Hi! I know I suck at updating my other stories, but writers block has killed me on those stories for right now. However, I got bitten by the plot bunnies for this fic! I'm making myself stick to a strict publishing schedule, and no chapter will be posted unless I'm at least 3/4 of the way through the next chapter. This should be updated every Sunday, except for the next chapter, which I may post on Wednesday/Thursday, depending on the reception.

This is AU, which is a huge change for me, but I hope you like it. It was inspired by the song 'Total Revenge' by Say Anything... at least the last half of it. I hope you like it, because I'm very excited about it. Really really very excited for it.

ALSO - if you want updates on this story as well as general dorkiness, follow my tumblr - morbidmandy422 (DOT) tumblr (DOT) com ! Send me an ask and I'll flail with you.

Since homosexuality had been legalized three weeks ago, the sheer amount of people coming out (both literally and sexually) had stunned most of New York City. Businessmen found themselves jostled by groups of brightly-dressed teenagers holding hands. 'Best Friends' suddenly became more than that, and everyone seemed to be freer.

Everyone, that is, except for nineteen year old Magnus Bane, current resident of one-oh-nothing, Back Alley Avenue. He'd been orphaned at age seven, and after being shuffled to various foster homes and orphanages, he'd run away at age fourteen. He knew that there had been no place for him out there - in a world where he'd be jailed just for loving, his larger differences cast him as the obvious pariah.

A garbage truck rattled down the alley, Magnus pulling in his feet and nodding to Joe, the garbage man who sometimes gave him not-yet-rotten food from the convenience stores. Magnus knew that most people who saw him wouldn't consider helping him. He was taller than most, with hair dyed multicolored by whatever he could get his hands on. He'd gotten his lip and tongue pierced when he was thirteen, and along with a few tattoos he'd managed to pay for through sheer bartering and luck, he painted quite the scary picture. Well not so much scary as... unimpressive.

His hand went out to snap lightly at the cardboard box beside him, smiling softly when a tiny white kitten bounded out and over to curl up in his lap. Chairman Meow. He'd saved the little cat from being drowned by some over-run catlady. It didn't take much to take care of the Chairman, even being homeless and somewhat on the run as Magnus was. A trip to the dumpster of the grocer down the street, and boom. Instant tuna dinner... well, tuna salad with the vegetables picked out, or cans of beans...

Magnus slumped back against the alley wall. Damn, he was hungry. He'd eaten three days ago, an almost-fresh sandwich that Joe brought him... he'd planned on getting something from the grocer, but they'd dumped out their slushee machine on top of all their garbage, so... no dinner there. The Chairman had gotten half a hot dog from some cute little girl holding her mothers hand last night, so he was fine...

Magnus' mind impetuously conjured up memories of his very favorite meal. Once, two years ago, he'd found a hundred-dollar-bill dropped by some mean old man who'd nearly shoved down an old lady in his rush to get a cab. Normally Magnus returned all found money, but he figured this Armani-clad-Scrooge didn't deserve it. So he'd washed up in a convenience store bathroom and taken himself to a fancy bistro in Manhattan. People called him sir and brought him free bread and water with lemon. He'd feasted on the most delicious wild rice and salmon, and he'd felt so decadent as the waiters brought him cup after cup of lemon-ginger green tea. For dessert, he'd had some fluffy concoction with vanilla bean and caramel.

God he would kill for that meal right now. Forget eating almost-fresh food every few days, forget digging through garbage for one unopened package of anything. Just... mmm... he could smell it now. The lemony spiciness of the salmon, the nutty smell of the rice, he -

Magnus' eyes flew open. His imagination was good, but not good enough for him to remember that the bread smelled somewhat sweet. He turned his head slightly and - what the fucking hell? Sitting beside him, on the crate he normally used as a storage space for his few threadbare blankets, was the full meal he'd just been fantasizing about, complete with delicate gold-painted china, basket of bread and little plastic containers of butter.

Magnus slid off his crate to kneel on the ground in front of the food. It looked delicious. It smelled delicious. But where had it come from? Magnus spared a few seconds to wonder on its origins, but soon decided it didn't matter - he had food.

He dug in, moaning at the tender taste of the salmon, the softness of the bread, and the deliciousness of the rice. He fed Chairman Meow pieces of salmon as he savored the bread and the tea, taking his time with enjoying the meal. At last it was finished, and although he wished he'd thought to save some of it for later, he knew that there'd been no chance of that. Now all he wanted was a tall mug of coff-

The familiar aroma of slightly-bitter coffee tickled his nose, and sure enough, there was a mug of coffee - the really nice stuff, from Starbucks, not the too-bitter and thick crap he would buy from the grocers sometimes. Mmm, no, this was hot and milky, sweet and spiced. He was just finishing up his coffee, lazily petting the Chairman and thinking about heading up to Prospect Park to listen to a few of his favorite street musicians, when a sudden crash jolted him to awareness.

Down the alleyway was a man wearing a uniform that filled Magnus with fear. He shooed Chairman Meow away and sat up straighter. The man was dressed in the bland black-and-grey uniform of the New York Institute, the local mental hospital. Before the legalization of homosexuality, their 'Shadowhunters' -so named for their habit of finding patients in the shadows of society - would frequently traverse back alleyways and pick up anyone they thought they could 'heterosexualize'. Magnus had, thankfully, never gotten caught, although it seemed his luck was about to change.

"Hello, Alley-dweller." the mans voice was creaky and scratchy, and Magnus winced at the sound of it. Why on earth the Shadowhunters insisted on calling everyone by where they found escaped him.

The Shadowhunter seemed similar in size and build to the others Magnus had seen. Medium height, muscular, short hair cut close to the head. There was several blades hanging at his side. Magnus knew that at least one of them was the kind that had been created with poison in its very metal. One cut from that could burn the skin. Shadowhunters prided themselves on rarely needing to actually use their weapons, instead using their cunning and wit to ensnare their victims. Still, they always had at least three on them, plus a few other trinkets and prizes hidden away in case anyone tried to pilfer one of their shiny weaponry.

Ragnor Fell - one of Magnus' fellow street-dwellers - tried to steal from a Shadowhunter once. Although Ragnor was the type of person with almost inhuman luck when it came to getting arrested and getting let go, his luck had run out pretty spectacularly. Ragnor had cut the Shadowhunter's belt with a knife, figuring that if he didn't touch any of the blades, there was no chance of getting hurt. What he hadn't realized was that the belt itself was filled with thin capsules of poison. When he'd cut the belt, he'd also cut the capsules, releasing a poison onto his hands and face.

The poison hadn't killed Ragnor, but the Shadowhunter hadn't been very pleased. Ragnor had been gone for almost three months that time, coming back with scars covering his hands, and a rather unfortunate one marring his previously pretty face. He'd also been officially 'spotted' by the Shadowhunters, which meant they were aware of his existence - never a good thing. Last Magnus had heard of Ragnor, he had gotten a legitimate job as an assistant at a bakery, and was engaged to the owner.

"Shadowhunter. What can I do for you on this fine afternoon? I'm queer as a three dollar bill, but that's legal now." Magnus smirked at him, his cockiness coming back with his lack of hunger.

"Where did a street-denizen like you get those fancy dishes? Saving up your bottles for a little treat?" Although his tone was mocking, there was a harshness to it that let Magnus know that if he didn't come up with a believable story, he was getting reported as a possible thief. Harsh, but those without homes were treated like criminals no matter what.

All Magnus had to do was think of a believable story as to where he'd gotten the dishes... unfortunately, Magnus was, at his heart, a shockingly honest person. He'd lied before, but for some reason that day, the truth seemed like the only thing to tell.

"They were just... here."

"Here?" The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow at him scornfully, "So you just woke up this morning, turned over, and among the cigarette butts and broken glass there was extremely expensive china?"

"No, I just... I just wanted it... it was like magic, okay?" Magnus said, a little defensive. There was something about the Shadowhunters that got him edgy, put him on defense instead of offense. Maybe it was knowing that, above the police, above the government, the Shadowhunters could take you away just because they decided you were too different.

"Magic? Alley-dweller, are you on any mind-foggers or other drugs?"

"Alley-dweller, street-denizen, my, my, you are a sweet-talker. No, Shadowhunter, I'm not on anything."

"If you are not on anything, then you are either delusional or in need of medication. Therefore it is my job to take you to the Institute."

Suddenly Magnus' cocky defensive food-high was leaving him crashing. Shit, shit, shit. Everyone knew that you didn't get sent to the Institute. It was one thing to get arrested, or marked on suspicion of being a thief or being under the influence. Those things got you tossed in jail for a few days - a nice enough place, they fed you well, you got a bed and a bathroom to use - or brought in for counseling - which was a crock cause all they ever did was give you pamphlets about being clean. But being sent to the Institute meant that you were on their radar. It meant that your life was now forfeit - the Institute would fix you, even if fixing you meant removing every spot of individuality you had.

"I'm not -"

"Do not resist, Alley-dweller. The Institute will make you better. We'll fix you."

Everything went black.

When Magnus opened his eyes, it was to a room so white and generic that he felt nauseous. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the alley, and the food, and... Oh no. He was at the Institute. That damn Shadowhunter had brought him here because of his stupid, stupid refusal to lie. Damn it! It would've been so busy - say he'd bought the plates, say he'd stolen them, do anything but suggest that it was magic. But it had been... right? It had just appeared there, delicious and hot, just like he remembered it.

Right? He hadn't stolen it... or at least, he didn't think he'd stolen it... but, magic wasn't real, right? Magic was the thing that little kids who hadn't had their mother commit suicide got to believe in. Fairy tales, Cinderella and Snow White and all that. He'd never seen the appeal, but then again, he'd always been a jaded little pessimist.

Magic wasn't real. But then, how had the food gotten there. No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't remember. He remembered wanting it, and then it being there. And then when he wanted coffee, that had been there too. Shit. He'd met tweakers who told the same story - they'd wanted that jacket really bad, and all of a sudden it was there! Poof! But he wasn't on anything - no drugs, not even those crappy mind-foggers sold by the bucketload at every corner store. No, he'd always made a point to keep himself clean (fat lot of good that did him now, laying on a cot pumped full of who knows what). Could it really be... delusions? Could he really just be delusional? He'd never pegged himself as delusional... but then again, he'd never had things appear in front of him before.

Maybe... maybe this was all for the best. Maybe he should just... let go...

Those were his last coherent, conscious thoughts for a while.

Tell me what you think about it so far? How do you think the other characters will come into it? Give me your feelings and speculations!

3 MM