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silver-inked-quill · 1 year ago

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The Last Hours of a Herondale

Ch.1 Better Angels

Pair: Matthew Fairchild x reader

Words: 2k

Summary: James' twin sister, just like him and Lucie has an unexplained ability, she sees visions of the past and the future occasionally when she touches an object or a person. What happens though, when she sees herself dying?

Warning: maybe blood?

I was surveying the demon battle; I didn’t ponder much as my twin brother and his Parabatai danced with the demon. I was sitting ready to intervene in case it was necessary, I had a bad feelings and unfortunately my gut was usually not mistaken.

James disappeared once again, it used to happen a lot more than that, and it would keep happening to him. The moment he was out of sight I jumped down from the rooftop I was observing. Before I landed I heard Matt’s scream, I immediately took out my whip slapping it in the air as the electricity. I didn’t know if my brother was back and I couldn’t care less about the usual catchphrase Matt would mock me with before running into a battle “Sit back and watch how it’s done”. He is my brother’s Parabatai, namely, the same as James. I was holding Matthew’s stele at the ceremony.

“Dodge” I exclaimed as I had the demon still for some moments, I took out a dagger and threw it at the demon. Matt followed my instruction without further notice.

My plan though didn’t work out for long as the demon escaped the tie of my whip letting me fall backwards.

“Y/N/N!” Matt exclaimed and turned at me, he was actually worried.

“I won’t break Matt, where did the demon go?” I asked and stood up and stepped forward as I activated the voyance rune upon my wrist.

“Lurked back into the shadows” he spoke up confidently. Matt paced further in the dark alley and the demon hissed loudly and gripped his shoulders tightly. He screamed as the demon managed to dug its nails to his shoulders, its mouth opened up in four and he hissed to his face as I leaped on its back and stabbed it with a seraph blade but before its blade could dug through its skull its head turned 180 degrees, its stinky breath straight to my face.

Moments flashed and I saw my brother be back. Deumas roared again and pressured the blade to its chest yelling the angels name, but once he threw Matt off of him and then its attention turned to me, James was already there, he swung his arm back pulling my seraph sword out as I fell on my back in the shadows. James looked like he was losing it.

“James!” I yelled, unaware if he heard me, the demon slapped him as he seemed to disorientate. I groaned in pressure as I prevented another hit to my brother with my daggers. Suddenly the demon was swept off his feet, three chords wrapped around its legs pulling it backwards. It was Thomas standing behind us with his bolas. Thomas was tall and had a massive physique.

“I am alright” my brother assured me and I dodged to the side retrieving my weapon and returning it on my belt. I let my whip loose again and trapped its upper body as Thomas was still holding it in place. With the corner of my eye I noticed Christopher helping Matt, before I returned to the demon that soon burst out in an explosion of ichor and demon blood that showered me and everyone else but my brother.

“Matthew, Y/N-.” My brother begun and as I was wiping the slime from my cloths.

“How- Wha-?” Christopher shuttered and I raised an eyebrow.

“Do you mean how we tracked down the last demon in London?” James asked as he carefully offered me a napkin. “Or that it is also the most disgusting thing?” I was surprised on how calm and normal his voice sounded. I knew he was innerly shaking.

“Or that James managed to make us a mess and yet stay out of it.” I commented to lighten the atmosphere as I wiped the last bit of ichor from under my chin there was a small burn mark from it there. He was the only one untouched.

I saw Thomas roll his eyes in annoyance as he was covered in ichor as Matthew sputtered the seraph blade that defused. “This is an outrage” he commented tossing the weapon aside. “Do you know how much I spent on this waistcoat?” he asked with annoyance and complaint.

“Plus no one told you to go demon hunting dressed like an extra from the Importance of being Earnest” James pointed out, he handed another napkin to his parabatai as well. He was standing between us.

Thomas spoke commenting on Matt as well. Therefore I didn’t hear him. “James, your hand…” I noticed a gash across his palm, I took out my stele and touched his at hand. He removed himself from his grip looking at me for any sign of seizure but I pointed at my gloves and smiled as I drew an iratze. It was usually Matt’s work, but it was only a gash.

Us twins had our very own gift as our parents call it trying to convince us it is not a curse, though nor me neither my brother feel it like a gift, it is an uncontrolled ability we have, that activates randomly. James changes dimensions, he comes back though, his episodes do not last this long and there is nothing we can usually do as he physically disappears. I on the other hand, see visions, usually unclear and enigmatic concerning the object or the person I came in contact with. While I see those dreams, I am falling into a sort of seizure. This happens since I am ten, my uncle Jem though, gifted me a pair of enchanted gloves to wear and I have to admit that it has been helpful.

“Thomas! Stop scrubbing at me” Christopher said, windmilling his arms. “We should go back to the Devil and get cleaned there.”

“I agree, its starting to get chilly.” I spoke and secured my stele inside my pocket. Matt looked at me and removed his fancy waist coat and placed it around my shoulders gently.

“Care to tell me how much you spent on it?” I asked in a mocking way as everyone started walking to the Devil’s Tavern.

“Its useless now either way” Matt replied as I wrapped it better around me while we were walking there. I rarely went to the Devil, it was a hide out, a safe spot for my brother and his friends. I knew it wasn’t true but I felt as I intruded… Maybe because this is how I felt when someone invaded my atelier or music room.

“I almost didn’t recognize the lot of you when you tramped in here covered in whatever you call it…” The waitress commented and I looked at her, Polly I think it was her name. There were welcome exclamations galore, the boys were really loved around here, fairly though.

“Its been ages since we have seen a demon in London” said James

“I reckon they are all too scared to show their faces…” Polly spoke.

“Scared?” James asked confused. The rest of the boys were spread across the Tavern, Christopher and Thomas went to eat and drink some water, while I saw Matt bottoming up a whole glass of a brownish liquid which was one hundred per cent alcohol.

“Scared of what?” I wondered and her gaze fell upon me. She wrinkled her nose, a werewolf she is, she probably smelled ichor, blood and sandalwood upon me.

“And what a beauty like you is doing in such dirty shit hole.” She spoke, obviously avoiding my question.

“You have seen me before…” I commented puzzled at the reaction of the wolf. She extended her hand and gripped my chin lightly and turned my head to the side. I felt my breath be caught upon my chest, intention was good as she dragged her finger behind my ear taking a drop of ichor.

Within seconds James gripped Polly’s wrist and threw it away from me. I turned to my twin, I knew he was there but I was not there, I could see a girl, Polly, go down an alley, she was so carefree and happy until the person next to her suddenly started to change. She would scream and shout for help but the eldest werewolf didn’t seem to be phased, he simply bit her. I squeezed my eyes, I couldn’t watch and therefore there she was, young Polly, her expression twisted in pain and agony from the lycanthropy infection. I opened my eyes again and I could see, or more like sense my brother, he was calm, it was a usual thing for me. I would be alright in about five minutes. I let out a soft cry I was surveying Polly turn into a werewolf for the first time. It felt like forever until I shot up.

I looked around, I found myself into the attic of the Merry Thieves, it was a small space with one bedroom. I was laying on the bed while I still had Matthew’s coat as a blanket over me. I took my time to make myself obvious and I caught an interesting conversation about ‘Grace’

“Her name is Grace” said James, a hint of annoyance upon his voice. I could smell the gin on him as he was sitting on the bed next to me.

“Exactly, Grace” Agreed Thomas “Aunt Tatiana’s always kept them both in splendid isolation in Idris- no visitors at all- but apparently she’s decided to move back to London, so my parents are all in a dither about it” he explained and this unlocked so many memories of our childhood times in Idris where James would secretly go to meet Grace. I did not like her that much as I got along better with Barbara Lightwood, Thomas’ eldest sister.

“Grace? To London?” James asked in complete disorientation.

“Seems Tatiana wants to bring her out in society” Thomas looked puzzled at my brother’s reaction. “I suppose you’ve met her in Idris? Your house is next to the Blackthorn manor, isn’t it?” It was true, We used to meet her every Summer.

There were moments of silence as there was no one responding so it was the time to make the fact that I returned to reality known. “And where will she stay?” I asked the thing my twin wouldn’t dare and I felt his relief wash over his figure as he turned at me.

“Hello there” James smiled at me and patted my knee as I was curled in a ball under Matt’s coat.

“Are you feeling alright? You seemed to doze off at Polly’s charms” Math’s voice sounded smooth and sweet as he joked with me.

“I will live, apparently” I smiled lightly as I felt uncomfortable to speak about Polly. “Too bad for your coat, you won’t have it back today.” I added and curled in a ball under it. It had his smell.

“No worries, it was disposable after James’ smart move” Matthew replied with a charming smile and he patted my head gently.

“Awee how sweet of you” spoke up with a sigh. I felt lightheaded as I sat up, making an effort to balance my head. James held my shoulders not attempting to touch me again, afraid that there would be another episode.

“Your hand…” I noticed as it seemed that my iratze didn’t work as needed.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Matthew asked and his slim but muscular hand slipped out his stele. I could see his veins as he was preparing his stele.

Thomas approached me with a toast and I chuckled lightly as he offered it to me. “You something bad for Polly, didn’t you?” he asked me. Math and Jame were further but I could notice that they were listening to me.

“I did, but I am actually used to seeing bad things” I explained and certainly did not deny the fact that I was hungry too much. “This is pretty good” I smiled at my cousin as he poured some water in a glass.

“I don’t mean to be the first one to leave a party” announced I, so as to get their attention “however I shall be making my way to the institute.” I spoke up and James seemed to dislike the idea.

“Perhaps you should stay for a bit and then we can return together.” My brother remarked and looked at me. I was trying to understand was it he was fearing fathers wrath or he was extremely worried about me.

“No, I’d rather not” I smiled at him “Do not concern yourself James. I will be completely fine. I promise.” I sat up taking my time to stand up from the old wooden bed of the attic. Thomas was right next to me, I am certain he was pondering where to support me if needed without jeopardizing to have another episode.

“How exactly do you expect me to do that, when you just had an episode” he remarked as he approached me once Math was done drawing an iratze rune upon his skin

“And you had an episode of your own as well and with us not knowing what was the cause of it. At least with me you saw it coming.” I spoke with my voice raising by the note. I was so disturbed by the fact that he considered the incident with me so much more important than his even though it was considered during battle.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed.

“James!” I yelled back almost immediately, it was a reflect that took over and I could not control. I knew that I was supposed to be the delicate girl amongst the boys that were mostly friends of my brother. Nevertheless I could not stand the unfairness of the matter. I was the girl he was the boy we were in the same danger and our troubled moments were just as random and I could not fathom the fact he was being the same phallocratic male like the ones were asking for my hand were.

I started walking to the exit of the attic and Matthew got my elbow. I tried to conserve my gaze therefore I just couldn’t help and stare at him, deadly. “I am going home on my own! I am pretty capable of doing so and I do not need anyone to protect me or my honor. In case it wasn’t noticed I saved Math twice just some hours earlier when you had one hell of a random disappearance to God knows where. Perhaps papa would be interested in a more detailed version of tonight’s success.” I stated, my angry gaze met James’ who’s blood I could feel boiling.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He growled, his teeth greeted and his jaw clenched, his outfit was still well-stood unlike mine. I looked like I was in a battle indeed, my hair tucked in a messy bun with all the braids rogue and my clothes filled with stains and scratches.

“Well, I thought you wouldn’t dare to imply that I wouldn’t make it home alone… And yet here we stand.” I spoke up and threw the coat at Matthew who caught it.

“No keep it, I will come until some point, I need some quality bourbon not this, whatever it is.” Matthew spoke and walked out.

“Whatever” I shrugged my shoulders and walked out of the attic. I knew this would calm down James, just as I knew Matthew would trust me, even though he looks like he doesn’t care at all about me or anyone for that matter…

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plutodeclassified · 28 days ago

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rudolph fentz, the man from taured, and i: rivers & gates, pt 1

"As Einstein himself pointed out. He said we're like people in a boat without oars drifting along a winding river. Around us we see only the present. We can't see the past, back in the bends and curves behind us. But it's there." — Jack Finney, Time and Again

James Herondale can't believe he's doing this. This is the second or third time this week that he's found himself picking Matthew up from a mundane police station. He recieved a note passed on by an Irregular telling him that Matthew's been arrested, this time for getting drunk (as usual) and punching a mundane who'd called him a faggot (less usual, and James finds himself angry on Matthew's behalf). Nobody else is around to collect him, and Shadowhunters aren't supposed to get tangled up in the mundane legal system, so James has to go and get him home before he's stuck in a cell long enough for the policemen to realize something's off.

"You here to pick up the drunk or the girl?" the bailiff asks when James walks into the station rubbing his arms and hoping the persuasion runes on his wrists are working.

"You're taking both of us!" Matthew yells at him in Welsh from the station's cell. "I'm not going anywhere without the other man!"

"I'm sorry," says James, "what?"

"I made a friend here," Matthew continues, "and you're bailing him out, too!"

James says, "I'm taking both of them."

The bailiff gives him a weird sort of look, but he gets his keys and lets both people out of the cell—Matthew, and a very small, bespectacled young man about their age, carrying a grey canvas satchel. He looks a little odd to say the least, with his brimmed black cap and straight, thick short hair, which is a decidedly not-normal shade of mahogany red.

"Thanks," he says. "The absolute last say I wanted to end today was getting booked into a mundane police station for crossdressing and public indecency." He indicates his blue pullover shirt (printed with a gigantic yellow cartoon tabby attacking a city, and the word Catzilla) and black denim trousers with some dismay. "I'm not even indecent. Everything is covered." He turns to the bailiff. "Excuse me? Sir?"

The bailiff regards him with some concern. "Yes?"

"Uh, where's my bicycle? You impounded it when I got here, please tell me you've still got it."

The bailiff grumbles, rummages in his desk drawer, hands him a small ring of keys (his own, no doubt, from the look of them, not at all like any string of keys James has seen before), and points him to a barred window, against which he's locked a burgundy-colored bicycle of an unfamiliar style.

"Thank you." He flashes the bailif a grateful smile, unlocks the bicycle, and rolls it from the station onto the sidewalk outside, as if just expecting the two Shadowhunters to follow.

"Math," says James, "who is this? And why is it so dreadfully important that he come with us?"

"He's a Shadowhunter, Jamie," Matthew answers. "Like us."

"Well, sort of like you," he amends. "Not quit. I've got faerie blood on my mother's side." He puts down the kickstand on his bicycle so he can let go, turns around, and offers James a handshake, displaying the Voyance rune on the back of his left hand. "Pluto Lochlyn Westhouse. I'm a time traveler from the 21st Century."

For a moment, James just stands there, stunned. He doesn't accept Pluto's handshake. He says, "Prove it."

"Fine," says Matthew, "but let's do that back at the Devil, it's freezing out here."

The Devil Tavern. Second floor. Headquarters. The roof leaks. It's freezing. The time traveler James and Matthew brought back with them doesn't seem to care. He sinks into one of the room's self-dismantling armchairs and hugs his satchel to his chest as the Thieves disperse themselves around the room, settling into sofas and chairs. Christopher takes a seat next to him. He was here already with Thomas when the time traveler arrived, and the introductions were a mix of shock and awe from everyone.

The time traveler smells like salt and sage and cedar and something foreign he doesn't think exists in this decade. He looks at Christopher and gives him a tiny, weak sort of smile and promptly looks away again.

"So you're telling me," James says, "that you're from the year 2024."

He paces back and forth in front of the fireplace. Christopher can guess he's trying to think over the initial panic they're all steeped in, that worry of how is interacting with him going to mess up our future, and, the Inquisitor is going to have us all killed for this.

"Yes," says Pluto. "Around this time, too. The end of August, start of September." His voice is small with cold and distress.

James turns around. "And you said you got here by . . . Portal accident?"

"Yeah." Pluto's shoulders bend in a little. "My dad and I were traveling back from Taigh Liath, we'd just been up to visit my grandparents for the summer, and I stepped through the Portal and came out the outlet side in completely the wrong city, over a hundred years into the past."

"And I'm supposed to believe this because . . ."

"I don't think he's lying," says Christopher.

"You don't?" says James.

"No, look." Christopher holds out a hand to Pluto, who stares back at him with wary eyes the color of a storm coming in. "Could I have one of your boots? Please?"

Cautiously, Pluto unlaces one of his boots and removes it. The foot inside is small, encased in a thick, warm-looking black sock. Christopher wonders absently if the sock is wool, or some next-millennium fabric he's never heard of. He wonders what twenty-first century toes look like. Do they paint the nails, the way Pluto's fingernails are painted a dark, metallic shade of purple, near to black?

Christopher takes the boot, turns it over, frowns at it, sniffs it. There it is again, that odd, faint, bitter smell he's never encountered before: almost like the scent of rubber, but not quite. The fabric feels strange under his hands, and when he presses on the thick sole, it's indeed almost but not quite like rubber, and it yields ever so slightly if he really pushes. Pieces of it are a vivid shade of acid-dye purple. He hands the boot to James. "Have you ever seen material like that before?"

"No," says James, "I haven't."

"See?" says Christopher. "Just look at Pluto—half of what he's wearing doesn't exist yet. And I've never seen a bicycle quite like his before, either."

"It's electric," says Pluto. "Look, I can prove it further, but I want my boot back."

James passes the boot to Christopher, and Christopher passes it to Pluto. Pluto puts the boot back on, laces it up and double knots it, opens up their satchel, and removes a flat black slab with a dull surface and a shiny one. He presses a raised key on the side and half the inside lights up with a bright, witchlight-like glow, revealing a strange, cluttered image he can't properly process.

"It's called a tablet," Matthew says. "He showed it to me, too."

Christopher finds himself annoyed, though he can't say exactly why.

"What does it do?" James asks.

"Lots and lots of things," says Pluto. "It has an encyclopedia, a newspaper, a travel guide, a library . . . it calculates mathematics, publishes writing, plays movies and music, you can even use it to draw. All at the same time, even. Or, it did. In order to do half of that it needs something called a server, to connect it to a bunch of other computers—the connection is called the Internet, and without the internet it can't do quite as much. Oh, and the screen is touch sensitive. That's how you use it."

Christopher leans closer, wanting to pick up the strange machine and turn it over and inspect it. He wants, suddenly and without reason, to do the same to Pluto's hands.

When he first heard the words 'time traveler,' Christopher hadn't expected the future to look like a half-faerie with dyed bloodred hair. He hadn't expect to find himself as fascinated with Pluto's smile and his voice and the flutter of his long hands as with the materials that make up his strange synthetic clothes and the odd, unfamiliar technology he brings with him. For the first time, Christopher looks at someone and he wants to touch: to rub the material of Pluto's clothes between his fingers to see how it differs from the fabrics available to him here, to see how the dye changes the composition of his hair, to lay his hand to Pluto's cheek and see if 21st Century skin feels the same as his own does in his decade.

"So we need to think about how to get you home," James says, interrupting Christopher before he can ask to do any of those things, or start asking any more questions. "Unless you plan on staying here."

Pluto shakes his head. "If you'd asked me before I arrived here, I'd say yes, absolutely, I'm staying. But it's different when your dad's back home in your own time period, wondering where you are."

"I'm not going to send you to the Clave," James says. "I trust Charlotte and I trust my parents but I wouldn't trust Inquisitor Bridgestock with this situation and if the Clave gets involved, he's going to be involved. And I don't need him trying to lock anyone away in the Silent City for accidental timeline violations."

"Good," Pluto says. "I think you'll find I don't trust the Clave much either. So then who?"

"Well, Magnus Bane is in town. We'll start with him. He's friends with Ragnor Fell, who is an expert in dimensional magic. Between the two of them they should be able to find a way to send you back."

"One more thing," says Pluto. "I'm not sitting this out. I can and will do a Jim Rockford and go around you guys if I have to. I want you to tell me what all's going on, and if I have something to say, I want to be listened to."

"Why wouldn't we listen to you?" Christopher asks.

"Because I can't—because I'm from the future? Because sometimes my ideas are batshit crazy and they really don't work? Like . . . when I first got here, I assumed I had to have somehow done it myself."

"How would you Portal yourself into the past?" Thomas asks. "You're a Shadowhunter. You haven't got that kind of magic. That doesn't make any sense."

"Well, I'm half banshee, but even then . . . yeah, you're right, I don't have magic that could do that." Pluto takes a deep breath. "Okay. So there's this guy, he'd be about, I don't know, five years old right now, anyway, his name's Albert Einstein and he's a really important figure in mundane history—he's also a huge meme, but that's beside the point. Anyway, Einstein thought that time . . . time isn't so much directly linear as it is like a river, or a road. You and whatever wind and water and things are with you, you're going one way. And you can't look back and see the past behind you. But it's still there. It's not . . . gone. So then there's this other guy, his name's Jack Finney, and he wrote a book called Time and Again, where they try to use hypnotherapy to send someone into the past. I thought I must've accidentally done in real life what they did in fiction: I'm in the middle of some deep research into the Van Meter cryptid sightings, which took place in 1903, and I drove myself through a Portal into 1903."

"That sounds highly improbable," says Christopher. "You haven't considered, at all, the possibility that someone else brought you here? Perhaps on purpose?"

"I'm beginning to now," says Pluto. He sinks back into his chair and pulls his feet up onto the seat, hugging his knees to his chest. "I do think it's a bit too nice of a coincidence that the stranded accidental time traveler just so happens to end up in the exact same police station cell as another Shadowhunter—someone who could potentially help me. Speaking of which, I need to go change before I contract hypothermia or get myself arrested again."

"I can send for my sister," James offers. "She might have something we can borrow. I need to tell her I'll be home late anyway—I'll say we have a blood-soaked werewolf, she'll believe it."

"Thank you," says Pluto, unfolding himself from the chair, "but I've got clothes of my own. It gets cold in Scotland in the summer and that is where I was."

"I do have to go downstairs, still," James says, rising to his feet. "If you'd like anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe some hot broth?"

James smiles. "Hot broth it is." He steps out and shuts the door.

"I," says Matthew, "am going downstairs too, to get a drink. This is entirely too much excitement for me. Thomas, scientist, science fiction—good day." He stops in the doorway and offers them all a little bow before he shuts the door.

"Science fiction?" Pluto says, and bursts out laughing.

"Well," says Christopher, "technically you're science fact now."

Thomas bends forward in his chair, rubbing at his chin. "Are all people in the 21st Century like this? So . . . forceful?"

"Oh, no. We have all kinds of people in the 21st Century, loud and quiet, forceful and passive . . . that's part of why I have trouble wrapping my head around why I'm the one that was brought here, from that time. There are so many other Shadowhunters right now who would love to take my place. And most of them—most of them would be much, much better representatives of life in the future."

Christopher tilts his head. "I suppose you're not allowed to tell us anything about the future, then."

"I think it's reasonably safe to say things about the mundane future to you Shadowhunters, since you disconnect yourselves deliberately from it anyways, you're not involved in mundane politics, in their scandals and wars. But I can never, ever tell you about the Downworld's future. Ever. So don't you ever dare ask me about it." Pluto shakes her head. "Though, the mundane future . . . I suppose, if you had questions, I could give you little bits and pieces of information. Just not dates and times or anything. I can tell you about the research I've been doing, since that's not really about the future so much—they exist back here, too."

"Research?" asks James, stepping back into the room, with Matthew right behind him.

"I've spent the past year dedicated to an intensive study of holler goblins."

"Holler goblins," says James.

"Yeah. Cave-dwelling goblins. Kelly-Hopkinsville incident. I never received any proper Shadowhunter training so I've had time to learn more about and try to contact these goblins. We've made so much headway in Nephilim-Downworlder relations, it seems a shame we haven't made any meaningful connection with them yet. They're very reclusive but the legend is they're very powerful, and I think they may have interesting things to share. I met Dash because their research into potential uses for mundane ghost hunting equipment started overlapping with my anthropological study of the goblins."

"Into what now?" says Matthew.

The door bangs open. Lucie stands on the threshold. She walks into the room, stops dead, and glares accusingly at James. "You said you had a blood-soaked werewolf," she says. "That is definitely not a blood-soaked werewolf."

"I wasn't expecting you to follow me here," James says, wincing. "I was hoping to keep this under wraps."

"Keep what under wraps?" says Lucie. "James, who is this?"

Pluto gets to his feet and offers Lucie a handshake. "Hi. I'm Pluto Lochlyn Westhouse. I'm a time traveler from the 21st Century."

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amchara · 1 year ago

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Trick or treat~ (for TSC)🎃

Hello!

Most of my recent TSC thoughts have been half-formed post Chain of Thorns ideas - so may I offer this snippet of a potentially dead-in-the-water Gracetopher fic, which is erm- not the happiest but in theme with the spooky, beyond the grave side of Halloween.

----

Grace opened her eyes. The sky was a soft blue, shot through with wispy gold clouds. She took a deep breath and for the first time in months, the stomach-churning scent of burnt tyres, leaking gas mains and damp that had permeated London for months had cleared from her nostrils.

No wailing air sirens.

Instead, there was a faint whistling song that was growing closer.

Grass blades tickled the backs of her calves as she sat up. The evening raid had happened so swiftly she hadn’t time to pull on her nylons before droning sounds had her scrambling to the shelter.

Grace searched her last memories before she woke up. A little boy’s sobs as he clung to his mother, terrified. The almost melodic distant, shattering glass, and the percussive feel of bombs falling ever closer. Until the final scream and percussive shockwave that had pulled the air from her lungs, a crushing vice.

She had survived close calls before but…Grace let out a slow exhale as she pulled the pieces together.

Funny, she thought, lifting her eyes towards the horizon, she hadn’t expected the afterlife to look like Hyde Park on a spring day. And then she stilled, her fingers grasping in her dress as she recognised the figure in front of her.

He set the enormous picnic basket to the side and crouched down.

It had been so many long years ago but Christopher’s gentle smile was ever the same.

“Hullo Grace,” he said.

“Hello, Christopher,” she replied faintly. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he told her, and there was an endearing tilt to his head, as he took gauge of her expression. “Rotten luck that but uh. Well, I brought us a picnic.”

Grace nodded. She helped him unpack it, pulling out bottles of cold lemonade and ginger beer, pickled eggs, ham and chicken sandwiches, a Victorian sponge and a small case of lemon tarts. Grace’s mouth watered. They had been on rationing since early winter, and it had been months since she’d had proper cake.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed here,” she said, her eyes watering as she recovered from a particularly fiery mouthful of ginger beer. She gestured around the idyllic landscape. “That I’d done enough.”

He was quiet beside her, before setting down his lemon tart. The kind, inquisitive look behind his glasses loosened something behind her heart, as violet eyes gazed into hers. “Grace. You know it was never about atonement, don’t you?”

She looked down, tracing patterns on the brightly striped picnic blanket, the faded scar from the missing Voyance rune still visible, before his hand closed over hers. Unlike others, he didn’t try to squeeze it or stroke, and she remembered with a heartwrench the delicate way they had worked together, all those years ago.

She let out a shuddering sigh. “I did know that. But I doubted it at times,” she confessed. “It… was hard.”

“But you made your way,” he reminded her.

(Ask me for a Halloween writing treat)

#writing asks #halloween writing asks #grace blackthorn #christopher lightwood #gracetopher #wip #the last hours #my fanfic

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potagerbiologique · 1 month ago

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Comment va se passer la semaine du 23 Décembre 2024 Tirage tarot voyance

via christophe-voyance.com voyance tarot Des questions ? Obtenez des réponses – Consultations de voyance guidance spirituelle : https://www.christophe-voyance.com/ Tirage de tarot de Marseille gratuit en ligne : https://intuitionlibre.com/rjbo Recevez GRATUITEMENT par mail les nouveautés, voyance, développement personnel – spirituel et zen: https://intuitionlibre.com/4g1p #voyance #cartomancie…

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#prédictions voyance #Voyance #voyance en ligne #voyance internet #voyance tarot #Youtube

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zickmonkey · 2 years ago

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Charlotte X Henry fic, COT spoilers

I don't know the word count but short, probably soon to be cross posted on AO3, description under cut.

Henry and Charlotte discuss their presumed dead son before Charlotte joins the shadowhunters in London.

.......

"Charlotte," Henry was looking up at her so intently, his brown eyes wide in his face. She was still so unused to having to look down to see him, her husband and her had always been such opposites when it came to their heights. He had been the tallest in the institute, she the shortest, even when the boys were still exactly that- boys.

"Perhaps you shouldn't go."

She looked at every wrinkle in his face, some of the creases deepening with the way he gazed at her. His thick eyebrows were drawn in, his lips were downturned.

"Henry. . . I know that you'd rather I stay safe, but I can't just remain here and have the others do the hard work for me." She brought her hand to his face, gently cupping his stubble lined cheek. "I'm the consul-"

"You're also a mother." He interrupted her. "Cecily is not going."

She felt his words through her entire body, though she didn't move her hand. She knew her husband was smart, she always had, but she also hoped that now his eccentricity would kick in, his tendency to be oblivious, and he would not realize that their son was almost certainly gone. She wished he'd instead say something about her going to get Matthew back, as though he were just optimistic.

"Christopher is dead. We know that. We don't know that Matthew is." She didn't say the rest- that maybe she could help get him back.

Charlotte also refused to look directly into her husbands eyes, worried she'd see hurt at how cold she'd said it. So unlike her. And over a boy they both cared for deeply.

"Lottie. . ." He brought his own hand up to hold hers, his index finger running gently along the back of it, blindly tracing the voyance rune they all knew without thought. "Matthew followed James to Edom, do not hurt yourself with delusions of him returning."

She could see as he spoke her young son, with the blond hair that made him look so out of place in their family, his green eyes. She wanted to be mad at the way he spoke with just a certainty that their son was gone, and that while he did it gently he did not do it with a sadness.

But she knew that was only because the sadness would come later. She knew him well. Henry would return to the main hall the second she left, he would be there to answer any questions anyone might have- however unlikely people were to ask him. There was a certain credit to being the consul's husband, more of one, when said consul was away and there was distrust about the inquisitor.

It was not that he didn't feel grief for Matthew- he was feeling that right along side his grief for Christopher, they both were. It was that his job now was to tell her to stay, to hurt openly beside him. And when that didn't work, like they both knew it wouldn't, to not hide from those who did stay.

"Even if Matthew is truly gone," She did meet his eyes again now, the brown of his irises seeming dulled while the whites of his eyes shone just slightly with tears he didn't fully release. "London might not be. And there are others to fight for. Lucie, Tom."

She didn't see Matthew when she looked at her husband, just as she knew she wouldn't see him if she looked in a mirror. But she could see all the times Matthew had followed after his father. The times he'd take Henry for walks and they'd talk. When she'd go into his laboratory late at night to retrieve her husband only to find him accompanied by a ten year old who should've long been in bed.

She saw memory after memory of Henry and Matthew together.

Charlotte loved both of her sons equally, she always had, but still she knew Matthew had always been more his son than hers.

#fan fic #fan fiction #cassandra clare #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #the last hours #the last hours spoilers #tlh spoilers #tlh fanfic #chain of thorns spoilers #chain of thorns #cot #charlotte fairchild #henry fairchild #matthew fairchild #cecily herondale #christopher lightwood #cecily lightwood #one shot

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