Wow! Something somewhat wholesome? Can't believe it. Here's some canon scenes of my people not dying inside or being murdered. Not sure if all of this actually qualifies as wholesome, but by my standards of what I usually write, I guess it is ahaha. Also for Aspen's, I don't remember if he specified species but I didn't feel like looking for it so I just made it up.

"Can I paint you?"

"...What?" Aspen shifted back where he sat on the bed, pulling up the robe as it nearly slipped from his shoulders. It was such an odd request that it did not immediately register and he just stared, his eyes mostly confused. "You don't want-...?"

The young warlock laughed, pulling up a chair slowly to sit by the bed, setting his bag on the ground. "Maybe...maybe I would have wanted to sleep with you, but I think I'd rather put you in a picture. I think that's much nicer than a meaningless night of whatever anyone else can offer in the Towns."

On any other night, Aspen would have been offended at the comment, but he could not help a slight smile at his words. "Well, if you'd like to paint me, I suppose I won't stop you. It's a bit of an odd request."

Reaching into his bag, the warlock pulled out sketchpad and a small container of watercolours, setting them on the edge of the bed. "I'll pay you for your time, I promise. I insist, in fact. It's not always easy to get someone to sit down for an extended period of time."

"I can sit for as long as you'd like."

"Good."

Studying him, the warlock moved forward a little to brush Aspen's hair from his eyes before tilting his chin up a little, but did nothing else to fix him. Sitting back, he took his sketchpad and a thin brush, wetting it with his tongue to swirl the bristles against the dried paint dish.

"Will I get to see it when you're done?" Aspen inquired, his expression brighter than it had been in weeks. "It'd be a tease if I couldn't."

"Of course you'll see it." Again, the warlock laughed and Aspen found it entirely pleasant. Not annoying at all, but soft and sweet. "Though you'll have to sit still and then I promise you'll get to look at it all you want."

Cole could not search his French vocabulary enough to express any meaningful feeling, the language stale in his thoughts from years of disuse. Arms kept him where he was, tightened around him where one of his former foster mothers kept him docile. She still looked young - older than she had been when she had taken him too early under her stern wing, of course, but her hair had not yet grayed and her eyes were still rich in colour. He had no trouble recognizing her though the years since he had seen her had been long and tedious.

She spoke in French for a moment, which Cole mildly understood, before pulling back to look up at him and press a tender hand against his cheek. "You are not dead-?"

Her English was perfect and a little decadent, but her accent granted her a tentative curve to her words, softening her consonants.

"No, unfortunately," he said bleakly, a little startled by her show of affection, for she had mainly shown her strict nature in the years he had lived with her. "I'm sick, in all sorts of ways, though. I've come here to die."

It surprised him when her expression crumpled as she shook her head sadly. "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Let me help, Cole. I do not care what you have done in the past. I have forgiven such things."

"You're not my mother. You have no obligation to do anything for me," Cole replied in a tone harsher than he meant. He would have been angry, but he could feel nothing but tired. "You did not love me then and I don't expect you to now."

"I would have loved you as if you were my own," she said, pained. In that instant, she looked worn, even by Shadowhunter standards, and she lowered her hand back to her side. "But you did not let me. I would hope things are different now."

"No. Things cannot be different. In fact, they are surely worse." His words soured, tilting his head down to look at the pavement instead, his glasses slipping down just slightly. "I am not one of your kind anymore, nor am I noble or...or worth saving and I've broken the Law, the Accords...whatever...more times than I can count."

"I would scold you, but you are not fourteen anymore." She watched him with solemn eyes, sighing a few French words of exhaustion. "I always wanted to be a mother and I think part of that is forgiving a child for even what cannot be forgiven."

It was his turn to shake his head, his hair a little mussed, which was strange and unlike him. "I am not a child any longer. I was not 'your' child for very long either."

"That does not change things. A parent never stops being a parent." Time had not whittled away at her stubborn nature, pressing a hand against the back of his shoulder to urge him on. "I have some empty rooms. You'll come to stay with me."

A protest was nearly drawn from his lips, but he swallowed it back, deciding it would be best to go along with her. He had forgotten a little what it was like to lower his guard, even just for a moment, but somehow he did not think he would be hurt by it. It was logical to accept a room, he tried to convince himself, but it was difficult to find much of an emotional response that debated against following her.

"I will, then, if I must," he said quietly, as if to assure himself that he would go as part of his own discretion. Reaching up, he pulled his glasses off, looking at them for a moment before hooking them in his shirt. He did not need them at the moment, for a comfort was only necessary in times of discomfort, and he liked to be able to see sharper, without the lenses obscuring his vision. It had been a while-

A long, long time-

Forever, even, since he had seen clearly.

Laying back on his bed, Connor hummed as his eyes skimmed the lines of his book, not really in the mood to read but not in the mood to find something else to do. He only flipped the pages, speed-reading through the chapters as if any information about fricatives and diphthongs were actually contained in his head. It helped pass the time.

Keeping his book steady in one of his hands, he reached out to try and grab the bottle of water on his nightstand, his fingers outstretched although his conquest was fruitless. His pursuit of a lazy day was not about to be ruined, his fingertips brushing the edge of the stand to try and get it.

"Hey, Cay-" His words halted as soon as they had been pulled from his lips, his arm falling back onto the bed. "I mean-..."

There was no one there, of course, and it had been that way for months. He hadn't been counting the weeks that went by, for time never seemed to clear his mind.

"You're not here, I know," he continued dumbly, snapping his book shut and setting it to the side. "I forget that sometimes."

Instinctively, he waited for an answer, but there was nothing said in response. In the beginning, his own thoughts had mirrored his brother's to a likeness that confused even him. Now, he could not even imagine up a response that he could believe was actually real.

"I used to forget that more often." His eyes trained up at the ceiling, finding that he had nothing else to look at now. "But I don't feel like dying anymore."

Still - silent.

"I mean, not as much. Not all the time. It was really crappy at first and I don't think most Shadowhunters have sympathy for that kind of thing...But I'm not dead yet, so I think it's alright." Curling onto his side, he rolled his eyes. "By the Angel, I'm stupid, talking to myself like this."

Lifting a hand, he brought it in front of his face, a little nervous to unfurl his fingers, but he did eventually, studying the red lines that he had scribbled out on his palm. The rune reminded him of blood, but that was the way of Shadowhunting, for one never escaped being unharmed. It was honorable to die in battle, fighting for a cause, and he tried to not forget that.

"I think these never fade. I don't know if one can ever stop mourning," he said, slightly hesitant. He pressed his palm into the sheets instead. "I won't, of course, and that's normal."

The quiet of his room was almost comforting and he let his words mingle in his thoughts.

"I think I realize that it's kind of okay to not be okay." He didn't know why he kept talking, but he could not help rambling, finding it oddly reassuring. "But I'm okay right now. And that's good. Really good. And...I think things get better. I mean, that's what I hope...and that's all we can do, right?"