#mdsevent

The schedule as it currently stands is below. This schedule is subject to change depending on the situation. You will be notified of any changes.

February 25: Writer, beta and artist sign-ups begin March 26: Writer and beta sign-ups closed March 29: Brief summaries from writers for beta claims April 2: Beta claims May 10: Writer and beta check-in 1 May 10: Summaries due from writers for artist claims May 10: Artist sign-ups close May 13: Art claims May 15: Last day of art claims June 11: Artist check-in 1 July 17: All check-in 2 August 21: Final drafts and art due August 27: Posting begins

Artist Specific Rules: 

You must be part of the Malec Discord Server in order to participate in this Mini Bang. All announcements regarding this event will be made in the server.

Artists must create at least one finished project, but can complete as many extra pieces as they desire.

All art must be brand new and never posted before.

Artists have the opportunity to use plenty of mediums and their minimums are below. If there is a medium that is not listed, message a mod and we would be happy to figure it out.

1 digital or physical art, 500px minimum 1 photo manip with significant editing Moodboards must contain at least 6 graphics Gifsets must contain 4 gifs (without watermarks) Videos must be 1 minute minimum Playlists must include at least 8 songs and a graphic

Artists will need somewhere to host their work so that it can be embedded on AO3.

Plagiarism will not be tolerated. Stock images for your project should be open source and proper credits and sources should be provided. Watermarks for any images/gifs should be removed.

one

Pretty boy, Magnus said, and it took Alec a moment to realise that Magnus was addressing him. 

Jace had assumed he was the one Magnus was talking to, too, and stepped forward full of bravado, but Magnus had chuckled as though it was ridiculous that anyone could call Jace pretty boy — and then pointed to Alec. 

Everyone — everyone — looked first to Jace. Izzy, who saw Alec as an older brother rather than as a friend; Max, who thought Jace was the coolest person ever; Maryse, who had a soft spot for her adoptive son that her eldest couldn’t match; the other Shadowhunters, who admired Jace’s skill with a blade without a thought for Alec’s strategies; anyone, everyone, who saw the two of them for the first time and noticed how attractive, how strong, how perfect Jace was. 

Everyone, that is, except Magnus. 

Magnus, who ignored Jace’s bright golden beauty in favour of Alec’s silver shadows; Magnus, who said pretty boy like an endearment, like Alec was deserving of compliments as much as Jace. 

The conversation slipped onwards with worries about Clary’s memories and demon rituals and a lot of things that Alec probably should be paying attention to, but Alec’s mind was still circling around those words. By all rights, he should dislike it — Shadowhunters weren’t pretty, and Alec was twenty-one, not a boy — but somehow, when it was Magnus Bane saying those words, he liked it. 

Even when he was back at the Institute and getting chewed out for yet another unsanctioned mission, even when his Jace/Clary/Izzy frustrations were mounting, even when the world was shaking to pieces and he had nowhere left to put his feet — even then, those words seemed carried around his heart in warm eddies, making everything seem less insurmountable. 

two

Darling, Magnus said, and against all odds, Alec liked it. 

He’d always thought pet names were kinda lame, a weird couple-y thing that didn’t really make much sense. Why would somebody call their partner, an adult, something like babe? It felt… demeaning. 

Other pet names — ones from food or animals, for instance — were just embarrassing. Cutie pie? Pup? Cupcake? Panda? It was ridiculous and, in Alec’s opinion, entirely unnecessary. 

But some pet names made Alec scoff not because they were ridiculous, but because he needed to hide his secret jealousy. He wanted somebody to call him love, dearest, sweetheart — those felt soft, with true emotion behind them, rather than just something couples did to be cute and couple-y. He wanted to be somebody who could be loved like that, who could love like that, who wasn’t trapped by duty and family and homophobia into a quiet loveless life. 

And now, darling. Magnus called a lot of people by nicknames — Clary, for instance, was Biscuit — and he used my dear pretty frequently as well, but Alec had only ever heard him call Alec darling, and every time he did it, Alec couldn’t help blushing. 

(Magnus, of course, noticed. They hadn’t been dating long, but Magnus absolutely delighted in making Alec blush, though he stopped if Alec became truly uncomfortable; darling made Alec smile under the blush, and Magnus therefore used it as often as possible. Alec really, really liked it.)

(Loved it would be more accurate, but their relationship was still too new for that.)

three

Alexander, Magnus said, and Alec shivered at the sound of his voice. 

When Maryse or Robert called him Alexander, he had to suppress a flinch; it was always to censure him, to criticise his choices, to tell him he was doing badly. But Magnus never said it like that; when he was angry with Alec, he’d just say Alec, short and sharp but never as dismissive, as belittling, as when his parents called him Alexander. 

When Magnus said Alexander, his lips seemed to curve around the sounds gently, caressingly. It made Alec feel like he was somebody special, somebody to be praised, somebody to be loved. 

Magnus rarely called anyone by their usual names — Izzy was Isabelle, Clary was Biscuit, Jace and Simon were whatever similar-ish name Magnus thought of at the time, Ragnor was my dear cabbage — and Alec knew it was mostly just a quirk of Magnus’; somehow, though, with his name, it felt like… more. Like Magnus was telling him that he was enough, complete, whole, worthy of the extra two syllables that everyone else cut out for convenience’s sake. 

Alec was who he was — short, sharp, to the point. His parents made his full name into a criticism of everything he couldn’t fit into the perfect Shadowhunter mould, but Magnus took those extra, unnecessary bits — the songs he hummed, the books he read, the love he felt — and made them into something worthwhile. You are good as you are, Alec heard. You are worthy of something more than fighting. You deserve to exist beyond the constraints of what others want of you. 

The real magic, though, was this: Alec believed him. 

four

Sayang, Magnus said, and Alec was honoured beyond words to hear it. 

Magnus had told him about his past — his birth in Indonesia, his mother, his step-father, their respective fates — and Alec had listened with a wholehearted love that had made Magnus’ eyes widen with surprise. That past was something that Magnus didn’t often share — the Clave, for instance, knew nothing of it — but he’d shared it with Alec, a trust that Alec was proud to hold. The pet name, sayang, had appeared only after that, a symbol of the past that Magnus feared to show and Alec had embraced. 

What does it mean? Alec had asked him, curious. 

It means… darling, or dearest, Magnus had replied. Like what I call you in English. But this one’s in Indonesian. 

Alec had smiled, because he knew exactly what that meant — it meant that Magnus trusted him with the weight of his past, with the shame that came with it. His mother’s suicide note had been in Indonesian; his step-father had called him a demon in Indonesian. But Indonesian was his first language, too, the only language he’d learned at a parent’s knee, the language he spoke when he was too tired or worn down to focus; it meant something, that Magnus used an Indonesian word for Alec, and that would never stop taking Alec’s breath away. 

It was a visceral reminder — not that Alec needed one — that he had Magnus’ heart in his hands, and the look in Magnus’ eyes said that he trusted Alec not to break it. 

Alec held it close to his chest and vowed to protect it, protect Magnus, with all that he was or could ever be. 

Magnus deserved it, far more than anyone else Alec had ever met. 

five

Husband, Magnus said, and Alec couldn’t help his smile. 

Magnus was beautiful, as he always was, wearing a wedding suit selected with care and gold makeup that brought out his unglamoured eyes and, above it all, a mantle of happiness that made him glow. It’s like I’m walking on air, he said, and Alec felt the same. 

They were married, in front of all their family and friends, vows spoken hands clasped runes burning on Alec’s skin. For so long, he’d dreaded a marriage — inevitably to a woman, inevitably loveless, inevitably painful; entirely inevitable, actually. But then Magnus had burst in with light and colour and life, and given Alec the courage to kiss him in front of the Clave for all to see. 

And now they were married. 

It was all that Alec had ever dreamed of and never dared long for while awake — a man who loved him, who he loved, with an impossible desperate love that he’d never felt before, who’d married him in gold and blue. Magnus, more than that, who smiled brighter than the sun, who held so much warmth and kindness in him despite all the world had done to quench it, who — inconceivably, beautifully — loved Alec. 

Husband, he returned, and that smile brightened, and everything in the world fell away — inconsequential in comparison with the man in Alec’s arms. 

plus one

“I love you,” Alec said into the soft bubble of silence they’d built in the midst of the Hunter’s Moon. It was an incontrovertible truth, one that went beyond words, but that wouldn’t stop Alec from saying it as best he could as often as he could. 

“And I you,” Magnus returned. They both said it frequently enough that it should’ve been normal, nothing particularly special, but somehow every time Alec heard those words he felt an unerring flood of fondness, so much he could barely breathe around it. 

They were on a date — a rare night off for both of them, which they were shamelessly taking advantage of to spend more time together — in the Hunter’s Moon, which was a bit loud since it was Friday night, but their surroundings weren’t really registering in Alec’s mind. It was partially because Magnus was distracting, all golden skin and dark hair and makeup and beauty, but it was more than that: with Magnus, Alec felt safe, like nothing could hurt him as long as he was at his side. 

It had been disconcerting at first, that incomparable trust. Alec was used to clocking immediately if anyone was in the same room as him; even Izzy and Jace, as much as he loved them, reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He was a Shadowhunter; he paid attention to what was going on around him. 

Magnus, though… Sometimes, he wouldn’t realise Magnus was there until Magnus touched him, or said something; Alec wouldn’t consciously be aware of his presence, subconsciously classifying him as not a threat. That meant it was startling when he caught sight of him; he usually saw anyone coming before they were anywhere near, but he might only realise Magnus was there when he laid a hand on Alec’s shoulder. By now, he’d relaxed about it, and relaxed enough for that numbing of Shadowhunter instincts to happen wherever he went. 

He’d always been the perfect Shadowhunter, or at least he’d tried to be. His bow had been his first, and only, “irregularity” — most Shadowhunters preferred the close-up blood- and ichor-strewn atmosphere of the battlefield, and Alec did too, but it was more important that he could protect his family. He’d worked harder than ever to be the perfect Shadowhunter to make up for it. 

But again, Magnus was the exception. With Magnus, he wasn’t Alec Lightwood, Head of the New York Institute, parabatai to the best Shadowhunter of the generation, demon-killer extraordinaire — he was just Alec, just Alexander, and that was enough. 

The waiter approached to clear their plates away, pulling Alec from his thoughts, and he paid the bill with the credit card from his and Magnus’ joint account. 

"Yeah, Magnus?" Alec asked. "... Have I mentioned you look particularly beautiful today?" And winced. That... hadn't been his best distraction work, not by a long shot, and judging by Magnus' unimpressed stare and raised eyebrow, his significant annoyance knew it too.

"Alexander Gideon Lightwood." Magnus was clearly a little angry (or exasperated), but they pulled Alec close anyway. "Alec, please. How long has it been?"

"I- no. I don't wanna talk about it." He hugged himself.

"Alec, just tell me?"

And dammit, he couldn't say no to Magnus when they asked like that.

"... Since my shower this morning?"

Magnus gasped.

"Alec. That's over twelve hours, it's nine and you showered at six." That was definitely a hint of reproach in their voice, but it was mostly love, and care, and concern, and-

Alec sighed.

"... I'll get a hoodie?" He asked reluctantly. "No touching for a bit after?" Magnus nodded.

"Of course, Alexander. Kiss before you go?"

Alec smiled, pushing himself up onto his tiptoes.

"Of course," he murmured before aligning their lips briefly.

“You’ve been a mess of anxiety all day, Joc. You deserve a night out,” Dot spoke from the doorway. Jocelyn didn’t hear her enter and glanced up from the book she was pretending to read with a scowl on her face. “I haven’t seen you smile in weeks,” Dot added, earning a sigh from Jocelyn in return.

“I smile. You’re just being dramatic,” Jocelyn retorted.

“I’m a warlock, we’re allowed to be dramatic,” Dot countered. With a swirl of her hand and a dart of blue magic, Dot successfully closed Jocelyn’s book and flung it onto the shelf behind them.

“Hey, I was reading that!” Jocelyn complained, crossing her arms as she sat up on the couch.

“No, you weren’t. I’ve been watching you stare at the same page for ten minutes,” Dot commented. Jocelyn was suddenly a lot more aware of the ache in her back and the stiffness of her legs that shouldn’t have been there. When she glanced at the clock, she realized she had been sitting in the same position for almost an hour.

“That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think, Dorthea?”

“Oh, she brings out the full name!” Dot said with a small laugh. She walked forward and held her hand out, wiggling her fingers as if urging Jocelyn to take it. “Well, Jocelyn, I’m taking you out.” She tugged Jocelyn up to stand with one hand, the other snapping, a harsh sound through the otherwise silent room. All of a sudden, Jocelyn’s tattered tank top and boring sweatpants were replaced with a bright purple dress she knew for a fact wasn’t in her closet while Dot was in a similar black outfit that was entirely too formal for her living room.

“I can’t wear this, Dot, and I can’t go out. I have to be here when Clary gets home for curfew!” Jocelyn argued, already tugging down the hem of her too-short dress.

Dot rolled her eyes as she explained, “Clary’s at Simon’s for the night. Mrs. Lewis was more than happy to take care of her while you take some time to yourself. Even she knew you needed it.” Jocelyn groaned and tilted her head back, staring up at the ceiling as she tried to figure out another way to get out of whatever Dot had planned. “Do you trust me, Joc?” Dot asked, tugging on Jocelyn’s hand so that she would glance into her eyes.

“With my life, you know that,” Jocelyn responded because trust had nothing to do with it.

“Then come with me,” Dot urged, though it sounded more like a demand than anything else.

Jocelyn didn’t have time to say no or come up with another excuse because Dot’s hand was already conjuring a swirling purple portal that matched the hue of Jocelyn’s dress. Dot didn’t force her through and instead, nudged Jocelyn forward, letting her take the first step.

When she couldn’t think of a reason not to walk forward, she took a step inside of the portal and found herself in a… bar?

“Dot, what are we doing here? I don’t even drink,” Jocelyn said, her fingers still laced with Dot’s.

“Look around, Joc. We’re not here to drink,” Dot reasoned.

When Jocelyn did, she noticed immediately what kind of venue they had stumbled into. Sure, it was a bar for all intents and purposes, but the signs covering the doors and windows had her realizing what the night was going to entail.

“You brought me here to… dance?” Jocelyn asked, a mixture of confusion, hesitance, and–if she was honest with herself–a hint of excitement in her tone.

“I brought you here,” Dot began, clearly exasperated with her best friend, “so that you could let loose a little. Let your hair down and enjoy life in a way I haven’t seen you do since Clary was in diapers.”

“I love my life,” Jocelyn argued. Dot raised her eyebrows in doubt before taking Jocelyn’s other hand in her free one.

“You love your life as much as you’re allowed to, but tonight? Tonight you’re not Jocelyn Fairchild; former shadowhunter on the run from her psychotic ex-husband who spends all of her energy keeping life-altering secrets from her almost teenage daughter.” Dot dragged her toward the dance floor, her hands moving to Jocelyn’s hips once they arrived. “Tonight, you’re just Joc; a simple mundane who is free to have whatever life she chooses without consequence. You’re a beautiful woman out with her equally as stunning best friend.”

“Can it really be that easy?” Jocelyn asked suspiciously.

Dot nodded sternly as if she was challenging Jocelyn to argue but knowing she couldn’t. Instead, Jocelyn started to slowly let her body move to the beat with a bit of uncertainty that was quelled by Dot’s grip on her waist. Soon, all she could focus on was the music pumping around her, vibrating from her feet and resonating through her head. If she had a worry in her mind, she couldn’t hear it over the beat. She was spun into the arms of strangers only to end up back in Dot’s.

There was something magnetic about it, the way she found her way to Dot no matter where they had wandered in the room. If she didn’t trust Dot so much, she would’ve thought she was spelled. But no, that wasn’t it. Dot was the only person in the world that Jocelyn relied on so fully, trusted with every fiber of her being, cared about almost as much as she cared about her child. Dot was her best friend, had been for several years, but something about finally freeing herself from the darkness of her own mind had her seeing Dot differently.

It was almost overwhelming how Dot’s smile burned into her mind, how her laughter matched Dot’s in brightness, and how the movements of their bodies complemented each other’s like there was no possible person for either of them to dance with. Jocelyn realized that she didn’t want to be in anyone else’s arms, not when Dot was right there, staring at her like she was some enigma, a treasure that she had searched for and finally found.

Jocelyn realized then that she hadn’t stopped smiling. She hadn’t stopped laughing, singing, dancing. She hadn’t stopped being happy, an emotion she had assumed she didn’t have in her anymore. Dot brought that out in her, though. Dot made her feel capable of anything in the world, happiness included.

“You figured it out, huh?” Dot muttered against Jocelyn’s ear. She had pulled Jocelyn in as a slower song mellowed the crowd, her arms sliding around Jocelyn’s back and holding her still like she was afraid Jocelyn might pull away. Jocelyn wouldn’t have dreamed of it.

“That I love you?” Jocelyn said in a fit of courage. Dot’s eyes widened in surprise and she said nothing in return so Jocelyn filled the silence. “Or that you love me?” she added. “Both of those are true, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Dot whispered through a breath of relief, “they’re true.”

“Was this… a date?” Jocelyn asked, suddenly nervous and a bit embarrassed that she hadn’t seen it sooner.

Dot shook her head and responded, “At first, it was just a way to make you smile.”

“You’re the only one that seems to be able to do that,” Jocelyn admitted, a slight blush forming on her face. Dot ran a finger over her cheekbone before tucking a strand of her orange hair behind her ear and cupping her jaw with her palm.

“Will you let me do it more often, then?” Dot asked.