if i sold my first born child to a witch, and never opted to have actual kids myself, then adopted a child, from like a fairytale orphanage, would the witch be able to take the adopted child or have no legal standing and the child still be mine since it would technically be my first child that was born? Do the witch contracts ever say the child has to come from your ‘parts’ or can the child from another womans ‘parts’ to then have you claim that the child is yours? Would a serogate mother then be a wiser option to have a child if the child is yours but you didn’t birth it?
@fictober-event day 4: ‘I know you didn’t ask for this’
shadowhunters: magnus bane/alec lightwood
ao3 link
“You come here without an appointment, demand my services and are unable to offer any form of payment?” Magnus asked the Shadowhunters before him, his tone dangerously low and magic sparking from his fingers as he stared at the Shadowhunters before him.
“You stole Clary’s memories!” The brash, blond Shadowhunter said and the redhead next to him gave a firm nod and glared. “You owe her them back!”
“Clarissa Fray’s memories were taken from her at the request of her mother.” At this rate, Magnus felt like an old record stuck in a loop, it was not a flattering experience whatsoever.
“But they’re my memories.” Clarissa interrupted and Magnus sighed and took a languid sip of his drink. Shadowhunters, bratty demanding children the entire lot of them.
“And yet, at the time your mother was your legal guardian and I rendered a service as she was within her legal rights, albeit perhaps not moral ones, to make that choice.”
That stumped them both and finally the blond one stepped forward, “what do you want? In return for the memories, we brought the necklace.”
“As that necklace was mine to begin with, I'll consider it’s rightful return to me a significant enough gesture that I’ll overlook you barging into my club without permission and wasting my time. It will not however, count as payment for the arduous task of returning memories, here Magnus gave a little smirk. “That will cost you something else.”
“We want Clary’s memories back, I’ll pay any price for it.”
Magnus raised a brow and smirked, these young reckless Shadowhunters never did learn. “I have a few spells I’m interested in perfecting, I’ve always wanted to trial run them but never had a willing subject.”
“What kind of spells?”
“Mostly healing, some glamour and tracking to name a few. Nothing overtly dangerous.”
“And you need someone to test them on?”
“A winged nephilim specifically,” Magnus let that settle, saw the slight panic cross the blond’s face and the confusion on Clarissa’s. “They’d have to stay with me a bit.” And that made him smirk because a nephilim, especially one of their precious winged soldiers staying with a warlock was more than blasphemous.
“Done.” The blond said and nodded as if his agreement were enough.
“I will not be invaded by nephilim,” Magnus added mildly, “so expect to say your goodbyes to miss Fray for a short time. I’ll take a blood oath as well.”
“I can’t leave Clary! I have to protect her.”
“The choice is yours, you know what I want.” Magnus was also more than willing to negotiate down to some historical texts that he’d been itching to get his hands on. Bartering was a lengthy game and while his demanded price was unusually outrageous he wanted to see this arrogant Shadowhunter panic a bit. Wanted him to understand how futile his demands were, that Magnus wasn’t cowed by his self-importance.
He offered a contract with a flourish of his hand and waited for the counter offer. Depending on how decent it was, he might not even leave them in too much suspense before suggesting the books as payment.
Instead of arguing, the blond took a look at the contract, barely reading the first few lines and then with a pained but brashly determined look, nicked his finger on one of his angelic blades and before Magnus could overcome his disbelief and stop him, let his blood drip down on the paper.
Magnus blinked, glamour flickering and then scowled. There was absolutely no way he was putting up with this Shadowhunter in his home.
“Just like that?” He asked dryly while considering how to incinerate the contract, “what happened to being the only one who could protect Miss Fairchild.”
“I have a parabatai,” it was spoken with pride and also an edge of guilt. Although Magnus supposed that if the blond would trust anyone to look after Clarissa it would be his parabatai. “He’ll go with you.”
Magnus blinked, and noted that Clarissa looked relieved. “You didn’t ask his consent.”
“He’s my parabatai.”
“Than I truly pity him,” Magnus muttered and deliberately refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose.
Fine.
He would consider this a reminder that Shadowhunters were just as idiotic as ever and use it as a dramatic way to teach them a short, but important lesson. He’d meet this parabatai, intimidate him a bit and impart the importance of not making decisions - like bonding ones soul with another - while still an adolescent. Then he would renegotiate, destroy the contract and send them all on their merry way, memories intact and with the books firmly in his possession.
-
A knock sounded on Magnus’ door and he stopped in front of the mirror, pausing to check that his outfit was sufficiently dramatic enough. Between his makeup, the silver strands through his hair, the jewelry and his shirt open to his naval, he had a feeling that whatever nephilim had been sent to him would be properly scandalized. With a snap of his fingers the lights dimmed ominously, candles flickering in the breeze from the open balcony doors and the cauldron of shampoo in his apothecary bubbling over, filling the room with the slightest of scented mists.
There. Surely that would do.
Magnus let his glamour drop as he opened the door and stopped, staring in shock at the man in front of him. Angelic was too simply a word to describe him and suddenly, Magnus felt like he’d severely miscalculated how this was going to go.
-
Alec had been all set to immediately stand his ground, make his stance clear and set the boundaries that Jace had failed to. At first, Alec had been furious at whatever warlock had trapped Jace into such a contract. Until Clary had accidentally let it slip that not only had Jace promised anything, he hadn’t even tried to negotiate and then had offered Alec up like some sort of bartered good.
That had changed Alec’s perspective and his tone. Technically, despite Jace’s proclamations otherwise, he couldn’t actually exchange Alec in return for services rendered. Since that didn’t seem to be clear to him, Alec was going to make it clear. To both the warlock and his parabatai.
He’d decided that for once, Jace was going to actually face the consequences of his actions. Alec wasn’t going to bail Jace out of this mess and take the brunt of it on himself and he was going to make that very clear to everyone involved in this fiasco.
Such a declaration was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said as he knocked on the penthouse door. At least it was, until the door opened and he got his first look of the warlock that Clary claimed had tricked them and oh, what a stunning look it was. Alec had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life and he was fairly certain that he never would again, he swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.
“I’m Magnus,” the man said after a moment of shared silence and his lips curled into a delightful smile, his voice smoother than honey and Alec was suddenly hungry to hear it again. “As we haven’t been formally introduced, in fact. I don’t even know your name.” He offered his hand and Alec took it unthinkingly, let himself be pulled into the room and he couldn’t help how his own lips echoed that sweet smile.
“Alec,” he said and then turned to take in the warlock’s lair and his heart stuttered.
The lights were dim and comforting, a stark relief from the harsh lights of the Operational rooms that Alec suffered through daily. Instead of smelling harsh and clean and sterile, there was a seductive scent in the air and he inhaled a little deeper, drinking more of it in. A breeze blew through the room, ruffling his hair and cooling his heated cheeks and Alec was filled with the sudden and overwhelmingly wish that this was a date.
“Something to drink?” Magnus said and with a flourish of magic he held two glasses and offered one, flickering with blue fire to Alec. “I think we should discuss this, just the two of us. After all, I know you didn’t ask for this and I have opinions about that.”
“Right, the contract.” Alec mumbled and he took a sip of his drink to distract himself, unable to help how his face scrunched in distaste at the sudden burn.
“I tell you what. I destroy this,” Magnus twirled his fingers and summoned the contract to his hand, “you stay for dinner and a few drinks and we can discuss proper terms and payment for returning memories, as reasonable people do.”
Alec almost said yes and then paused, taking another sip of his drink. His hope that Magnus hadn't witnessed his distaste at the drink was burst as this second sip filled his mouth with a new flavor, fresh and sweet and less harsh. He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed however and then he shook his head.
“No,” he said and when Magnus frowned he hurried to correct himself, “I mean yes. But don’t destroy the contract. What Jace did was stupid and irresponsible and I need him to understand that. We should talk, have dinner,” his voice stuttered over the word, “but what he signed can’t actually bind me. That’s not how parabatai bonds work, he should have known that.”
“Oh, well then.” Magnus let the contract fade and Alec watched the graceful turn of his hands and the blue wisps that accompanied the movement, “so you’re here of your own free will? No pesky magical bindings or fears of consequences?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I do hate to talk business on an empty stomach,” Magnus said and once again Alec took his offered hand, sparks shooting through him at the touch. “After all, pleasure before business ensures everyone has a good time.”
Alec couldn’t help letting out a small, relieved chuckle and he felt that maybe this wouldn’t end in disaster after all.
Earth setting, Pidge is a mythical creature, bad first meeting
~~~~~
Lance absentmindedly shuts the car door with a thud, his senses overcome with the sheer presence of this place.
The mansion left to him by his late grandfather is surprisingly well preserved for its setting deep in the forest. Vines creep around the ornate tresses while pine and birch obscure its view further down the road - their roots upending some of the stone foundation.
Lance had almost thought the forest ranger’s directions were wrong, but it seemed Keith really did know this place like the back of his hand.
The chill fall breeze carries fallen leaves around the still warm engine of his car. Lance shivers. Leave it to his recluse grandfather to have lived in such a place that looks like it could fit into a Halloween film. He’d have preferred to come during the summer, but the Will stated he need to visit by today’s date.
Lance huffs and glares again the place. “Well, let's go see what Grand-Dad thought was more important than his family.”
Grandpa McClain all but disappeared after his wife passed away and apparently this is where he stayed - not that any of them knew that until Lance found himself in ownership of it through the Will. Mom and Dad had been suspicious when the extravagant gifts (that he never used to be able to afford) came for the grandchildren with no grandfather in sight.
Lance opens the large door, wanting to know why his beloved grandfather left them to become a rich recluse. He steps in, walking over the cobwebs, wanting to understand why his siblings will spend the rest of their lives with perfectly happy memories of him, when all Lance can recall of him is getting a remote control airplane.
The cold air is made worse inside, where its stuffy and still. Lance bends over between two armchairs and pushes, having to put more muscle into it than he expected, making the window fly open.
A moth flutters in past him and as if by magic, the air around him fills with the sweet scents of spring flowers. Lance inhales deeply, mood lifting slightly by the refreshment.
Until he turns around.
The living room is clean. The furniture looks as bright and colorful as it must have when it was first made and a fire crackles below the chimney.
Lance raises an eyebrow warily. He’s heard stories that this forest contains ancient magic, but never has he believed them. Children’s stories, he figured.
But the fire is rather nice and surely it was just his senses playing tricks on him to have missed something so obvious as the fire. So he treads over and kneels down, moving the wood closer to the center of the fire, beckoning it to burn brighter. He sighs. He doesn’t know where he’s going to start cataloging things. How is he supposed to know what things his grandfather held most dear? Of all the grandchildren, he knew him the least.
He looks up, hoping for some inspiration in the painting above the fireplace.
But there’s a girl sitting atop the mantle.
Not just any girl. Antenna that remind him of a summer wheat field twitch inquisitively above her auburn colored hair. A furry cloak of greens, browns, and purples cover her shoulders - not unlike the moth that had just flittered inside.
Lance screams, falling onto his butt, crawling backwards with everything he has until he crashes into the sofa.
The girl tilts her head and frown. “Why are you screaming?” she asks. Standing, her cloak is more like a shawl wrapped around her body down to her knees. Her bare and shoeless legs remain nearly glued together as she jumps daintily down to the floor. “Am I not the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen?”
Lance’s jaw drops. Oh Quiznak, she was talking. “No. No way. Mythical creatures aren’t real.”
The girl’s eyes narrow darkly. “And I thought you humans had manners.” She clears her throat. “Will Silas be arriving later, then?”
His blood goes cold. “How... do you know my grandpa?” Lance asks cautiously.
Her face lights up with delight. “You are one of Silas’s grandchildren? That’s great! I’ve heard so much about you!” In a flourish, the shawl unfolds into a pair of brilliant wings that takes Lance’s breath away. Her body is covered in a tight-fitting green dress, adorned with colorful flowers.
She’s in his face a moment later, clasping his hands. “Which one are you? Marco, Luis?”
Lance’s heart beats wildly, blood rushing to his cheeks at such close proximity to a girl as lightly clothed as she. He’d be the first to admit how much of an incorrigible flirt he is, but this goes beyond a waggle of the eyebrows and display of finger-guns.
“I’m Lance,” he chokes.
“Lance!” Inexplicably she drags him into a tight hug and the suggestiveness of having her on top of him while on the floor is not lost to him. “The baby!” she declares.
All awkwardness is lifted instantly.
“Who are you calling ‘baby’?” he shrieks, far more high pitched than he’d intended. He shoves her off of him, standing clumsily and backpedaling as far from her as he can. “Who even are you?”
The brightness in the girl’s eyes dims, the lines of her mouth falling. “I’m Pidge,” she says, wings drooping and Lance isn’t sure if he imagines it, but the colors seem to fade. “He… never told you about me?”
“He hardly ever talked to us after grandma died,” Lance says in frustration. “Apparently,” he continues with growing anger, “because he was hanging out with you.”
To Pidge’s credit, she takes the accusation with grace, inhaling deeply through her wobbling lip. “Silas was the kindest human I ever knew. I can’t believe the sweet grandson of his is rude and cruel.”
“You took my grandpa from me!” Lance seethes. “What did you do? Put him under a spell to forget about us?”
Pidge gasps. “I would never--”
“I’m leaving,” Lance declares. He’s had enough of this magic that isn’t supposed to exist but does. How could Grand-Dad care about a flighty mythical creature over his own flesh and blood? The mere thought makes his blood boil. “I’m going home. Keep all his stuff, I don’t need any of it.”
And Lance thinks that’s the last he’ll ever see of her.
“Wait, you can’t leave!”
The door slams shut in his face, stopping Lance from going outside. He clenches his fists and turns sharply. “Are you going to keep me prisoner like you did him?”
“It's not like that!” Pidge closes the distance between them, but thinks better of approaching too close when Lance growls. “Your grandfather saved my life. I swore I would spend it protecting him and his kin. So long as you or any of your relatives stay here, you’ll be blessed with natural health and riches beyond your wildest dreams.”
So that’s how he’d gotten rich so quick.
“No,” Lance replies quickly, not even needing to think about it. “I don't need any of that stuff. Goodbye.”
He tries the door. Its locked.
“You don’t understand,” Pidge implores of him. “I swore an oath. Your family is my family. I’ll be here for your grandchildren's grandchildren. Just ask Silas, he understood. He promised to leave the house to one of you.”
“I can’t ask him,” Lance snaps. “Because he’s dead. He gave me the house, but I’m only here to collect his things.”
Pidge’s antenna fall flat over her hair. “He’s dead.” It isn’t a question, she seems to at least understand the concept.
“Yes, so would you let me go,” he continues with a glare. “I’ve had enough of his magic hullabaloo.”
Her breath hitches and her skin is noticeably more pale. Her hands shake. “It’s late,” she rasps with tears in her eyes. “Stay the night at least. You - you can go home in the morning if you want.”
Lance huffs. He wants to leave now, it isn’t nearly that late and his car headlights work perfectly fine… but there’s something in the way about how sickly she looks right now that gives him pause.
He pinches his brows. “Okay. I’ll stay the night,” he relents.
Pidge’s demeanor remains unchanged, but she does smile just a little bit. “Thank you,” she says softly.
~~~~~
Lance wraps the blanket closer to his shoulders and shivers. The rest of the mansion is still freezing, enough so that even the covers of the bed don’t provide the warmth he needs in the middle of the night. So he finds himself sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, stroking the fading embers.
“I should have gone home,” he grumbles.
Behind him, Pidge coughs.
Lance sighs and throws his head back. His mother would never forgive him for being so cruel to a lady, supernatural being or not. He grabs his phone from his back pocket and turns on the flashlight.
“You okay?” he asks as he walks over to her. For the last several hours she’s kept to herself, simply lying on the couch as if to sleep.
Lance shines the light on her and gasps.
Her wings are translucent, no longer vibrant with color. Her skin is deathly pale and she pants for breath as if she had pneumonia.
Lance drops to his knees beside her. “Hey, Pidge. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Pidge opens her eyes to acknowledge him for just a moment before wincing in pain. “I… I swore,” she sobs.
“Yeah, I remember,” Lance says, hands hovering over her - quiznak, he has no idea what to do! “But you don’t have to. I don’t want you to.”
Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Pidge goes into a spasm, coughing up blood. “Can’t,” she rasps, “can’t break a promise.”
Oh.
Oh sweet mercy. Lance may have just been introduced to actual magic only earlier today, but he gets the gist now. Pidge had literally sworn. With magic. Somehow she’d bound herself to helping Grand-Dad and if she didn’t fulfill her end of the bargain... She was dying because he didn’t want her around.
Grand-Dad had known this. That’s why he gave Lance the house.
“I’ll stay,” Lance blurts out. “I’ll move in. Quiznak, I didn’t know your life depended on this!”
A pale green glow surrounds Pidge as soon as he says the words. The lights in the living room turn on and the fireplace reignites in full force. Her breathing calms and pink returns to her cheeks. Slowly, she opens her eyes, a soft smile on her face.
“He knew you’d stay,” she breathes quietly. “Thank you. I didn’t want to die alone if you didn’t.”
Lance falls to his bum, near speechless at the turn of events. He doesn’t know how he’s going to work this out - he has a life back in the city. For now, he’s just glad Pidge doesn’t suffer at the cost of his ignorance.
“I was dying when he found me,” Pidge tells her. “Stuck in a hunter’s trap. So I swore my life to make sure his was the best it could possibly be and the contract just… came out like that.” Tears fall from her eyes. “My father used to tell me that once I found a good mortal, they’d be just like family. Your grandfather was so kind, and reminded me of my own father so much,” she chuckles “always telling me I was like a grandchild to him even though I was hundreds of years older. So please understand,” she says looking into his eyes. “That’s why I tied my life to his bloodline - to your bloodline.”
Lance sighs deeply, defeated. “What am I supposed to say to that? It doesn’t feel right.”
“There are benefits to me too,” she says, a teasing grin growing on her face. “That you’ll find out in time.”
Lance stands and takes the blanket from his shoulders and lays it on top of Pidge. “Get some rest. We have a lot to sort out tomorrow.”
She’s snoring softly before he even finishes, a smile permanently stuck to her face. Lance grabs a smaller blanket from over top of an armchair and sits down.
He doesn’t know how much sleep he’ll be getting personally tonight with all the new information running through his head. Adrenaline works against his weary body. He still can’t fathom why his grandfather would enter into such a deal with a creature like Pidge.
Well, it seems he’ll have a while to figure it out.
I’ll go ahead and assume you know what the word “binding” means here and were unclear about the sorts of magic involved.
Well, there are Unbreakable Vows, for a start. Those tend to be lethal if you try to break them. They’re not technically unbreakable as one of the parties involved can break it, they’ll just die in the process or shortly after they break it.Anyone not directly involved in the ritual can’t do a single thing to remove it or break it.
There are ways to bind someone via blood magic, with some being more passively benign than others. They all sort of get lumped in under the blood pact description, which makes it sound a lot weirder than it actually is; I think it’s the word pact that does it. Most people just say contract, but if you get some oddball using pact instead, you’re immediately going to think it’s something more mysterious than it is.
Most of the ones I’m familiar with are commonly used in business or political contracts (seriously, if you ever catch me referring to a contract as a pact, go ahead and just throw a stinging hex at me), typically where one party doesn’t particularly trust the other to stick to their word and they’re certain the other party is sufficiently skilled in either finding loopholes, using semantics, or just plain breaking a written contract, even one that’s magically (the non-blood type) binding.
They can be broken, but it’s often difficult, involved, and can range from psychologically or physically painful to lethal depending on what was done initially.
Most of those also can’t be broken by a third party.
There are several curses that will bind someone either to you, to a situation, or to someone else but as they’re curses they’re not often used where a healthy (or even sane) relationship is concerned. They’re not that hard to break if you know which curse was used; third parties (usually curse breakers) can often knock them aside with minimal effort.
There are many ways to bind someone via perfectly legal charms to a written or spoken contract as well. Most standard contracts are magically binding to some degree; they’re also the easiest to break unless you were smart enough to weave some consequences of doing that into the contract itself.Even then, from a technical skill standpoint, they’re easy to break, even by someone not involved directly. Not necessarily recommended to do that as it does get you a less than amazing reputation pretty quickly if you do.
With any of them, if the wording used is vague, which is sometimes done to try and avoid something along the lines of a 987 page contract that I definitely haven’t had with Lagraff since 1982 and that absolutely wasn’t revised in the winter of 1990 to over 1300 pages, the magic itself can end up interpreting the situation as it sees fit and will often adjust it to fit what it’s decided the intent was.
Not surprisingly, I have an example of that.
It’s a six word contract (shortest one I have, as an aside) and, when it was spoken, the implication of it was clear enough that it was–truncated, more or less. If it’d been said the way the conversation leading to it went, it would have been, “I am bound to my word. You have my word.”
What it was was, “I am bound. You have me.”
Without those extra five words explicitly there, the magic involved interpreted both statements very differently.
Looking back, I prefer it that way; the idea of being bound to my word when what “my word” was wasn’t specified is not a good situation, it could have grabbed anything said up to that, which may or may not have made any sense at all.
Also because the only other people I know who are well versed in that type of magic had initial reactions that can be summed up as:
1) Weird combination of mortified, kind of horrified, and, “That’s not what you agreed to, it’s perfectly fine to break it.”
2) “You did what?!”
3) “But, you still work here, correct?”
It’s generally not a good idea to force anyone into any of the above where non-business relationships are concerned for various reasons though, the most important one being if you have to force someone into it, they don’t want to be bound to you for whatever the reason anyway and if you’re doing it to keep someone around–why would you want to keep someone around who doesn’t want to voluntarily stay?
They’re not going to be happy in that situation and neither are you.
It’s also a good idea to operate on that principle when dealing with business or political contracts; if one or more parties are not at all happy with the contract or were coerced or flat out forced into it, you can be almost guaranteed that they’ll spend the rest of their life looking for ways to undermine it and you.
In the end, people stay because they want to, not because they’re obliged-by-being-bound to do so.
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