#emma carstairs fanfic

[starrieshq]

Aftercare [Kitty]

here it is!!! What you all have been waiting for

Enjoy <3

TW: some swearing, mentions of s3x

The sun pierced through the windows of Ty’s room, the curtains were pushed back, and Kit could see the coastline from his spot on the bed.

Ty’s bare chest rose and fell, dark Marks twining up his arms as he pushed his hair out of his face. Kit tried not to stare, but he was, well…

Beautiful.

After several minutes, Kit managed to sit upright. His throat felt scratchy.

“We did use a silencing rune, right?” He asked Ty, who silently nodded and reached for him.

Kit scooted closer to him, and they sat together in silence for a moment.

“We should probably clean all of this up.” Ty motioned at the messy sheets, and Kit nodded, standing.

Pain shot through him, and he buckled against the bed. Ty was immediately next to him and hoisted him up into a bridal style.

“Bath or shower?” He asked.

Kit hated baths, but he could not stand to save his life.

“Bath.” He said reluctantly.

He placed him in the tub, and as Kit began filling it with water, Ty tossed in a bath bomb.

Kit fiddled with the hot water faucet. When he lived with his dad, he almost never had access to hot water. When he moved to the Institute, he became hooked on steamy showers. They felt…relaxing. He took one every day, and when he came out of the bathroom, the mirror was usually foggy.

He was so caught up in though that he didn’t notice that Ty had joined him in the tub until he said,

“Are you okay?”

Kit nodded, hands finding Ty’s and twining them together.

“Yeah.”

Ty began to lather soap across Kit’s back, which was really distracting.

“You know I can do that, right?” Kit asked.

He nodded. “I’d rather do it for you. You should relax.”

Kit settled in, sighing contently as Ty continued to rinse him off, as if any amount of soap would scrub away what had just happened between them.

After several minutes of content silence, Kit cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Did…did you like it?” He asked.

Ty stopped scrubbing him for a moment, considering.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “It was…”

He trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Different.” Kit finished.

Ty nodded, and went back to rinsing him.

After getting out of the tub (with the assistance of Ty, of course), Kit pulled on a pair of sweats and one of Ty’s t-shirts.

Ty had taken the sheets down to the washer and was now at his desk, headphones on. Kit could faintly hear the classical music playing.

Kit was ever so slightly limping, and he prayed that the iratze he applied would kick in soon. If Dru, or God forbid, Helen or Julian saw him like this, there was not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that they would be having words.

Kit reached for his stele, but before he could apply another iratze, he felt Ty’s hand close around his, gently pulling it away from him.

“What are you doing?” Kit asked.

Ty nudged back the collar of his shirt, and began to draw the iratze.

“I’m the reason you’re limping, it just seems fair that I’m the one who takes care of you.”

Kit shook his head. “You know that I can take care of myself.”

Ty leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to Kit’s collarbone. “But have you considered that I want to?”

Kit’s head spun. Ty was skilled in dishing out compliments to him all the time, and he never had anything to say back to him.

“But why would you want to look after me?” He whispered.

Ty’s lips found his ear, and he said softly,

“Because you are what I want.” His hands curved around Kit’s waist, pulling him closer. “I am yours. Those years we spent apart, I learned that much.”

After a minute or two, they decided to inconspicuously go downstairs. They made their way to the kitchen, where Cristina and Mark stood, animatedly talking on the phone with who Kit presumed was Kieran.

“Julian’s looking for you two.” Mark said as Cristina nodded along to whatever Kieran was saying. “He’s been looking for you guys for a while, and Dru said that Ty’s room was locked, but she refused to open the door with a rune.”

Kit’s ears turned red, but Ty calmly said, “Where’s Julian, then?”

“Bye!” Cristina said, handing the phone to Mark.

“We’ll see you soon, love.” Mark said into the phone. “Make sure to talk to him when you can, ‘kay?” He paused. “Alright. Love you.”

He handed the phone back to Cristina.

“Julian should be at the beach. Emma’s with him.” She said, pocketing it.

Kit felt Cristina glance over him, a small knowing smile on her face.

“Don’t.” He warned her, his eyebrows raised.

“I won’t.” She replied, her smirk turning into the genuine smile it usually was. “It’s just great to see you two happy again.”

The pair headed out of the doors of the Institute, opting to go barefoot in the soft sand. Ty was slightly ahead of him, his silent footsteps refusing to stir up any dust.

He turned around, seeing Kit and smiling slightly. They grasped each other's hand, continuing to head alongside the coast.

Ty pointed in the distance. “I think I can see them.” He said.

A short distance away, Kit could see Emma and Julian heading towards them, along with a shorter figure that could only be Dru.

He tensed slightly. “What do you think they want us for?”

Ty shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe they were curious where we were?”

Kit doubted it was that. The fact that Dru had spottem them and was now eagerly skipping towards them did not give him any comfort.

“See?” She said to Emma and Julian, gesturing at Ty and Kit, “I told you that they were just making out in Ty’s room!”

Kit flushed.

“We weren’t making out.” He said.

“Alright then, Sherlock,” Emma said to Ty. “Explain what’s on Kit’s neck then for me.”

Shit.

Kit had attempted to cover up a hickey on his neck with concealer he found in Dru’s room. Apparently, it must’ve come off.

“We weren’t making out.” Ty confirmed, slightly squeezing Kit’s hand.

Emma did a once-over of Kit.

“I agree.” Emma said, smirking. “I think they had more than a make out session.”

Kit turned redder as Julian approached them.

“There you two are.” He said. “I was thinking that we’d have to get Magnus and imbed you with tracking devices.”

“Or you could just use a Tracking rune.” Ty pointed out.

“Tracking devices would be cooler.” Kit counterargued.

“Regardless,” Julian intervened, waving his arms. “I understand that both of you are 18…”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Kit moaned, covering his face. “You are not doing this in the middle of the beach! Or in front of Dru!”

“I find this entertaining.” Dru said, attempting to cover her laughter and failing miserably.

Julian continued. “And obviously, there’s nothing any of us can do about you two sneaking off and doing…things-”

“To be fair, we were doing things, too.” Emma pointed out. “And we weren’t 18 yet.”

“Regardless,” Julian stated. “You two need to be safe.”

Kit stared at him.

“You knew that we were already in Ty’s room with the door locked, proceeded to go down to the beach to ‘look for us’, and now you’re lecturing us about being safe?” He asked incredulously.

Julian nodded.

“You are ridiculous.” He declared after a moment.

“Don’t worry, we’re fine.” Ty assured Julian.

“This is fucking hilarious.” Dru cackled.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, Dru.” Julian said. “I’m giving both you and Ash the same talk when you turn 18, too.”

[always-emma]

She loves the sand, hates the water…

Emma: Jules, of all the guys I’ve been with, you’re my favorite to lay in the sand with.

Julian: Wait, so you’ve laid in the sand with other guys?

Emma: Sure.

Julian: Tell me who they are so I can kill them. I deserve to know.

Emma: I never kiss and tell.

Julian: So let me get this straight, you’ve slept with other guys on the beach? Emma, I thought that was our special thing?

Emma: I never said slept with, that’s only ever been you.

Julian: Still I want to know who was touching you on the sand. Who have you been with that I don’t know about?

Emma: Fine. I’ll tell you because I can’t lie to my Parabati.

Julian: You are making it worse! Emma, I’m your boyfriend.

Emma: You are? Since when?

Julian: From the moment I set eyes on you. The first time I heard your voice. When I watched you pierce that demon’s heart with a dagger when you were twelve. I have always belonged to you.

Emma: Well since you’re my boyfriend now and always, I will tell you.

Julian: Really? Come on Emma because I’m your boyfriend or because you love me?

Emma: I love you Jules. It’s …my father who loved to build sandcastles with me when I was little and Cameron.

Julian: Figures, Cameron..I knew it. And you never slept with him on the sand then?

Emma: Never. Only you my beautiful boyfriend. Only ever you.

Julian: You owe me kisses now for that torture.

Emma: Trust me, all I ever think about is kissing you. Come here. 💋

[rinadragomir]

"𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞" 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

Based on @celias 's beautiful work, The Mortal Instruments AU:

Céline Rosewain knew her life would be changed soon, when she started having a dreams of small redhead girl. As her life started changing, she along with her twin sister Angelina must explore more mysteries of their past.

[julescarstairs]

That Which Is Precious and Lost: The Masterlist

For those of you who said you’d like to see Claire and I’s TSC Next-Gen Fanfic, That Which is Precious and Lost, be reformatted and brought over here onto Tumblr, you’re in luck, as we’re going to be doing just that! Much like Secrets of Blackthorn Hall did, we’ve decided we’re going to post one chapter per week for the next year — which works out well, since there’s exactly 52 chapters and exactly 52 weeks in the year!

All the odd chapters, which were written by yours truly, will be posted here on my account, @julescarstairs , whilst all of the even chapters, written by @tsc-reader , will be posted over on her account! For your convenience, however, as we post the chapters I will link them to this masterlist, so you don’t have to go searching. If you do get lost, however, every post should be findable under the #twipal tag! See below for the masterlist as it grows!

THAT WHICH IS PRECIOUS AND LOST:

Chapter One: Pure Distilled Horror

Chapter Two: Stuff of Nightmares

Chapter Three: Eye of the Storm

Chapter Four: A Dangerous Temptation

Chapter Five: An Unexpected Guest

Chapter Six: Cruel, Twisted Games

Chapter Seven: Deceptively Beautiful

[secretly-a-catamount]

(@lescahiersdesable I also wrote this story here on ao3.)

  “No, please!” the woman said fearfully, “Don’t hurt me!” Her dark eyes desperately tried to find something in the swallowing darkness.

  “Now, now, my svelte beauty,” purred the creature as it slipped out of the shadows, “no need to make a fuss.”

  It was a man, with sharp, inhuman teeth, pupil-less eyes, and unnaturally pale skin. He wore a black cloak with a high collar and a blood-red gemstone clasp. He spoke with a foreign accent.

  The woman screamed as the monster grabbed her by the shoulders and sunk his fangs into her throat. Blood splattered against her white dress as she struggled, shrieking for mercy, then suddenly, with a burst of strength, the woman—

  “Don’t worry, kid, there’s not enough blood in your veins for any one of us to want to do that to you.”

  Kit jumped. Heart skipping a beat at the abrupt appearance of a girl, he spat out a string of profanities, and then said, “God, you scared me.”

  “Nothing to do with God here. Creature of the Dammed and all that.” The girl was a few years older than him, a young woman really, with a spill of straight black hair lthat feel to her waist and the eyes that all the Blackthorns seemed to share, a particular shade of blue-green that reminded Kit of the thrashing ocean waves that crashed to the shore whenever there was a storm. She spoke with a faint accent and was also quite obviously a vampire, which was weird because he thought vampires weren’t allowed in the Institute thanks to the Shadowhunters’ magical racism. Although maybe, Kit thought, seeing the open eye etched on the back of her hand and the lattice of silver scars crisscrossing her body, the rules were different when the vampire used to be one of them.

  He blinked, not sure what to make of the joke, and then decided to focus on the more pressing matter. “Who the hell are you? How the hell are you here?” He tightened his grip on the dagger he’d liberated from the Blackthorn’s weapons-room.

  “Now that’s more in my wheelhouse.”

  The girl neatly sat herself down on the couch beside him. Her movements weren’t particularly inhuman, but the sword that hung from her hip certainly was. The blade was sleek, long, and almost delicate-looking. Seemingly made from the same material that the Shadowhunters’ special knifes were made from — some sort of crystal-metal alloy that belonged exclusively to the Shadowhunters, because they’re just so good at sharing, Kit thought bitterly — the sword shone subtlety, with black runes Kit didn’t know inset into the blade.

  “I’m Annabel Blackthorn, the Head of the L.A. vampire clan.  As for why I’m here, I need to talk to Emma and Julian. Do you know where they are?”

  “They went on a patrol.” Kit answered, turning the dagger in his hand over and over as he talked, a mindless, repetitive motion that brought him comfort. “But how are you here, like, in the Institute? I thought—“

  “Auntie Annabel!” A shrike, a blur, and Annabel was engulfed in the littlest Blackthorn’s embrace.

“You came! You told me she wouldn’t, but she came.” Tavvy clung to Annabel’s black jacket like a determined octopus as she moved to give Livvy �� who’d just come into the room with a ridiculously giant tub of popcorn in her hands — a one-armed hug.

  Livvy accepted the hug, stuck her tongue out at Tavvy, and said, “I didn’t say she wouldn’t come, I just said it would be hard for her to. ‘cuz of the warding.”

  Annabel rolled her eyes and moved to take the popcorn. She placed the popcorn on the table and settled back on the couch. “Malcolm’s spelled me to be able to go into warded buildings since long before you were born. Who’d you think taught Magnus Bane the magic that lets Rafael Santiago trounce around like he owns the place? That place being the New York Institute.” She said, throwing Kit a backwards glance and a bone he didn’t take.

 Kit silently scooted over to make room on the couch. He tightened his grip on the dagger, trying to distract himself from the desperate pang of loneliness that just splintered his heart. His father was dead, torn apart by a rogue gang of werewolves, and even if he wasn’t, Kit couldn’t remember the last time they’d done something like a movie night; Johnny was always too busy swindling grandmas out of their wallets and children out of their pocket allowance to do anything he considered “unnecessarily soft” with Kit.

  “Where’s Dru? Last I checked, movies were her thing.”

  “She’s mooning over Cameron Ashdown.” Livvy answered, sitting entirely too close to Kit.

  “He’s the babysitter.” Tavvy added as he practically climbed into Livvy’s lap, ”Emma says Livvy has a crush on him.”

  Livvy snapped her head around to face Annabel, her cheeks coloring. “I do not!”

  “It’s fine if you do,” Annabel smiled, revealing pointed teeth, “love is a marvelous thing. But he’s much too old for you. Same goes for Dru. So if you try flirting or something and he doesn’t immediately turn you down, you tell me, so I can take care of it.”

  Livvy groaned. “I already had this talk with both Julian and Emma. Separately! I don’t wanna date Cameron, I just think he’s pretty to look at. Same goes for Dru. And besides, he’s Emma’s boyfriend. Again.”

  “They’re together again?” The Head of the L.A. vampire clan got a far away look on her face, her voice dropping to a level Kit had to strain to hear.

  A particularly brutal scream came from the TV. Tavvy flinched as the vampire on the screen tore the struggling woman’s throat out, splattering them both with her blood. Livvy tightened her grip on her younger brother, her Rune-covered arms encircling his small body.

  They were too busy discussing whether or not they should change the channel — Tavvy was scared, but was trying to pretend he wasn’t — to notice that Kit had left the room.

[silver-inked-quill]

✨Requests are open✨

Shadowhunters

Hey there gentle readers,

I am just a writer who needs inspiration so please do not hesitate and suggest whatever your heart wishes to read!

I can do canon x canon, I love exploring dynamics between characters and oc x canon as well.

💥I love writing drama and fight scenes that end up in an easy going cute way and i also write more steamy things💥

✨Please do not hesitate to dm or comment here your prompt or imagine ✨

These Characters and couples give me strong feelings are below but i can't write for others👇🏼

🖤The infernal devices

☄️Characters

Will Herondale

Jem Carstairs

Tessa Gray

Jessamine Lovelace

Magnus Bane

Camille Belcourt

Charlotte Branwell

Henry Branwell

Gideon Lightwood

Gabriel Lightwood

Cecily Lightwood

☄️Couples

Will Herondale x Jem Carstairs (parabatai)

Will Herondale x Tessa Gray

Jem Carstairs x Tessa Gray

Henry x Charlotte

Gabriel x Cecily

Magnus Bane x Camille Belcourt

Institute family

🖤The Mortal Instruments

☄️ Characters

Alec Lightwood

Jace Herondale

Isabelle Lightwood

Magnus Bane

Camille Belcourt

Raphael Santiago

🖤The Dark Artifices

☄️ Characters

Julian Blackthorn

Mark Blackthorn

Christina Rosales

Emma Carstairs

Kieran

Livia Blackthorn

Ty Blackthorn

Aline Penhallow

Helen Blackthorn

☄️Couples

Julian x Emma

Kieran x Mark x Cristina

Mark x Cristina

Kieran x Cristina

Mark x Kieran

Aline x Helen

Blackthorn siblings

🖤The Last Hours

☄️ Characters

Matthew Fairchild

James Herondale

Lucie Herondale

Cordelia Carstairs

Thomas Lightwood

Christopher Herondale

Anna Lightwood

Charles Fairchild

Alastair Carstairs

Brother Zachariah

Jesse Blackthorn

Grace Blackthorn

The Lightwoods

The Fairchilds

The Herondales

The Carstairs

[4uru]

I'd like to request Dancing to the music of our laughter in the rain for the WIP Wednesday Game please

omg thank you for the ask

heres the snippet (i think thats how it works? im not sure)

Emma Carstairs was the sun. She has never seen the night. Livia Blackthorn was the moon. Peeking out from the dark shawl of the night sky. Her friends were the twinkling stars. Dead a long time ago, burnt and exploded, stuck in time; as if they were ghosts. 

[sherlocksstuff]

Chapter 3: Morning Wake-Up Call

It had been week since Mina arrived in London. Kit hadn’t protested much to Mina when she informed him about staying at Blackthorn hall.

"Silly Melon… Mina mine it's time to wake up," a soft voice whispered, pulling Mina from her dreams. She blinked and found herself staring at the pale Grey London sky. Once again, she had fallen asleep outside in Blackthorn Hall's gardens. To her, it was the best place to take a nap, even in the winter, and a simple heat spell could fend off the cold.

This time of year was always difficult for her, ever since her parents had passed away. Kit was there for her, but he had his own life in London now. She hardly saw him since he took up the responsibilities of running the Institute with Ty. Emma and Julian had come to Blackthorn Hall for the London Christmas party, and Mina had been glad that she could stay with them then the institute. However, he had been occupied with Enclave matters since their arrival.

"Mina, food's here," Dru called, interrupting her thoughts. "Coming!" she yelled back.

Julian's voice greeted her as she entered the house. "So, you fell asleep outside again, Min?"

"It's not my fault that your garden happens to be the best place to nap," Mina replied with a grin. "Besides, I was bird-watching."

Julian raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying her excuse. He exchanged a glance with Emma, a silent communication they seemed to share effortlessly.

"So, Mina, I was thinking we should train more later with Cortana. You're getting really in tune with her," Emma suggested.

Mina nodded enthusiastically. "That's a good idea. I need to train more. Are Kit and Ty coming for dinner, or is it just us?"

Dru answered from across the table, "Kit texted that they're a bit delayed, but they'll be here soon."

"Good thing we ordered pizza for dinner," Mina said with a grin, glancing around the kitchen. Emma and Julian were sitting close together, and Dru was to her left. Church, her dad's cat, lay asleep in the corner with his feet up in the air, on a bed she purchase from the pet shop.

Their dinner was cut short when Dru's phone rang. Kit and Ty hadn't made it for dinner; they were dealing with more Enclave problems. Strange occurrences, like unexpected portals, had been happening all over London.

"This sucks," Mina muttered, to which Church responded with a contented "Meow."

"You're right, Church. I still have you," she said, petting the cat affectionately. Church was known for being somewhat unfriendly to people other than Emma, but he was her dad's cat, and now he was hers.

Later, lying back on the ballroom floor, Mina pulled out her phone to text Max, her best friend. Loneliness crept over her; maybe coming to London so early had been a mistake. She sent a quick message, "Max, you up?" and waited for his response.

While she waited, her thoughts wandered to her parents. What must the place have looked like when James and Lucie were her age? She couldn't help but wonder. Her phone buzzed, breaking her reverie.

Max: Yeah, actually heading to London Institute with Bakpia. You're there, right?

Mina: No, at Blackthorn Hall, but I'll portal there now. What's happening, though?

Max: Don't know, something about portals, but not the usual ones that open in different places.

Mina: They're letting you help out? Jules and Emma left me at Blackthorn Hall, said they'd be back.

Max: Well, I'm 19, you know, and you're still underage, so…

Mina: I can still help out! See you there.

Opening a portal had become second nature to her; she could do it in her sleep if she wanted to. With a few practiced gestures, the portal opened with a shimmering silver hue.

Stepping through, she arrived at the London Institute's courtyard. The ancient building's spire loomed above, casting a shadow that reminded her of gothic cathedrals. She made her way up the steps and into the Institute, expecting to find Max.

"Min-min, what are you doing here? I thought you were at Blackthorn Hall," Kit called out, jogging down the stairs.

"Kit!" Mina exclaimed with joy, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I was texting Max, and he said he was coming here, so I portaled here," she explained.

Kit looked at her with a serious expression. "I know you want to help, but for now, stay in the Institute, okay?"

Mina was about to protest when he continued, "Listen, some weird things are happening, and I need you to stay put. Max, Rafe, and Tavvy are going to be here too. If we need your help, you can join, but listen to Rafe and Tavvy, understood?"

"Fine," Mina grumbled. "But I still want to be there for the meeting."

Kit sighed, his expression softening. "Alright, you can come to the meeting, but promise me you'll stay put otherwise."

"What about Ash? Is he here too?" Mina asked.

"No, he's in Faerie, asking about what's happening here. Now scram, Min," Kit said with a smile.

Mina ran up to the library. Hopefully Max and the others would be up there.

[secretly-a-catamount]

I wrote a fic about this actually, but I’m not sure if it’s any good. lol

Malcolm Fade is such a great villain when it comes to Julian specifically. He is the only person who knows about the nature of Julian's feelings for Emma and he never fails to bring them up when he talks to Julian. But while it looks like Malcolm is comforting him, we know that he only rubs salt into the wound. And I can't help but think that he must have enjoyed watching Julian torture himself over Emma for years. It must have given him satisfaction and, in a twisted way, reassurance that he's not the only one who loves someone he can't have.

[youngsadlesbian]

does anyone here care about emma carstairs enough to read fanfics about her, or is it just me? i have some in mind, but i feel like they're going to flop lol

[starrieshq]

You Are In Love [Kitty & Jemma]

just our favorite Blackthorns ranting about their partners :)

Enjoy!!!

“Hey, Jules?”

Julian turned around to face Ty, headphones around his neck, fidgeting with the cord.

“What’s up, Ty?”

He sat down next to him, gray eyes flickering between meeting Julian’s gaze and his unresting hands.

“I just had a question for you.” He said.

Julian nodded, straightening. Ty didn’t love to ask questions, and preferred to figure out the answer for himself. “Alright.”

“How did you know that you were in love with Emma?”

The question took Julian aback. How did he know what love was? What was Ty going on about?

“Why do you ask?” He responded, keeping his voice steady and reassuring.

Ty wrapped the headphone cord around his finger, winding and unwinding it over and over. “Because I don’t know what to label emotions as. I keep feeling…things, but I don’t know what it is.”

Julian nodded, understanding. “I didn’t know that I was in love with Emma straight away. Actually, it took several years for me to realize.” He did a once over of Ty, who’s face looked as expressionless as ever. “But eventually, I started to see signs.” He faintly smiled, recalling old memories. “I always wanted to be with her, to the point where we would eat all our meals together, train together, we’d even sleep in the same bed.” He glanced at Ty, who looked deep in thought.

“She took my breath away. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like my heart had stopped. I adored her laugh, her smile, her carefree and slightly reckless personality that made her Emma, that made her the girl that I’d fallen in love with.” He remembered the days when they were a secret, forbidden from their love. “Eventually, she was all I ever thought of. She consumed my mind. I painted her.” Julian wasn’t even sure if this made sense to Ty, if his rambling about Emma and his blatant adoration of her would tell him anything about love. “I painted her hundreds of times, but every time I did, it was never enough. The shades I used for her hair weren't exactly right, or I couldn’t catch the exact tan she had gained from the Sun.”

Julian looked back at Ty. “That’s what love is to me.”

Ty sat quietly, contemplating.

“Does it hurt?”

After a moment, Julian nodded.

“More than anything.”

Ty absentmindedly stared off, deep in thought.

“Are you in love, Ty?”

Ty’s gaze focused back on Julian.

“I have been.” He said, voice steady. “I’ve been in love and I haven’t known it.”

Julian sat back.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well,” Ty started. “He’s beautiful. His eyes look like the sky on a sunny day, and his hair is the fluffiest that I’ve ever seen.” There was a small smile dancing on his lips. “He’s barely shorter than me, maybe one or two inches. He wears the same jacket all the time, but he always looks breathtaking.” Ty’s face was flushed, recalling his memories with this love. “He’s sharp and witty, but he’s never like that to me. He understands me.” Ty dug his fingers into the denim of his jeans. “He’s kind and funny, and he makes me laugh. And I can’t stop thinking about him.” He admitted. “I haven’t been able to for the past three years.”

Julian, knowing full well who Ty was referring to, gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I used to see you two together all the time. You two complimented each other so well, it’s hard to explain. He brought out something in you, something that I’d never seen before. It was true joy.” Julian swallowed. “But even further, you brought out something in him, Ty.”

Ty looked at him, bewildered and almost astonished at what Julian was saying.

“He was angry, and scared, and bitter at the world.” Julian said. “You showed him that the world is what you make it.”

“But he’s angry at me.” Ty said fretfully. “We haven’t spoken in forever.”

“Forever is an awful long time.” Julian responded. “I hope it truly isn’t forever.”

[always-emma]

I see you and I want you. You were made for me when the Universe was born. I have memorized what it’s like to hold you in my arms. It was written long ago in the stars. Two Parabati destined to be one. In your presence every good thing in the world unfolds. I love you so much. The only prayer that I have ever known, Emma.

- Julian Blackthorn 🎨

[shadowmythe]

ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝔾𝕦𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤

✮ Request a character for a fanfic through the Google Form (request here) or send me an ask

✮ If you send me an ask please specify the character, the type of format your looking for (or if you want me to choose) and a brief description of what you want

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✮ Scripts for media I am not familiar with may take me longer to make as I have to research to fully create the script

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✮ I am open to writing nsfw content

✮ I will write: fluff and smut

✮ I write for:

My Hero Academia (Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Kyoka Jiro, Mina Ashido, Momo Yaoyurozu, Itsuka Kendo, Keigo Takami/Hawks)

Disney/Pixar (Valentina "Val" Ortiz, GoGo Tomago, Maya Hart, Sasha Waybright, Emira Blight, Wendy Corduroy, Isabela Madrigal)

Marvel (Wanda Maximoff, Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Natasha Romanoff, America Chavez)

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood (Edward Elric, Winry Rockbell, Riza Hawkeye, Olivier Mira Hawkeye, Roy Mustang)

Scream (Kirby Reed, Sam Carpenter, Tara Carpenter)

The Disasterous Life of Saiki K (Kusuo Saiki, Kokomi Teruhashi)

Stranger Things (Robin Buckley, Max Mayfield)

Ouran High School Host Club (Kyoya Ootori, Haruhi Fujioka)

Grey's Anatomy (Reed Adamson, Lexi Grey)

The Hunger Games (Johanna Mason, Katniss Everdeen)

Shadowhunter Chronicles (Tessa Gray, Cecily Herondale, Sophie Collins, Anna Lightwood, Cordelia Carstairs, Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fairchild, Helen Blackthorn, Aline Penhallow, Cristina Mendoza Rosales, Emma Carstairs)

She-Ra Princesses of Power (Mermista, Adora, Glimmer, Spinerella, Netossa, Mara)

How To Train Your Dragon (Astrid Hofferson, Heather)

Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children (Enoch, Emma)

Bridgerton (Daphne, Eloise)

Life Is Strange (Chloe Price)

Carmen Sandiego (Carmen, Ivy, Jules)

✮ You can try asking for additional characters outside those listed above but I won't guarantee I will write for them

✮ All of my yns are fem presenting and afab but are written with they/them pronouns

What I Won't Write

✮ I don't write angst very often

✮ I don't write rape, yandere, pedophelia, suicide, self harm, hybrid, abuse or non-con/dub-con (I will write for consensual non-consent)

𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 | 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪-𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵

updated 28/11/2024

© 2024 all rights reserved to shadowmythe. Do not modify, repost, or claim works as yours. Do not plagerize. Ask before sharing on any other form of social media.

[livvyofthelake]

ok dead poets society album as a concept album about my special little guys…

fortnight- i mean. come on. how long does tda take place over. one month? ish? exactly. sidenote why did we doubt post malone so much he gave lana del ray in snow on the beach here. yay <3

the tortured poets department- i am going to be honest i did not like this song. or. i liked it in the way i liked slut in the 1989 vault tracks. which is to say i can see myself listening to it on repeat but i don’t like. Like it. do you understand? anyway we could say it’s about kit herondale but i fear it’s one of those taylor swift songs that’s about taylor swift. and. dear god. matty healy. girl… lucy dacus mention though

my boy only breaks his favorite toys- i fuck with this song heavy first of all. anyway this happened to my buddy kit herondale… “i knew too much there was danger in the heat of touch he saw forever so he smashed it up”!!!!!! i can’t get into it 😐

down bad- this is literally about emma carstairs and jules blackthorn…

so long london- in many ways this happened to cordelia carstairs at the end of chain of iron. i don’t care about this song

but daddy i love him- i’m sorry i liked this song so much i forgot to think about characters during it hold on let’s give it another go! i’m gonna be real. this happened to my friend blue sargent. that’s not relevant to the shadowhunter chronicles except in all the ways it is do with that what you must. this also happened to my friend belle. the artful dodger….. sorry for loving straight people as if that’s a fucking crime oh my god… in a way this also happened to my buddy gabrielle. let’s not get into that. some absolute bars of lyrics in here it must be said also… taylor calm down wow

fresh out the slammer- i shan’t speak on this one. don’t ask me about it i’m not supposed to even be thinking about this shit dear god.

florida!!!- made me cry. sorry for being emotionally moved by florence welch’s beautiful voice singing about the state my dead aunt lived in my whole life. i’m fine

guilty as sin?- elio pearlman you would’ve loved this joint. anyway we move on. this happened to my friend kit. in a sense. to me…

who’s afraid of little old me?- we must break from form and say a very midnights era thing. this literally happened to my good friend morgana pendragon bbc merlin. and i fuck with this song immensely

i can fix him (no really i can)- first of all this one is going to be huge for ao3 fanfic titles it’s already formatted…. i digress. in my beautiful world this will be dru blackthorn… and i believe her

loml- well. who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway. we embroidered the memories of the time i was away stitching “we were just kids babe”. must it even be said. let’s not be gauche. divorce ass song…

i can do it with a broken heart- taylor swift ass song… but i loved it…. in a way this happened to kara. don’t worry about it

the smallest man who ever lived- THIS HAPPENED TO MY FRIEND ALINA STARKOV. I HOPE THAT MAN DIES. both the darkling and joe alwyn. put him in jail actually i decided. he’s not seeing the pearly gates.

the alchemy- so happy my travy made it to the big game….. i’m sorry. i love the song genuinely it’s camp. it’s CAMP. it’s riverdalian. america strong fr! clace core they’re the blueprint to me idc…

clara bow- clary…….

[julescarstairs]

That Which Is Precious and Lost: Chapter One

Chapter One: Pure Distilled Horror

Eleanor Blackthorn-Carstairs seldom ever found her home empty— at least, not without a note on the kitchen bench, or a text from her Mom or Dad letting her know they were going out. But when she returned to Blackthorn Hall from patrol, she found the vast home dark and so silent you could hear a pin drop, and there was not a single text on her phone. Maybe some teenagers her age wouldn't mind their parents stepping out without saying anything. Maybe some would savour the quiet ambiance: the faint chirping of crickets out the window, or the hum of wind as it blew past the curtains... but this was not a comfortable sort of quiet. And Eleanor's parents never stepped out without letting her know.

"Mom?" Ellie called, wiping her feet on the doormat (an old housewarming gift from Aunt Dru, marked with the letters “ENTER, IF YOU DARE") just inside the Hall's large doors. Her voice reverberated off the walls, leaving only her own echo to offer a reply. After that, there was only silence again. "Mom, Dad. I'm home!"

Eleanor strained her ears, listening for a hint of her parents presence anywhere. Still nothing. Only silence and darkness welcomed her home. Not a single candle nor light was lit in the house, it seemed — not even the kitchen was lit, and there was no light upstairs, or under the doors. Strange.

In the shadows surrounding Eleanor now, she could see the eerie old manor home her parents had been greeted with when they first arrived to fix it up years ago, long before she was born: the one that had been haunted by a restless ghost. She could only navigate the halls by the infrequent moonlight coming in through the windows. Eleanor stopped dead at the foot of the stairs, tipping her head back to look up at the landing above.

She forced herself to laugh, but it sounded more nervous than she'd intended it to. "Listen, if you're trying to freak me out, it's... well, it's working," she admitted meekly, but her voice didn't lower. "You can come out now!"

Maybe Eleanor Blackthorn-Carstairs had been overthinking that night. Perhaps it had only been an oversight on her parents' behalf. Perhaps it had been something urgent that they needed to leave quickly for. But even then, they would have told her. They would have brought her along if it was urgent. They wouldn't leave her alone in the house in pitch darkness with not so much as a text telling her where they had gone.

Would they?

Indeed, perhaps Eleanor Blackthorn-Carstairs could have been overthinking that night, if not for the fact that her father's gorgeous paintings that adorned the walls of the main foyer had been absolutely mutilated. Eleanor sucked in a gasp, and staggered back against the wall behind her. Paintings of her mother had their eyes gouged out — one even had a clean slice right down the centre of her body - and family portraits had been slashed with ‘X’ shapes across each face. Even the smaller portraits of Eleanor herself, as a baby, had been sliced at the neck, leaving her looking like her little head had been severed from her shoulders. The implications behind each tarnished painting were enough to make the back of Ellie's throat taste sour.

Something was very wrong.

"Dad!" Eleanor tried to shout, but it came out as more of a cry, and hurried down the hall to where her Father's studio was located. If he wasn't upstairs— if he was anywhere — he would be in his art studio. Her mother might even be there, too, watching him paint. As Eleanor drew closer to the room, as her trembling hand gripped the doorknob, she found herself hesitating. Her heart was pounding so heavily in her chest that it hurt. Her head felt insanely light as her mind raced. What if she saw something beyond the door she didn't like? What if they were in there, but they were...

No. She couldn't afford to think like that. Couldn't afford to hesitate. She threw open the door to her Father's studio, and nearly doubled over as her chest lurched with pure distilled horror.

Before her was the image of her nightmares.

To say the studio was a mess would be an understatement: an unfinished painting was wedged partway through a window, the canvas torn where shards of glass cut into it. An easel lay snapped on the ground, a small craft table in the corner broken clean in half. The small paintings that hung on the walls here had been mutilated violently, too, and Eleanor's childhood drawings were torn to shreds under her feet. She couldn't even imagine how livid her Dad would be if he found the studio in the state that she did.

Paint had been upturned; there were smears of a dark colour, like blue, on the floor. There were stains splattered up the wall. But those looked humble in comparison to the handprints on the walls, on the floors. Ellie's blood ran cold — so cold that she shivered.

She dropped to her knees beside two of the prints on the ground, and tentatively put her left hand over one of them. Eleanor had always marvelled at how hers and her mother's hands had been the same size and shape— but now the thought only made her feel sicker as her hand fit perfectly over the handprint on the ground. Looking over at the other print in her dizzy haze of panic, Ellie noticed it was slightly larger, longer fingered: one of her father's hands. Whatever had happened in here, they had been together. Of course. She withdrew her hand, and it came away wet. Not a thin kind of wet, like watercolour, but not a thick kind of wet, like oil paint. It was an in between, sticky sensation.

Like blood. Another wave of nausea roiled over Eleanor, sending her head spinning further, as she raised her hand to the moonlight. Bright red. Eleanor almost choked as a guttural sound tore from her throat, partway between a cry and a scream. She got to her feet and ran back up the hall so quickly she almost staggered. She clambered up the stairs to where her parents' room was.

She threw that door open — so harshly it almost fell off the hinges — and found that the bedroom, too, was in shambles. The bedsheets were ripped from the bed, the bedside drawers pulled out of their cabinet. Her parents' personal belongings were strewn across the room. The wallpaper was torn to shreds, and barely clung to the plaster. To her dismay, her mother's family ring laid on the ground under the windowsill.

Ellie sobbed into her fist as she sank against the door frame. Her mind was still racing, with all the worst-case scenarios. There was a pillow, still intact, at her feet. Eleanor sank down on her knees without thinking and swept it up, hugging it close to her chest. She gripped it so tightly in her trembling hands that her fingertips hurt. She inhaled its scent, an odd mixture of cloves, soap and rosewater. It was the smell of home: of her parents, of her rocks. Of her sanity. And she clung to that scent, let it clear her head, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Now was not the time for weeping. She had to try and make sense of the situation. She kept the pillow hugged close to her, occasionally burying her nose in it, as she pondered what to do next.

Focus, she told herself. She carried the pillow from the bedroom, and drew the door shut behind her. She paced the halls, up and down, back and forth, until an idea finally came to her. She hadn't tried calling them. She hadn't gotten calls from them, but that didn't mean she couldn't try ringing out. It was worth a shot, anyway.

Eleanor drew her phone from her pocket, and dialled her mother's number, lifting the phone to her ear. "Please, Mom," she whispered int the silence. "Please, pick up.."

But it was no use: Eleanor was only greeted by a loud, screeching static noise that pierced her eardrum and made her teeth grind painfully against each other. She cursed, and used all her energy to not fling her phone out the window beside her. It was a weird noise, one that she didn't think phones were capable of making, but she didn't have time to dwell on that. Maybe her Dad would answer, Ellie thought, and dialled her father's number. That, too, was futile: she was only greeted with ear-piercing static once again. Hugging the pillow close, Ellie sobbed.

Where are you? She asked inside her mind, staring out the nearest window. What happened? Are you even alive?

Her frantic thoughts were quickly interrupted at a loud thump downstairs. Tears forgotten, Eleanor scrambled for the landing, stopping herself short. She watched, silently, as a silhouetted figure crept about the halls below. They seemed to be staring up at the tarnished portraits, with their back to where Ellie stood. Admiring their handiwork, she thought bitterly. Cold, sharp rage built up inside her as she slid down the handrail of the stairs. She threw herself at the figure in the hall, drawing Cortana from its sheath on her back as she did. The figure turned, and —

"Ellie!" A feminine voice shrieked as the figure scrambled back into the moonlight, revealing her face. "Ellie! It's me! I'm safe!"

Eleanor's shoulders slumped with relief as she staggered to a standstill. “By the Angel, LJ,” she wrapped her 15-year-old cousin in a tight hug, her breath coming out in a woosh. “You shouldn't creep in like this.”

Livia (commonly referred to as her cousins as LJ, or Livvy Junior) wrapped her wiry arms around Eleanor, clinging to her for a moment. She could feel Livia trembling under her arms, and the sensation only made dread unfurl in Ellie’s stomach. “I didn't know what else to do,” LJ admitted, before pushing herself away. “Or where else to go. I was looking for Uncle Jules, but all the lights were out. I didn't know if him and Aunt Emma had been attacked too, so…”

"Too?" There it was. Exactly what Eleanor had been fearing. She rocked back on her heels as a wave of nausea sent her into a head-spin. “Uncle Kit? Uncle Ty? They're—"

"Missing," LJ's hands shook as she gripped Eleanor's. Ellie listened intently as LJ recounted the events of her evening, her panic levels only rising with each new, frightening detail. Her family's apartment on Baker Street had been trashed, too, and Uncle Ty and Uncle Kit were nowhere to be found. No sooner had LJ finished, Elli's phone rang out into the silence. Eleanor scrambled for her phone, and her heart only grew heavier as she saw the name on the phone: her older cousin, Arrius.

She answered. "Ari. Thank the Angel—"

"Eleanor, something's terribly wrong," Ari said before Ellie could finish.

"You're telling me."

"Are they gone too? Your parents?"

"Yes," Eleanor briefly recounted hers and LJ’s experiences. "What about Uncle Mark? Aunt Cristina?"

It was the same story again. Arrius and Celeste's parents were missing, including Uncle K. But not only that — their youngest cousins, twins Oberon and Lucas, had arrived at Ari and Celeste's family's apartment in New York as they spoke on the phone: Aunt Dru and Uncle Ash were missing, too.

It seemed that all their parents were.

~~~~

@tsc-reader

[secretly-a-catamount]

A collection of all current Malcabel fics that have been written by me, because i’m insane about them (positive) and have been debating which one I should work on next

Currently Untitled | Finished Beach Fic

  It was all Catarina Loss’s fault really.

  “Honestly, Malcolm,” the sky blue warlock had told Annabel’s husband when he’d called her positively panicking about being in charge of her (many times removed) nieces and nephews for a day, “why don’t you and Annabel just take the kids to the beach?”

  Trusting his friend’s judgment more than his own had been a rather terrible idea, Annabel thought amusingly as she watched the blond warlock race down the shoreline, waving his arms like a mad man, shouting that under no circumstances were the children to poke at that beached jellyfish with a stick, yes, Tiberius, even if it was already dead.

  After some whining (the children) and some poorly concealed begging (Malcom), the Blackthorn kids dispersed into the water and across the sand.

  Malcolm trudged back up the beach, and stood at the edge of the shade thrown by the umbrella stabbed into the ground.

  Annabel looked up from her drawing pad, her black brows furrowing in irritation at the shadow abruptly cast over her sketchbook. “You’re blocking my light.”

  His pale skin flushed a delicious raspberry red as he stammered out an “Oh, right, sorry” and moved to sit beside her on the blanket, smiling sheepishly. After a moment of comfortable silence, Malcolm absentmindedly ran his hand down her arm, stopping only to trace the black lines, curves, and whorls of her Runes. His touch was soft and light as a feather. “What are you drawing?”

  “You obviously.”

  “Obviously.” A pastel sketch of Malcolm in his striped black-and-white bathing suit, looking tall and thin and almost frail, with a softness to his frame and features that matched his disposition. A faint salmon-pink sunburn covered his face and shoulders, and his lips were cracked (Annabel would solve that one way or another, either by gifting him the tube of chapstick she’d squirreled away in her purse or by kissing him until he couldn’t breathe).

  “The kids.” Ty and Livvy and some golden-haired Mundane boy that Annabel didn’t know chasing a seagull. Mark and Helen teaching Tavvy how to build a sandcastle. Dru, Julian, and a different golden-haired child that Annabel didn’t know, this one a Shadowhunter girl with a spill of bright curls and a practice training sword, diving into the ocean and swimming around in the shallows.

  “Church.” The fat, blue feline crouched down in the dunes, fluffy tail held erect, eyes focused on a mouse in front of him, mere seconds away from a pounce that Annabel knew would end in failure.

  “The L.A. Institute.” An imposing building that Annabel didn’t think could ever have the ability to look homely.

  “Home.” A snapshot of their living room, a Polaroid pinned with a paper-clip for reference, Malcolm’s latest draft of the Codex — her illustrations not yet accompanying his neat, meticulous writing — spilling off the end table onto the soft, red couch, one of Annabel’s favorite mugs (which would always be filled with tea, Annabel and Malcolm both hating the taste of coffee) filled with paint-streaked paint brushes and colored pencils.

  “And my first love, the sea.” Cerulean and cobalt-blue waves crashing to the shore.

  “Should I be jealous?” Malcolm had moved from her arm to her hand, gently interlacing their fingers together.

  “Oh, immensely. I’m definitely leaving you for the ocean.”

  Malcolm’s laughter was interrupted by a shriek of pain.

  With a quickness that could belong only to a Shadowhunter, Annabel leapt to her feet. Heart hammering, she scanned the beachfront with frenzied eyes, her fingers itching to pull the wickedly-sharp daggers from the sheath she wore on her ankle . . .

  There — there was no danger present other than one of the children perhaps twisting their ankle. It hadn’t been a scream of pain, but a shriek of childish delight as Dru and Julian teamed up to toss the golden-haired girl — Annabel wanted to say her name was Emily? — into the shallow waves with a mighty splash of saltwater.

  Collapsing to the ground as quickly as she’d risen, Annabel scrubbed at her face, her eyes starting to sting with tears. This was how it always was whenever she and Malcolm left home, whenever they left Cornwall. She would be fine, and then she wouldn’t be. She would be fine, and then she would have a breakdown. Blood splattered against her lips and — blood?

  She wasn’t bleeding, her ruined hands barring no scraps or marks (although plenty of Marks), but she had a sinking suspicion of who was.

  “Ouch,” Malcolm said, “I think you grabbed my hand just a little too hard.” He smiled — why the hell was he smiling, she’d gouged her nails into his skin until he bled, she’d hurt him, she’d hurt him — moving to sit beside her on the blanket once again. His purple eyes darkened from the pale petals of violets to polished chips of amethyst with worry.

  “Are you hurt?” He took her hands in his own, turning them over gently and examining them, his head bent. Shadows and sunlight caught on the strands of his white hair.

  “No. But you are.” She yanked her hands out of his grasp and ground her teeth together, telling herself that she was not going to cry in front of the children (who were not remotely paying attention).

  “It’s fine, darling, really.” A flash, a spark, and pale light wove between Malcolm’s fingers until it looked like he held a burning star in his cupped hands. The scent of his magic — burning cinnamon and crisp snow and freshly spilled ink — reached her nostrils just in time for his flesh to knit back together.

  Drawing her knees to her chest, Annabel buried her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut so hard her skull hurt. I hurt him, I hurt him, I hurt him, I hurt him, I—

  Annabel barely heard as Malcolm got to his feet and shouted to the children that they needed to leave. She could barely hear anything over the dim in her head, the memories threatening to drown her. The clashing of wolves’s teeth, her father carving off her fingers, her sister crumpling dead to the ground from the blow she dealt to her temple with a fire-poker. She could still taste her husband’s blood in her mouth, she could still smell her sister’s blood, she could still feel her blood flowing from wounds made by her father’s knife.

  A wave curling around her ankle, Annabel was being dragged out to sea by a hated, if familiar, riptide. She was treading water, but she was so tired of fighting to live, of fighting for the right to live. She stopped for a moment to rest her too-tight skin and weary bones, and then she was drowning.

  She was drowning.

Currently Untitled | Unfinished Canon Divergent AU

  Her hair black, her skin white, her eyes blue and green and gray and all the colors of the ocean that swallowed men whole with little regard to their flimsy, mortal lives: Annabel Blackthorn was dead.

  Wearing angelic brands, the barred teeth of a wolf, laughter, complacency, and lies, drawn tight around her like a cloak, like a shield, like a funeral shroud: Annabel Blackthorn was dead.

  White hair and purple eyes and a whisper of her name as the last words on his lips, she had died months ago when they had looped a noose around Malcolm’s neck.

  She had died, but her body still wasn’t where it was supposed to be. She had died, but her body did not rot in the grave, did not decompose under the crust of the earth. She had died, but she had not swung — they would not let her. Her family had been ruined from when she had tried to flee with her beloved, a suicide would be inconsolable to their reputation.

  So they had arranged for her to be married to her cousin and shut away in one of their houses far away from Cornwall, far away from even Idris, as if she were mad, as if she was dangerous, as if she was deadly.

  They were right, of course, one of the few things they were ever right about. And they didn’t even know that they were right, they underestimated her, they always had, that would get them all killed.

  She was the mad girl — and she was a girl, barely past eighteen — who shattered a looking glass with her coiled fists and used the jagged-edged shards to cut lines and whorls into her skin. They took away everything sharp after that — or, at least, away from her, a Shadowhunter family never being able to not have weapons on hand.

  She was the dangerous girl who mixed rat poison in her sister’s wine. This sister, youthful and kind as she was, had been the one to sell out Malcolm and Annabel to their parents, had been the one to release the wolves who tracked them down, had been the one to physically restrain her when they executed Malcolm. They fired the rat catcher after that — wrongly thinking he had committed the killing as a product of jealousy from being born a Mundane.

  She was the deadly girl who, when the party was over, when the sky was as black-and-blue as the the bruises her cousin left on her thighs and hips and arms, straddled her husband, fitted her hands to the curve of his throat, his pulse beating beneath her fingertips, and squeezed, a Strength Rune etched on the deceptively delicate-looking wrist hidden underneath one of her billowing sleeves. She did not know what they would do when they found out — she did not intend to live that long.

  Thrashing like a netted fish, he clawed at her fingers, her hands, and her arms. Crimson blood splattering into his mouth and eyes, drowning and blinding him as he died. His cries for help were silenced into choking, wheezing gasps.

  He fought. Annabel fought harder.

  She lingered for a moment before slipping to the floor.

Currently Untitled | Unfinished Soulmate AU

  The First Mark, as they were called, carried from birth on the skin, where a gift from the Angel. A way to lead his children along their path to their soulmate, a way to bred better Shadowhunters, birth better warriors.

  And as everyone knew, decrees from the Angel could not be challenged.

  They were Law.

As the World Burns | Unfinished AU

  “So, that’s it than? We’re all fucked?” Annabel Blackthorn stood at the counter, shoulders set, taking her anger out on the wilting tomatoes spread across a dented cutting board, her posture as perfect as a taunt piano wire. Outside the window the sky was black as pitch and completely starless, almost as it knew what was coming, almost as if it mourned for the thousands of lives that were going to be lost. Innocents, slaughtered by his hands, his magic, his inventions.

  “I don’t — I can’t . . . I’m so sorry, Annabel. So, so sorry.” Malcolm nearly collapsed to the floor but managed to catch himself on the edge of the counter at the last possible moment. His briefcase clattered to the stone tile, emptied of everything that had made it important just hours earlier.

 She softened, as she always did when he spoke, and abandoned their last dinner, pulling him into a soft embrace. Malcolm stilled under her touch, his breathing slowly evening out. He wasn’t safe here, he wasn’t safe anywhere, not anymore, not in so, so long, but he was safe with her.

  Together they collapsed to the floor.

Currently Untitled | Unfinished Vampire!Annabel AU

  “No, please!” the woman said fearfully, “Don’t hurt me!” Her dark eyes desperately tried to find something in the swallowing darkness.

  “Now, now, my svelte beauty,” purred the creature as it slipped out of the shadows, “no need to make a fuss.”

  It was a man, with sharp, inhuman teeth, pupil-less eyes, and unnaturally pale skin. He wore a black cloak with a high collar and a blood-red gemstone clasp. He spoke with a foreign accent.

  The woman screamed as the monster grabbed her by the shoulders and sunk his fangs into her throat. Blood splattered against her white dress as she struggled, shrieking for mercy, then suddenly, with a burst of strength, the woman—

  “Don’t worry, kid, there’s not enough blood in your veins for any one of us to want to do that to you.”

  Kit jumped. Heart skipping a beat at the abrupt appearance of a girl — who looked around nineteen, and quite obviously a vampire, which was weird because he thought vampires weren’t allowed in the Institute thanks to the Shadowhunters’ magical racism — he spat out a string of profanities, and then said, “God, you scared me.”

  “Nothing to do with God here. Creature of the Dammed and all that.”

  He blinked, not sure what to make of her joke, and then decided to focus on the more pressing matter. “Who the hell are you? How the hell are you here?” He tightened his grip on the dagger he’d liberated from the Blackthorn’s weapons-room.

  “Now that’s more in my wheelhouse.”

  The girl neatly sat herself down on the couch beside him. Her movements weren’t particularly inhuman, but the sword that hung from her hip certainly was. The blade was sleek, long, and almost delicate-looking. Seemingly made from the same material that the Shadowhunters’ special knifes were made from — some sort of crystal-metal alloy that belonged exclusively to the Shadowhunters, because they’re just so good at sharing, Kit thought bitterly — the sword shone subtlety, while the black runes inset into the blade.

  “I’m Annabel Fade, the Head of the L.A. vampire clan.  As for why I’m here, I need to talk to Emma and Julian. Do you know where they are?”

  “They went on a patrol.” Kit answered, turning the dagger in his hand over and over as he talked, a mindless, repetitive motion that brought him comfort. “But how are you here, like, in the Institute? I thought—“

  “Auntie Annabel!” A shrike, a blur, and Annabel was engulfed in the littlest Blackthorn’s embrace.

“You came! You told me she wouldn’t, but she came.” Tavvy clung to Annabel’s black leather biker jacket like a determined octopus as she moved to give Livvy — who’d just come into the room with a ridiculously giant tub of popcorn in her hands — a one-armed hug. Standing next to Livvy, who wasn’t by any means particularly tall, Kit realized that Annabel was actually kind of short.

  Livvy accepted the hug, stuck her tongue out at Tavvy, and said, “I didn’t say she wouldn’t come, I just said it would be hard for her to. ‘cuz of the warding.”