Ask Magnus Chase and Friends

Happy Birthday Magnus Chase! (one-shot)

happy birthday Maggie, thank you so much for existing; my life would be more of a mess than it is now without you and your friends—just thank you, and we love you beyond words! <33

(note: sorta long chappie?? also, idek w the ages anymore sooo seventeen it is haaa)

 Magnus ran his hands through his hair, which now tumbled in waves across his forehead like some seriously messed up bangs. Magnus sort of looked like his former self (yet mildly more like some wannabe emo, because of the choppy bangs) since his hair had almost grown out to the length of his chin again. Magnus found the feat slightly weird.

Did his hair grow only when he was out of Valhalla? No, that made Valhalla seem like some crude, gory Neverland. Magnus didn't know how science applied to anything in his life (or death, or gah, whatever) anymore, and he thought it would be better to ignore it.

Anyhow, Magnus found his hair comforting in a way. However stupid it sounded— it was the shield he carried in middle school to hide his insecurities, though being called a girl five times a day didn't help. His reflection stared back at him, with tired eyes and a hunched posture. Magnus rubbed his eyes, and trudged away from the mirror.

Seventeen years old. That's how old he would be if he wasn't dead. His mind wandered to his 'empty cup' family, and how they all would age a year without him. No, no, no–not this again, Magnus scolded himself.

The nightmare had terrorized and plagued his dreams for the past few nights following up to his birthday, scaring away any excitement that he would've felt for the occasion. Samirah, Blitzen, Hearthstone–all of his living friends carrying on with their lives, something that Magnus would never experience again. Not that Magnus was anxious about that, no, he didn't have a destiny to start with when he was living anyways. That's why he was fated to die. Pathetic, really. Only being able to be useful when you're dead, Magnus thought.

No, the root of the nightmares was watching them die. Watching the people he loved die before his eyes, and not be given a chance at the afterlife he was in. Watching them wither away and him being incapable of doing anything. Or even them dying in battle heroically with no one there to save them an—

Magnus didn't realize that he was coughing and wheezing, or that he was sitting on his bed clutching his stomach. Breathe, Pumpkin, breathe. Deep breaths, in, out, in, out; his mom said calmly as she held the inhaler to eight year old Magnus's mouth. Her voice reverberated in his head as Magnus fumbled through the dresser's drawers for his inhaler. After he found it, he followed his mother's instructions.

As soon as Magnus felt the panic trickle away, he lay the inhaler down on the nightstand and stretched out on his bed. It still didn't feel comfortable after all this time. Half the time he found himself sleeping in the outdoor atrium, comforted by the soft breeze of wind.

Magnus glanced at the clock on his nightstand: it read 12:30am. Woo, happy birthday to him, he had already got a surprise present—an asthma attack! Fun, fun.

Are you okay now, señor? Am uncertain voice piped up from the back of Magnus's mind.

"Oh shit, sorry Jack. I forgot to take you off yesterday, didn't I?" Magnus said as he fumbled with his pendant.

"No problem, boss, your chest is nice and warm anyways. Warmer than that other stupid annoying sword, Excalibur, I was huggi—" Jack continued talking in his sword form, making Magnus immediately regret his decision.

"Aaand I'm considering putting you back in pendant form," Magnus said, "Please Jack, kindly keep your exciting social life ventures out of my life—got it?"