By Mistake Or Design
^^^10/10/2017 -1,919
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. This and every chapter and word is from the fantastical world of Cassandra Clare, I just write about it. THIS WILL NOT BE REPEATED FOR EACH CHAPTER.
AUTHOR"S NOTE: REVISION: October, 2017
This is for all my Jonathan Christopher Morgernstern lovers out there!
If you wanted a happy ending for our favorite character,
this is not the place,
but if you want a story filled with passion, grief, loss, hope, and redemption for not only the villains but the heroes too, well you are in for a treat!
- I do not believe in bashing, but staying true to the characters, and exploring how they feel, behave, and experience in the safety of their own worlds. We have the viewpoints of several characters in Cassandra Clare's novels, but I chose to stick solely to my OC, Seraphina Fell. If you are interested in others, please ask and I will see what I can do!
-Personally, I believe Jonathan truly bends the rules of morality and justice when it comes to character analysis, because not only is he inherently predisposed and gravitates towards wickedness and evil, but he also craves affection, attention, and family. He is human just as much as he has demon parts. I hope to stay true to that, and push the boundaries of what was shown in the books. This features Jonathan with an OC, so if you are not into that, I suggest you read another fanfic.
****This story is for all my follows and people who faved this story so long ago, this is for you. I am finishing this story, one way or another. Love you, and hope you like the work I put into redeeming Jon and Sera's tale. More chapters to come. Soon I will be posting next chapter, Chapter 10: Warm Blood.
Prologue
Hurt
Stop!
Stop, for just one moment.
He didn't.
He was pulling me down the street, and I was trying to-
"shut-up I can't think," he demands again when I try to get him to listen. Not the least bit careful as we cut through the crowd, people moving, and if they did not, he was there to do it for them.
"Watch it asshole," someone says for me, and I see his tall back flex through his leather jacket, he is ready to fuck someone up, anyone up. Except unlike himself, he continues forward, away from the Institute and the people I had grown to love. I was not even putting up a fight anymore, too focused on my feet missing concrete steps, and my hand captured in his did not seem to want to, and so I followed in his warpath.
"What the hell are we doing," I ask when we are waiting at a crosswalk. Decisions are incorrigible happenings. It allows a person moment for the choice to be made. Making the choice is simple.
"If you shut-up, then I could get us there quicker," he shushes me, reading a map of Europe, a place faraway from here, and I look at the cars honking, breaking, and people screaming in ignorance.
"I don't want to leave this place Jon," but he was not listening. I guess, you are given the choice to choose the easier, the harder, the right, the wrong, or my favorite; I do what I want choice. Unlike those cases, this time I had no choice. Sometimes you never have one.
I was bound closely to him. I followed him down an alleyway leaving the perimeters of the New York Institute for likely the last time. Clary, Jace, even the fierce Izzy, they could no longer comfort me, or at least save me. I would never return, and see the giant looming buildings I had grown so fond of these past weeks. This was just a lost home now. The home I had always wanted, and never thought possible. Now it felt like a sad unfinished dream.
His hold on me was tight, and my sweaty hand and banged up elbows was going to get a bruise after this.
"Just let me say goodbye first," I pulled against his iron grip trying and failing to make him let me go, "Let me say goodbye," I repeated.
It felt like the summation of our relationship; me trying to be free, and him refusing, and doing the exact opposite by gripping tighter.
"You are just wasting your time," he said rubbing the back of his short hair, he had cut it too short this time, "we do not have the time Sera," his voice was tired as he thumbed his phone repeatedly, a new one by the looks of it, and that meant his father was planning something big. He rarely got new things.
"I know," I tried to justify, tugging on his jacket when a cozy mundane couple watched us, because I did not want to look like Jon was- well being his asshole self, they would call the police with the way he usually treated me, "Let me leave a note at least for them," they would not come after me if I told them who had come to visit, the handsome kidnapper demon boy, Clary's big bro, my once best friend.
"Jon, don't ignore me! They will be worried about me," I pried one finger off when he brought the phone to his ear, "they will think I got killed or something." I didn't want to say kidnap that would only upset him more, he cursed when the person did not pick up his call.
"If they care so much," he shoved the cellphone into his jeaned pants, his dark eyes murderous, "where are they now?"
"You seem like your well informed, why not just tell me."
"Do you see them coming after you? If they are show me? Show me how much they care about you," His hand encircled my wrist like the charm bracelet that used to be there. His words were like daggers, and he saw how much it bugged me. Alone. Unwanted. Bastard Child.
He tugged, and I came, "Besides, you are under my care now. We will see how many times I will leave you."
"But you don't care about me, Jonathan. You can't."
"Duty is less fallible then feelings. I thought I already told you that."
"Doesn't mean I agree with you, I am not a mindless zombie."
He grunted in disagreement, and I scoffed no longer feeling the need to follow him like his little groupie whore.
"Listen," I pulled back, not caring if we made a scene, "You sure have a lot of things to say, but you don't know the first thing about human emotion. You don't know how to care or feel. So don't even pretend that you do."
I watched his reaction to see if it had an affect him, and of course he was just unsympathetic as ever. Rage was his only emotion, and indifference to anything but his precious duty.
The tears started falling from my eyes, and he turned away cursing underneath his breath.
I hated feeling so weak, especially in front of him. When were we going to stop beating each other with verbal whiplash, I was fed up with all this pent up aggression.
On the sidewalk two civilians dressed in black started running near us. I was instantly pushed away and up against him and my back trapped against the concrete sealed wall. He was so close that I could taste the salty sweat pooling on his neck. He was protecting me. I shuddered as his warmth transferred to my cold skin. I bit on my lip calming my need for his closeness. His breath tickled the softness of my neck, and his muscled body shielded me from the dangers of the world.
He could bring me to hateful tears, but in moments like this it was easier to believe in his humanity.
I placed my hand over his chest rubbing the place where his heart should be; he didn't need to carry the burden alone. His gaze locked with mine, and my breathing stopped.
He brushed off my comforting hand, "Stop crying, it's pathetic," I shrunk away from him as if electrocuted, he was disgusted with me.
"I know."
He was not finsihed, "If you ever to that again, I will kill you, you understand me?"
"I do-"
"I am serious Sera, you can't that," he promised, "I promise you will regret it."
The danger passed, we both let the moment go, like the ones before it, and Jon went back to his passive stride, even if I refused to follow him any longer, digging my feet into the ground, and sliding my hand out of his. I was making my choice. Something better than his stupid plans for world domination.
I walked away from him, but he caught my wrist, quiet and powerful.
"Stop, you're hurting me," his hand became tighter the numbness spreading to my fingers.
He responded, "good, maybe now you will learn."
"I'm not your lap-dog. I said let me go!"
"You said it, not me," he was toying with me now. He enjoyed seeing me regret my word choice.
A fresh row of tears cascaded down my cheeks, "You bastard! Who do you think you are? Do you not fear for your soul?"
What soul? I imagined him saying instead he gloated, "I have the Angel in me, along with a few other things," he chuckled, "I think I will be just fine."
"You need to stop this," I remembered him telling me about his Father's plan, of bringing Raziel back, starting anew with a new Clave, a new Idris, it seemed like they both wanted to damn us all to hell, "Glory only comes with God, and you are going against him Jon, there is still time, you can stop this."
"True, but I guess we will just have to wait and see, won't we."
He was downright crazy, what was he going to do, tear down God, and build his father in that image? They would destroy him.
I told him so, "Are you insane? You won't live that long if you think that way. Now let me go!
"Never," his nails dug into my skin.
"Let go you MONSTER!"
He let go, only to back-hand my cheek so hard I fell to the pavement.
I hit the ground hard, not having a problem with my emotions. I never hated someone so much in my life, but when I looked up I saw the briefest sign of remorse in his eye. For a moment I thought he really was human, and I was willing to suck that anger up, because I wanted this more than anything.
I wanted to see the humanity return in the dark soul in front of me, no matter how long it took. Some people are stubborn, others are hell-bent, and when it came to him I could be. I didn't care; I was going to get him back.
I just sat there, lost in my hopeful thoughts returning to see the remorse turn to a teasing smirk.
He was enjoying this a little too much, "Well look at you," I frowned, "Obedience suits you."
I went for his legs.
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