#raphnor

13. eat something you can’t resist

“Raphael?” a voice echoed through the dingy motel. Lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie rhythmic shadow to the torn walls of its hallways. There was no reply, just the scampering of mice across the cracked floorboards and the fluttering of a bird’s wings somewhere nearby.

Ragnor frowned, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his newly washed trench coat and scuffing over a pile of drywall. He called out again, this time in a voice more uncertain and inquisitive than the first.

“Raphael? It’s me.”

No reply. Not even a bird this time, let alone the vampire he was trying to draw out. Magnus had told him it might be best to just leave him be this time, to let him suffer the loss of one of his own in peace like he no doubt intended. Raphael had never been one for company as comfort, a fact both warlocks were intensely aware of.

Yet, Ragnor couldn’t just leave him be. Not after the terrifyingly blank expression that had crossed his face the moment his clan member’s head had gone rolling across the uprooted grass. Not after the way he’d stared down at his hands, his arms, like he’d wished they hadn’t been there when he looked.

He swallowed hard, stepping through a gaping hole in one of the motel walls.

“Raph- Oh, there you are.”

Drawn at last by the sound of his voice, the vampire in question turned his head to glance at him. His eyes were wild, hectic and frantic and ferocious as they fixed unseeingly on the concerned figure at the makeshift entrance to his room of sorts. His jaw was working, teeth clenched firmly around the opening of the blood bag he had clutched between his paper white fingers. No doubt provided unknowingly by the local blood-bank, Ragnor noted absently.

Raphael didn’t even really seem to see him, like he was looking at him and knowing he was there but not really acknowledging that he was a living human being. It was something about the vacant expression on his face, the way he drank like he’d been starved all his life. Or maybe it was the red still speckled across his snow white skin, leftover from the fight that brought them to that moment.

“Raphy,” Ragnor cooed, hoping against hope that the dreaded nickname would somehow elicit a reaction from the vampire. It didn’t, dark eyes still fixed unseeingly on his hesitant figure as slurping sounds filled the ruined room.

“Raphael,” he tried again, stepping forwards this time. “Come on, I thought you’d been trying to avoid human blood.”

DO I?!?!

Raphael is definitely the big spoon. Ragnor secretly loves this, though he would never admit it.

Ragnor loves going on double dates with Magnus and Alec. Raphael hates it, but every time he gets dressed up and follows Ragnor out the door without a word because he knows what it means to Ragnor.

The only person in the world who can keep Ragnor from complaining 24/7 is Raphael.

The only person in the world who can keep Raphael from complaining 24/7 is Ragnor.

They love to complain together. Especially about Magnus.

When Max grows up, he calls them Uncle Ragnor and Uncle Raphael. They adore this.

Raphael switches to a diet of animal blood only. When Ragnor asks about this, Raphael shrugs and simply says, “It was high time.” Ragnor knows it was really for him.

Max loves to come to their house for sleepovers. Nerf gun wars are inevitable. 

Ragnor switches to a nocturnal schedule despite Raphael’s protestation. Ragnor’s reasoning is, “I chronically hate everyone in the world but you. People annoy me more than anything really, so why shouldn’t I be allowed to see more of you?”

Raphael is careful to never drink from Ragnor. It isn’t about the effects of warlock blood either, he wouldn’t care about that. The problem is that he loves Ragnor too much to let that happen.

Ragnor thinks it’s quite adorable when Raphael gets worked up over absolutely anything. He may or may not make it a habit to get Raphael worked up more than he should.

Before they got together, each was afraid to admit their love to the other. They both went to Magnus for advice on the matter. 

When they finally admit their love and kiss, Magnus is in the background clapping.

They eventually travel the world together. Raphael once comments that Ragnor must have seen those places a million times already. Ragnor responds, “When I’m with you, I’m seeing everything for the first time.”

Before he dies of old age, Jace offers Raphael his blood, knowing it will make him a Daylighter. “Be with Ragnor; live life the way you deserve,” he tells Raphael.

Raphael accepts this, and turns into a Daylighter. He and Ragnor wreak havoc wherever they go, day or night.

he doesn’t want to burn. he doesn’t want to drown. he wants to look at him and love him and not feel like he’s cheating both death and life with one crumbling stone. he wants to look at him and he wants that to be enough, to be all there is. he doesn’t want to fall apart without knowing what it’s like to be whole.

but there’s a city made of embers on his lungs and it’s spitting fire at his words, sending ashes up his throat instead. he can’t tell him he’s scared or he’s dying or even that he loves him. all he can say is he’s fine, he’s okay and he appreciates his affections.

9. post on webboards or try answering others

His fingers click across the keys at lightning speed, eyes flitting over the screen even faster.  There’s one from a mother asking for advice on her son― he scrolls past it in the time it takes to blink. He doesn’t stop until he hits one from a teenage boy wondering over the meaning of life. This one, he types up a reply to in the time it takes to read a chapter of a book.

He doesn’t stop until he hears Ragnor calling from the other room, voice drifting through the condo like the gentle strum of a harp beneath a symphony of ascending violin. He pauses, fingers fluttering over the keys, before jamming down on the enter button and clicking the tab closed.

He’s not sure why it helps― why it makes the hole gnawing at the center of his gut feel less like a bottomless chasm. It’s in the same way he doesn’t know why Ragnor helps― why crawling into the arms of a warm body so unlike his own fends off the nightmares of a time he’d rather forget. Raphael’s not sure of a lot things, but he’s certain of one simple truth: