Author's Note: Liking the initial feedback... :) Most of these will be pretty goofy; not necessarily crack, but certainly that random Mortal Instruments humor we love. There will be a few angst pieces thrown in for good measure...also, just started reading the Infernal Devices! Along the line there may be some references.
Y is for Yo-yo:
A lovely party favor and a deadly weapon.
Magnus blinked as a thin stream of early-morning sunlight glared directly in his eyes. He scowled irritably at the offending product of nature, and with a floppy wave of his hand the glittery black curtains restored cool shadow to the room.
It was Alec who had thrown open the curtains, probably sometime last night. The Shadowhunter claimed that he had not the inclination to become nocturnal like Magnus and relied on the annoying rays of Earth's natural alarm clock to wake him when he stayed over, knowing full well that Magnus would disable any digital means of waking should he discover it (and he always did).
Magnus attempted to be angry at his boyfriend for indirectly waking him up at the ungodly hour of ten-thirty in the morning, but it was a feeble attempt at best. How could he be so pessimistic when they were snuggled together like this, a blurred twist of bare skin, angled limbs, and crumpled pillows all buried under neon sheets? There was an arm thrown around his waist, another around his shoulders; he could see his own manicured hand poking out from behind Alec's head. He was not even going to try to distinguish whose legs and feet were whose. It was difficult to discern where one man ended and the other began. Magnus felt oddly at one with his boyfriend in a semi-completely nonsexual way (because, honestly, when was something ever completely nonsexual with his sensual self around?). This unity wasn't at all unwelcome. Chairman Meow was the only nuisance, dozing on Alec's abandoned pillow and absently flicking his tail back and forth across the empty space, occasionally thwacking his master in the face.
Alec snored slightly as he slept with his head on Magus's chest. It was a soft, pleasant sound, although Magnus did not entirely appreciate the formidable puddle of drool dribbling from Alec's mouth. Endearing in it's own way, like everything Alec did, but disgusting all the same.
He reluctantly admitted to himself that Alec's intense fatigue was partially his fault. Magnus knew when Alec shuffled into the apartment that he was dead on his feet, but they hadn't seen each other in days. Alec had been busy with his Nephilim duties all week, rounding up a scattered horde of demons that had devoured the poor, irresponsible warlock who'd summoned them. It was blatantly obvious that he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while, but that was one thing Magnus couldn't give him after his prolonged absence.
At least he would let him sleep in, whether the disciplined Shadowhunter liked it or not. Alec always carried on about his descent into the nocturne lifestyle, but if he wasn't careful he would acquire a case of insomnia before long.
Magnus closed his eyes and nuzzled Alec's disorderly black hair. It was always so soft and plain, but beautiful for it. Everything about Alec was beautiful, from his perfect blue eyes to his long pale toes. He just didn't know it.
The warlock absently healed Alec's battle wounds as his fingers gently traced the patterns on the Shadowhunter's Marked body. Magnus had never found the Nephilim's angelic language fascinating until he met Alec. He couldn't manipulate runes for his own use, so what was the point in trying? He was unworthy of the Holy Language, his blood tainted by his birth as one of Lilith's brood. But the faint silver scars on Alec's skin told a story, his story, and for the first time in his extensive existence Magnus found himself genuinely curious about the workings of Heaven. The two of them spent many hours knotted together like they were now, limp and breathless or sleepy and sated. Magnus would trace a scar with his fingertips and Alec would try to remember what it was, when and why he used the rune that caused it. They often carried on until they fell asleep, or a particular brush of skin aroused a fresh bout of passion.
Just as he finished healing Alec's cuts and bruises (and the fractured rib that the Shadowhunter hadn't even noticed, if last night's contortions were any indication), an obnoxiously loud buzzer sounded through the apartment. "BANE - !" the speaker boomed, but Magnus snapped his fingers and it muted. Whoever it was, they could wait. This was more important.
Gage Hartlee was not a patient man. He had the stocky, muscular build of a linebacker, and was thrice as threatening with his curling tattoos, ugly scars, and heavy-metal attire. As alpha of the largest lycanthrope pack in Brooklyn, why should he practice petty virtues such as patience? The palpable intimidation rolling off of him alone was enough to get him what he wanted, and quick.
This half-demon punk Magnus Bane had the nerve to keep him waiting? Gage was aware of Bane's contradicting reputation: he was the best the warlocks of New York had to offer, but he chose his cases as he pleased and charged a pretty penny for them too. Gage didn't care if Magnus-freaking-Bane was the High Warlock of the Goddamn World; he was practically equal with the sparkly little twerp, he would be shown respect, and he would not be ignored.
Thoroughly enraged, Gage pressed the buzzer for the third time. "I SWEAR TO GOD, BANE, IF YOU DON'T LET ME INSIDE I AM GOING TO TEAR YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"
He counted backwards from ten and took a deep breath before pressing the buzzer once more. "Alright, Bane, I'm coming up whether you like it or not."
It didn't take much pressure to break open the door. Just a kick from one dictionary-sized boot, and he was in. No one could keep out all 6'8 of Gage Hartlee.
"BANE!" he roared as he thundered up the stairs to the warlock's apartment. It sounded like a herd of elephants marching in synchronization up the stairwell, not one angry werewolf.
Gage stopped outside of the apartment that he knew belonged to Magnus Bane. He raised one fist to pound on the door, when it opened just enough for a single yellow yo-yo to zip through. The door closed again, leaving just Gage and the yo-yo floating at eye level.
"What the hell...?" he muttered, peering with confusion at the plastic toy. He pinched it between his fingers and noticed that there something written in elegant fuchsia calligraphy on the side.
Sorry for the inconvenience, but I am unavailable at the moment. Return another time and I will give you audience. Take this lovely contraption as an apology. Sincerely, M. Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.
Gage blinked at the message in astonishment. His face became an unhealthy shade of puce as the full meaning began to sink in. This was unacceptable. The lycanthrope opened his mouth to relay his emotions to everyone in the vicinity, boisterously, when the letters on the yo-yo rearranged themselves and a new message appeared.
Leave immediately or you will be forced from the premises. Please be quiet on your way out. Sincerely, M. Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.
That was the last straw. Gage was not about to leave with his tail tucked between his legs just because of some idle threat written on a yo-yo. How exactly was Bane going to force him out? Stuff glitter down his throat until he begged for mercy?
The yo-yo twitched in Gage's fist. All of a sudden it leapt from his fingers and socked him violently in the nose. He heard a crunch and felt the blood gush down his face, along with white-hot pain. Gage snarled and tried to snatch the yo-yo, but it had already zoomed down to his feet and tied them together at the ankles. He lost his balance and fell with a bodily thump on the floor. Before he knew it the yo-yo had released his ankles and wrapped around his throat. With incredible strength it dragged him down the corridor, half-choking him along the way. Gage's fingers were too big to pry the string from his neck; the action only made the pain worse. The possessed toy pulled him down the stairs (a long and painful procession of right angles) and did not relinquish its grip until he was in the safety of the street. Then it unraveled itself, fell to the ground, and was once more a harmless yo-yo with yet another message.
Thank you, and have a grand day.
The people on the street stared at the deranged, bloody hulk of a man as he sprinted, screaming and cursing, away from the vibrant yellow yo-yo deposited on the sidewalk.
Later that day, when Magnus made an offhand remark about how yo-yos were actually an effective tool and that he should start handing them out as party favors, Alec decided not comment. He probably didn't want to know.