lumenlignum-blog

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Magnus + his slow blinking when looking at Alec

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@lumenlignum didn’t ask for this, probably doesn’t want this and yet here I am, still writing this

“You know, I dated a seelie once. Capricious little bastard.”

Of course, the time to bring this information up to another shadowhunter is probably not when the guy has his hand shoved down the front of Jack’s pants. Especially in the far corner of the sparring space. 

But he’s never been great at closing his mouth. 

“Always wanted to argue. You’d think it’d be easier to argue with a guy who can’t lie, but man you’d be surprised. And he had very strong feelings about mythology-”

Jack. There’s laughter tucked into the edges of his name where it fits in Alec’s mouth. He takes the not so subtle hint of a hand around his wrist and lifts it to where it needs to be, and gets a soft sigh of pleasure for his trouble. 

Most times, he tries not to think about the fact that he was Alec’s age when Alec was born. Or that he was younger than that, the last time he saw that Seelie. Right now, it’d be great not to think about anything, because it was really harshing the buzz of this whole semi-public hookup thing. 

“I’m older than your dad.” There it is. The words just come tumbling out, and Alec leans back to look at him, and damn he’s missing those lips on his neck right about now, because that eyebrow is telling him that none of this really matters. 

So? 

Well. Can’t argue with that logic. 

“Age before beauty?” He tries, words lilting up playfully. “You do me, I do you?”

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#soulmates 🥰 🤪 🌈

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(insp.)

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‘ we offer up our heart before the heart’s invited or asked for. ’ Seelie Alec

Carbon Leaf: (Accepting)

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Magnus hasn’t left the garden since they buried Alec beneath the soft loam. He knows it’s been long enough for Max to have only faint memories of Alec, there and gone glimpses that might be more Magnus’ hopes than reality. 

But Max was a little boy when it happened. Six years old and unable to understand what was going on around him. Why his father wouldn’t wake up. It’s been decades upon decades since then. Magnus is the one with the name branded on his heart. He’s the one who can’t move on. 

Max has met a seelie knight. One with dark curls and mischief in his eyes. A part of Magnus appreciates the fact that his son has the same taste in men that he does. Soldiers with kind eyes. 

He sees his boy a little more often now, with Max spending less time in the mundane world and more time in the Summer Lands. They come through with fae treats and honeysuckle wine and Magnus pretends as if these were social calls, and not his son worriedly watching out for him.

But they come, and Magnus pretends like he’s doing well. He pretends like the specter of death doesn’t sit like a dappled shadow over his shoulder and keep him rooted to the Earth here.

His grief is an old thing, a tired thing. Max comes to him with a milky, gilded invitation to a party being thrown for his one hundredth birthday party. Magnus can see how Max prepares himself for a ‘no’. It’s been seventy years since he left this garden. 

He has to leave. If only for an evening. The agreement gets him a warm hug, and Magnus drags himself from the depths of moss and sweet grass and summons himself a better suit. His boy is turning one hundred. He needs to look his best. 

Magnus brushes his fingers across a patch of bone white Lilies of the Incas he hadn’t noticed growing before, and takes a deep breath before he portals himself out into the mundane world. 

The party isn’t what he expected. Then again, Max isn’t the same flamboyant creature Magnus was at one hundred. It’s a small group, warlocks and vampires, and even a few seelie. Max’s friends are all immortal, and there’s a sigh of relief at that. No more death.

(Death still came for Alexander. Even as ancient and unyielding as he was.)Magnus drinks to drown out his heartache, and he chimes in and plays coy and charming when need be. The world is a grey thing without Alexander, and he finds no joy in being here. 

Thankfully, around midnight the party moves to somewhere a little more wild, and no one bats an eye at Max’s father slipping away. 

There’s comfort in stepping back into the garden. It’s an exhausted comfort, sadness like a blanket around his shoulders. Magnus pours himself a drink and settles in between the roots of the massive tree. 

He talks to his Alexander, as he does every night. He tells him what a wonderful young man their son is. How kind his friends are. Magnus tells stories to hear something other than silence, but the words trail away as he tracks his gaze back over to the lilies. 

They’re unearthed, laying trampled in churned dirt. Magnus’ heart clenches in fear in his chest and he lights magic in his palm. The dusky shadows of the garden fall away, and Magnus follows dirty footprints into the tree itself, and bedroom inside. 

His knees nearly give out at the sight that awaits him. 

Alexander, in the same white armor he was buried in. With dirt and a few stray petals in his hair. Smiling at Magnus like it hasn’t been seventy years since the last breath left his lungs. He lifts a graceful hand in a wave, fingers curling, and Magnus feels the world go black around him as he falls.

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‘ these old pictures are cool. tell me stories. ’ Max

Carbon Leaf: (Accepting)

Max has probably gone through this box a hundred times since he was a boy. But he’s pushing nearly two hundred years old, it stands to reason that he won’t remember as much of being a little boy as Magnus does. A father’s prerogative.

There’s a brief moment that Magnus idly, fondly wonders what the picture might be. George, maybe. A portrait of himself, Ragnor and Camille during their “rebellious” years. 

Instead, it’s the picture he’s kept at the very bottom of his heavy silver box. One kept carefully from curling edges and yellowing with time with wisps of magic. It was taken in London, though that much isn’t obvious from the portrait. They’re sitting outside in a massive garden, surrounded by manicured rose bushes. 

Magnus’ heart clenches so hard that it feels like a physical blow. 

“That was your father. Alexander.” His voice valiantly does not give out on him, though it tries. “This was his Garden.” Magnus gestures around them, to the boughs of the tree and the spattering of wild flowers in the grass. He hasn’t been able to leave here. Not since-

“You couldn’t have been more than six years old when we lost him.” But it’s a fresh stab of grief to see his boy doesn’t remember the father who loved him so completely. 

“When you were an infant, Alexander was the only one who could stop your tears.” Magnus smiles up at his boy, strong and kind and at peace in his own blue skin. He’d come a long way in two hundred. 

There are tears burning in his eyes, but Magnus keeps them at bay. 

“He’d pick you up and hold you close, and so terribly seriously he’d say hello my baby and you would beam at him.”

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I demand a drabble about the first meeting between Alec and Kai. Also I love you.

His shop is closed for the night. Wards sealed tightly and unrepentant about their rejection of all creatures, be they demon or angel blooded. It’s been a long week, and Alec thinks he’s earned a moment to himself in the privacy of his library. 

But the unrelenting knocks bleed through walls of concrete, and wood paneling, and glass, carried through by tendrils of magic as their own instinctive sort of alarm.

After a long, stubborn attempt at ignoring the noise, Alec finally looks up from his work table. 

Whoever is at his door, they’re not letting up, which means it’s not a curious mundane hoping to take a look at his rare books. If it were Magnus, the wards would have opened for him the second he touched the door. Which leaves anyone who might have business with the high warlock after hours. 

He sighs.

Scrubbing his face, Alec returns to the shop, sealing the entrance to his library with a wave of his hand, and meanders through rows of shelves that have been placed explicitely to keep the back of the store out of sight from the window display.

The man he finds at his door is a familiar face. A boy, more like. Though last time Alec saw him, he was deathly pale and covered in demon ichor, brought in by his terrified partner and trailing blood all over his floor. 

Magnus Bane’s older brother. Kai, that was his name.

Given how sure Alec had been that they would not be able to save him, he finds himself actually glad to see the boy back on his feet. Thought he can’t say the sentiment extends to this interruption of his rare night off.

He’s sure his feelings are evident on his face, and at least the shadowhunter has the decency to look apologetic when he meets Alec’s scowling eyes through the tinted glass. Alas, no matter the cat’s nature, curiosity will always be what kills him.

Heaving a sigh, and rolling his eyes for good measure, Alec parts the warding in the shop just enough to open the door and allow the boy in.

“Thank you, Mr. Lightwood.” Kai is quick to showcase his manners. He seems genuine enough, if a little sheepish. Alec closes the door. “I thought I’d missed you, I was going to try my luck at your loft, next.”

“And what’s so urgent that couldn’t wait until business hours?” He walks away from the boy to find his favorite chair, behind the checker counter, sealing the wards once again with a wave of his hand.

Kai lingers at the door before following, dark eyes curiously taking everything in before he stands at attention across from the warlock. For that brief moment, he looked like Magnus, and Alec’s stern look softens slightly, despite his best intentions.

“A few things, but mostly, I didn’t want to risk anyone knowing I was here.”

Well, consider his interest piqued. 

Alec leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Kai Bane falters briefly, and Alec thinks back to Magnus’ confidently stated opinions about his big brother. The ideal shadowhunter, the best the New York Institute, if not the Clave itself, had at its disposal. 

All the High Warlock of Brooklyn can see is a lost boy.

“Well?”

His impatience finally seems to nudge the shadowhunter on, and Kai finds his words.

“I wanted to thank you—before anything else.” He stands tall, every bit the good soldier that Magnus is. “For saving my life.”

“I had help.” He couldn’t have saved the boy without Magnus’ strength, or Diego’s blood magic. But the sentiment seems genuine, so Alec relents, nodding. Kai mirrors him.

One down, let’s see how many to go.

“I wasn’t sure if a report had been sent to you about what we found in those sewers, but I wanted to be sure.” Alec tilts his head, curious. “We think one of Iris’ hideouts may be down there, we’re going to send a team in tomorrow to check it out.”

Alec studies the boy with icy cat eyes. It’s a thoughtful gesture on his part, to be sure—to keep him in the loop about whatever the Institute has planned in the war against Iris. But it’s not one that should concern a high warlock. Not without motive.

“Are you asking me to help with the aftermath? I can’t heal demonic infection form those hybrids on my own, and I haven’t made a suitable antidote for it yet.” Kai knows that. And it’s the only reason Alec admits to the fact. There’s no use lying about his limitations when the boy has experienced them first hand.

“I want you to come with us.”

The request steals his words, and Alec’s eyebrows rise up to his hairline. 

“This is Clave business, boy. Perhaps you should go back to your Institute and read my file again.”

Both Lightwood twins have made it very clear that they will not get involved with the Clave and their missions. They will keep the peace by following the Accords, but where the warlocks in their charge are concerned, any and all justice will be dealt by the Lightwoods, not the Nephilim. 

But Kai holds his ground, not once looking away. There’s a stiffness to the way his stands that no amount of discipline could ever hide. The boy was at death’s door barely a week ago. He should still be resting.

“This is not my jurisdiction. And you should consider staying out of this mission too. No amount of magic can speed up the recovery of demonic inf—”

“Magnus is going.”

Alec’s attention snaps back to dark eyes, and the warlock would curse himself for his lack of subtlety if his stomach wasn’t sinking like a stone.

Kai seems to take that as a sign to carry on.

“My father’s taken me off the team, but I’m not about to let my little brother go down there without me. We have no idea how many of those hybrids are protecting Iris’ hideout.”

The boy’s eyes are pleading at him now, almost angry in the way they glare at the warlock from across the counter. He’s torn, and Alec has to wonder if it’s for Magnus’ sake that Kai won’t give words to the emotions and understanding boiling over on his tongue

Anything Alec says will only confirm what he can already see in Kai’s eyes. So he says nothing.

“Please.” A Shadowhunter begging for help from a Downworlder. Not only that, but Asmodeus Bane’s eldest son. Alec has to wonder how the man would react to this scene, if he were here. 

“I know you care about him.” Icy eyes gleam with a warning, but Kai won’t be deterred. “And I know he cares about you too. I’ve seen it.”

Alec thinks about denying it. But his decision was made the second Kai brought up his brother. The memory of a sleepy whisper and a heartbeat against his own are still fresh in his mind.

                                                I love you. I love you, Alec.

“Please. Help me keep him safe.” Kai’s voice breaks, a scared boy begging him to help his little brother. God, they really are just children. He heaves a quiet sigh, eyes falling shut for a moment.

When he looks at the shadowhunter, there is nothing but hard conviction in his expression. The Prince of Storms with his icy eyes.

“Send me a fire message when it’s time.” He orders, with all the authority of the High Warlock of Brooklyn. 

“I’ll go with you.”

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chatoyerdemoniste·:

“I think…”

He lets the word trail out at the end, biting down on his bottom lip just to watch the way Alec’s lashes drop when he follows the movement with his eyes. “That being patient will just make it more fun when the time comes.”

There used to be a time that he would tease Alec for hours, just to see when he’d snap. But a baby and a recalcitrant five year old had led to those moment being few and far between. 

That, and the world kept trying to end. 

Magnus laces their fingers and rests them on his shoulder, pulling Alec along behind him. No time like the present to start again.

“What do you say?”

To say Alec’s interest is immediate and very, very obvious would likely be the understatement of the year.

“I say let’s take the long way back.”

It’s been so long since they’ve had a chance to be playful. To take their time, and see how far they could push the other. They'd had to make room for the bedtime stories, games, and duties their children brought home with them.

He lets Magnus pull him out of the restaurant and out to the street, giddy and young in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time. Once outside, in the cool, spring air, and with the warmth of spiced meals and wine falling behind, the croons of Jazz music still leading the way, Alec pulls on Magnus’ hand to lead him into a lazy twirl.

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@lumenlignum

He can’t breathe. 

Magnus is nearly doubled over on Alec’s couch, face in his hands. But it’s not enough to stop the moisture building in the corners of his eyes and catching at his lashes before they spill down his cheeks. 

He sits upright again, hands falling away, and all it takes is one quick look at Alec, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling before he’s losing it again. 

It’s pushing one in the morning and Magnus is laughing so hard that he can’t breathe. He slumps back against the couch, wheezing with slowed laughter, but all it takes is a single thought of Klaus cheerfully breaking down some comically named sex act to their father before he’s off again, whole body shaking with the force of his laughter. 

“He told him…he told him…” Give him a second here. Magnus is fresh off patrol and punch drunk with it, boots still flaked with dried ichor. It hadn’t been his smartest idea to show up here, but an idle mind and unchained feet found him at Alec’s door. 

He doesn’t know why the warlock let him in. Or why he was awake at this hour with nothing better to do than listen to Magnus’ dumb story about his beloved parabatai, but here they are. 

(Maybe, Magnus tells himself, maybe they could be friends. Maybe he could make it be enough for him. Maybe his heart wouldn’t break in two when he had to swear his life to another.)

Magnus wipes a tear from the corner of his eyes. “He told him ‘dad, everyone knows what an eiffel tower is in the bedroom!’” 

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chatoyerdemoniste‌:

But pink is such a lovely color on Jace.

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chatoyerdemoniste replied to your post: "Dad is that--is he trying to be stern? Is that...

Magnus is proud of his children

Magnus should stop encouraging these shenanigans

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"Dad is that--is he trying to be stern? Is that Uncle Jace's stern face?" Rafe looks from his uncle to his Dad, not doing such a great job stopping his building laughter. "You look constipated, Uncle Jace."

He shouldn’t look. He shouldn’t, because he has a pretty good idea just what face Jace is making. Because, ever since they first got Max, and then Rafe, his parabatai has been accused of being too lenient with them. 

It led to him not being allowed to babysit without supervision, and to many indignant protests and promises that he can be trusted with the children. And he can be stern when he has to be. And he will prove it.

Unfortunately for poor uncle Jace, his stern look is as far from the intended result as he could get. With arms akimbo, and a very serious scowl on his face, Alec knows exactly what he’ll find if he looks—

He snorts.

Damn it.

It doesn’t help that the reason Rafe and Max got called into his office is that they changed their uncle’s shampoo and conditioner.

If Jace’s stern face looked constipated before, the pink hair and glitter didn’t help matters.

Tagging: @chatoyerdemoniste​, feat. @feralmerit​‘s Jace

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#so malec have sides of the bed and they both sleep on their boyfriend’s side when the other isn’t there πoπ

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mine and alec’s train of thought

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Tell me more about New Idris!Alec wanting to rip Lorenzo's ponytail off 8D

Alec knows Magnus is the High Warlock of Idris. He knows many warlocks bring their issues and disputes to his home for him to give the final say. He knows that means being on his best behavior when those warlocks make ‘polite’ conversation about his property.

Property that includes the nephilim in his service.

“Well well, Magnus. Already with a new toy? Did you wear the last one out so quickly? Hopefully this one is made of sterner stuff.”

But right now, all Alec can think of is that he wishes he had his arrows with him. Which means he’ll have to content himself with the mental image of ripping the damn ponytail off the sleazy warlock currently trying to look down his nose at him.

He’s not meant to make eye contact. He’s supposed to keep his eyes down, or on the wall. If Magnus chose to, he could have Alec whipped for his impertinence. In fact, so could Lorenzo. He could claim offense to the High Warlock, and Magnus would have to at least pretend to consider it.

But Alec didn’t spend most of his life fighting in the Pit because he was a well behaved slave. 

And, while those sharp edges may have been hidden in the last few weeks, since Magnus bought him from the arena, they’re far from gone. And Lorenzo Rey is getting closer to getting a taste of them by the second.

And if he didn’t know it would give Magnus trouble, Alec would bash his head against the Brazilian Ebony desk behind him.

It’s a nice desk, and he wouldn’t want to break it.