Not sure if you're already taking omegaverse prompts yet, but if you are; a universe where omegas are the fiercest of the three sub genders, and it's traditional to only mate with an alpha that can best them in combat at the beginning of their heat (when they're by far the strongest). Omega Alec, who has easily beaten anyone who propositioned him, worried that alpha Magnus won't be able to beat him or won't want to fight him.
I am always taking all the prompts! (Well, not usually omegaverse, but! Fun Fandom Anti-AI Event!) Regardless, yes, thank you, have some more a/b/o Malec Feels! (Yes, this is in the same universe as the last one. No, this one does not explain how they got on the same page. I'm sure I'll get there eventually.)
I will say, I could absolutely NOT get Alec to be worried about this, he is having a Grand Time and refused to accept any other possibility. He and Magnus are going to dance with very sharp blades and it's going to be Very Sexy, and then they'll get Mated. There is no downside here.
An Omega heir to two old bloodlines in line for a Headship was something the Nephilim hadn’t seen in almost a century, and ought to have been prestigious enough for Alec to have chosen any path or mate he wanted.
Alphas were brave and strong and heroic, and Betas were steady and clever and frequently the only reason Clave policy ever had anything resembling sense, but Omegas? Protective and farsighted didn’t cover it, didn’t even begin to describe the feral edge they got when provoked, the depth of the devotion they could offer to whatever people and causes they claimed as theirs. An Omega who could be raised in an Institute, who could claim it as their own? Invaluable.
(Valentine’s Omega mate fleeing when his obsessions grew too great was the only reason the Clave had managed to stop him, or even realize that they had to try. Anything strong enough to break an Omega’s instinctive loyalty? Even the politicians couldn’t ignore that.)
But Maxwell Trueblood had defected to the mundane world a generation ago, and the Lightwood line had sided with the Circle, and Maryse & Robert Lightwood used their Omega son to wash away their sins just enough to avoid execution and un-naming, to instead let them be exiled to New York City as Acting Heads rather than fully-blooded members of the Clave.
Alexander Gideon Trueblood Lightwood had no Sponsor, could not attend the Academy and earn any commendations for his skills and training, had no officially recognized rank to protect him. That turned him from potentially the most eligible heir of a generation into exactly the sort of easy temptation every ambitious idiot in Idris thought they could use to improve their own standings within the strict hierarchy of Nephilim bloodlines.
Or so they thought. He couldn’t offer a contract for either a spouse or mate on his own terms, after all, so anyone who married him would be able to use their name and his bloodline to steal all the Lightwood’s former rank for themselves.
But just because he couldn’t initiate negotiations of his own didn’t mean he could be forced to accept them from anyone else.
His parents hadn’t seen it that way, and had been all set to sell him to the highest bidder to get them all back into Idris. They were stupid about it, however, and spent a decade playing all the interested parties against each other, trying to provoke the best possible deal, sure they had the upper-hand.
Alec knew better. As soon as he was legally a Shadowhunter he could make his own stand. He’d invoked his enkeli immediately after his rune ceremony and informed the Silent Brothers that any claimants to either join or absorb the Lightwood line through him must first pass Raziel’s traditional Supplication Rites.
(Brother Hezekiah had allowed something that sounded remarkably like amusement to spill through his words when he’d projected that announcement at the next Council Meeting. Alec had been both pleased and honored by that reaction.)
Supplication to Raziel meant an official announcement of an intent to Court, with terms in writing for a mating contract to be sworn upon both the Mortal Cup and Soul Sword after a Trial by Combat to prove both parties worthy of the Clave’s recognition of a new family line, all sins forgiven and redeemed by the spilling of penitent blood.
Most people thought the Rites were barbaric, and they had mostly been invoked as a punishment against someone whenever an Heir needed redemption. (Alec had, in fact, only found a single historical record of someone invoking the Rites on their own behalf before he did, and that had been almost 900 years ago.)
The Cup required vows of devotion, both to each other and to the greater good, oaths of fidelity to one’s partner, promises of service and duty to protect the mundane realm. The Soul Sword of course made all those vows true and permanent. Matings only, no marriages that could be broken or overturned. And of course that was only after making it through the combat.
Every soldier knew that no matter how good you were, no one could win every fight. Bad luck, bad timing, one single misstep… and then you were mated, with no recourse and no way out for the rest of your life.
It was why Alec knew no one had been expecting him to do it, because it bound him more tightly than any modern marriage contract. But it gave him a choice, a chance for a partner he could respect. It freed him from the weight of his parents’ mistakes in a way they couldn’t protest, couldn’t fight, couldn’t even begrudge aloud or they’d be going against edicts even older than their family lines.
The first few offers were sent by the parents of other newly Marked trainees, clearly just testing the waters. Several of them could be dismissed immediately, terms too unclear or uneven to even pretend to consider.
(Alec was quite proud of the very formal rejection letters he got to send out, as clear and blunt as he’d ever desired to be and his parents had always tried to prevent, no necessity for platitudes or compliments to soften the blow. If they weren’t negotiating in good faith, they hadn’t earned his respect, not even in writing.)
But eventually he did receive some valid offers that he could not just dismiss out of hand, that he had to answer.
That he had to allow to face him.
He beat them all.
Handily, even, much more so than anyone (except for his parabatai) had been expecting. (Especially as Combat Trials were traditionally private, watched only by a Silent Brother, an Iron Sister, and a single Council Witness who could owe no debts or tithes to either family involved.) Jace had enjoyed pretending to be nervous about Alec’s chances the first few fights to help provoke the challengers into particularly stupid over-confidence, but eventually too many people noted just who Alec had faced, and who he had won against, and they started to be more cautious.
Alec had tried to be polite about his duels, fighting only to disarm and force them to yield, but when Elisa Pangborn had fought with angelbane-laced daggers, Alec had taken both her eyes in retribution.
That had stopped the reputable Nephilim families from sending all their third and fourth born heirs in some vague hope sheer numbers might make one of them luck out. Unfortunately, it seemed to encourage the other Circle survivors, because now they could be angry at him for daring to improve his standing while they still suffered under the Clave’s displeasure.
(Of course, the fact that Raziel offered several different redemption Trials within the Council’s Codices that they could attempt, the same as Alec, didn’t seem to calm them down. Which just let Alec feel better about beating them all, the cowards.)
Elijah Dieudonné had then tried to seduce him without any formal Courting, dropping hints about politics and favors and putting on a show in lieu of a proper duel, and Alec had been forced to break both his wings and hold him down while activating his iratze so they’d grow back together while still broken.
Even the Silent Brothers couldn’t get Elijah flying again. And not a single Warlock or Seelie had been willing to even meet with a Dieudonné to discuss terms for a magical healing, much less perform one.
Elijah’s father, the Consul himself, had attempted to execute Alec for that.
Alec simply stood up under the Soul Sword and detailed out exactly what Elijah had done.
Malachi was lucky to escape any stronger censure than early retirement.
Jia Penhallow was a much better Consul.
And finally the offers and challenges stopped.
Alec couldn’t be promoted to a full-blooded member of the Clave, much less be appointed to Headship of the New York Institute, while the Lightwood’s were still under the Clave’s probation… but it was still better than any of his other options.
(Especially after Alec finally reached his full majority at 25, and his parents were 'permitted' to return to Idris and serve the Inquisitor's Office, and the new Consul appointed Lydia and John Monteverde as Heads of the New York Institute. They kept Alec as their second, and honestly he enjoyed no longer having to cover the paperwork for himself and his parents, and finally had enough time to occasionally take a break.)
Which was how he met Magnus.
Which got them here, to the first Offer he’d received in three years, and the only one he had every intention of accepting.
Image ID: blue text on a cream background which reads “Nine types of rest. 1) time away 2) permission to not be helpful 3) something “unproductive” 4) connection to art and nature 5) solitude to recharge 6) a break from responsibility 7) stillness to decompress 8) safe space 9) alone time at home”. End ID.
And Keanu says something really interesting to me on the first John Wick. He comes to me and he goes, “Look, just so you know, little bit of advice, when you edit, once a week, you should see the edit on the big screen.” And I’m like, OK, we’ll try. Later, alone with him, I’m going, “Well, why?” He’s like, “I’m a big-screen actor.” And I had no fucking idea what that meant. I thought it meant a movie star. And he’s like, “No, no, no, no.”
And he started talking to me about non-verbal acting, like gestures, motions. And he’s like, “Look, when you see me on a little monitor and I give this little look, it’s one thing. But when you see it on a 40-foot screen, that look’s going to say a lot. That’s what I want to play this guy as. So just please be aware of it, so when we punch in on the closeups, it’s going to mean something.” And it kind of really clicked for me right there.
I’ve always been fascinated by non-verbal gesture, body language. Keanu would go through and strip his dialogue down. It was like, “No, no, nope. I’m just going to cuddle the puppy.” In the first John Wick, he doesn’t talk for 32 minutes. Try to sell that one to a studio: You have Keanu Reeves and you’re not going to let him talk.
Chad Stahelski on what the John Wick movies owe to Buster Keaton
Summary: With one last, devastating shudder, the walls cracked and crumbled and fell, and the ceiling descended as if in slow motion. In the depths of the building, Alec shut his eyes.
Read it on AO3 or below the cut.
“I know you’re here, Shadowhunter,” the warlock said, and Alec froze.
The warlock turned to face him, disconcertingly bright teal magic lighting up the room and removing the shadows in which Alec had hidden. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done,” they continued calmly. “I worried I’d have to fight your pet warlock to get to you, but it seems you’ve been stupid enough to come in to me alone.”
That much was true, Alec thought — Magnus was waiting outside with a team of Alec’s Shadowhunters, ready to attack once Alec came back out and gave the all clear. The warlock had been kidnapping Downworlders for weeks; Alec had wanted to figure out where the kidnapped people were before the attack.
“You’re after me, then?” Alec asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about all the Downworlders you’ve captured?”
“I freed them a moment ago,” the warlock replied. “I have no grudge with other Downworlders; I only wanted to take revenge on you.”
“For what?” Alec asked, blatantly playing for time.
That was apparently the wrong question, because the warlock snarled. “You’re a Shadowhunter. I need no other reason.” The building trembled faintly, and Alec raised his hands above his head in a calming gesture.
“I’m trying to help the Downworld, not hurt you,” Alec said.
The warlock’s face darkened with fury. “You say that, but your people have oppressed mine for centuries. You may claim to want to help us, but false aid is worse than cruelty.” They summoned a teal fireball to their palm and hurled it at Alec, who dodged.
Growling, they threw another, but Alec simply ducked under or over every one. “I can keep this up for hours,” he told the warlock, “and eventually, Magnus will come in after me. You won’t last long against him.”
The warlock hissed, and teal magic coalesced into a barrier over the doorway. “Then I’ll have to kill you before he comes.” More magic was already gathering in their hands, and the room trembled.
“You’ll bring the roof down on both our heads if you keep that up,” Alec warned, but the warlock only smiled.
“That’s precisely what I want to do.”
With one last, devastating shudder, the walls cracked and crumbled and fell, and the ceiling descended as if in slow motion. In the depths of the building, Alec shut his eyes.
~
Magnus watched as the building trembled, then collapsed in on itself, burying any inhabitants in cement and plaster.
Alec.
He’d been inside.
Magnus didn’t even think before starting the spell, throwing his hands into the air and chanting, weaving threads of blue magic around his fingers. The threads reached out into the fabric of the realm, the material that made up the universe, the strings that controlled the world.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he saw Catarina, eyes wide and tearful. “Magnus!”
She’d been calling his name for a while, he realised, belatedly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about whatever she wanted to say.
Cat didn’t let him ignore her. “Magnus, he’s gone. I’m so sorry, but there’s no way he could survive that—”
“No,” Magnus hissed, because he could not believe that, could not think, even for a moment, that he’d already lost Alec, that he was too late. A strand of blue magic lifted Cat up and moved her a few metres away, and he threw up a ward to keep everybody back while he worked.
He knew why she didn’t want him to try to do this. If he tried to simply lift the rubble, there was every chance he’d disrupt any delicate structure that kept Alec safe; he might accidentally lift Alec, too. And holding so many small pieces in the air was an exercise in frustration which would expend his magic far faster than was safe.
Instead, Magnus would reach out into the fabric of the world itself, and make the blocks of rubble vanish.
A lesser warlock would not be capable of affecting reality on that scale, but Magnus was not a lesser warlock. The threads of magic that wove around his fingers connected to the threads that made up the world, and he focused on the blocks of rubble in front of him and tugged.
They vanished.
Not completely, of course; matter could not be created or destroyed so easily. But with his magic so deeply embedded in the world, Magnus could move the concrete and plaster and metal and glass with nothing but a thought, and the upper parts of the building were now drifting somewhere in the asteroid belt.
He flicked his fingers again, and more bits and pieces vanished to join their fellows. If he tried to move the entire building at once, he’d risk sending Alec up into the asteroid belt, too, so he moved a layer at a time, checking after each one to make sure there was nobody still alive there. The longer he stayed in this state of enhanced connection to the universe, the lower his magic levels sank, but he could not move any faster without endangering Alec.
Because Alec had to be alive, had to be breathing somewhere in the rubble, and Magnus would find him and save him if it was the last thing he did.
Layer after layer peeled away, and sweat was pouring down Magnus’ back, but he was halfway through now and Alec was in there, he had to be; Cat was calling his name from the sidelines, but Magnus’ magic kept her from interfering. She meant well, but she would let Alec die, and that was unacceptable.
His magic levels dropped lower, but most of the rubble had been cleared, and desperation and hope were mounting in equal measure. A twist of his fingers, more chunks of concrete appeared in the asteroid belt, and — there. The glimmerings of a life that Magnus’ magic knew as well as his own.
He was beside Alec without bothering with a portal when he could simply shift himself along the threads of the universe. His husband’s body was limp, broken ribs crushed lungs bleeding head eyes shut broken bones, but his heart was beating and his chest still struggled to rise and fall, and that was all Magnus needed.
Magnus had never been a healer. His strength lay in raw power, in destruction and light, not in Catarina’s precise, careful touch. But now, he commanded the world to bend to his will, and it obeyed.
Alec’s ribs straightened, pulling his chest into the right shape, giving him room to breathe. His limbs realigned themselves, broken bones fused back together by Magnus’ will, Magnus’ power. The blood stopped flowing from the cuts on his head. His heartbeat steadied, and Magnus let out a breath, and released his control over the fabric of the world.
He swayed, but managed to remain kneeling at Alec’s side. Catarina was already beside him, hands hovering over Alec, checking for anything Magnus had missed, but she found nothing and her hands fell to her sides.
“How is he alive?” she asked, probably a rhetorical question, but Magnus had felt the scraps of magic floating around Alec and he knew the answer.
“The ring I gave him,” he explained, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t think all the magic I drenched it in was just for show, did you?” Catarina, like nearly every other warlock, had stared at Alec’s hand in astonishment the first time she’d seen him wearing the ring that held all the magic Magnus had been able to channel into it, claim and protection all in one. “The wards on it kept him from being crushed for just long enough.” There hadn’t been quite enough magic in the ring to keep him from harm entirely, which would have to be fixed.
Alec’s eyes blinked open, and a smile spread involuntarily across his face when he saw Magnus above him.
Unfortunately, magical exhaustion was catching up to Magnus as his adrenaline faded, and as he swayed sideways, his last thought was Alec’s going to be pissed about this.
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