - did you just say Highwarlock of Brooklyn? What the heck is a highwarlock?
I am - Stiles Stilinski, High school student of Beacon Hills. Pleasure.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. What he hadn’t expected was that after showing obvious signs of annoyance, the man would start with an explanation of what he thought was going on that was absolutely accurate in every aspect.
“How do you know that?”
”Your friend,” Magnus raised his hand and made a vague gesture towards the door that Peter had left through a little while ago. Self-centered as usual, he had barely lowered himself to give Magnus a short nod as greeting. “We’ve met before and you could say we’re not the best of friends.
Why, yes. That’s what I said.” What, had this kid never heard of warlocks? He wasn’t a mundane, was he? No, something was off about him. Magnus contemplated if maybe he had talked too quickly and too much, but if this boy was acquainted with Peter Hale, he at least had to know some things about the Downworlders.
”A Highwarlock is the most powerful and most influential warlock in a certain area. In my case, Brooklyn.” Stiles’ reply made Magnus chuckle, but he nodded, recognizing the other’s playful title.
”There’s a reason I am Highwarlock
and it’s not my prizewinning taste in clothes.”
“I’m sorry! It’s just——
I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”
”In that case, maybe you should start doing it.
You’d shine out with the manners and the grace of a true chevalier.”
Black hair and blue eyes are my favorite combination.
"I’m still walking around, which means, I’m not dead enough" he said through his teeth. He knew he wasn’t alive, and sometimes he made sarcastic comments or jokes about it, but it was still a sensitive topic when someone else brought it up. Especially Magnus. "Point is, I’m not helping you with this."
”Are you of all people really trying to tell me that you consider yourself still alive?”
Magnus knew that this was somewhat of a sore spot for his undead friend, but he wasn’t the one still beating the (un)dead horse, so why stop if there were things left to be said.
So, Raphael ran into Magnus on the streets a few days before when he was coming from a necessary meeting with a few angry faes. Of course, he was in a pretty bad mood and kept snapping at the warlock, but still, he couldn’t help but feel butterflies in his stomach when Magnus laughed. It was crazy, wasn’t it? For fifty years they barely talked, and now suddenly he was realising just how much he missed the warlock, just how much he meant to him? He frowned and rang the doorbell, waiting for Magnus to answer it. Maybe he wasn’t home at all… maybe he wouldn’t make a fool out of himself.
Magnus closed his eyes and sunk back in the soft cushions of his couch, pretending he hadn’t heard the ringing of the bell. Maybe if he ignored them they would just go away again. His inofficial office hours has ended over an hour ago and he was really not in the mood to cast a single spell more today - at least none that wasn’t to his personal gain.
The warlock tried to recall if he was expecting anyone that he might have forgotten about, but nobody came to mind. It was probably a client, or someone he didn’t enjoy having at his place - someone like Jace Wayland, for example - because his friends would have the courtesy to call and announced themselves before showing up.
When the doorbell rang again, Magnus realized it was time to face the bitter truth. He opened his eyes again and pushed himself up to go answer the door. With a slightly sour expression he pressed the button for the intercom and talked into it.
“What.” he “asked”,
not even trying to sound welcoming.