#shadowhunterfam

Magnus: don’t talk to me or my adopted children again 

Simon: all the puns

Alec: whoever threw that paper, your moms a hoe!

Jace: bitch where 

Izzy: dabbing (Simon got her into it; it’s almost as bad as her cooking) 

Clary: bitch where? 

Maia: resting bitch face memes

Luke: dad memes 

The door clicks shut behind Will with a soft sound, echoing gently down the silent hallway of his new apartment. He winces even at the quiet noise, slipping off his shoes as silently as he can and tiptoeing into the living room, hyper-aware of the other person currently residing with him.

It’s all for naught when the door at the end of the short entrance hall creaks open, the weight of another man sending the floorboards groaning through the heated air. A head of light hair peeks out from the bedroom, a pale hand rubbing at tired grey eyes as they squint to catch sight of the boy creeping into the apartment.

“Will? Is that you?” Jem calls, voice scratchy and quiet as the bedroom door shifts open even further. He must have fallen asleep studying for his finals, considering the wrinkled button-down shirt and loose jeans he’s still sporting.

Will smiles apologetically at the sight of him, moving closer as Jem appears to nearly fall right back asleep while leaning against the door frame. “Yeah, sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, it’s-” Jem cuts himself off with a yawn, blinking dazedly as he appears to lose track of what he’d been saying. “I was studying.”

“You were sleeping,” Will informs him matter-of-factly, amusement creeping into his affectionate tone as he reaches to gently turn Jem back into the bedroom. The frailer of the two boys puts up no resistance as he’s led towards the bed pushed against the far wall, leaning into Will as his jeans are slipped off and he’s tucked neatly under the covers.

“Exams,” Jem mutters, sounding like he might as well be drunk for as much sense as he’s making. Will merely rolls his eyes, shrugging off his own pants and snatching up some pajamas to slip on. He slides in beside the other man, pulling the sheets up to cover his bare torso as he scoots as close to his companion as physically possible.

Wrapping an arm around his waist as he presses against Jem’s back, Will smiles into a head of silver hair and lets his eyes fall shut. “I missed you.”

Jem doesn’t reply, probably because he’s three hundred percent dead to the world and one hundred percent too comfortable in Will’s arms to so much as stir. Dark hair fanned out messily across their bright white pillows, Will pulls him even closer and settles down to sleep himself.

When he wakes the next morning, Jem has somehow managed to only wrap himself even tighter around him.

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.”

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