The bell above the door chimed as Alec stepped inside the bookstore, the cold November breeze trying to follow him off the street. He glared at the source of the sound for a moment, before turning his attention to the small shop that he’d spotted the other day and hadn’t been able to get out of his mind ever since. Two days ago he’d been focused on finding a place to stay before the sun set (though, he’d slept on the streets plenty of times in his incredibly long life and hypothermia wasn’t a problem for someone who couldn’t die) and he hadn’t let himself stop and browse despite how desperately he wanted to. Now, however, he’d found somewhere dry and warm — an old theater that had closed a few months prior and was scheduled for some renovations into a nightclub once all the zoning and legalities were handled — so he finally had some time to explore the city.
New York City wasn’t new for Alec, not really, though the last time he’d stepped foot here horse-drawn carriages had still been the main method of transportation and a hot meal had cost only a handful of coins. Now, yellow cabs and Ubers had long since taken over and a good meal could cost hundreds of dollars depending on which celebrity chef’s name was on the front of the restaurant. It wasn’t often that Alec missed how things used to be — not when science and technology kept improving at an alarming yet fascinating rate — but it certainly had made his cursed existence much easier when life was far simpler.
It’s my absolute pleasure to present the playlist I worked on and the accompanying fic that Hika @thelightofthebane (ColorfulWarlock on AO3) created for the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2022, presented by the @malecdiscordserver over on discord.
We're a little bit behind schedule but I promise you so much love and patience went into this proect! You can find the fic itself right here and I urge you all to give it a read. Hika's story completely fit the idea I had in mind when I first created my playlist, and she has done an absolutely fantastic job of worldbuilding and storytelling. She's an amazing writer, an even better person, and a wonderful person to talk to. Hope you all send her all the love <3
And here’s a quick summary of her story if you guys want a little teaser:
What if Magnus couldn’t forgive Alec for breaking his heart after the deal with Asmodeus? What if Magnus left New York and never looked back?
What if Clary never got her memories back? What if the parabatai duo was so broken for their lost loves, they couldn’t function anymore? What if broken hearts led to broken souls?
What if one left and the other disappeared? What if Magnus came back to a New York where Alec Lightwood vanished a century ago?
What if
What if
What if
Second chances might take longer. But they always seem to find their way back to each other.
The playlist is open to the public on spotify, right here! But for those of you who just want to take a look at the titles and see if anything is of interest to you, I’ll list the details of the song down below.
Break My Own by Taylor Bickett
champagne problems by Taylor Swift
I Lost a Friend by FINNEAS
Back to Friends by Lauren Spencer Smith
Small Talk by Katy Perry
my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift
Alright by Keaton Henson
As It Was by Harry Styles
Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie
One by Sleeping At Last
Video Games by Lana del Rey
Runnin' Home to You by Grant Gustin
Heart by Sleeping At Last
Sweet Home by SYML
i hope ur miserable until ur dead by Nessa Barrett
The Hunter’s Moon Discord ran a server event in honor of Valentine’s Day. Halloween verses Valentine’s Day. Creations were inspired by the moodboards at the bottom of this post. Here’s the masterpost of creations :D
If you’d like to join the discord and participate in upcoming events, click here.
Fearless by @tobythewise (Malec)
The Lightwood-Bane family prepares to celebrate Halloween and of course, Magnus spares no expense. Family themed costumes, CHECK. Inappropriate couples costume, CHECK. Adorable family feels, CHECK. Getting scared in an alleyway but being fearless despite of that? Also check.
Tags: Fluff, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes
Give me a smile and I'll give you my heart by @thelightofthebane (Malec)
Two times Magnus was broken on Valentine's day.
Two times he received the sweetest present.
Tags: Valentine’s Day, Fluff, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, AU-Human, Time Lapse, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bittersweet, More sweet than Bitter
Bloody Kisses by @tobythewise (Saphael)
The only thing Simon loves more than blood is Raphael. And tonight, he gets both.
What’s In A Name? by @shadowhuntersnonsense (general)
Maia refuses to lose her favorite holiday to negative word association.
Tags: Maia Roberts, Valentine’s Day, Fluff
We always find our way back to each other by @brightasstars (Malec)
It will be a Valentine's day Alec will never forget....
Tags: Valentine’s Day, Human
Finding the Perfect Moment by @tobythewise (Malec)
Maybe planning this proposal on Magnus' favorite day wasn't the best idea...
OR
Five times Alec tries to propose to Magnus and fails and the one time Magnus succeeds.
Tags: Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Romantic Comedy, 5+1 Things, Canon Divergence, Marriage Proposal, Poor Alec, Established Relationship, Sappy Alec, Sappy Magnus, They love each other so much okay
Baby You’re So Classic by @christopher-lightwood-my-heart (Jimon)
Simon gets dragged to the group Valentine's Day dinner by his best friend, and just when he thought he just might enjoy this dinner, Clary's girlfriend's insufferable brother joins them.
Turns out, Simon doesn't mind the insufferable presence, especially when he gets to play a prince.
Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Valentine’s Day Fluff, All of them have one single brain cell and Raphael has it’s custody, pop culture references, Jace and Simon are chaotic together, I honestly don’t know how Raphael puts up with these guys, AU-Human
death do us part by @alexanderlightweight and @saethsilvertongue (Malec)
Magnus finds death easily enough.
He’s walked side by side with death since he was a child, he still remembers the way now.
Death lies within him, as it lies within all, whether they wish for it or not.
Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Temporary Character Death, Immortality, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Violence, Self-Harm, Dark Magic, Rituals, Murder, Blood and Gore, Self-Cannibalism, Grief/Mourning, Embedded Images, Inspired by Art, Art, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Happy Ending
Happy holidays! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.
This is a reverse-verse fic where Magnus is a Shadowhunter and Alec is a warlock. I haven't read many reverse fics, so this was a lot of fun to explore. It was really interesting to think about what both of them would look like in a role reversal, and how they'd both fit into their separate worlds.
Note: I did change a few of the warlocks' last names in keeping with the tradition of Shadowhunters having compound surnames, so they're a bit different.
Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💜💙💜💙💜💙
*****
Midday light streamed through the high windows of the New York Institute's training room. Magnus wiped sweat out of his eyes and grinned, adjusting his grip on the quarterstaff he held. He twirled the staff challengingly. “Is that the best you can do?”
Catarina raised her eyebrows at him. Magnus was facing off against her and Ragnor for a bout of sparring, part of their usual training routine. Catarina was armed with a long fencing rapier, Ragnor with a blunted training version of a heavy battleaxe.
@thelightofthebane. I really enjoyed making this story and only wish I had more time (and words) to spend on it. Maybe a sequel is in the future, but for now enjoy.
*****
Not Like All The Others
Magnus sat at the window looking out over the darkening land before him. In the morning he would leave the only home he had ever known for an arranged marriage to a man he had met only twice. Alexander Lightwood didn’t seem like he would be like this father, but then again he had never talked to him. Sometimes apples don’t fall far from the tree.
Asmodeus Bane, King of Edom, had just finished the negotiation talks for his only omega son’s marriage when he passed. He had promised both Magnus and his mother that Magnus would be taken care of. The day after the King did rise from his bed and wouldn’t ever again.
The alpha had been fighting off an illness for nearly a year. While he forbade his family and the doctor from saying anything the people of Edom knew something was amiss. They could only guess what it might have been, but when his death was announced the whole nation went into the morning. While Asmodeus was not as well loved as his predecessor, he would be sorely missed.
For @thelightofthebane. Thanks for the prompts, it was both fun and challenging trying to write a fluffy OS for your gift, I hope the result is to your liking 😊 After the year we’ve all been through, I hope this puts a smile on your face <3
Read On AO3
*****
Never Doubt I Love
Being married didn’t mean Magnus or Alec suddenly had more free time to spend together. If anything, once they came back from their honeymoon, the whole world seemed to need their attention and help twice as much. The world wasn’t ending anymore – thank the stars for that – but there was much to rebuild and a new way of doing things to be put into place in earnest.
As Head of the New York Institute and half of THE power couple of the century, most of that responsibility had initially fallen on Alec. He would never have begrudged Magnus for his recently re-acquired position as High Warlock of Brooklyn, but the warlock could see he did feel a bit lonely at first every time Magnus was so busy handling the mess Lorenzo had left behind, they kept missing each other during their rare times of rest. That was a stark contrast to the almost constant presence they had both grown accustomed to during their stay in Indonesia and Magnus selfishly wished he could go back in time and enjoy their honeymoon a second time.
Fortunately, Alec was nothing if not stubborn and he had already decided he wouldn’t be going anywhere. With determination and an endless pit of patience that never ceased to amaze Magnus, he slowly won over even the most recalcitrant Shadowhunters. Slowly but surely, the Shadow world adapted, and the more institutes joined him in the collective effort, the more relaxed the situation in New York got.
Relaxed enough that Alec had time in the morning to start the coffee maker and leave a note to his husband.
Since Magnus was a night owl, he usually woke later than Alec and found in his kitchen fresh coffee – how Alec managed to without fail estimate the time he would wake up and program his coffee maker in advance was beyond him – and a loving note wishing him a good day. The first time it happened, the century-old warlock had blushed, feeling once again taken aback by the spontaneity and care that Alec showed him.
With time and their new life settling into a less crazy routine, the notes became a frequent occurrence.
Until Magnus never woke without his coffee already made and a note alongside it.
Had to go, enjoy your coffee, love, Alec
Go back to sleep, you used enough magic last night, with love, Alec
Have a great day, love, Alec
Sorry I couldn’t be here for breakfast like we planned, all my love, Alec.
Those never failed to make Magnus smile first thing in the morning and short of waking up in his husband's arms, he had to admit you couldn’t do much better.
It reminded Magnus that love was in the little things: little acts of service or words of affirmation in Alec’s case. And as pleasant as it felt to be the one spoiled as he was every day, he loved spoiling Alec even more, so he decided to make sure Alec would find a to-go cup of coffee himself every morning on his desk, changing the flavour every so often when he knew his husband needed something stronger during a hard week or something sweeter after a tough mission.
He went as far as leaving colourful little doodles on the paper surrounding the cup every once in a while, just because.
Most mornings, he was left alone in the loft drinking his coffee, as he imagined that it was the warmth of Alec’s hand he held in his instead of his cup and dreamed of what it could be like to afford a mundane morning. Reading the newspaper with a warm cup in his hand, the sound of the radio in the background, and Alec who would cling to him like the octopus and cuddle-hungry man that he was. They would both be barely dressed, discussing who was the cover stealer and whose turn it was to do the dishes.
Yes, sometimes, Magnus wished he could have this easy simple life with Alec. Old age was making him sentimental it would seem.
After all, there was nothing that could make his heart flutter like coming home after a rough day to see Alec in his ugly but comfy clothes, waiting for him on the sofa with a duvet, snacks, and hot drinks while he planned on spending the rest of the night snuggling Magnus and shutting off the outside world. Magnus was more than happy to sacrifice mornings with Alec if he could instead come back home every evening to his Nephilim – alive and unharmed – and fall asleep in his arms.
His Nephilim was always oh so attentive to his well-being, be it mental or physical; Magnus was surprised to realise how much he had come to rely on him. It had been so long since he knew his trust would be met with a devotion so intense, it was humbling and exhilarating at the same time. Just like when Alec took a few moments out of his busy schedule to check on Magnus and remind him to drink and eat in the middle of a research binge for a difficult client case.
(Won’t they be missing you?
- One hour won’t hurt.)
Magnus himself sometimes kept his agenda open for Alec so he could drop by his office every so often. It reminded everyone that Alec was his, so they better not try anything funny, and he also got to enjoy the joy and slight blush on Alec’s face whenever he wasn’t expecting him to visit. His precious husband.
When their workload was particularly light, Magnus even got to whisk him away on a little date the way he so often did at the beginning of their relationship.
Magnus would tease and open the doors to a world Alec was still discovering, and the Shadowhunter followed him eagerly. A gelato in Milan, trying out a unicorn coffee in Brooklyn, or a stroll in Tokyo… It didn’t matter much in the end.
They would end up at their place, anyway, making out on the sofa or maybe moving things to the bedroom. Whoever said that married life was plain and boring and that the initial rush was bound to fade away had never heard of Magnus or Alec.
Well into their tenth year of marriage, and they were still the most disgusting couple their friends ever had the honour of encountering. But Magnus knew, it was all pure jealousy on their part.
(And okay, maybe just a little teeny tiny bit of exasperation because of their PDA but come on, with a husband that hot, who would keep their hands to themselves?)
Happy holidays to you and I hope you like this! Anyways, I've always had a penchant for Magnus as a god and this is the closest I got to lmao
Read on AO3
*****
The Universe Doesn’t Love
The universe doesn’t love.
It exists, an omnipotent bystander. A guardian of some sort, and watching over the goings on of one hundred billion galaxies, two hundred fifty billion stars, and three trillion planets makes it easier for on objective approach. If the cosmos is the physical, tangible thing of all that exists, the universe is its sentience. Two things, completely different but just as the same.
The universe looks within itself and sees everything ebb and flow by some meticulous design. The universe may be old, just as old as the cosmos it governs, but it is not <i>the being</i> above all. As all encompassing as it may be, the universe is still predetermined by a power even greater than itself—chance.
If the universe believes in something, it’s chance. The coming about of all the forces in existence to bring about <i>something</i>. It is how the universe and the cosmos itself came to be. Just the small particles that happen to be the foundation of <i>everything</i>, decaying and combining as the entirety of this mass become colder and colder and colder and then—first light breaks through. It could’ve not happened that way. One seemingly inconsequential thing could have changed in the most minuscule of ways and everything would have been different.
Chance is powerful. It sits on a throne above the universe, seemingly invisible, but starkly everywhere.
It is when the universe is deciding how close to brush a meteor to the atmosphere of one of its minuscule planets called earth that chance exerts its power. The universe peers into the galaxies, solar systems, planets it governs, deeper than it usually does when making decisions like this, and somehow, a human stands out from the rest.
A minuscule thing. A singular cell in the body of a cosmos that is billions of years old. Shining brightly like a beacon, the mere existence of him telling the universe to do <i>something</i>.
<i>Feel something. </i>
The universe resists. Earth is small, barely there, inconsequential. There are five hundred different earths spread across a hundred billion galaxies, and this specific one is decaying fast, anyway. There’s no point.
But the beacon is <i>ethereal</i>, his soul singing like something begging to be found. The universe doesn’t even think this human know within himself what his soul have been wanting so strongly.
The universe doesn’t love. It’s too subjective, too human.
But—maybe it would like to feel.
It plucks the soul and ushers it softly, changing the angle of his trajectory. It takes a star and breaks it apart to its fundamental elements—hope, joy, peace of mind—and drapes it over this one human soul. It gives him a chance at contentment.
And the universe, for once in it’s billions of years of merely existing, watches with anticipation.
The universe watches as the human draws his arrow, feet drawn shoulder-width apart, right hand pulling the string of his bow taut, left hand shakily holding a bow that’s far too big for him to use.
It is in the middle of watching two galaxies come into collision with each other (always a beautiful sight to behold, and the universe almost always watches) when it notices the tremble of the human’s hands against his instrument of choice. Curious, it abandons Helena and Messir’s bright coalescence and focuses on earth instead.
<i>I can do it</i>, the human boy whispers to himself, <i>I can do it. </i>
If the universe could smile, it would. It feels how much the boy loves his bow and arrow, like it’s an extension of his heart from behind the ribcage of his chest. He grips it the way a musician would hold his violin, lovingly, endearingly. To the boy it is an instrument, not a weapon.
The human takes a deep breath, his exhale passing and brushing the hand that softly rests against his mouth. Seconds stretch as he waits quietly, patiently, until time finally tips and his fingers gently loosens its soft hold.
The arrow sails in a slight curve, the stored energy from the full drawn bow propelling it forward like a missile seeking its target—and then it lands, aim terribly off.
The human lowers his bow, taking stock of his failure, shoulders sagging minutely. Dejection fills the color of his eyes, and it changes the way he holds is body. He is so young, yet carries the weight of the world, the universe thinks. It feels something stir in its center, an emotion that he’s seen on many humans before. It’s a deep ache, sullen, heavy, like a sorriness that is hard to shake off.
<i>Oh</i>, the universe realizes, remembering the word from a conversation he unwittingly overheard from two humans walking the street of Florence, <i>Pity</i>.
The universe is just about to revel in the feeling of it when it sees the human suddenly holding his head high, already nocking another arrow onto his bow, and aiming for another. The disappointment that seemed to permeate his eyes just a few seconds ago gives way to brazen determination, like there’s nothing in existence that could stop him from making this shot. The universe regards the boy and his unyielding persistence, agape. It feels wonder within its very center.
The human doesn’t make the next shot.
Nor the next.
Nor the one after that.
But the he continues on. Over and over again, refusing to give up.
And the universe stays and watches over him, hopeful.
An arrow flies across the room on the fiftieth try, and lands, dead center.
The universe stirs, the realization of it dawning on it slowly but surely.
The human stares wide-eyed at the arrow impaled on the bright red of the target, unbelieving. A small laugh bubbles from his chest, rising like air to his throat, and it escapes into the air, light and musical, tired and relieved. He shoots both hands into the air in rejoice, jumping up and down, <i>yes, yes, yes, I did it! </i> If the universe could jump around in joy it would, but it can’t, so it makes the northern lights in Churchill dance in the sky instead.
It flourishes joyously, akin to a galactic version of an unbelieving laugh.
The universe decides never to feel pity for this human again.
This human has a strong heart.
There is no need for pity.
The universe finally hears the name it’s been hoping to find.
<i>I’m Alexander</i>, he says, hand outstretched, and it meets the hand of another boy, blonde, blue eyes. Jace, the other says. This other human’s soul also sings, but differently. There’s something about this chance meeting that feels cosmic, that feels like it’s exerted by the powers of chance, and the universe wonders whether Alexander and this boy are two halves of a whole. Their souls both want to be found, and maybe, with this machination of chance, they already have.
The universe is introduced to a new human emotion that day.
Heartache.
The universe doesn’t understand much about humanity.
Humans have been fortunate enough to sit at the pinnacle of evolution, and this has made them smart. Sentient. Self-aware. They are also tightly governed by time, yet another concept that they’ve made for themselves. They have many systems of belief that it’s impossible to take stock of it all. The universe doesn’t fully understand spirituality, and it is completely lost on the mechanics of religion. It doesn’t appreciate prejudice, and abhors disparity. Class systems, colonization, slavery, warfare—all concepts it could not parse through if it could. It has witnessed civilizations wipe each other off the face of the earth in defense of principles that is intangible, non-existent, human-made. For a while, the universe looks at earth and only sees the muck of disaster and despair.
Until it doesn’t.
Until the universe looks deep enough to see pockets of goodness where malevolence exists. People fighting for the good of other people. Community in the face of tragedy and catastrophe. A high school student helping his neighbor carry groceries from her car. Big and small acts of kindness that doesn’t take away the bad, but dilutes it. The universe appreciates this in humans.
For as much as they fail, they try.
They try to be good.
Alexander, despite the poison of his parents, tries to be good, and the universe sees this so starkly in the way his soul gleams like the sun of a solar system. He is fiercely protective of his sister. He is the catch all to the mistakes of his adopted brother. He is sacrificial, almost to a fault. And the universe knows Alexander is not immaculate, but despite what has been ingrained into him by his environment, he truly tries.
<i>This is as much as I can go</i>, the universe hears Alexander say, breathless, like he’s been running, <i>I can’t take you any farther than here. </i>
The girl looks back at him with fear in her eyes, the seelie markings along her neck glinting in the moonlight. <i>Why did you help me? </i>
The forest sings as Alexander keeps his silence, thoughts swirling in his mind. He finally answers.
<i>You are not your parents</i>, he says, and says so like he plucked the words out from his very own heart, <i>their sins are not yours. And I won’t see you burn. </i>
The girl mourns, shameful in the way she hangs her head.
<i>You’re just</i>—Alec struggles, eyes glassy, <i>you’re just a child. How can I let a child die? </i>
They both stand there in the dark, grieving their own losses, of childhoods taken by circumstance, of parents who wants to see their offspring molded in their image. They look at themselves and find a person they don’t even recognize anymore.
<i>Go</i>, Alexander finally says, sniffing.
The girl passes the back of her hand against her cheeks. <i>How about you? Won’t they punish you? </i>
Alexander shakes his head, smile bitter on his lips. <i>I’m used to it. </i>
The thank you Alexander gets is not through words, but through magic, a soft spell draped over his body like a veil. He stares agape, wondrously watching the golden wisps flutter around him.
<i>One day, you will not be used to punishment, but love</i>, she murmurs, an incantation akin to a prayer. Alexander feels it curl like tendrils into his heart, where it makes its home. With a final parting smile, the girl runs as fast as her feet can take her.
Just as she disappears into the other side of the woods, he hears the footsteps of the soldiers who have been on their tail since they broke out of the guard. He doesn’t see them as much as he feels the brute force on his arms being wrenched behind his back, wrists bound by cuffs.
<i>Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you are under arrest for insubordination</i>, one of them says. Alexander doesn’t say anything. He already knows the punishment that fits the crime, knows the runes that will be used to coax out discipline in young mutinous shadow hunters.
<i>One day, you will not be used to punishment, but love. </i>
Alexander holds onto those words like a life raft.
The universe is a billion years old.
It has seen civilizations rise from the earth and crumble into dirt. It has watched as stars are born and reborn in endless cycles of gaseous nebulas collapsing and contracting. It has seen the birth of language, time, physics. Only the universe knows what the cosmos sounds like, and the sound is the most beautiful thing in existence.
(Alexander <i>screams</i>, the sound of it ripping through Alicante, past the atmosphere, through the vastness of space. It ripples through the cosmos and the cosmos shudders in response, like it hasn’t heard a cry so desperate in a long time.)
The universe is a billion years old, but all it could do is listen as the human it treasures cries out in pain, the markings on his arm glowing like molten lava under the touch of a silver device. It mourns and grieves and weeps at the sound of the strongest heart cracking at the pith. Its stars burn a fiery red, galaxies crumpling in frustration, comets streaking down the atmospheres of planets like tears.
The universe is a billion years old, omnipotent, all encompassing, but where it matters, it cannot do anything. It breaks apart stars in search of relief, angles trajectories of everything and everyone that is intertwined with Alexander’s pain, tries to unravel time and push it forward to just make it all end. Nothing works.
The universe uses its last bargaining chip. <i>Make it stop</i>, it calls to chance, <i>I’ll do anything, please. </i>
Chance sits on its throne, absolute, all encompassing. It says simply, no.
The universe grieves. <i>Why him? Why out of everything and everyone, why him? </i>
<i>You ask me this as if there is a reason</i>, chance says, unfazed, <i>there isn’t. You know there isn’t. </i>
If the universe could cry, it would.
<i>And you? </i> Chance asks, <i>why him? Why out of everything and everyone, why him?</i>
The center of the universe burns brightly, warmly, in contrast of how it feels.
<i>His soul sang to me, </i> the universe softly says, <i>in a cosmos with a hundred billion galaxies, in an earth with seven billion people, I heard him calling out. </i>
<i>His is the soul that made me want to find mine. </i>
The universe softly watches.
It watches as Alexander moves through the motions of the life that he has, his environment trying to shape and mold him into what it thinks he should be. His mother gives him stern looks more than she gives him a warm embrace, and his father chants <i>you need to be better</i> with every missed arrow and every clatter of his blade, like an incantation meant to change the son that stands before him. The bow and arrow he has once regarded dearly as an instrument is now just a weapon. There is no music in the way he nocks his arrows and draws his bow string. There is just stinging, unrelenting silence.
The beacon of light that once called out to the universe grows weaker as time passes, and it becomes harder and harder to find Alexander in the throng of seven billion people.
The universe mourns this.
It mourns Alexander like a human would mourn the death of family. It has known that chance can be cruel, and it has always accepted this fact objectively, but Alexander is different. The universe breaks apart its own stars and blankets Alexander’s soul with as much hope it can find. It tries to reach out, call out using the same beautiful sound that the cosmos makes, but space is vast, and the music it plays is not made for human ears.
So it finds Alexander in ways it could.
It becomes the earth underneath Alexander’s feet, giving him stable ground to stand on in times of uncertainty. It becomes the grass that cradles his back as he rests under the shade of a tree in the rare moments he has for himself. It becomes the rays of sunlight that slips through the foliage, gently touching the lines of his eyes. The crosswind that mistakenly pushes his arrow off course. The water that embraces him as he washes his face of the blood and ichor that clings to him after a long hunt.
The universe finds Alexander, and tries with all its might to fend the darkness away, strains itself to listen for the call of his soul, but the shadow is strong, and the sound is soft. Alexander slowly loses himself in the protection of his Lightwood name; his parents’ beliefs become his, their prejudices his prejudices, their words, his words. Years of punishment, verbal and emotional, finally taking in its toll. It hurts the universe to see him like this.
The universe cradles Alexander’s head, the bark of the tree that it is strong and sturdy. Its leaves sway gently with the wind that sifts through the hilltop. Alicante sprawls out below him, like a reminder of what he’s supposed to be.
The universe whispers, and it knows Alexander can’t hear, but does anyways. Its own words murmured through the mouth of a seelie girl Alexander once saved. Seelies, so akin to nature, hears the universe like no other creature could. The universe couldn’t help but take the opportunity.
<i>One day, you will not be used to punishment, but love. </i>
Alexander breathes, and the universe takes the carbon dioxide for itself and returns to the earth, oxygen.
<i>Don’t lose yourself, Alexander.
I can’t lose you. </i>
The universe comes to consciousness, and just like it does every time, looks within the same spot in the entire cosmos, past bright stars, ringed planets, slow moving, sunflower shaped galaxies, to find the one human that is more luminescent than all of these bodies combined. It searches for the beacon of light that has served as the universe’s guiding star, the lighthouse by the sea.
The universe sees seven billion people.
But it doesn’t find Alexander.
That day, the universe feels something it’s never felt before.
Loss.
<i>How do you decide what is meant to happen and what isn’t? </i> The universe asks Chance, its words quiet, lost.
Chance swirls where the cosmos is empty, imbuing its entirety with its will. <i>I don’t. </i>
The universe shifts, its center plunged in darkness, barely burning. <i>The forces that come about to lead to something, there must be some orchestration to it. There must be some things that you meant to make happen. </i>
Chance brushes against the andromeda galaxy. It speaks bluntly, like it knows what question the universe really is asking. <i>Alexander Lightwood was lost because he became lost. Do not try to find something to blame for his misfortune. </i>
<i>Alexander is good. His heart is good</i>, the universe says hotly, <i>and there are humans out there who is equally good but their circumstance twist them into something they never want to be. Should we not give them a fighting chance?! </i>
<i>No.</i> Chance firmly says, <i>this is what humanity is. Existing in their circumstance and still being the best version of themselves they can be. That is how they advance. That is how they learn. And you and I, we are nothing but the things that turn planets and collide galaxies. </i>
<i>Then I don’t want to be just this</i>, the universe says, and if it had lungs it would be breathless, if it had a voice, it would splinter, <i>I’ve lived a billion years. </i>
<i>I didn’t think, I didn’t feel, I just</i>—the universe is filled with desperation—<i>was. </i>
It regards Chance, gently, softly. <i>Until him. </i>
<i>You and I, we’ve existed side by side for a long time, </i> the universe says, and it carries within it a decision made, <i>And you are the closest thing I have to a family, </i>
It seems futile using such human concepts on a being that has been alive since the birth of the cosmos, but it’s the most fitting word the universe could find.
<i>Closest thing I have to a friend. </i>
If Chance could sigh it would. It is despondent with its reply, like it already knows what the universe will ask of it. <i>What is it you want? </i>
The universe musters all its courage, remembers the determination it sees in the archer boy who shot an arrow fifty times. The universe looks at an earth with teeming with seven billion people, the one it needs lost in its current.
<i>Let me go. </i>
Chance stills.
<i>I don’t want to live a billion years</i>, the universe says, the words brighter than Milky Way, <i>I don’t want a thousand lives. </i>
<i>I want one. And I want it with him. </i>
Chance regards the universe quietly.
The universe is a billion years old.
Or was a billion years old.
It opens its young eyes to a world it doesn’t know. It has a mother, a father, a small wooden hut in the middle of a field, and it knows its been dropped in a time too early. So it—<i>he</i>—lives his life, trudges through the muck of human existence, battles his own demons, suffers through his own scars. He lives years and years and years of his life, one that is longer than what most people have, waiting for Alexander. He is not omnipotent anymore, and so the bright beacon of Alexander’s soul is lost to his human eyes, and the song if his soul is nothing but silence to him.
Sometimes he feels like losing hope.
Sometimes he finds souls that he thinks could measure up, but never does.
So he waits, and waits, and waits, and waits.
Until one day, a familiar face passes him by, almost undecipherable in the darkness of the club. His heart, the one that he now has, the one that beats a steady rhythm against his ribs, thrashes in its place with a force comparable to two galaxies colliding. He is breathless at the sight. He has finally found home.
He doesn’t see Alexander for a while, and he aches, but he has waited for five hundred years.
He can wait a few days more.
When they finally cross paths, Alexander knows nothing.
He knows nothing of how far this being before him has come to see the color of eyes. He knows nothing of the hundreds of stars it has broken apart just to see an end to his pain. He knows nothing of the billions of years of existence he has turned his back on for a humble fifty years with him. But the universe knows. That’s all that matters.
“I’m Magnus.” The universe says, voice almost a whisper, like there’s nothing more wondrous in the cosmos than the person before him. He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head softly. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”
Alec, for some reason, finds himself smiling for the first time since Clary Fairchild imposed herself into his life. It’s an awkward, disjointed smile, but he smiles anyway, eyes bright with muted elation he’s never felt before. The usual sirens that blare within Alec’s mind when faced with strangers—thus potential threats—remain quiet. There’s something about Magnus that makes Alec want to divulge himself fully.
Magnus feels safe. Familiar.
Like he’s known him all his life.
He remembers familiar words, like it’s whispered to him by a memory so long ago, when he looked at the mirror and saw a person he was content to be. <i>One day, you will not be used to punishment, but love.</i>
So he fumbles with the string of his bow, oddly happy, and takes a leap of faith.
“I’m Alec.”
The universe doesn’t love.
Or it used to not love.
Now it does, truly, deeply, quietly.
And Chance, for once in it’s billions of years of merely existing, watches with anticipation.
