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[neon-skyy]

Saving Light

Chapter 3: Call to Arms

Rating: M | Graphic Depictions of Violence

The shock of freezing water jolts Alec into wakefulness. Icy rivulets run down his body, raising goosebumps on his skin and soaking into his jeans. The chill seeps bone deep, making his teeth chatter and the chains supporting him clank together with the force of his shivering.

Valentine stands before him, eyes unreadable as he deftly twirls a seraph dagger between his fingers.

Alec tenses instinctively and clenches his fists in anticipation.

“Did you know,” Valentine begins conversationally, “that your mother’s soulmate was Unseelie?”

Alec balks at the implication. There is no way the Maryse Lightwood he knows—the cold foreboding woman who has always been more commander than mother—would willingly accept a downworlder as a soul mate. Especially one from the Dark Court.

“You’re lying.” He knows he shouldn’t give Valentine the satisfaction of a reply, but the accusation is so ludicrous that the words leave him without his conscious consent. The other shadowhunter cocks his head to the side, the expression oddly birdlike. Alec is reminded of a turkey vulture.

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[neon-skyy]

Saving Light Chapter 2: Bound in Blood

Rating: M | Graphic Depictions of Violence | Prompt-Fill

Four days after his confrontation with Jace, Alec finds himself crouched in the shadows of a shipping pallet stacked high with molding crates. The only sound is the muted lapping of waves against wood, rhythmic and deceptively soothing. Thin bars of watery moonlight slip through cracks in dirty windows and the pungent scent of mildew and rotting fish hangs heavy in the air. The warehouse is old and lies on the edge of an abandoned dock, the perfect meeting place for shady Circle members.

Alec can feel frustration bubbling up inside him with every minute that ticks by with no sign of either his parabatai or their targets. He checks his phone for the third time, grimaces when a fat gray rat scurries across his boot and shoves the device back in his pocket with a scowl.

He and Jace have barely spoken since their fight, save the necessary work-related conversations, and he can feel the strain on their bond like a physical wound. There’s a heaviness in his heart that he doesn’t know how to fix, and Jace seems content to continue chasing after Clary with a single-minded focus that borders on obsession. And now his brother is twenty minutes late for his own goddamn mission and there are still no signs of the circle members that were supposed to be here tonight.

The intel Jace brought him had been solid, his mission plan surprisingly well thought out, but now Alec’s beginning to wonder if they’ve been intentionally misled.

Unease begins to tighten his shoulders the longer he’s here.

He decides he’ll give Jace another ten minutes before he cuts his losses and goes home.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind Alec jolts when his phone vibrates with two texts in quick succession. He hastily fumbles it from his pocket and curses silently at what he reads.

[Jace: 10:29 pm] Ran into some demons, eta 15 minutes

[Jace: 13:30 pm] This was a distraction. I think someone in NYI is on V’s payroll.

Fucking perfect. Alec thinks bitterly. Now he has to worry about security issues in his Institute on top of everything else that’s falling apart.

Alec readjusts his bow, scrubs a hand across his face, and stares up at the ceiling beseechingly. He wants at least one thing to go right this week. Just one.

He’s just rising from his crouch to leave when he hears it, the unmistakable sounds of footsteps echoing through the warehouse. He counts at least 6 pairs of boots.

Maybe their intel wasn’t faulty after all?

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” A woman’s voice sing-songs, breaking through the quiet.

Alec freezes. They can’t mean him.

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[neon-skyy]

Apples

Rating: T | Izzy/Maia

Maia bakes, Izzy is smitten. That's it, that's the plot. Adorable girlfriends.

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Pushing open the door to the small apartment, Isabelle is immediately assailed by the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, the balmy air tasting spicy and sweet on her tongue as she inhales the delicious aromas. She smiles, delighted, and moves deeper into the apartment. She pauses, leans casually just inside the archway of the kitchen to take in the scene before her. Can’t suppress a fond chuckle at the sight of Maia staring down baked goods in her pajamas.

The young Alpha stands at the center of the chaos, hands fisted on her hips, loose red tank top dusted in flour and sugar, glaring the steaming mixture on the stove into submission. Her curls are a wild halo around her head and the humidity in the air leaves a fine sheen of sweat on her dark skin that makes Izzy want to reach out and run her fingers over every exposed inch of flesh. Around her, the kitchen looks like a war zone. Apple peels litter every available surface, the sugar is flopped over like a drunken sailor, its contents spilled across the linoleum floor below.

Izzy’s heart clenches. It’s the most beautiful disaster she’s ever seen.

“At least I’m putting these apples to good use,” Maia mutters, casting a quick grin over her shoulder before turning back to her bubbling confectionary concoction. She stirs it gently, sprinkles in another pinch of aromatic spices and hums in satisfaction.

A couple of months prior, Maia helped smooth the transition for a pair of brothers wanting to move to New York.  They’d inherited their late grandfather’s apple farm but, having been recently turned, they were largely unfamiliar with the politics and customs of the Downworld, were unsure how to start the relocation process.

Maia, beautiful, amazing woman that she is, had been quick to absorb them into her pack, introducing them to the important figures in the local Shadow World and teaching them about what it means to be part of a pack. In return the brothers had gifted her with a massive bushel of fresh apples from their first harvest.

That had been just a few days ago, and while Maia has already given away a large portion of her haul to her packmates and friends, she’s now using the remainder to make apple pie, pecan apple crumble cake and what appears to be cinnamon apple sauce.

Izzy has a sneaking suspicion the pie is for Alec. Maia knows her brother has a terrible weakness for sweet things—though he’ll deny it with his dying breath—and even though she would never say it aloud, the wolf has developed a fond attachment to the Head of the New York Institute.

The thought makes something warm and tender unfurl in Isabelle’s chest and she finds herself moving without conscious thought. She curls her arms around Maia’s middle and nibbles sweet, sticky sugar off the slender curve of her neck. “The pie’s for Alec, isn’t it?”

“No…” Maia grumbles, pausing to press a quick kiss to Izzy’s cheek, smearing flour across her face in the process. “The cake is. The pie is for you.”

Isabelle grins. She considers herself many things; fiercely loyal, intelligent, dangerous…but a chef she is not, and this makes her all the more appreciative of her girlfriend’s culinary prowess.

“Mmm, you’re the best,” she whispers, peppering a line of hot, open-mouth kisses down the column of Maia’s throat, nimble fingers creeping under that loose red tank top to press against the warm, smooth skin of her stomach.

“Of course I am,” Maia scoffs haughtily. The effect is ruined by the breathy quality of her voice, the uptick of her heartbeat.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Not much. The apple sauce is about done, I already shipped your brother’s cake off via Daylighter Courier Service,” here the Alpha grins deviously, “and the pie should be coming out of the oven in about 7 minutes.”

Izzy hums in appreciation. “Excellent. In that case, I’m going to run us a bath and you can join me while the pie is cooling.” Pressing another quick kiss to Maia’s shoulder, she untangles herself from her lover and leaves to do just that. She has the rest of the evening free and plans to spend it worshiping her girlfriend.

And eating pie.

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[neon-skyy]

Saving Light Chapter 1: Soul Mate

All Alec's life he's believed himself unworthy of love, he has no words, no soulmate. Resigned to watching the people around him find their soulmates, he vows to protect them no matter the cost, promises himself they'll never know what it feels like to be so alone. But what if everything he believes has been a lie?

When Valentine sets his sights on the oldest Lightwood heir Alec learns that his parents have hidden much more from him than just their involvement in the Circle.

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Nine-year-old Alec Lightwood sits on the floor of his bedroom, wringing his hands together and practically vibrating with excitement as he studiously watches his reflection in the mirror. His birthday was two days ago, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before his soulmate’s words show up somewhere on his skin.

During the day he hides his excitement well. He’s determined and focused in training and diligent in his studies, doesn’t let himself get distracted or give Hodge any reason to think he’s not one hundred percent present during lessons. But as soon as he’s released for the day he hightails it back to his room, scribbles a hasty locking rune on his door, flings off his shirt, and sinks down in front of the mirror to wait.

The first night after his birthday he’d fallen asleep on the floor only to wake up to his seven-year-old sister pounding frantically on his door and demanding to know what his soulmate was going to say to him. Sometimes he thinks Izzy is more excited than he is.

She’s also convinced he’s going to have the best soulmate ever because she says he’s the best big brother ever.

Alec knows that his people don’t view soul bonds with the same reverence and respect that downworlders and mundanes do, that for the Nephilim they are often treated as a means to an end, a guideline for forming strong political alliances. If a shadowhunter finds themselves paired with a mundane it is expected their partner will either ascend or the shadowhunter will sever the bond. It isn’t a requirement, of course, they can choose to leave the Shadow World and live with their mundane partner, but it’s exceedingly rare for a Nephilim to choose that path. To do so brings disgrace to the family name.

There are also whispers of Nephilim who have been fated to downworlders but as far as Alec knows those bonds are incredibly rare and always severed. He’s heard the adults talking about how no self-respecting shadowhunter would ever accept a bond with someone who was half-demon. His parents are particularly vehement about that sentiment.

Izzy thinks it’s dumb and prejudiced. Alec agrees with her, though he’ll never voice those thoughts out loud.

Maybe he’s still foolishly naïve, but he wants the fairy-tale ending that comes with the soul bond. He wants someone to love him unconditionally, someone who is his and his alone, someone to fight by his side and run the institute with him. He wants someone who knows him inside and out, who pushes him to be better and helps him conquer his shortcomings, of which his parents assure him he has many.

Alec knows his parents only point out his failings to help him be better. They push him because they want him to succeed, he’s sure of it. He’s the oldest, the heir to the Lightwood name and it’s his responsibility to take care of his family and their institute one day. He knows they’re hard on him because they know he has so much potential. It doesn’t matter that nobody else understands, they simply don’t have the same responsibilities he does.

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[neon-skyy]

The Art of Survival Rating M | Canon-Typical Violence | Malec | Sizzy | Clace Chapter 2/?

The sharp trill of a cell phone shatters the quiet peace of the loft, jolting Magnus from a sound sleep. He groans in frustration; the sound is possibly a whine but he’ll deny it under penalty of death.

He’d fallen into bed less than two hours ago, exhausted from a long day of coordinating relief efforts between the warlocks under his jurisdiction and the shadowhunters who need their help. That had been followed by ward maintenance for the DC Institute and then a two-hour–truly headache inspiring—visit to the Spiral Labyrinth. Another lengthy, ineffectual meeting where the Warlock Council argued magical theory while pretending to be searching for a way to permanently seal the rifts. That isn’t to say they aren’t genuinely trying to find a solution, they are, but Magnus knows his people are prone to dramatics and these meetings have a tendency to dissolve into arguments and insults shortly after they begin. Some days it makes him feel like he’s babysitting a bunch of toddlers. Merciless Lilith, he really has been spending too much time with shadowhunters.

Not for the first time, Magnus wonders if he made a mistake accepting the ‘Grand High Warlock of North America’ position.

After his sacrifice and subsequent rescue from Edom, the Warlock Council had fallen all over itself in its haste to offer him a seat on said Council, along with the dubious honor of the new position. It technically puts him on the same political level as Alexander, which is beneficial when arguing with the Clave, but it also means this entire shitshow is now his problem.

[neon-skyy]

Coffee

Rating G | Alec Lightwood | Izzy Lightwood | Outside POV

Coffee

Sam sighs softly, one hip propped against the serving counter as her eyes roam the deserted interior of her small café. The sweet smell of cinnamon and baking bread is still lingering from the fresh batch of cinnamon buns she’d just put in the display case. She probably won’t sell a single one today. She thinks Mrs. Danolly—the homeless woman who’s taken up residence in the ally behind the small coffee shop—will be delighted by the donation.

Outside, rain lashes against the windows in sheets, and thunder rumbles menacingly in the distance as the storm grows in intensity. The weather prediction for the day had called for slight cloud cover with a cool breeze, a perfect day to hole up in a local café and eat cinnamon buns. This downpour came out of nowhere and now Sam is bemoaning the day’s lost sales.

She’s just debating the merits of closing early and going home to curl up with Netflix and a mug of spiked cocoa when the little bell above the entrance jingles cheerfully. She perks up as two people spill into the cozy interior of her shop, soaking wet and leaving a puddle on her rustic faux wood floors.

Oh.

They’re…stunning. Both strangers have dark hair, flawless skin, and cheekbones that should be illegal. The hint of an inky black tattoo peeks out enticingly from the collar of the man’s jacket. Even with their disheveled appearance, it’s impossible to miss just how stupidly attractive they both are. Or maybe Sam is just projecting because she hasn’t gotten laid in nearly a year. Both are possible.

The woman is giggling gleefully where she leans into her companion’s side, arms wrapped around his middle to keep her balance when she teeters dangerously in her six-inch stilettos. She has the broken heel of one boot clutched in her left hand. She murmurs something too low for Sam to hear, bringing her empty hand up to ruffle the man’s dark hair with a grin, raindrops flying in every direction with the gesture.

“Yes Izzy, I’m well aware.” He rolls his eyes fondly, hooks an arm around her, and hauls her over to a nearby table. He deposits her unceremoniously into a chair and swipes the broken heel, shoving it into a pocket before draping his wet jacket over the other chair. After a quick conversation, he drops a kiss to the top of her head and turns to make his way toward the counter.

Sam can’t help but track the way he moves with an effortless sort of grace, the way his soaked jeans cling to strong thigh muscles that make her want to fan herself and swoon like some Victorian maiden. She forcefully resists the urge to check for drool and smiles brightly, looking up, and then up some more, to meet vibrant hazel eyes.

Dear god he’s tall.

It’s possible she’s a little bit in love. Definitely a little bit in lust.

“Hi!” Sam is grateful when her voice comes out steady, if perhaps a touch breathless. After all, it isn’t every day that members of the Greek pantheon come into your coffee shop to escape the rain. “What can I get for you?”

“Uhm…” He absently brushes a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear as he scans the menu and Sam’s eyes involuntarily followed a stray water droplet down the corded muscles of his bare forearm. More of those dark tattoos stand out against pale skin and it takes everything in her not to lick her lips like a starving person.

Shit. People are not supposed to be this pretty. She thinks a bit hysterically.

“Large hot chocolate and a caramel latte with whipped cream.”

There’s a gasp behind him and the woman, Izzy—wife? girlfriend? the thought is a little depressing—makes a triumphant noise, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. Her expression is one of abject delight as she claps her hands together in front of her. Full red lips curl up mischievously. “I knew it! Jace owes me 20 bucks.”

Sam isn’t sure what expression her face is making as she looks between them, but the man huffs out a laugh as he hands his card over to pay for their drinks. “You’re both children,” he replies absently, gaze lighting up when he catches sight of the freshly baked cinnamon rolls in the pastry case. “Oh, can I get one of those as well?”

“Oh my god, Alec….are you…are you ordering sweets? What has Magnus done to you?” The woman places the back of her hand to her forehead in a theatrical display, pretty, dark eyes glittering wickedly and Sam can’t suppress her giggle this time. She thinks they must be siblings, or maybe childhood friends. The teasing between them is saturated with that exasperated affection that only people who have grown up together can achieve.

Feeling bold, Sam gives Alec a coy smile as she plates the cinnamon bun and passes it across the counter. “On the house handsome.” A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone, right?

She certainly isn’t expecting his owlish blink, his expression bewildered as he accepts the plate hesitantly.

“Oh…uh, I uh…thanks.”

Across the room, Izzy chokes on a laugh and Sam nearly dies. How can someone so tall and intimidating and gorgeous look so adorably confused? Has nobody ever flirted with this man? Do people not have eyes?

Taking pity on him, Sam schools her smile into something more professional. “Let me just get those drinks started. I’ll bring them over to you.”

He nods at her, still looking a little bemused, before ambling over to the table to drop into the chair across from his presumed sister, who’s still grinning a little bit wolfishly. She’s clearly amused by his flustered state.

“You’re sharing that, Hermano.”

“Not a chance, you heathen, get your own.”

Sam can’t help chuckling quietly when Alec pulls the plate closer to himself, batting his sister’s hand—thank you 9th grade Spanish—away when she reaches for it. He eventually relents, after nearly a full minute of pouting on Izzy’s part, and tears the roll in half. He pushes the plate towards her grabby hands with a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, one corner of his mouth curling up in amusement.

Quickly finishing up their drink orders, Sam delivers them to their table with a flourish and winks at Izzy this time.

“Caramel latte for you and hot chocolate for the beautiful lady.” She grins when Izzy ends up looking just as flustered as her brother.

Sam retreats back behind her counter and pretends to look busy, surreptitiously glancing over to watch their lighthearted banter until the rain starts to lessen and they eventually take their leave. When she closes up shop later that night—depositing the leftover cinnamon buns with a very grateful Mrs. Danolly on her way—she still carries some of that warmth and affection home with her.

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[neon-skyy]

The Art of Survival

Chapter 1: The Rift

Rating M | Canon-Typical Violence | Malec | Sizzy | Clace

Chapters: 7\?

Demonic activity is on the rise and Shadowhunters across the globe have been working past the point of exhaustion to bring the problem under control. When Alec and Izzy stumble on an unusual rift they find themselves pulled into a demonic realm ruled by a tyrannical, greedy king who wants to use them for his own amusement. Forced to participate in brutal gladiator games, every day becomes a fight for their very survival. Meanwhile, Magnus, Jace and Clary scramble to find a way to bring their family home. Will they make it in time or will Alec and Izzy be irreparably changed by their time in Gehenna?