Magnus Bane

                        P I N N E D   P O S T

         Hi All, I’m spirit and this is my Magnus Bane blog. I’m kind of a hot mess, so blog runs on a queue at the moment while I spend minimal time on the dash and in IMs. If we are mutuals, feel free to ask for my Disco.

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          Thank you all for your patience. I appreciate every one of you! 

@hiighwarlock​: “You’re letting shame decide who you are.“

‘ wrong. ’ Alec lets out a long-linger sigh, eyes slammed shut in a dramatic fashion only someone who had grown up with Jace Herondale could convincingly manage. he’s exasperated, but not with the other. Magnus is right, but he doesn’t have the energy to accept that kind of truth right now. though… knowing the other, that just means he’s going to double down on this specific point. ‘ fine. maybe I am. or maybe I’ve lived with this for so long, I don’t know what not living with it looks like. I’m not going to have all of those answers in a week, Magnus. I– ’

          “Okay, Okay--” Magnus lifts his hands before him in a mollifying gesture, the instinct to reach out to Alec near overwhelming. He isn’t ready, a voice in the Warlock’s head reminds him. Not yet... maybe not Ever. “-- Alexander, just... take a breath. You’re not alone in this...” 

@affcgato​ asked for this disaster pairing, so here we are

          In a (not-rare) fit of nostalgia, Magnus finds himself wending his way back to the familiar shadows of London, drawn in by the early stages of a promising English Spring. The city boasts a surfeit of fond memories, as well as a series of Downworld-Friendly gambling houses, where the Warlock spent many a pleasant evening in the company of associates like his dear Ragnor Fell. It is there that he goes, if only to pick at the closed wounds of his memories. 

          Bane is passing through the antechamber to one of these favorite haunts, half an eye admiring the persistent presence of some truly gaudy chandeliers stationed above the faro and piquet tables, when his attention is caught by the flash of a familiar face. 

          Of all the places. The Warlock thinks, then changes his mind. There is no such thing as coincidence.

“Well?” Alec glances up as Magnus drags it out, concern pausing his hands momentarily — but only momentarily, since the ichor is still smeared on bare skin. It’s not a good sensation, he knows, and that’s why he’s trying to work as quickly and carefully as he can. If only he wasn’t quite so distracted by his patient.

“Of course it was successful,” he snorts dismissively as he resumes working, “you were the one flushing it out of its nest.” There’s no doubt in his mind that such an attempt would have been successful; Magnus is very good at what he does.

Ichor is quite destructive, though, as evidenced by that waistcoat ( which… Alec was never really a massive fan, but Magnus is quite clearly mourning its loss so maybe he can drum up a sympathetic face for a while ). At the mention of his tender ministrations, Alec flushes a dark shade of red, but he can’t help but smile. “Almost done,” he murmurs with another gentle dab at the edges of the wound, “will you be able to heal yourself when this is clean, or do I need to find some supplies?”

         “---ooh, compliments and tender ministrations? Lucky me...” Magnus preens, privately thrilled by the matter-of-fact tone of Alec’s voice, the way he so easily validates Magnus’s unmatched prowess as a Warlock. Not that Bane needs validation, of course, but it’s... nice. Unexpected. Alexander praises him with such surety that it almost seems like the younger man doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and...

         Well. Magnus can’t really remember the last time someone believed in him so completely. 

         He keeps that thought to himself (the Warlock wants to flirt with Alec, not scare him away), instead focusing on the lovely flush deepening the archer’s pale cheeks. By Edom, why are Lightwoods always so damn Pretty?? Magnus muses, the corner of his mouth curling upward, expression soft in response to Alec’s concern.