#good parabatai jace wayland

[dramaticalisando]

Shadowhunters

Um Elo de Dragão by Skylar102

Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood || Teen And Up Audiences || m/m, Gen || +60k

Alec não sabe quanto tempo se passou. Quantos dias ele está trancado nesta cela, nas mãos de um monstro.Alec é levado por Jonathan depois que eles libertam Clary da Runa de Geminação. Depois de ser torturado por dias, um companheiro improvável vem em seu socorro. Agora livre, Alec se recupera de seus ferimentos e deve aceitar o que aconteceu entre ele e Magnus. É bom que seu novo amigo esteja lá para ajudá-lo.

Link 🔗🔗🔗

#fic rec #malec #magnus x alec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #ao3 #Angst and Hurt/Comfort #Implied/Referenced Torture #Aftermath of Torture #Kidnapping #Hurt Alec Lightwood #Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence #Dragons #Magic #Hurt/Comfort #Canon-Typical Violence #Crying Alec Lightwood #Injury Recovery #Good Parabatai Jace Wayland #Jace Wayland is a Lightwood #BAMF Alec Lightwood #( shadowhunters )

[buffyspeak]

shadowhunters rewatch 2023:

alec & jace in 1.12 vs izzy and clary in 2.08

#shadowhuntersedit #shedit #shadowhunters #nephilimdaily #alicantenet #jace wayland #alec lightwood #parabatai #clary fray #isabelle lightwood #clizzy #coloring all of these except jace made me want to eat glass #jace had the advantage of light coming in behind him so his looks pretty good i think #anyway. if you saw the first version no you didn't #i decided i wasn't happy after posting lol #but it was up for maybe 62 seconds #gifs #* mine #some say the world may end in fire #some say in ice #etc #shadowhunters rewatch 2023

[starfirette]

All Mine

⭐️reposting this because it didn't show up in the tags

⭐️ Jace Herondale x Fem! Brightlaw Reader

⭐️masterlist | here are your warnings: 17+ + PiV + fluffy smut + marking and possessive-ness + birth control runes

⭐️book/movie Jace??? Idk. I imagine movie Jace as Jace when I'm reading, which I'm doing rn, I'm rereading city of bones. I'm going to post the next three chapters of EWW to my ao3 this weekend, and maybe I'll get a good update out! Like a real one. Thanks everyone for being patient and bearing with me being a totally emotional spaz

Jace's room was usually clean. The immaculate space could only be described as that of belonging to a monk or a pastor, or any man who lived in quiet humbility. Typically the place was spotless: routinely dusted and the hardwood floors always swept--perhaps that was a trait he had picked up from Mayrse...she was a rather strong advocate for the neat freak movement, so perhaps something about being raised by her in his later years of childhood had rubbed off.

His stack of piano music books, and a few other personal belongings, tended to be neatly set on his dresser, the one with the huge mirror (the same one he probably spent forty minutes gazing into every morning).

But now the room was trashed. It had everything to do with the way Jace had dragged you around it. He'd tossed you on every possible surface and possessed your body. Books spilled across the edge as your hands buckled to find something to grip onto as Jace hoisted his hips hard against yours, filling you up with this long cock.

By now, it had been hours, and you were both on the bed.

His thumbs pressed hard into the flesh of your ass as he guided your hips back and forth, shushing you as he grinned like a fallen Angel.

"You like this cock, baby?" Jace asked, his curly golden hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. The flushed features of his sharp cheekbones and the flickering golden hue fading in and out of his crisp blue eyes reminded you of his angelic heritage.

"Come on, angel, answer me," Jace hissed as he tipped your face up. His long fingers pressed beneath your chin, and his eyes glittered gold with brief hunger as he examined the splotchy marks he'd littered on your throat.

"I do like it," you stammered out, still trying to hump his hips as fast and hard as you could. His cock was angled just right so it rubbed the spongy spot inside of you. Your clit was erect and pounding with rushing blood, beating fast like another pulse in your body.

"I like it, I like it," you whined, sounding pathetic and not at all like a Shadowhunter. What would your parabatai say if they knew just how cockdumb you'd become, and for Jace Herondale of all people. He easily was the most arrogant of all Shadowhunters.

"Yeah, I know you like it," Jace chuckled as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hands, the cool metal of his family rings, both the Wayland and the Herondale sigils passing over your flushed face. The coldness of the rings eased the sweat as Jace maneuvered his thumb to tickle your clitoris just lightly. It made your vision blur and you couldn't help but cry out.

"You own this cock, don't you?" Jace purred as he lazed back, his voice deep with pleasure as you cried in rumbling ecstasy. Your body was trembling all over and Jace caught you as you pushed forward, slumping over as you gave up on using your own hips to hump his dick.

Jace wrapped his arms around you. He had gotten bulkier, more muscular, since the last battle in Alicante against Jonathan's army; he'd found temporary peace in his excercising with Alec, as well as his clear mind. Heavenly Fire flooded his veins, making the apples of his cheeks rosy with rush and fever.

You groaned into the crook of Jace's neck as he held you together. Without his arms you might very well fall apart; come completely undone as Jace split you in half, releasing your shadowy soul and laying it to rest in the City of Bones.

"Daughter of The Brightlaws" your slated tombstone would read. "Killed by a Herondale cock."

Well, it'd be an interesting sight.

Jace's hips and thighs smacked up as he leaned back into the headboard of the large, Institute bed. He cradled you in his arms and softly groaned as he fucked into you. Your teeth sank over the Star shaped mark on his shoulder as his skin wettly slapped into yours.

"Gotta suck something to keep quiet?" Jace chuckled as your lips suckled onto the mark. "That's fucking hot. That's right, suck. Like it's my cock, okay?"

Your lips cramped as tears dropped down your cheeks. Your upteenth orgasm was stirring inside of you, churning like cream into sugar. It was a sweeter feeling than any cake batter or cookie dough; a stronger and hotter feeling than any fine whiskey or vodka you'd ever tasted.

Jace hissed as your teeth nipped his collar bone. The skin was blotched red and purple and it stained the Star mark on his shoulder.

You shuddered violently as cum spilled outside of you. It was leaking down your thighs, coating Jace's pelvis; it was a salty mix of the both of you: it was the last of the Herondales and Brightlaws, and it was being wasted on sloppy, sloppy sex; what would the consul say? How would the Clave react if they knew your left shoulder blade was coated with a birth control rune, courtesy of Clary Fairchild.

The sound of Jace's cock plunging in and out through the sticky flood of semen was erotic on its own. It lubricated your pounding clit so that even the lightest touch made you flinch in the best of ways.

"Cum on it again, okay, Angel? I can't get enough of the feeling. Aw, baby, don't cry," Jace chuckled as he used a thumb to wipe away the tears that settled on your cheeks. "I'm going to take such good care of you. Don't you know how much I love you?"

The creaking of the bed crescendoed into a slamming against the walls. No doubt the other residents were hearing all of this, and no doubt would they guffaw and joke about it during breakfast the next day.

"I love you," Jace said, his voice breathless as he held your hips down firmly. His cock was twitching and pounding as it hammered inside of you. His thighs were thick and full with muscle as they flexed to keep himself from collapsing into the mattress. His entire body burned with tire but he couldn't stop. He needed one more, one more burst of ecstasy with you. "I will love you until I die. And if there's a life after that? I'll love you then. Can't let my Angel be all alone...need to keep her company."

Your jaw went slack as drool dripped from your lips, sticking to the Herondale star as you emitted mindless sounds into his golden skin. "I love you, Jace," you said between hiccuping moans.

"And my cock?"

You couldn't help but laugh between the thrusts. "Even your cock, baby."

Jace firmly smacked you on the ass as he made a little noise of praise. "That's right. You love it. You love it, you own it; you milk it so good. Your wet pussy hugs me just right. Raziel made you for me."

His blue eyes flared with golden flame; the heavenly fire was forcing its way out of hiding, making his hands warm as the groped across your body. "You're all mine."

#jace wayland x reader #jace herondale x reader #jace lightwood x reader #jace morgenstern x reader #jace wayland imagine #jace herondale imagine #jace lightwood imagine #jace morgenstern imagine #jamie Campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader #starfirette writes #jamie campbell bower imagine #the mortal instruments x reader #the mortal instruments imagine #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters imagine #please work this time #18+ content

[lawsofchaos1]

WIP Wednesday

(on a Saturday because who cares)

I have been tagged by the ever lovely @foodsies4me! And, speaking of Foodsies, if you aren't reading their two most recent WIPS - omg you are missing out. Their Daemon AU (Apollo: Blood Wars) is so twisty and delightful and full of foreshadowing for something I still can't figure out just yet, and I love that I'm still on the edge of my seat every chapter trying to guess what's coming next. Their Arranged Marriage AU (Bridges over Lakes of Salt) basically just went down my list of favorite tropes to check all of them off (Misunderstandings! Good Parabatai Jace Wayland! HoTI Alec!) and is incredible.

Anyways, a bit of of angst has been requested, so please have a little snippet from the final chapter of Laudanum:

The loft is bright, the windows flung wide to let in in the late afternoon sun, and the living room looks so completely normal that it takes Catarina three full heartbeats to turn her head towards the flung open doors to Magnus’ apothecary and understand what she’s seeing.  His heavy oak worktable has been hastily cleared, the several sheets of parchments underfoot and a shielded light-crystal wedged partly underneath the central bookcase speaking to the urgency in which it was done. Magnus sits askew, cross-legged, at the head of the table cradling Alec’s head in his lap. Alec himself is on his stomach, clearly hovering somewhere beneath full consciousness, eyes clenched shut in agony, his struggles weak and uncoordinated as small wordless noises of pain and confusion escape his mouth. Catarina catches only the barest glimpse of liquid gold eyes as Magnus bends over nearly in half, frantically trying to soothe the wounded nephilim. "Alexander-" the desperation in her best friend’s voice pierces her heart, “all shall be well, my love, I promise, just hold on, my darling, Catarina is coming - help is coming and all shall be well, I swear it, just hold on, my love, please,-" And Catarina jolts into action, berating herself already for even the momentary unforgivable pause. A bare two steps forward and she’s in the apothecary, pulling magic to her hands and taking an assessment of her patient.  Magnus doesn’t so much as look up, acknowledging her presence only with a slight change in the distressed jumble of promises and pleas as he promises Alec that help is here, he’ll be alright now, help is here. At the other side of the table is a second Shadowhunter, older than Alec - maybe in her early forties - with her hair pulled back in a complicated plait and lips pressed in a tight, white slash across her face.  The woman glances up to assess the new arrival, her muscles tensing in preparation to act until the meaning of the change in Magnus’ rambling words sinks in and she realizes precisely who Cat must be.  Twin trails run down both pale cheeks as she holds her Head’s hands to to the table, keeping him from injuring himself further. "Please," the woman begs, but Catarina has yet to stop moving.

Tagging @arialerendeair, @spiritsflame, @alexanderlightweight, and @dr-lemurr (and yes I know you only do art, but art WIPs should totally be a thing too - it's so cool to see the process!)

#lawsofchaos rambles #laudanum #shadowhunters #malec #wip wednesday

[malec-ao3feed]

The Past Bleeds Golden

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZucPwGK by Foodsies Some days, Magnus almost convinces himself he remembers his mother's voice, the warm joy in her eyes when she spoke of soul marks and twisting gold. But then, red would seep into his vision and water into his lungs and he should be getting better. Alexander is healthy, Madzie is safe and Magnus should be getting better. He doesn't know why he isn't because Alexander is. Alec is. Throughout the day he is. But at night, when fantom pains and his mother's disappointment haunt his every breath, Alec asks himself the same. Words: 1949, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of All Was Golden - main, Part 6 of All Was Golden - extended universe Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, Isabelle Lightwood, Jace Wayland, Ragnor Fell, Catarina Loss, Madzie (Shadowhunters TV), Max Lightwood, The trainees, Jessica Hawkblue, Valentine Morgenstern, Maryse Lightwood Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Additional Tags: Magnus Bane & Ragnor Fell Friendship, Magnus Bane & Catarina Loss Friendship, Alec Lightwood & Andrew Underhill Friendship, Good Parabatai Jace Wayland, Good Parabatai Alec Lightwood, Warlock Alec Lightwood, Shadowhunter Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, BAMF Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane Is a Nice Thing, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood Is a Nice Thing, Sassy Max Lightwood, Adorable Madzie (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Madzie is a Lightwood-Bane, All of the trainees are a Lightwood-Bane, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Alec Lightwood is suddenly in charge of too many children, Magnus is too, No Beta we die like Dot: Again and again and again read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZucPwGK

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #shadowhunters #tmi #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #magnus x alec #malec fanfic #the mortal instruments

[shadowhuntersficrecs]

Hey there,

I'm looking for a specific fic, and maybe you can help me, because it drives me insane.

I don't know the titel anymore, but it was on ao3. In the fic Imogen Herondale deruned Alec and broke the parabatai bond between him and Jace, and he cant remember the Shadowworld anymore. A friend of Magnus finds him, and they all try to get his memorys back and figure out what happend. It was really heartbreaking and fantasic.

I hope you can help me. Thank you :)

Hi, I found a fic that fits the description of what you're looking for, but it's locked so you'll need to have an account on ao3 to be able to read it.

--

Exile (147277 words) by Marchling Chapters: 26/26 Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Alec Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland Characters: Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray, Catarina Loss, Imogen Herondale, Jia Penhallow Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Deruned Alec Lightwood, Homelessness, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, (Light and Not Between Tagged Couples), Hurt Alec Lightwood, Parabatai Bond, Good Parabatai Jace Wayland, Not Really Character Death, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Mild Suicidal Thoughts, Broken Parabatai Bond, Jace Wayland is a Lightwood, Amnesiac Alec Lightwood

Summary:

Imogen Herondale hated Alec Lightwood.

Everyone from Jia Penhallow all the way through Jace himself knew of her animosity towards the person that she felt held her grandson back from the all that the Herondale name deserved. Despite this, Alec never thought she would actually move against him because to hurt him was to hurt Jace.

He had been wrong.

Now, Alec had no runes. His memories were gone. He had no idea who he was, why there was a ragged wound inside of him that he couldn't see or how he had gotten to this abandoned apartment in San Francisco.

All he knew was that monsters were tracking him and staying alive might take more strength than he had.

#fic asks #malec fanfic #shadowhunters fanfic

[khaleesiofalicante]

What do you think of Jace and Robert's relationship? We get some of Robert and his other kids and Maryse and all her kids but next to nothing about the two of them.

This is a good question.

We don't get much at all in the books. But we get the vague idea that they had an "okay" relationship and Robert was proud of Jace.

From Robert's pov, I personally think he really cared about Jace (pre tmi) simply because he considered Jace to be Michael Wayland's (his parabatai) son. So, I think he felt responsible for Jace and perhaps was even a little protective of him - which is why he took him in too. Also, I've always got the vibe from Robert that he's one of those dads who is not good with kids (like not bad or abusive - although he was that too - but he's just awkward around kids lol)

As for Jace - I think he was very apathetic about Robert simply because he wasn't sure how to act around another father figure. You could see why he was closer to Maryse because he was interested in having a mother than a father from the very beginning (from Son of Dawn)

#jace herondale #tsc

[occasionally-good-authoring]

surviving and living, a thin line

@indigothemuse, because i finally remembered i have a taglist (you). is max lightwood technically dead? yes. will i listen to canon? fucking never

summary: Surviving is all Jace needs. All anyone ever said he needs. But life creeps in, who is he to stop it?

Surviving. It’s what Shadowhunters do, what they learn to do as children and are expected to do until they don’t. Survive, survive, survive. 

But nobody ever says anything about living. Or Jace just didn’t hear anything if they did. So he learns his runes, his weapons, the languages, the democracy, the strategy. Survive, survive, survive. That’s all he ever hears. 

Life was an afterthought, something he didn’t really need. What needed was to survive, and one doesn’t need to live to survive. So he didn’t. He survived in broken bones, bleeding knuckles, chipped teeth, healing runes. Survive, survive, survive. That’s all he ever does. 

Nightmares wake him up stifling screams, dry heaving, heart pounding, fingernails digging in. He dealt with it, living off caffeine and desperation at the age of ten. Maryse and Robert never wonder who’s drinking the cups missing from the pot. Getting better is living, and that’s not what Jace has to do, and Jace only has to survive. Survive, survive, survive.

He becomes parabatai with Alec, the rune heavy on the inside of his wrist. It’s about survival. A parabatai is a promise of safety in the field, it’s a vow of your back being watched and an extension of yourself in another. It’s survival. It’s a battle. It’s war. Survive, survive, survive.

Max is there, following Jace. He wants to learn, but not to survive. Because he wants to live. Jace doesn’t understand, yet finds himself teaching Max anyway, giving Max the toy soldier, the only thing left from his father. It’s about survival, he tells himself, when Max is old he will be another watching my back. Survive, survive, survive. That’s what he tells himself.

Izzy teaches him how to dress, how to do makeup, how to dye hair. He tells himself it’s survival, if he needs to hide he can, change his appearance in a moment. But Izzy laughs and maybe he smiles, and maybe it’s for real. No, it’s gaining her trust. It’s survival, another pair of eyes who are trained on his back. Survive, survive, survive.

Clary and Simon come along. Clary’s angry, Simon’s a wonder. They’re both laughing and neither of them are of any use to him. But then Clary can make runes and she brings Simon along. It’s about survival, not the growth in his heart when Clary smiles or Simon laughs. Survive, survive, survive.

His father’s alive, really alive and really not Michael Wayland. Valentine. Valentine Morgenstern, Jace Morgenstern, Clary Morgenstern. One survives, two live. Jace tries to escape, tries to kill Valentine. It’s about survival, he tells himself. With Valentine alive, he’ll never survive. But the bile rising in his throat when the man smiles isn’t about survival. He swallows it down. Survive, survive, survive. That’s all this is about. 

There’s something odd about Simon. In the way he smiles, laughs, talks, moves, dances, sings, yells, screams, cries. In the way he wakes up screaming, crying, checking for a pulse he can’t feel. There’s a fire behind all of it, a fire that’s not just survival. It’s living. Survive, survive, survive. That’s what Jace wants to do, right?

Magnus drags him out of the gym, a quick healing spell on the knuckles he has never wrapped. There’s not mention of Alec, who always tries to get Jace out. He gets Jace a new wardrobe, makeup of his own, a dye job so good it looks real. The pink looks odd, leaving a flutter in Jace’s heart, tears stuck in his throat, a hug on his arms, dancing in his fingers. He doesn’t. That’s not survival, so Jace pushes it down but he knows Magnus saw that smile. Survive, survive, survive. Is that all he’s doing?

Maia and Simon drag him to Simon’s apartment, putting on a movie they call a slasher, telling him he hasn’t seen a movie until he’s watched a two star horror movie. They laugh and talk the whole time. Jace lets a small laugh out, and maybe his fingers dance a bit. Maia and Simon don’t just survive, not like him. Survive, survive, survive. Maybe he wants more.

Alec and Izzy are there at his next nightmare, where he let himself scream when he woke. They hold him, rub where his fingernails dug in, putting on Batman band-aids Clary bought for Max. He cries into Alec’s shoulder, holds Izzy’s hand, doesn’t talk about the things he saw, and they don’t need him to. Max joins, silent as he joins in, tapping out I-T-S O-K-A-Y in the morse code Jace taught him. This isn’t survival, but Jace does it anyway. And maybe he does it over and over again. Survive, survive, live.

He sits down with Simon, teaching him piano with all the gentle touch and words he didn’t get. Simon messes up, Jace puts his fingers on the right keys, the ache of a snap fading in his own. Simon sees the tears gathering on his brass eyelashes, he waits, cries along with Jace when he talks about what happened in that Manor for the first time. Survive, survive, live.

Game night at Magnus’. The first one Jace goes to. They welcome him with cheers and smiles, act like he’s always come. No touches are given, and maybe for the first time in a long time he would accept them without a flinch first. When Raphael wins Monopoly, he gives Jace a smile and there’s that flutter in his heart that means not-just-survival. Survive, live, live.

Alec, Izzy, and Max listen as Jace talks. Voice cracking, tears falling, fingernails kept from digger by Lightwood hands, body aching with bruises long gone. They apologize for things done by a man so hardly a man. They promise safety. They say wipe away tears and hold him once they make sure it’s allowed. Survive, live, live.

Tessa and Jem tell him stories about Will, hearts aching with bittersweet love lost. Jace feels family grow. Aunt Tess, Uncle Jem. Not blood, but water is better anyway. To hell with the thick red running in his veins, Aunt Tess, Uncle Jem, little Mina, cousin Kit, whose more brother than cousin. Only Kit is blood, but no better than any of the rest. Survive, live, live.

Simon and Maia laugh over a Player’s Handbook he doesn’t really understand. Green dice, numbered in gold are rolled. A sheet of paper is filled, and they help him all the way through creating a character. They teach him the rules, show him what to do. He feels warmth grow up from his stomach when they listen to him talk about the weapons in their game, explain how they work, where they’re from. When his fingers dance, Simon and Maia smiles and Jace realizes his finger dance is Simon’s rock, Maia’s hand flap. Survive, live, live. 

Alec, Izzy, and Max laugh with Jace over too much food ordered at Taki’s. Jace smiles, laughs, talks, fingers dancing when they listen to him talk about Shakespeare. He explains the tragedy of Hamlet, and the jokes they speak are never about him. Max sees his fingers dance and tells Jace how he likes to bounce. Alec and Izzy smiles and know, never mock or try to stop. This isn’t survival, and it’s better than just that. Live, live, live.

Maia and Simon ask him to a movie at Simon’s apartment. Food is tossed into mouths, Jace’s fingers dance, Simon rocks on the balls of his feet, Maia’s hands flap. Maia lays her head on Simon’s lap, asks to put her feet in Jace’s. A yes is said, and he means it. Hesitation when kisses are asked next, they don’t. Simon and Maia don’t ask again. The next week another movie, Simon curled against Maia, hand entwined with Jace. Kisses are asked for, and this time Jace knows he wants it. They make sure, he is. Live, live, live. 

Magnus takes him shopping again, Aunt Tess and Uncle Jem come to. Jem tells him about violin, offers Jace lessons when interest is shown. Magnus knows a place, just like he always does. Aunt Tess shows him her favorite books, Jace shows her his. Magnus buys them, shaking off offers to pay him back with laughs and it’s no problem. Live, live, live. 

Shadowhunters are taught to survive, nobody talks about living. But Jace won’t just survive anymore. He’ll live. He’ll heal, even if the nightmares don’t go away, even if unwelcome touch still causes a flinch. Live, live, live. A lesson he had to learn, but a welcome one. 

Live, live, live. What is survival without the life behind it? Live, live, live. That is what Jace will do.

#gotta love ignoring canon and writing a character healing #if you noticed clary missing after her two mentions it’s because i find her insufferable #jimon #jace x maia x simon #maia roberts #simon lewis #jace herondale #jace calls tessa aunt tess and jem uncle jem fight me i’ll win #tessa gray #jem carstairs #will herondale #he’s mentioned like once but shhh #herongraystairs #magnus bane #alec lightwood #izzy lightwood #max lightwood #the lightwood family my beloved #kit herondale #mina carstairs #raphael santiago

[simply-ellas-stuff]

I need to talk about Jace and Alec because I had a realization and I need opinions and discussions because I’m new to these books.

Alec was born September 12, 1989

Jace was born January 18, 1991 [originally thought he was born in July 24, 1990 thanks to being raised as Michael Wayland’s son by Valentine]

When Jace was Nine [originally thinking he was ten], he was brought to New York after Valentine gives him up. The Lightwood’s Adopted him at that time.

Alec and Jace met when Jace was nine and Alec was twelve almost thirteen. According to the fandom wiki, Alec “...developed an almost instant attraction and later rapport with Jace...” when they met.

I was thinking about it. Alec had an almost instant attraction to Jace. They eventually grew up together - and went through puberty together. And teenage boys, fantasies, and the fact that Alec had a thing for Jace at the time just doesn’t sit right with me.

Like... Alec and Jace are great. They’re the best of friends and the bestest of Parabatai. But the fact that Cassie writes it where 12/13 year old Alec is immediately attracted to 9/10 year old Jace just feels weird like it doesn’t make sense in a comfortable way... like why the fuck did Cassie write it like this?

According to the wiki it’s said in City of Bones and City of Glass, they meet for the first time at this time in their lives. So obviously these were the super early on in the books [and tbh I don’t think Cassie had quite figured everything out and obviously she’s not very good at math] so is this just a fuck up by Cassie and her timeline not making sense the way it should or do y’all think she did this on purpose for the sake of the plot/Malec??

*Genuinely looking for opinions and discussions, not trying to attack anyone just genuinely looking for clarification/answers/whatever anyone can offer because I am so confused*

#The Mortal Instruments #Jace Herondale #Jace Wayland #Jace Lightwood #Alec Lightwood #Alexander Lightwood #Jace x Alec #Jalec

[diana-bookfairchild]

@fluffbruary Day 8

Have some Lightwood siblings fluff for day 8!

“You alright down there?” Jace smirked at him from up in the rafters.

Alec groaned in response, stretching out on the ground in an effort to get rid of all the aches. “No. C’mon, Jace, enough training for now. It’s still early morning.”

His parabatai shrugged and then took a flying leap, doing a flip before landing on his feet. Alec didn’t even bother getting up or being surprised. Anyone who knew Jace knew how performing impossible feats was part of his routine.

“What do you want to do, then?” Jace asked, running his hand over the swords on the rack idly. “Sneak onto a mission? I heard Kadir’s leading a pretty good one, nest of Amphisbaena demons near the—”

“By the Angel, Jace, do you ever think about anything other than training and missions?” Alec rolled his eyes and jumped to his feet.

Jace considered that seriously. “Food,” he decided. “The piano. Demon languages. Regular languages. Plants. Runes. Girls. Sure, Alec, plenty of stuff.”

Alec ignored him. “I’m going to go check on Max,” he decided, “See if he’s up yet. He’s due to start physical training today, and Brynn Stormhurst is his trainer, and she isn’t kind with tardiness.” He walked off, knowing Jace would follow. Sure enough, he felt his brother’s body next to him near instantly, moving soundlessly.

“Which unit is he on?” Jace asked interestedly. “When I was his age, I’d already gotten my first rune. And killed several demons.”

Alec had several thoughts about Michael Wayland’s parenting, none of which would be a good idea to express in front of Jace. “That’s too dangerous,” he replied instead. “Max’s only six. You’re telling me you really want him out there?”

Jace grimaced. He was more protective of their younger brother than anybody else. “Fair enough.”

They found their sister at Max’s door, apparently having had the same thought. Isabelle was in a pale-yellow dress, her ruby at her throat and whip bracelet on her wrist, runes they needed to put on themselves daily neatly inked out. Fully dressed, fashionable as always.

“You’re up early,” Jace said in surprise. “Normally we can’t get you out of bed until eight.”

“Yes, well, it’s not everyday my little brother starts his physical combat unit!” Isabelle clapped in excitement.

“He’s starting his physical combat unit?” Jace gasped.

“Yep!” Max opened his door, beaming. “Finally! Izzy promised she’d give me some tips.”

“You’re getting Isabelle to talk about something other than clothes and fashion?” Jace whistled, mockingly impressed. “Amazing work, Max. High-five!”

Max giggled and raised his hand to meet Jace’s.

“Says the one who won’t shut up about training,” huffed Isabelle.

“What time do you have to report for training?” Alec asked, ignoring the two.

“Seven o’clock,” Max said, worrying his lip between his teeth.

Alec glanced at his watch. It was only five forty-five. He had time. “Okay. What do you want to do till then?”

Before Max could reply, Jace and Isabelle cut in. “We should go see the sunrise!” Jace suggested. “In the greenhouse. I’ll get you a practice seraph blade and we can go through the basics.”

“No way!” Isabelle said indignantly. “Alec and I can’t come there. We need some sibling bonding time!”

Both Alec and Jace rolled their eyes. As soon as Max nodded excitedly though, they softened.

“Alright,” Alec conceded. “Your room, Iz?”

“Are you kidding? The colours of that room give me a migraine,” Jace said disgustedly.

“Only because your room is as drab and ugly as a monk’s,” Isabelle muttered under her breath.

Jace opened his mouth to retort, but then saw Abraham Penfound approaching them. The nineteen-year-old was here for three months of his travel year. “Alright, Lightwoods?” He asked, before moving on. “Jace, Alec, Maryse wanted me to ask you two to take the shift on the midnight patrol.”

“Why?” Isabelle asked, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought it was full?”

“Wendell’s got kicked off active duty, and Rani got a call from Idris, she has to go there now,” he explained. “So?”

They exchanged a glance. Jace cocked his head to the side. Alec shrugged.

“Alright,” Jace said. “Tell her we’ll take it, and one of us will come to get the details after the kids’ training starts.”

“Why once the – oh. Congrats on the Physical Training entry, Max!” Abraham said, already moving to go.

“Thanks!” Max called after him. “Can I come with you? Pleeeeease?”

“No,” all three of his siblings said in unison. He pouted.

“You can hang out with me,” Isabelle said. “I’ll help you revise your runes, teach you some tricks with the whip and blade. I’ve been meaning to get an audience for a lecture on Paris’ current fashion trends anyway,” she nodded with satisfaction.

Max looked torn between a weapons lesson and sibling hangout vs no fashion lecture or extra studying. “Okay,” he said gloomily.

Jace clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You know what, we have an hour. Let’s go to Central Park and teach you how to spot fairies.”

“Right in time for sunrise!” Max brightened up before Alec could protest. “I love seeing the sunrises!”

“Yeah,” Jace said, his eyes soft, fixed on Max. “So do I.”

Alec knew that the sunrise was one of Jace’s fondest memories of Idris and the manor house he’d grown up in. He blew out an exasperated breath. How on earth could he argue against that without seeming like a grouchy buzzkill?

“C’mon, big brother,” Isabelle said, clearly noticing his hesitation, while Jace and Max excitedly planned a picnic. “It’ll be good for Max to get out before his first training. We could probably teach him better than Brynn anyway,” she muttered contemptuously. She disliked the other girl. “We’ll make sure he gets back in time.”

“Of course,” Jace said offendedly. “We can’t have Max being late for such a milestone! Shame on the Lightwood name,” he imitated their father’s heavy set tone, and Max giggled.

Alec sighed. “Fine. At least I’ll be there to keep you lot in line.”

“We don’t need keeping in line,” Isabelle sniffed haughtily. She lost the look soon enough though, and added excitedly, “Let’s take a blanket! And food! A picnic on the grass! Sounds amazing,” she clasped her hands together, beaming.

“Hopefully nothing you cooked,” Jace drawled.

Isabelle scowled at him and ruffled Max’s hair pointedly. “We can even feed the ducks!”

Jace’s suddenly alarmed look was enough for even Alec to laugh. “Shut up, Izzy. Alec, tell her!”

“Sorry,” Alec said, already dragging a giggling Max down to the kitchens to get a picnic basket. “I don’t take sides in idiotic arguments between my siblings. Get a blanket, see you in the elevator!”

“Alec, get back here—”

“You traitor, Alec—”

“Bye!” Max called as they sped away.

Alec could hear all three of his siblings laughing, and suddenly he couldn’t wait for sibling bonding time.

#fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #the shadowhunter chronicles #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters #the lightwood siblings #siblings #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #alec lightwood #jace lightwood herondale #isabelle lightwood #max lightwood

[ladyhindsight]

ahem so i will talk about robert during cofa/cols i hope to not bore you too much

remember how trsom keeps up with the retcon tendency full force and that like always, almost none of the logistics of stuff is thought about

there's funny (probably only i find it funny) logistic details that i couldn't help but notice, about robert

first, the most obvious, is what alec says in city of lost souls:

When Magnus and I were traveling, and I’d call from the road, Dad never asked how he was

when. WHEN.

i feel robbed

...from where robert would get the calls. wasn't he in idris? so...

the second part is more complicated and it's more about logistic details that make me feel out of my mind

at the end of cog, everyone was in alicante, okay. then everyone goes back to ny and alec and magnus leave for their trip

the curious part is how robert fits into this, because through cofa + cols it's implied that robert never comes back from idris until the end of cols

more logistic assumption comes into this with isabelle being very upset that robert was away as if it had never happened before. it absolutely has. like, 2 books ago, robert was in idris for a good while. of course now there's the aggravation of max's death and the family falling apart, but the point is that the vibe is that robert has been in idris since cog

so in rsom we have that convo

His father had not liked it when Alec announced he was leaving the Institute to go on a trip with Magnus.

what where when?

the implication of this is of something happening at the ny institute, where robert supposedly wasn't

“What has he told you about us?” Robert Lightwood had asked, pacing Alec’s room like a distressed cat.

extremely adorable imo, but where is he again

this logistic complication can be divided into two possibilities: this somehow happened in idris, contradicting the words used (at least according to my reading), or robert did come back to new york once between cog and cofa. (i would only assume once since even his adopted son disappearing under disastrous circunstances makes him come back to ny. we get it, the guy is really ditching his family)

cc doesn't like robert's character so of course that the jace father reveal is not at all ever something approached thinking of robert's point of view as if jace didn't use the name wayland for xx years and robert is just being very normal about it. ah nevermind we remember that the parabatai bond is only real in the infernal devices, it's not a thing in tmi. so whatever if in the last couple of months robert maybe had multiple reasons to want distance from it all and reject his responsabilities with his family

plus alec stuff with magnus which is supposedly a huge scandal. none of this is ever considered as stuff piling up to make robert run away. his absence is always referred as something with very simple and objective reasons, even if they don't make that much sense or if there's a lot of context behind

since somehow alec seems to assume the worst about robert's attitudes towards his sexuality, there was the opportunity for him to feel like maybe he was one of the reasons for robert deciding to stay away, it would make sense, and that would have made alec's feelings richer in my opinion, giving him more reasons to be upset that justified his resentment towards his father

instead, there was that cols convo that i can't understand for the life of me. i want to write about robert as a parent in another ask, so not going for much information except the timing

But my father — no, not really. Once he asked me what I thought had turned me gay

the timing issue keeps bugging me. when did that happen. robert was in idris during cofa and cols, so of course it would have happened between cog and cofa, and that goes back to the question of i robert was ever back to ny or if this happened in idris and certainly would have been before the convo from rsom

i could stay a long time here trying to chart possibilities of timing of robert's supposed reactions to alec's sexuality, but that would be just me making stuff up, because none of this was ever written to make sense and it never attempted to make sense. stuff going on carried by vibes only, no basic time-space logic

- R

City of Glass takes place in September, City of Fallen Angels six weeks after that in October.

“Maryse was still coping with Max’s death, which had been only six weeks ago, and she was doing it alone, with Robert Lightwood still in Idris.” (City of Fallen Angels)

“Tell that to Dad. Did he even come back from Idris for the meeting?” (City of Lost Souls)

“Well, whatever,” said Isabelle, obviously annoyed not to get the joke. “It’s not like Dad’s ever coming back from Idris, anyway.” (City of Lost Souls)

Nothing indicates that Robert ever came back even for a bit to pace around Alec's room. It’s reasonable to assume Robert never came back to New York during those six weeks after City of Glass. Also, in CoG:

“Clary. There are no cars in Idris.” Seeing her shocked expression, Luke laughed without much amusement. “The wards foul up the machinery. Most technology doesn’t work here—mobile phones, computers, the like. Alicante itself is lit—and powered—mostly by witchlight.”

and

“Maybe you should call him,” Simon suggested, trying not to think too hard about how weird it was to be giving a demon hunter advice about possibly dating a warlock. “Can’t,” Alec said. “No phones in Idris. It doesn’t matter, anyway.” His tone was abrupt. “We’re here. This is the Gard.”

So indeed, how would he pick up a call if there is no phones? This is such a good catch.

The whole passage in The Red Scrolls of Magic is:

Now he was out of the money he’d brought with him. As he’d left the New York Institute, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, to begin this trip, his mother had chased him out and pressed money into his hands, even though he’d tried to refuse it. “Go be happy,” she had said. Alec wondered whether he’d been scammed by the faerie girl. She might be hundreds of years old, and faeries were well-known for their love of scamming mortals. But he decided to believe that she was what she seemed—a scared, hungry kid—and it made him feel happy to have helped. So the money was well spent. His father had not liked it when Alec announced he was leaving the Institute to go on a trip with Magnus. “What has he told you about us?” Robert Lightwood had asked, pacing Alec’s room like a distressed cat.

For why I feel like, with the recent books, there’s been some attempt to rewrite Maryse’s personality as well. She's pretty cold in TMI, a bit villainized also (in Luke's and Clary's perspectives), compared to TRSoM or TDA. What has always struck me weird is that there is no reaction from Robert or Maryse about Jace being Herondale, son of Stephen, any of it, because these relationships do not exist in Clare’s mind, or existed at the time anyway. It’s also weird that they too fail to see the similarity he bears to his birth parents.

Aside from the timing, which is all over the place, I think that “what has turned me gay” thing uses Robert’s character as a vehicle to the homophobia Alec experiences, because Alec never otherwise faces those dire consequences Isabelle warned Clary about in City of Bones. There’s the car conversation about the tiny little papercuts, but that’s about it. Before Clare decided to deepen Robert’s character more than treat him as this side figure people sometimes mention and talk about, he was more like a mere boogieman to Alec’s self-image issues and confidence.

Robert and Alec's relationship is all over the place in the series. At some points it is left somewhat vague. Sometimes I can't figure out the angle because the writing doesn't really give the time of day to this particular father-son relationship.

#Robert Lightwood #Alec Lightwood #Maryse Lightwood #Series discussion #Reply

[the-great-lightwood-bane]

bloody but unbowed Malec | Rated general | tw implied/referenced torture, discrimination against Downworlders | Canon Divergence, Bad Sibling Isabelle Lightwood, Bad Parabatai Jace Wayland, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Rescue

Summary: “Now,” Imogen says — quietly, sternly, insistently. A promised pain in her tone makes Alec want to flinch away, but the bindings on his chair keep him still as the statue he must pretend to be. “Tell me where the Downworlder base is.”

~

Twenty years ago, the Circle won. Six years ago, Alec Lightwood began freeing every Downworlder to enter the Institute’s cells. A week ago, he was caught. 

Nobody’s going to free him. 

A/N: This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2022: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver.

Art (above, you can also see it here) is by Twigen!

Title is from the poem Invictus by William Ernst Henley. 

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

“Now,” Imogen says — quietly, sternly, insistently. A promised pain in her tone makes Alec want to flinch away, but the bindings on his chair keep him still as the statue he must pretend to be. “Tell me where the Downworlder base is.”

“I don’t know anything,” Alec manages, voice hoarse, throat sore from hours of screaming and dehydration. It’s only partially a lie — he knows where several Downworlder haunts are, places he makes sure to keep patrols away from, but they’re not technically Downworlder bases. The Hunter’s Moon is just a bar, Pandemonium is a club, and while the Hotel Dumort and Jade Wolf are the main headquarters of the vampires and the werewolves, respectively, the place most like a Downworlder base is probably Magnus’ loft — which Alec has intentionally never learnt the location of. Even so, Alec knows perfectly well she’d love to learn about the other Downworlder haunts, and therefore he cannot let her know anything.

Her lip curves up in disgust. “Liar.” A gesture, and the man standing beside her steps forward, stele in hand. Alec tries to cringe away, but it’s no use; he’s weak from too little food and too much pain, and anyway, he’s tied too tightly to the chair. 

The stele traces remorselessly over the Agony rune on Alec’s shoulder, mostly black but tinged with red from frequent usage. Alec is well accustomed to the moment of breathless peace when the stele moves back, but there’s no getting used to the abrupt surge of pain that follows, and he loses himself in screams. 

—————————————

A week earlier, Alec walked quickly and quietly down the hallways of the New York Institute, seraph blade at the ready although he hoped not to use it. 

It was quiet — noon was approaching, and for now, most good Shadowhunters were in bed catching up on the sleep they’d missed overnight. Demons were nocturnal; therefore, so were Shadowhunters. Alec knew he was giving up on precious, already-scarce sleep to do this, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Magnus had told him about the most recent captures, including his friend Catarina Loss and her daughter, Madzie. Alec wasn’t about to let a child stay in the Institute’s cells a moment longer than necessary. Magnus’ message had been relatively short and to the point, anger visible in every line. Alec had immediately agreed to break everyone out of the Institute later that day. 

By now — after six years of rescuing every Downworlder the Institute managed to lay hands on — Alec had plenty of practice in subduing opponents; he stepped silently up behind a guard, slammed the hilt of his seraph blade down on his head, and activated the guard’s somnos rune to keep him down. He’d wake up in fifteen minutes with no memory of falling asleep. 

The next hallway had two guards, which he dispatched as easily as the first. Nobody, after all, expected Alec Lightwood — Head of the New York Institute, heir to the Lightwood name, scion of one of the proudest Shadowhunter bloodlines, eldest son of Valentine’s greatest devotees — to be the traitor breaking Downworlders out. The latest rumour going around was about an underground movement with several hundred people in it, as, apparently, only that could explain how Downworlders kept disappearing from the Institute’s cells. The guards on duty today would be investigated for misdemeanours, as would the people watching the monitors, but Alec was diligent in his efforts to conceal himself from all suspicion; as Head, his access to the camera feeds allowed him to hide his presence in the cell corridors and then remove any traces of tampering in the recordings. The investigation into this breakout would be as stumped as all the others had been. 

He turned another corner soundlessly, and the last guard dropped to the ground. Cells lined this corridor, at least fifty on each side, but only ten were filled — it hadn’t been long since his last rescue, but he’d sped up the timeline for Madzie’s sake. He saw her immediately, a girl who looked younger than the six-year-old she was, and for a moment, he was frozen with a furious horror that they’d dare capture a child.

Shaking himself out of it, Alec pulled out the guard’s stele and swiped it over the cell doors, one after another, then activated the rune that’d unlock the prisoners’ chains. When he’d rescued Magnus a bit more than three years ago, Magnus had looked up at him with golden cat eyes which, even then, had taken Alec’s breath away, and asked how he knew Magnus wouldn’t just kill him where he stood. Alec’s reply — that without a Shadowhunter’s help, he wouldn’t be able to make it out of the Institute to a place where he could portal away — had, apparently, satisfied him; he’d followed Alec’s lead in silence and winked at him before portalling out. He’d been dirty and bruised from the Shadowhunters’ rough handling, but Alec had thought he was the most beautiful man Alec had ever seen. 

The ten Downworlders climbed warily to their feet: two warlocks, Madzie and a blue-skinned woman, presumably Catarina Loss; a faerie, androgynous and tattooed with vines; four werewolves, including a Black woman with scars along her neck whom Alec recognised as Maia Roberts from the Hunter’s Moon; and three vampires, one of whom Alec knew as Simon Lewis. “You’re Shadow?” Catarina asked, head tilted to the side. 

“Yes.” The pseudonym was a necessity — if they knew his name was Alec Lightwood, they’d never trust him, and they’d probably all end up getting caught. (Shadow seemed fitting, seeing as Alec worked in the shadows and was hunted by, well, Shadowhunters.) Only Magnus knew Alec’s true identity, and the fact that he trusted Alec despite it was one of the reasons Alec loved him. 

(It was, perhaps, ridiculous to be in love with a man he’d seen a grand total of twice, but he’d seen plenty of Magnus’ personality in their conversations — his quips, comments, and clever questions, even before their communications had strayed from strict practicalities. By now, Magnus knew more of Alec than anyone else, and not only because he knew Alec was Shadow; Alec had told him secrets, emotions, dreams, and hopes, that he couldn’t even tell his parabatai. 

He didn’t know if Magnus felt the same. In any case, it wasn’t like there was much of a future for them; after all, Alec’s people were doing their utmost to exterminate Magnus’. That thought always brought him back to earth from any dreams of love.)

Most of the Downworlders came out of their cells easily enough — they probably knew of Alec already; Magnus had mentioned that Shadow was fairly famous by now — but Madzie remained in hers, pressed against the wall as far from Alec as she could get. Catarina knelt in front of her, trying to encourage her out; judging by the wary glances the young girl was sending Alec, she didn’t want to trust a Shadowhunter. Alec couldn’t blame her, but he wondered what had happened in her short life to make her fear him so much. 

Carefully (but quickly, as they didn’t have infinite time), Alec went down on one knee, a little way away, to make himself seem smaller. He caught a glimpse of small slits on the sides of Madzie’s neck and guessed they were her warlock mark. “Cool gills.”

She looked up, a small smile blooming on her face, and with the help of the friendly expression Alec wore, Catarina soon succeeded in coaxing her out of the cell. 

Alec beckoned everyone forward, and took them through the winding route of passageways which led to the exit where the portal would be waiting. His watch told him it was 11:56; Magnus’ portal would open at twelve, so they had enough time. It was much easier to do this with Magnus’ help than it’d been before — he’d had to hope that one of the captive warlocks had enough power to make a portal, or else he’d need to help them across the city to one of the Downworlder haunts he knew. Shortly after he’d rescued Magnus, there’d been a close call with a guard, and a Downworlder had been injured to the point where he couldn’t walk; there’d been no warlock capable of portalling them to safety in the group. Fortunately, another prisoner had been Raphael Santiago, a friend of Magnus’, and he’d called Magnus using Alec’s phone. The High Warlock had opened up a portal, and Alec had seen the Downworlders safely to the other side before returning to the Institute to avoid detection. 

(Magnus had given Alec the journal they used to communicate a few days later; it was spelled to mirror an identical journal of Magnus’ so they could write to each other without more traceable phones or fire messages. 

Magnus’ inventiveness was another thing Alec admired him for. 

The most stunning thing about the journal, though, was the level of trust it displayed: Alec could so easily have set up a trap for him using it, and while he was sure Magnus took precautions, there remained a chance they’d fail. It was a calculated risk, and Alec would ensure that it turned out for the best. He could not betray that trust.)

Their small group of Downworlders was only two hallways from the exit when the Institute’s alarm sounded. 

Alec realised with a jolt that in his hurry and horror at Madzie’s treatment, he’d forgotten to activate the last guard’s somnos rune. The blow to his head had knocked him out, but that wouldn’t — couldn’t — last; he must’ve woken up, seen the prisoners missing, and hoped to sound the alarm before everyone was in the clear. 

Before Alec could tell everyone to hurry up and get out, he saw Madzie’s pale, terrified face. “Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly, gently. “I’ll keep you safe, okay?”

“Okay,” she said trustingly, and Catarina smiled at him. That wasn’t enough, though; she was still too young to move quickly, and the Downworlders seemed too weak to carry her. 

“We’re going to need to go fast,” he told her. “Can I give you a ride?”

She hesitated for a moment, and Catarina tensed slightly, but then she nodded, and Alec scooped her easily up onto his back. He barely noticed the weight; already, the other Downworlders were following him down the hallway. 11:58 — two minutes until Magnus’ portal would open up and bring the Downworlders to safety. 

“Is your name really Shadow?” Madzie asked in his ear as he hurried forward, careful not to outstrip the slowest Downworlders. 

“No,” Alec told her honestly. He knew it was unlikely he’d get out of here alive; keeping his identity secret didn’t much matter anymore. “My real name’s Alec.”

“Alec.” He felt her nod confidently against the back of his neck. “I’m Madzie. You can be my friend.”

“Gladly,” he said, lips pulling up into a smile. Whatever his fate, he liked this girl, too quiet and careful for her age but still with a child’s willingness to make friends. 

They reached the exit only moments later, and Alec let Madzie gently down to the ground. She grinned at him, brighter than before, but he didn’t have time to smile back before the first guard came running out the door. 

Alec moved without hesitation, pushing Madzie behind him as his seraph blade lit up in his hand. This wasn’t the time to spare lives with somnos runes and knockout blows; Alec’s blade sliced easily through the man’s neck, and blood spattered, thankfully more on Alec than Madzie. He hoped he hadn’t lost her good regard, but her life was more important. 

“Behind me!” he called, hoping the Downworlders obeyed as he took up a position in front of the exit. Like this, the space was narrow enough that his opponents would have to come at him one at a time; he wouldn’t last forever, but he’d last the sixty seconds until Magnus’ portal opened up. A flash of movement farther down the corridor; he unslung his bow and sent an arrow through the next guard with enough force to kill the woman behind him, too; the third guard, at her side, growled and threw herself forward — directly onto Alec’s blade, swapped with his bow and held at the ready. 

Those three would’ve been stationed closest to this door; he had about fifteen seconds before the rest of the Institute arrived, and then he’d need to hold them off long enough for the Downworlders to get through the portal, and then he’d— well. It was best not to think about what would happen to him. Only one thought pierced his mental shields: I’ll never see Magnus again. He pushed it away before he could linger on the emotions it brought. 

“Alec?” Madzie’s voice, nervous. Alec spared a moment to turn to her with a small smile and nod for her to continue, one eye still on the doorway. “Are you coming with us when we leave?” 

“I can’t, little princess,” Alec told her gently. “They’d be able to track me too easily, and then they’d find all of you.” He had a parabatai, after all; the Clave might not be able to track Downworlders through Magnus’ wards, but Alec doubted if any wards could stand up to the force of parabatai tracking. He couldn’t lead the Clave to the main headquarters of the Downworlder resistance. 

Madzie looked upset, but the fifteen seconds were up, and now a group of twenty more people were hurrying down the hallway to confront Alec. Too many; he wouldn’t be able to hold them all off, not long enough for Magnus’ portal to arrive. 

He threw back his hood, drawing himself up into the attitude of a commander, of a leader — the leader they’d all been trained to obey without question. “Halt!”

Instinctively reacting to his tone, the Shadowhunters paused, and Alec gained nearly three seconds to send arrows through the necks of those nearest to him. That left a total of ten bodies on the ground, hampering the other Shadowhunters’ movement forward; even once they’d recovered from their shock that Alec Lightwood was the one smuggling Downworlders out, they still had to climb over their fellows’ corpses to reach Alec, and he dispatched them one after the other. This was better; he could keep this up for as long as he needed to. 

He heard the swoosh of an opening portal, then the sounds of people passing through — one, two, three, four — he blocked a strike and stabbed his seraph blade into a woman’s chest, but she managed to wrench away from him before he could pull the blade out again and he had to waste precious moments drawing a new seraph blade — seven Downworlders had gone through, eight, nine, ten. 

The portal closed, and Alec let his weapons fall to the floor. 

~

They dragged him in front of Maryse. 

Of course they did; with the Head of the Institute out of commission — guilty of treason, in this case, but it would be the same if he were unconscious or dead — the Headship passed to his Second in Command: Maryse. Usually, that rank would be occupied by Jace as Alec’s parabatai, but leading the Institute didn’t really suit him; Izzy was in training to take over as Alec’s Second, but until she completed her training, Maryse would fulfil that role. She didn’t often need to. 

Now, Alec’s mother looked at him with eyes full of nothing but disgust. If there was betrayal in them, it was buried deep; she wouldn’t let such a personal emotion show in front of anyone, let alone the son she now knew was a traitor. The traitor, really. Shadow. 

She didn’t meet Alec’s eyes, but he could read her well. They both knew that now, in these interminably long seconds, she had a choice to make: she could use the influence and power of the Lightwood name to deny or cover up the evidence of his wrongdoing, perhaps blame it on one of the guards — she was unscrupulous enough for that — and shelter Alec from the worst of the consequences, although she’d lower the prestige of the family name; or, she could turn Alec in, distance herself from him as much as possible, keep the Lightwood name well clear of Alec’s disgrace to protect the rest of the family, and abandon him to his fate. 

Logically, he knew — they both knew — that the latter was the only choice she could ever make. Maryse Lightwood was ruthless, and if she needed to sacrifice one son for the rest of her family, she would do it. 

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, however, when she ordered him put in chains. 

It hurt more when she called in Izzy and Jace — Robert and Max, Alec thought dully, must have remained in Idris — and explained the situation in crisp, cold tones. Alec’s siblings stared at him in shock, then confusion, then denial; when Alec didn’t deny anything Maryse accused him of, their expressions morphed into betrayal hidden by cold anger. The three Lightwoods — Alec’s family, however flawed, however prejudiced — left the room without another word. 

They just — left. Abandoned him, to torture and certain death, because he’d saved the lives of Downworlders they could never see as people. 

The guards dragged Alec before a Silent Brother, mouth and eyes sewn up tight, who silently removed the parabatai rune from Alec’s side. Full deruning wasn’t necessary — it would weaken him to no purpose — but this would spare Jace the pain of Alec’s torture. Alec found himself grateful for it; even if Jace had abandoned him, even if Jace hated Downworlders with a passion that made no sense to Alec, it would be better if Jace didn’t have to feel any of the pain coming for Alec. 

Their bond was already weakened by rejection and secrets; when it shattered, rune fading to a pale scar, Alec closed his eyes to ride out the ache and almost wished it had hurt more. 

Then, they brought Alec to one of the cells he’d so recently broken the Downworlders out of, where he waited for Imogen Herondale and agony. 

————————————————————

After a while, the Agony rune subsides. Thankfully, they don’t last long, although Imogen applies them again and again until Alec’s runes scream from overuse. 

Alec can remember studying the rune at the Academy, learning how to draw it, learning what it felt like to experience it — first academically, then practically. They taught that the recipient would first experience physical pain, then recall painful memories, and then go through yet more painful mental delusions; then they seared the rune onto his skin, and he felt it all himself. 

The thing with the Agony rune is that it only amplifies pain the receiver has already experienced. The first time Alec bore the rune, the physical pain was bad — every broken bone, every scrape, every ache piled on top of each other — but the memories were worse, combining fear for Izzy’s life the time she’d fallen off a rooftop with every disapproving glare Maryse ever sent him; his delusions were all of his family dying, desperate, dead. 

Now, it’s different. The physical pain is worse thanks to the severing of the parabatai bond; he sees his family turning away from him, Maryse’s cold expression, Magnus chained up in a cell; he imagines Izzy and Jace dying, and worse, he thinks Magnus dies too, hurt and chained and broken. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. 

They’ve had him for a week, and he knows nobody will come to get him. His family chose to reject him rather than endanger themselves, and nobody else will break him out — not his subordinates who he’s betrayed, not Magnus who can’t gather the chaotic and opposing groups he leads to free Downworlders, let alone a Shadowhunter. A Lightwood. 

Imogen is there every day, demanding answers; Alec wishes he knew less, wishes he couldn’t give away the few precious hideaways the Downworld has, because at least then they wouldn’t be at risk. He doesn’t tell her anything, of course — he is trained in both giving and resisting torture, and he has always excelled at the latter; perhaps it’s what Jace calls called his idiotic hard-headed stubbornness — but he knows eventually they’ll wear him down, whether it take weeks or months or even years. The Agony rune brings unimaginable pain; someday, he will forget to keep his mouth shut as he surfaces from it, and the secrets will come spilling out. 

Thankfully, the Soul Sword is no longer an option — Valentine tried to use it to destroy the entire Downworld, but Alec stole it and passed it off to Magnus, who destroyed it. They can’t compel Alec to tell the truth with anything but raw, naked torture, and that is not a quick process. He has time, but sooner or later, he will give in, and he cannot let that happen. 

The best solution, of course, would be to escape, but even without the parabatai bond to track him wherever he goes, there’s no way he can get out; Imogen still seems to think Shadow might be a group rather than an individual, and she’s tripled the guard on his cell in case any compatriots try to free him. (He wishes he had compatriots.) The guards watch him carefully, day and night (or what he thinks is night if his internal clock is still right); he’s never unchained, and the door only opens to admit Imogen. He can’t free himself. 

The second-best solution is to set himself free in the other sense. If Alec dies, he won’t betray anyone; the Downworld will be safe — or, at least, as safe as he can make it, which is not very — and Alec, well, perhaps he’ll be better off dead than feeling the burn of the Agony rune again and again. 

Unfortunately, the practicalities are harder: Imogen is well aware that he might choose that fate and has taken precautions. There aren’t any sharp edges near enough for him to reach, and he’s force-fed — or, if he refuses, knocked out and put on an IV drip full of enough drugs to make him worry he’ll let something slip. He’s been eating enough to keep them happy but not enough to stop himself from weakening; he’s heard stories of the Agony rune shorting out a heart, so he can at least hope for that. Otherwise, he’ll have to wait for an opportunity to present itself. 

His muscles are tired, and possibly atrophying, seeing as he can’t move from the chair. They feed him regularly enough, but thanks to his voluntary starvation, his stomach rumbles with hunger; he’s weak, but he cannot falter. Mistakes endanger the Downworld, and he cannot let anything happen to them — to Madzie, to Raphael, to Maia, to Cat, to Magnus. 

(Magnus, who he loves. Magnus, who he will never speak to again. Magnus, who he’s only met twice but knows better than anyone else.)

He made a mistake with the guard, forgetting to draw the somnos rune, and now he can no longer free the Downworlders that New York captures. The cells at the opposite end of the hallway are filling up, and he knows these Downworlders, like Alec himself, will not find a miraculous escape. 

~

Alec wakes up when his cell door swings open. 

It’s a different noise than it usually makes — the guards throw it open easily, carelessly, well-accustomed to opening it. Certain of their right to be there. It squeals harshly on the stone floor, loud enough to drag Alec from sleep. 

This time, it opens slowly; the squeak is softer but persistent. The touch is more tentative, careful, as though the opener is uncertain of their welcome. Alec shakes off the last traces of sleep quickly, well-used to the aches of waking in his uncomfortable position in his chair. Whoever this is, they’re not the usual guards that precede food or one of Imogen’s visits, and that means he needs to be even more alert than usual. 

The corridor is dark, lit only by witchlights at irregular intervals that brighten when Nephilim pass by; they’re not illuminated now, despite the dark outline in the doorway, and he blinks rapidly to make out who it is. The outline clarifies into a person as his eyes grow accustomed to the dark—

“Magnus?” 

He’s dreaming. He has to be; Magnus wouldn’t come here, into the depths of the New York Institute, of his own free will. If this is a dream, though, it’s a strange one — he’s only met Magnus twice in person, after all, and although the memories are mostly distinct, he doubts if his subconscious could conjure up Magnus’ face in such precise detail. He’s even more beautiful than Alec remembers, clichéd as it sounds; he’s wearing dark clothing, more austere and utilitarian than the dirty, torn outfit his captivity left him in or the brilliantly-coloured one he wore when he portalled Raphael and the other Downworlders away. 

“Alexander,” Magnus says softly, and Alec couldn’t possibly be dreaming because he’s never heard Magnus say his name aloud before, and no imagination could come up with this. Magnus has written Alec’s name often, in its full length, and Alec will never admit that he sometimes traces over the curves of Magnus’ handwriting with his fingers, but he thinks he might like it even more when Magnus says it aloud. 

“What are you doing here?” Alec asks, rather than voice the I love you that sings quietly in his blood. 

“Rescuing you, of course,” Magnus returns, a shadow of a grin visible through the dark as he bends down in front of Alec and sends blue sparks toward Alec’s chains. 

Rescuing you. Magnus — Magnus has come here, into the Institute, into danger, to free Alec — to rescue a Lightwood, of all people, from Imogen’s clutches. Why would he risk himself—

But of course, he knows that Alec could tell Imogen about Pandemonium, the Hunter’s Moon, the Jade Wolf, or the Hotel DuMort. All the Downworld’s last sanctuaries, endangered by Alec’s stupidity in getting captured; Magnus would need to prevent him from giving anything away. 

No, that doesn’t explain it. Magnus has never managed to free any Downworlder captives, although they, too, could have told where the Downworld gathered. It’s impossible to get anyone out of the Institute without all the Downworld factions working together, and Magnus has complained at length about how difficult it is to get them to do so; vampire/werewolf rivalries are, of course, common knowledge, but faeries don’t much like vampires either, the warlocks and the faeries fight over which race is older, and the werewolves are unwilling to participate in any rescue attempts as, due to the other races’ immortality, captivity would be just the blink of an eye for them. Magnus hasn’t been able to gather sufficient forces to effect a jailbreak. 

And even Magnus can’t break anyone out on his own. The Institute’s cameras are heavily runed against warlock interference, and surveillance is constant; Alec knows the only way for a Downworlder to get into the cell corridors is if there’s another attack elsewhere in the building, drawing attention away from the cameras. Alec listens intently; sure enough, he can hear faint echoes of fighting from the corridors above them. 

Somehow, Magnus has united the Downworld to rescue Alec. 

Now, however, is not the time to marvel over that. Magnus has managed to break the chains binding Alec to the chair; Alec pushes himself to his feet, but a rush of dizziness makes him sway on the spot until Magnus catches him. He can’t walk like this, and Magnus needs to save his magic for their escape. “Can I have one of the guards’ steles?”

Magnus flicks his fingers, and a stele appears in Alec’s hand. Despite the burn of rune exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him, he activates iratze, mendelin to strengthen his constitution, and Stamina and Nutrition for good measure. His skin itches painfully, and he knows he’ll crash hard when the runes wear off, but it’s worth it as he steadies on his feet. Magnus hesitates to release him, so Alec pulls away himself, trying not to regret the loss of contact. 

A fire message whistles through the air and into Magnus’ hand, still outstretched toward Alec. He glances at it and scowls. “The others are drawing back. We’re on our own getting out.” 

Presumably, the Institute has recovered from the shock of the attack and is successfully fending off the Downworlders who’ve attacked upstairs. No matter; they’ve done enough, allowing Magnus enough time to get here. “We should get moving, then,” Alec says aloud. 

Magnus nods sharply and thankfully spares Alec the indignity of asking whether he thinks he can make it out on his own. Alec knows what he is and isn’t capable of; thanks to the runes humming to life under his skin, he’s strong enough. Barely. 

He takes the seraph blades of a guard at the door — best not to be unarmed if they’re seen and attacked — and follows Magnus at an easy run. The passageways twist back and forth in the familiar route from the cells to the exit; Alec is horribly aware of the cameras fixed on them, recording every movement rather than the looped videos he always uses while breaking Downworlders out. (Videos he used. He’ll never be able to break anyone out again.)

Fortunately, they get most of the way to the exit without being intercepted. Unfortunately, two corridors away from the door, Shadowhunters come spilling out of a side passage to block their way. 

Alec activates his seraph blades, praying his runes hold up and wishing he had his bow. A blast of magic knocks about half the Shadowhunters to the ground, and then the rest are too close for Magnus to cast spells without risking Alec, so it devolves into close battle. 

Magnus fights with magic wreathing his hands, though Alec knows it must be harder than usual, thanks to the adamas and magic-dampening runes surrounding them. He covers Alec’s back, and Alec does the same; being Shadow, combined with hours of training to keep up with his rather more gifted siblings, means that Alec fights better than most of their attackers even when he’s not at full strength, but he and Magnus are still outnumbered several times over. A Shadowhunter lands a deep blow to his side, but he ignores it in favour of killing her, quick and efficient. This is only a reserve group, not the full force of the Institute (thankfully), but if they can slow Alec and Magnus down enough, they’ll be trapped, and Magnus will be captured. 

Alec cannot let that happen. (Not again.) 

Two Shadowhunters fall to the seraph blades he wields; a spurt of magic knocks another one to the ground, and Alec steps over the body to sink his bloody swords into a ribcage, a neck, an abdomen. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining the tramp of disciplined footsteps in the hallways approaching them; if he isn’t, they only have moments left, and he fights with a renewed ferocity. Blood spatters, and Alec knows his runes will give out soon enough, but a last burst of magic kills the two Shadowhunters still blocking their way, and Magnus takes his arm as they run for it. 

There are definitely footsteps behind them, running footsteps of properly-runed Shadowhunters who aren’t nearing collapse, but the door is closer than the guards at their heels, and Magnus opens a portal just beyond the doorway moments before they step through, Alec almost stumbling, falling headfirst through the swirl of blue sparks that vanishes behind them. 

The last thing Alec sees before unconsciousness claims him is Magnus’ face bending over him, lips forming his name. 

~

When Alec wakes up, it’s to three warlocks sitting by his bedside, bathed in morning light. 

It takes him a moment to remember that he’s not in the cell anymore; he’s safe, Magnus came for him, but the feeling of that cell still casts a shadow over his skin and leaves a phantom ache in the Agony rune on his shoulder. To distract himself, he looks around. 

Magnus is slumped over in a chair, head at an awkward angle, obviously asleep. Catarina Loss is in a second chair on the other side of Alec’s bed — or, Alec realises, Magnus’ bed; this must be Magnus’ apartment — but she’s in a much more comfortable-looking position. Madzie is sitting on the bed near Alec’s hips, watching him intently with a crease in her eyebrows. 

Alec has barely enough time to note that he’s aching, though less than he should be, before Madzie’s eyes light up with the realisation that he’s awake, and he finds himself with an armful of excited warlock. “Alec! You’re okay!”

His aches don’t exactly appreciate the impact, but he sits up anyway, grinning at her. “That I am, little sorceress.”

“Cat said you would be, but I was still worried,” she tells him with all the earnestness of a child. “You were nice about my gills, and you saved all of us from the bad Shadowhunters. I asked Cat if they’d hurt you and she didn’t answer, so I asked Uncle Magnus, and he looked sad. Did they hurt you?”

Alec thinks of Agony runes and screams, of painful memories that drift into still worse hallucinations. He can’t exactly tell Madzie about all that, young as she is, but he doesn’t want to lie to her either, so he compromises. “I’m all right now. Don’t worry about me.” 

“We were all rather worried about you,” a voice says from beside the bed, and Alec’s head whips up to see Magnus, apparently awoken by Madzie’s excited speech. There’s something warm in his eyes as he looks at the two of them, Madzie in Alec’s lap, and Alec remembers that she called him Uncle Magnus — he loves this little warlock, clear as daylight. 

“You’re lucky I was here with Madzie when you two portalled back,” Cat adds, also apparently awake. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay after Magnus saved you,” Madzie explains, dark eyes serious. “Cat said I should let you recover, but I don’t think I’m hurting you — am I?”

“Not at all,” Alec tells her, ignoring the pain in his side. “I’ve never been better.”

Cat glances at him more critically than Madzie, eyes slipping down to his aching side where he could feel the pressure of a bandage below Madzie’s weight. “But as we know Alec’s alright now, why don’t we leave him to rest a bit more?” 

Madzie’s lips purse, but she jumps off Alec’s lap without protest. “Bye, Alec! I’ll come visit you soon!”

“Please do,” Alec tells her with a grin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She beams back and waves enthusiastically as Cat leads her away. 

That leaves him alone with Magnus, who’s also smiling, something gentle and fond on his face. “You’re good with her.” 

Alec shrugs. “I’ve got practice — three younger siblings, remember?” The thought of Izzy and Jace brings an abrupt surge of hurt — they’d just left, so easily, as though he meant nothing more to them because he’d dared to save the lives of Downworlders — but he swallows it down. 

Apparently, however, Magnus can read him well, despite the brevity of their in-person acquaintance, because he winces apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

It’s an expression of sympathy, not an apology, so Alec just shrugs. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Of course.” Magnus is smiling again, and although Madzie’s gone, there’s still that warm affection in his eyes. “I owe it to you, after all — you broke me out of there, and hundreds of Downworlders besides.”

That makes sense, Alec supposes, but he still doesn’t understand— “How did you get enough Downworlders to cooperate for the frontal attack of the Institute?”

There’s a hint of something in Magnus’ smile, now — pride? — that turns it into a smirk. “Everyone in the Downworld knows Shadow, Alexander. A fair number have escaped thanks to you, and those who haven’t been caught know those who have. You’ve saved more of my people than I can count, and they recognise that. When I asked for volunteers to get you out, I knew I’d get a lot, but every single Downworlder present wanted to fight for you, infighting and inter-race rivalries be damned.” 

For a moment, Alec simply blinks at him in stunned silence. “For me?” 

Magnus’ smile is still half-smirk, but it softens into something warmer. “For Shadow, who saved so many. For Alec Lightwood, who betrayed family and people for our sake. For the man who refused to portal out with those last ten Downworlders because he knew he’d be tracked, and gave up his freedom for ours.”

Alec doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what to think — the Downworld knows who he is, all that he is, his last name, and they fought for him like his parents and siblings refused to. 

“But Cat’s right,” Magnus goes on when Alec says nothing. “You do need rest. You also need food, so—” he flicks his fingers, and an array of dishes appear in front of Alec. Despite the early hour — judging by the light, it can’t be past ten AM — there’re not only breakfast foods from all over the world but several more substantial-looking dishes Alec’s never had before. It’s far too much food for one person, or even for two, but Alec digs in with a will; he needs to regain the strength he’s lost thanks to captivity and starvation and Agony runes. 

Magnus joins him, explaining what the dishes are that Alec doesn’t recognise, and they fall back into the easy cadence of conversation they learned in writing to each other through the journal. Magnus shares stories of the first time he had this or that dish, where it comes from, and some cultural tidbits — Alec knows he’s banned from Peru, so he’s curious as to how Magnus managed to obtain rocoto relleno from there; the spicy pepper burns his throat, but he’s always liked spice more than the Shadowhunters around him who’d rather have something bland and Western, so he eats it eagerly. 

Eventually, Alec’s far too full to even think about eating more, and although his stomach might regret his indulgence later, he’s appreciating the feeling of having eaten enough. Sleep is pulling at him now, too; rune exhaustion doesn’t vanish with a few hours’ rest and a solid meal. He has enough experience with it to know that he won’t be able to use any runes for a solid twenty-four hours after this, and longer if he doesn’t get some rest. 

“I’ll leave you to sleep,” Magnus tells him, perceptive of the tiredness Alec can usually hide so well. A wash of magic clears away the mess of food and summons a glass of water to leave by Alec’s bedside. The curtains close, fully blocking out the light from the window. 

Alec’s asleep before Magnus shuts the door. 

~

Imogen smiles at him, all teeth. “Tell us what you know.”

Alec shakes his head, refuses, but a stele lights up, and then there’s a burning in his shoulder that spreads like scattered starbursts of agony across his body, and he thinks the world whites out; he doesn’t know anything but pain, anything but the soul-deep ache that grows and grows and grows amidst fears and dreams and imaginings that tear into his heart with razor-tipped claws. 

When he comes to, Imogen leans in closer. “Tell us, and it’ll all be over.”

Don’t, Alec tries to tell himself, but his lips don’t obey; he’s screaming inside, struggling not to speak, to protect the Downworlders that Imogen will kill, but the words come spilling out regardless. Places. Names. Everything Imogen needs. 

She smiles and says in Magnus’ voice, “Wake up, Alec!”

Alec surges upright with a jolt, aching side protesting, and nearly slams his head into Magnus’. 

“Alexander,” Magnus says, reaching out a hand toward his shoulder. 

His shoulder. Alec flinches away, and Magnus’ hand falls to his side. “Alec, are you with me?”

Still silent — he can’t speak, can’t open his mouth, or he fears he’ll give everything away — Alec nods. His shoulder isn’t actually hurting, and while his side’s still injured, the Agony rune hasn’t been reactivated. It was a dream, only a dream. A nightmare, nothing more. 

“You’re okay,” Magnus says softly, soothingly, somehow both a reassurance and an oath that he would make it so. “You’re safe here, Alexander, and I will not let them hurt you again.”

Alec relaxes into his voice, letting it wash away the last traces of Imogen’s. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Magnus replies immediately. “We’ve all got nightmares.”

Most of Magnus’ likely came at Alec’s people’s hands. “Still. It must be late” — the blinds don’t let enough light through to know the time, but Alec’s internal clock suggests he’s been asleep all day — “and you were probably asleep.”

Magnus shrugs in response. “My guest bed’s a bit less comfortable than this one, and I was lying awake when I heard you.”

Heard him screaming? Spilling all the Downworld’s secrets? Pleading with Imogen? Another thought hits Alec with all the force of a truck: “Wait, you mean this is your bed? You don’t need to sleep in the guest room; I don’t want to kick you out of your bed—”

A graceful wave of the hand. “It’s no trouble, darling. In all honesty, I’d likely have been awake anyway, guest bed or no.” Magnus’ smile reminds Alec of his earlier words. We’ve all got nightmares. Magnus has plenty of reason for them; the Downworld is fractured, on the verge of being hunted to extinction by the Clave. 

“Still,” Alec says. “You shouldn’t need to leave me your room.” 

Magnus dismisses that with a smile and a hand wave. “In any case, you’re probably hungry again. Midnight snack?”

As a matter of fact, Alec is hungry, so he agrees with a smile. Magnus summons up more food — a few of the dishes Alec particularly liked last time, including the rocoto relleno, along with a variety of new foods that Magnus explains with gusto. It’s all delicious, and the last vestiges of Alec’s nightmare drift away. 

Magnus snaps away the last remains of the food when they’re done. “Tired?”

“Not really, actually,” Alec replies. “Sleeping all day has messed with my sleep schedule.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, either,” Magnus says, holding out a hand to help Alec up. It’s more reminiscent of an old-fashioned, courtly gesture than a way to get Alec to his feet; Alec is impossibly grateful for the small amount of dignity that affords him. He takes Magnus’ hand and heaves himself up, wincing as the pain in his side intensifies. 

“Oh, I can help with that,” Magnus offers, blue wreathing his hands; at Alec’s nod, it encases his side, and the pain eases away. Alec doesn’t know if it’s fully healed or if Magnus’ magic is acting as a painkiller — probably the latter; injuries caused by seraph blades are notoriously hard for warlock magic to heal — but his shoulders relax as the ache ebbs. 

Magnus directs him into an open space with a large table in the middle, chairs arranged around it and papers scattered across the top. Alec hesitates, but Magnus doesn’t stop him when he leans over to look at the papers; there’s a map of New York, the Institute in red, Downworlder hideouts in blue, lines and boxes in both colours indicating where it’s safe for Downworlders to go and where it isn’t. He recognises all the Institute’s patrol routes in bright scarlet — information he leaked as soon as he was sure he could safely do so. 

Another paper has lists of names, presumably Downworlders, in one column, and then dates and times in the next — the label at the top of the sheet reads CHECK-INS, and Alec realises that the Downworlders are all making sure to check in at least once a day, so they know as soon as possible if anyone’s taken. There’s a pile of notes with MEETING MINUTES along the top; Alec glances through them, and they seem to be mostly arguments about supplies and refusals to concede to other groups’ requests, mixed in with dire warnings about the Clave — except for the last meeting, which ends with a consensus on rescuing Alec. The werewolf Alpha in that meeting is different from the one in the older papers; somebody named Theo has been replaced by Luke Garroway, who seems more cooperative than his predecessor. 

Still, the Downworlders are obviously divided between themselves and terrified of the Clave’s next threat. Alec reads through the notes again; the old werewolf leader, Theo, was particularly unwilling to cooperate, and the faeries are (as always) isolationist. They can’t seem to work together long enough to form a coherent strategy to defend themselves, let alone fight back. He forgets for a moment where he is, lost in understanding and digesting the political situation, the Downworld’s forces, and the potential for resistance. 

“We’re not very good at working together,” Magnus observes dryly at his shoulder, and Alec’s almost surprised he doesn’t jump at the sudden voice. “Nobody’s exactly trained in strategy, and nobody wants to listen to the other races above their own.”

Alec glances up at him, considering. “But you’ve got substantial forces. More Downworlders than the Clave knows about, for sure; with some preliminary battle training for everyone, you’d be able to overwhelm the Institute with sheer numbers.”

“If everyone worked together, yes,” Magnus agrees. “But that’s unlikely, and what about after that? Even with the New York Institute under our command, the Clave would simply send more Shadowhunters to fight us.”

“No, they couldn’t,” Alec replies. “The Downworld doesn’t know this, but the Clave is overstretched. There aren’t enough new Shadowhunters being born to keep up with the demon threat; between their insistence on fighting Downworlders, the lower birth rate of the last few years, and the loss of the Cup, our — their — numbers are dropping.” It’s odd to think of the Clave as a separate entity from himself, when he’s faked allegiance to it for so long, but it’s also a relief. “The Institute would be easy enough for us to fortify, and they could only get in through the permanent portal from Alicante; to overwhelm an Institute controlled by this many Downworlders when they’re in such a disadvantageous position, they’d need…” he pauses for a moment, calculating “…upwards of seven hundred troops. There aren’t seven hundred troops to be found.”

“It’s still a precarious position,” Magnus says slowly, but he’s clearly warming to the idea, light flaring to life in his eyes. “That won’t last forever; to have lasting peace, we’ll need to keep the Clave permanently out of New York, which means either blocking all portals from coming in — difficult and annoying, but possible — or defeating the Clave entirely, worldwide, which is harder, but if we succeed—”

“We could free Downworlders everywhere.” Alec’s grinning, ideas spinning almost too fast for him to follow; he’s always liked strategy, more than Izzy or Jace ever did, and he’s often spent hours planning out careful moves in his office that balance the Downworld’s needs and the necessary pretence of loyalty to the Clave. He’s always been alone while strategizing, though, and there’s a whole new thrill now that he’s talking with somebody else, somebody clearly as knowledgeable about strategy as he is. And now, he’s not trying to balance what he thinks with what he must do; he’s fighting for something that he believes in far more than the Clave, planning for a concrete future he actually wants. It’s freeing.

“We’d need worldwide support,” Magnus points out. “Right now, I’ve got some communication with other warlocks, but it’s nowhere near enough to actually form a global movement to take on the Clave.”

The words — a global movement to take on the Clave — send shivers of something between excitement and terror down Alec’s spine. “But it’s possible. And if we take New York, we’ll have a precedent, which will serve to bring more of them to our cause.” 

“It’s possible. Our numbers are superior; if we work together—”

“—and if we can take down all the Institutes at once—”

“—even if we can’t take Idris itself—”

“—we’ll be able to stop them from hunting Downworlders.” The light in Magnus’ eyes is echoed in Alec’s soul, and he suddenly feels as if he could take on the world and more with Magnus at his side. This is hard — this is almost impossible — but it’s also necessary, and Alec had always prided himself on his ability to do what needs doing. “Demons are obviously a problem — that’s why Shadowhunters were created, after all — but between rebel Shadowhunters and Downworlders willing to do patrols, I think a permanent solution could be found.”

Magnus beams at him, lit up from within like a beacon, like the angels in textbooks. “First, we take New York.”

Alec pulls a blank piece of paper forward, and Magnus snaps up a pencil. The plans of the Institute are easy enough for him to recall and draw out; he can mark every exit, every camera, and every hub of activity, thanks to his dual life as Shadow and Institute Head. He knows where they can attack and where they should avoid, and he marks them all on the map in red pen. 

Leaning over his shoulder, Magnus points to a spot, asks a question, and Alec explains. It should’ve been odd, planning an attack on the building he’s guarded all his life, but instead, it feels right: he has hated the Clave far longer than he ever loved it, and he’s been trapped into helping them for so long, unable to leave or fight back in any way except as Shadow. Now, he can finally do something about it, and sitting at Magnus’ table with papers scattered around him in a starburst of plans and ideas, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so free. 

~

“This is incredible, Alexander,” Magnus breathes, at last, eyes fixed on Alec, letting a pen fall to the table. The plans are as complete as they can be without talking to the other Downworld leaders; by presenting them with something as fully fleshed-out as this, Magnus is hopeful they can convince them to help, especially with a Shadowhunter’s insider knowledge on their side. “We can — we can actually do this.”

“I should hope so — we’ve thought it through enough,” Alec returns, teasingly, but he feels the same way: a mixture of exhilaration and impossible hope that makes all their dreams close enough to touch, so close he can scarcely believe it. 

Magnus huffs out a you know what I meant and pulls Alec up to his feet. “Dance with me?”

He tugs Alec out into the living room without waiting for a reply, music emanating from somewhere in the room. It’s dark outside, New York lights outshining the stars but not the moon, the lamps on the table spreading illumination into the living room in slants of gold. “I don’t know how to dance,” Alec protests, but weakly, because Magnus is looking at him like that, visible even through the darkness of the room, and he doesn’t know if he could ever say no to him. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Magnus returns, and guides Alec’s steps to the simple beat of the music. Alec’s not exactly a dancer, but he is a Shadowhunter; he knows how to use his body, and he’s at ease here, and the music seeps into his bones as he follows Magnus’ lead. 

He spent a week in a cell, certain that he would not last long, and now he is here, free, and in Magnus’ arms. There’s a breathless incredulity blending with a determined joy in his chest, golden hope glowing through him, glowing in Magnus’ eyes. 

The dancing devolves into quiet swaying on the spot. Alec’s wordless, looking at Magnus, brilliant and beautiful and full of life, with a heart that has suffered so much but is still brighter than the moon outside the window. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling in his chest, warm and heavy yet light at the same time, but he knows he loves Magnus, and the look in Magnus’ eyes whispers that it’s returned. 

Despite all the planning they’ve done, all the dreams they share, the future is murky; something will go wrong, as it always does, and they’ll be fighting for their lives sooner or later. Success is possible but not probable. There are demons in Alec’s head in the red-black shades of the Agony rune; Maryse, Imogen, and the Clave are strong and stand together against them. But between Alec’s strategy and knowledge, Magnus’ vision and power, and the Downworld’s hidden strength, they have at least a chance, and that is enough — that is everything. 

Alec leans in to kiss Magnus’ smiling lips, and somehow, impossibly, all is right with the world. 

#fic #my fic #tsc #tmi #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #magnus x alec #alec lightwood bane #magnus lightwood bane #alec x magnus #shrb2022 #fanart #rescue #captivity

[lazinesswrites]

Title: I am he as you are he as you are me

Rating/Warnings: Teen/None

Pairing: Jace & Alec, background Malec and Clace

Summary: It starts with the little things: One morning at breakfast, Jace takes a drink of his milk only to nearly choke on it when it turns out to be orange juice. It’s not that Jace doesn’t like orange juice – in fact he much prefers it, which is why that’s what he put in his glass – but when you’re expecting milk, tasting OJ is not a great experience. Why he would expect it to be milk is beyond Jace, though, as he’s been drinking either coffee or OJ with his breakfast every day for years.

“Thought it was milk?” Alec asks from across the table, and Jace looks away from the offending glass of milkOJ, to see Alec holding up his own glass – of milk, because that's what he drinks every morning, and has for as long as Jace has known him. “Thought mine was juice.”

Tags: Parabatai, Shadowtober2022, Season 1 Compliant, more or less, Parabatai dream-sharing, Parabatai Feels, Good Parabatai Jace Wayland, but also:, Bad Parabatai Jace Wayland, he's trying okay

Based on a prompt posted in the Malec discord server a while ago, and the ensuing conversation.

Also fills the prompt for day 1 of GrizzlyHare's Shadowtober '22, Parabatai. (I would link to it, but it's on twitter, and my twitter is being weird. Find them @Grizzlyhare1 or via #shadowtober2022)

#Shadowhunters #Shadowtober2022 #Parabatai #Jace Wayland #Alec Lightwood #Ao3 link

[dreaming-marchling]

F [exile] & J!

F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

Nothing specific, unfortunately. I spent an excessive amount of time daydreaming that story, mostly the scene where Magnus first sees Alec again, but I can't remember anything specific I was listening to at the time. I wish I was one of those writers who made a playlist per story for the vibes but I'm not really. Very rarely.

J: What’s your favorite fanfic trope? Have you written it?

My most favorite is hurt/comfort and holy fuck have I written the hell out of it, lol! Just to make this a more interesting answer, here's a few less broad favorites that I have written: Good Parabatai Jace Wayland, Powerful Magnus Bane, Hypothermia, Age Regression/DeAging. And here's some tropes that I haven't written but read a lot of: Hobbits in Erebor, T'hy'la, Alternate Universe - Royalty

Thank you for asking!!

#My Writing

[malec-ao3feed]

Brigther Than Gold

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/7EdS0gK by CorbeauPeregrin Because their wedding is more than an intimate, love gesture, but a political act broadcasting their alliance to the Shadow World, Alec and Magnus find themselves at the heart of yet another conflict tearing Nephilim and Downworlders apart. As always they are determined to get through it, come hell and high water, together. Alliance part 3 Words: 2917, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 3 of Alliance Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane, Madzie (Shadowhunters TV), Lydia Branwell, Helen Blackthorn, Aline Penhallow, Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood, Original Female Character(s) of Color Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Helen Blackthorn/Lydia Branwell/Aline Penhallow, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood Additional Tags: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Married Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Good Parabatai Jace Wayland, Jace Wayland is a Lightwood, Good Sibling Isabelle Lightwood, Magic, Runes, Magnus Bane & Catarina Loss Friendship read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/7EdS0gK

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #shadowhunters #tmi #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #magnus x alec #malec fanfic #the mortal instruments

[sivan325]

Alone 6/? E [Alpha Magnus/Omega Alec] Summary: “Let me get this straight, your omega is pregnant, and you left him alone for how many days?” Catarina asked him. Disclaimer: The fabulous work belongs to Cassandra Clare, thank you for creating the Shadow world.

#hmdiscord #malec #alpha/beta/omega AU #alpha magnus bane #omega alec lightwood #good parabatai jace wayland #prompts fic #hmprompt #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters #e-rated #wip #alone