#gracetopher fanfiction

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 1: Free day

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

AU where not only professional volleyball is co-ed, but also in the UK is as popular as football and rugby.  It's heavily inspired by The Sunshine Court. 1328 words.

Christopher’s car stopped in front of the sports hall, and for the first time, Grace saw the place where she would play for the next three seasons: the home of the London Lions. 

She followed Christopher as he opened the door with a set of keys, and they walked through the halls, where she glanced at the posters of various former players.

Grace knew the Lightwoods had basically built up the team from nothing, but nevertheless, she was impressed by the pictures of Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood, their statistics from twenty years ago shown below their smiling faces, and by Cecily Lightwood’s (or Cecily Herondale, seeing as she was still unmarried back then), whose record of scored points and aces was still unbeaten. 

In more recent years, Christopher, his sister Anna, and his cousin Thomas had been the new Lightwoods in the team; Grace knew that Christopher’s older cousins, Barbara and Eugenia, despite not playing the game, were deeply involved in the administrative part of the Lions.

(Grace was sure that one of the two sisters had written the contract she’d signed in a haste the day before).

“Do you want to see the pitch or the changing room first?”

Christopher’s voice brought her back to reality.

“The pitch,” she said, unflinching. 

He guided her through the corridors, and Grace held her breath as they walked to the pitch: it was the same brownish color of her old team’s floor, but at the center, split in two symmetrical halves by the net, there was the white roaring lion, the symbol of her new team. 

A sensation she couldn’t describe rose in Grace’s chest: Tatiana had made her hate the sport she used to enjoy, especially since it had kept her away from her adoptive mother—until that, too, had become a way for Tatiana to torment her with the excuse of pushing her to do her best. 

In a flash, she saw all the times Tatiana had beaten her because she hadn’t been fast enough, or hadn’t jumped high enough, or her spikes hadn’t been as strong or as precise as required.

“Are you okay?” Christopher asked her.

Grace blinked a couple of times and met his concerned gaze. “Yes, don’t worry.”

She’d met him not even twenty-four hours earlier, but Christopher seemed to read her clearly, as though he’d known her all her life. 

A few weeks ago, Grace had decided she’d had enough of Tatiana’s abuses and, being nineteen, had been free to sign with a professional team without her mother’s authorization.

She’d been following the London Lions for a few years, initially because Tatiana hated the guts out of her brothers’ team and Grace had been curious to find out why, but then because she’d become addicted to their game and she’d turned into a fan before she could even realize it.

So she’d had no qualms into sending an email to Cecily Lightwood, the CEO of the team, where she’d attached her statistics from all her university team championships (and some YouTube videos of her most spectacular actions) and asked if she could sign with the Lions for the next season.

(Grace had realized later that she’d been incredibly bold and entitled, but she had been desperate and maybe a little bit drunk when she’d drafted the email).

To her surprise, instead, three days later, she’d received an email from the administrative team with the contract for three seasons, without even asking her for a tryout. 

Grace had signed it and sent it back as quickly as possible, but somehow, Tatiana had found out and had kicked her out of her house. Grace had only been carrying her phone, her driving license and some pocket money, and she’d bought a train ticket for London and sent another email to Cecily Lightwood explaining her situation. Soon after, while sitting on the train that would take her away from Leeds, she’d received a text from an unknown number.

This is Anna Lightwood, the Lions’ captain. My brother has a spare room in his apartment, you can stay there until you find your own place. 

Grace hadn’t had the time to reply with her thanks that she’d received another text.

He’s picking you up from the station.

And there he’d been, waiting for her out of King’s Cross sitting on the boot of his car while talking on the phone, and he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

Of course, Grace had seen Christopher Lightwood on television, when she’d streamed the games on her iPad, sometimes in post-match interviews, but seeing him in person was totally different. He looked handsome in a way that cameras couldn’t really capture, and he’d introduced himself with a warm smile before inviting her into his car and his apartment. 

Grace had noticed that he was careful not to ask her why she’d come to London one month before the season started or why she had nowhere to go; he’d just explained to her that Thomas, his cousin, had just moved to Istanbul to play in Turkey for the upcoming championship, but he’d seemed to understand that something was off with her. 

He hadn’t pushed, though, and when she’d told him over breakfast that she wanted to see the sports hall, he’d accepted without qualms.

“You look pale,” Christopher said now. “There’s a vending machine next to the locker room—take some water and a snack.”

Grace, not trusting her own voice, just nodded and followed him. It was weird to have someone worrying over her, but in a way, that simple gesture warmed her heart.

She didn’t need either water or snacks, though, and when she saw the door that led to the lockers, she asked, “Can I see the locker room first?”

Christopher seemed a bit surprised by her request, but said, “Of course.”

He let her in, and Grace found herself in the room with benches, lockers and gear hanging in front of each one of the latter. 

The home jersey was golden, with numbers, logo and other details rendered in white. No, not white, Grace realized as she got closer to Christopher’s jersey, which had his last name and a 21 printed on the back: the details were of a very light silver that the camera couldn’t catch, which made it look white.

“Barbara told me you haven’t picked up a number yet,” Christopher said. “If you want, you can tell me now.”

Grace glanced at the other Lightwood jersey, the one belonging to Anna, with the number 10.

She knew that the Lions gave the numbers between nine and twelve to their strongest players, but Grace didn’t have the audacity to ask for those. 

“Which numbers are available?”

“Well…” Christopher seemed to think about it for a moment. “There’s one…”

If you’re not the number one you’re a failed athlete.

Tatiana’s voice made her flinch.

“No, not the number one.”

She stared at Christopher and thought he looked incredibly cute when he was focused. In an interview, he’d said why he hadn’t taken either twelve or eleven—back when Thomas was still in the team, he’d been nine—and he’d explained that he wanted to have his own number and not the ones people expected him to pick, and he’d chosen twenty-one because it was his father’s number reversed. 

Grace had liked his way of seeing numbers and their meaning, and who could advise her best?

“What do you suggest?” she asked him in an impulse. “Any lucky number?”

Christopher mulled it over for a while. “My parents say that five is their special number, but I don’t know if you’d like it.”

God only knew that she needed good luck, and, despite knowing him for less than a day, Grace liked the idea of having something connecting her to Christopher.

When she closed her eyes and imagined the Lions’ jersey with the name Blackthorn printed above a big 5, Grace couldn’t help but smile.

“Five it is, then.”

[zoyalannister]

Try to guess where my fanfics stand

Sometimes fanfiction is a love letter to canon, and sometimes fanfiction is pounding on canon's door and yelling for it to get out here so you can kick its ass.

[gracetopher-week]

Gracetopher Week 2024:

Hello everyone! Sorry for the late post. I got some questions about whether we were doing it this year, well here we are! Here are our prompts! All forms of media are welcome for the week (Ex: Fanfic, fanart, aesthetics, playlists, HCs, etc.), we're just happy to see people celebrate Grace and Christopher. This year we're going to try prompts instead of different forms of content like we did the last two (2022), (2023) years. Please tag your posts #gracetopherweek 2024 and or #gracetopherweek. Here are the prompts!

Day 1: Free Day

As an apology for not posting the prompts pretty late and not giving everyone a lot of time to prepare. Have an open first day to get started <3

(Feel free to use prompts during this day, though.)

Day 2: Christopher Lives

I think we all know he deserved better. This week we're pretending he and Grace lived happily ever after post CoT.

Day 3: Teaching/Learning

Doesn't necessarily have to be a skill of any kind, they could also just be learning different things from one another, whether it's general knowledge or character growth of some kind.

Day 4: Night ________

Sort of a fill in the blank prompt. Some examples: Night patrol, nightmare/night terror, night time, night out, etc.

Day 5: First

They didn't get enough moments together. Give them some classics! First dance, first kiss, first date, first "I love you". If you're a smut writer you know what I'm going to say. Be creative! Lots of relationships have firsts, including friendships, which gracetopher has a great foundation for (you could say they have chemistry). Have fun with this one!

Day 6: Grief

Doesn't have to be Christopher, just to clarify. This can be interpreted as a hurt/comfort prompt as well. Be as angsty or un-angsty(?) as you want. Have fun!

Day 7: New Beginnings

After Chain of Thorns, there's so much opportunity for these two. There are so many ways they could have had a future together. They're both obviously quite new to relationships too, so don't be afraid to make that part of this prompt too. Moving in together, making a discovery of some sort, creating their first invention, or even getting married, etc. are some examples for this prompt if you're confused. Have fun!

Please tag us @gracetopher-week in your posts so we can reblog them here! And don't forget to tag #gracetopherweek 2024 and #gracetopherweek! All forms of content are allowed. We're so excited to see what you make. Feel free to leave any questions or comments in our ask box. See you all again on the tenth!

[purplebass]

The Sound of Silence - Gracetopher

Canon divergent. It is a follow up one shot of my scene fix-it/rewrite called "Five". I attached the link in this fic but you don't need to read it to understand the context of this story. You should just know it deviates from Chapter 26 of CoT and [redacted] never died. :) This one shot is set after "Five" but it can be read as a standalone. Grace is waiting for Christopher to wake up. Anna also makes a brief appearance. Read "Five" (Grace kills Tatiana) Read "Hold it Together" (Lucie and Jesse talk after "Five")

Read this story on A03 💙

“I guess you stayed here enough, you know.”

Grace barely registered Anna’s voice, in a room otherwise silent aside from the tension rolling off her in waves. She could easily ignore the electricity in the room and focus on the silence. 

Grace liked silence, even though even the lack of noise had its meaning. 

For one, it could mean that the situation was stable. Unchanged. This kind of silence was a good silence, in a way. It was a silence that meant: wait. The tide could change soon, but there wasn’t an indication of when that would happen. It could only get better, but also… she didn’t want to think about this.

The second type of silence was more dire. It was the silence that lurked in the shadows, the kind of quiet followed by a storm. Grace was almost sure this type of silence was already upon them, upon the whole city, and that Tatiana’s attack was just the beginning. That soon, the apparent quietness would turn into chaos and it would crush and slice them open. She knew that even silence had an aftermath. Consequences.

The stillness in the room where they had taken Christopher was overbearing, but it couldn’t be helped. They had to go through that, she had to go through that. Through that silence. She was sure it wouldn’t have an unpredictable outcome. No one of them was a doctor, but they were shadowhunters, and Kit’s friends had assured that he would make it, so she would try to believe them. His chest still rose and fell, and this was enough to make her believe. To believe in him. 

“I want to stay,” she replied firmly, uncaring if she would sound brazen. “You can’t tell me what I should do.”

Anna scoffed, her arms crossed on her chest. She had her back to the wall, and hadn’t sat ever since they had taken Christopher in this room. Grace could understand her. He was her brother, and she cared for him. Grace had found herself in such a position years ago.

“Your presence won’t help him wake,” she said bitterly. “If any, he would be reminded of how he got his wound.”

Grace wasn’t sure, but she had expected Anna to utter such words of disdain. She had shared similar words to Jesse before he left and assured himself Grace was fine. She imagined the reason. She knew she wouldn’t be spared either, solely because she was also linked to that woman, but she hoped that Anna would wait. That she would keep silent. 

The anger radiating off Anna filled the silence and it was unnerving. It became stronger after the boys had left and she had offered to stay to watch over Kit until he woke up. Anna had clearly not liked that, but Grace did not care about her. Christopher was the only one who mattered in this room. She was doing this for him. 

“Nor will your animosity,” Grace said coldly, her eyes focusing on Christopher’s sleeping figure. 

Anna rolled her eyes, and she was ready to comment on that when Kit stirred in the bed, and she sauntered to the opposite side to where Grace was sitting. He was finally waking up.

“My shoulder,” he cried. “I can’t feel it. I guess I still haven’t healed?”

Grace couldn’t help but laugh, tears of relief blurring her vision. “I’m afraid not.”

“It’s a miracle the knife barely grazed you,” Anna said, underlining the word barely. “But it still did some damage. Thankfully, you will just need a few days to go back to normal.”

Christopher frowned at his sister and then glanced at Grace. “I apologize, my eyesight is not good. Can you get my glasses?” Anna was already moving to the other side of the bed to get them, but Grace, who was closer, beat her to it. “There, there, this is better. Why are you glaring at Grace, sister?”

Grace turned to her, but Anna had already schooled her expression. Now she was managing a tight smile and she seemed taken aback by his comment. “What gave you the impression?”

Kit shrugged, but he hissed when his left side throbbed in pain. “Are you okay?” Grace wondered softly. She brushed Kit’s hair from his face, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He didn’t reply.

“Anna,” he said instead. “Can you leave us alone?”

She looked scorned, but she tried not to show it. “Are you sure?” She glanced at Grace again as if she was a threat, but she was looking at Christopher so she didn’t see her. “What if you need help?”

“If I need help, I’m sure Grace can provide me with a glass of water, if I need it?”

“But –”

“I am fine,” he reassured her. “You can tell the others I woke up, but hold them off from coming here for a bit. I am still recovering, after all.”

Anna wanted to object to her brother’s requests, but her expression sweetened. “Call me if you need anything,” she muttered flatly, and then she left the room.

“I don’t think she took it well, but she’ll manage,” Kit grinned. Grace suspected this was a dynamic that happened often between them. Again, she could understand. He was her younger brother, after all.  

“She was worried sick about you,” Grace confessed. “She hasn’t left the room for hours.”

“And so haven’t you,” he guessed. “I remember seeing your face when they brought me here.”

“Did you?”

“I was wounded but I still had my glasses on,” he giggled, but he cried in pain and had to stop. Grace had already taken her stele from the pocket of her dress, ready to draw a healing rune on him. “I imagine we should hold off from jokes until I’m healed.”

“Does it hurt?” Grace wondered, her hand still mid-air, reaching for the place where the knife had wounded him, then retreating it on her lap. She sighed.

“A little,” he confessed. “But I’m still here, aren’t I? First the poison, then the knife,” he began to chuckle but had to stop when Grace frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I’m betraying my own words, but it was too funny not to mention. I avoided death twice. Perhaps I’m immortal. Maybe I have seven lives like cats!”

Grace rolled her eyes and managed a tiny smile. “Only you could make fun of your near death experiences,” she shook her head. “I just hope you won’t try your hand at finding that out,” she said with concern.

“Oh, Grace,” he said. “I didn’t mean it for real,” he apologized. 

Grace hadn’t realized she had started crying, not until she felt her thumb wet with tears. She gazed up at him and he was frowning, clearly worried. He had never seen her cry, nor had she ever cried in front of someone who wasn’t her own brother. She felt vulnerable at that moment, but he had to know. He had to —

“Do not joke about death anymore,” she bawled, keeping her eyes leveled with his. As if this was an order more of a plea.

“I won’t,” he replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I wanted to lighten the mood, but I failed. I guess I’m still shocked by whatever happened to me.”

She sniffled, and Kit offered her his handkerchief. For some reason, he still had it in the pocket on the side of him that hadn’t been wounded. Grace accepted it gladly, and wiped her face. “I cut that woman’s – mama’s throat,” she confessed after a long silence. She didn’t know why she still insisted on calling her mother, but old habits die hard. “I ended her.”

“Oh,” he simply said. “I don’t like to speak ill of people, most of all dead people, but can I say she had it coming?”

That was an answer she didn’t expect, but Christopher was never predictable. Grace smiled despite herself, and her current mood. “It’s just that,” she sighed, unable to find the right words, “after she threw that knife on you, I – I lost it. She was distracted and I knew I had to do it,” she turned serious now, still shaken by it all. Her hands trembled in her lap. “I had to do it for a lot of reasons,” one for me, one for my brother, one for you. One… “Otherwise –”

“She would have escaped again,” he completed for her. “That woman was out of her mind.”

Grace nodded, feeling lighter that she had shared this information with him. Kit yawned.  “Are you tired? Should I…?”

“My shoulder is sore,” he admitted, “but otherwise, I feel decent. Just a little worn out. Unless you want to leave, you can stay as long as you wish, Grace.”

“Okay, then I wish to stay,” she admitted. “Do you want me to read to you? I could get something from the library.”

“Do you happen to have the notes I gave you about fire messages? Perhaps we could try to understand why they don’t work yet,” he suggested. “My mind won’t quiet until we make them work.”

Grace smiled again, this time with excitement. It wasn’t lost on her that Christopher had referred to them as a duo. “Yes, I kept them in my dress pocket,” she said, and produced the crumpled papers. “I was afraid I would lose them.”

“All right, where were we?” he pondered, and then they set to work. 

Grace wished she could always fill the silence like this.

*

I hope you like this <3 Know that this isn't the last one shot of this "CoT Rewrite" I'm writing :)

[edwinspaynes]

No one likes your shitty fanfiction. It's laughable that you think we do.

You know what? I'm going to keep writing my "shitty fanfiction" even harder. I'm thinking more queerplatonic Gracetopher?

[zoyalannister]

I would never use the fandom pain to advertise myself, but I have quite a few Gracetopher fanfics on Ao3, if that’s what you’re looking for.

I need more Grace x Christopher content. Mostly FanArt. Please.

[hahahax30]

Esme Hardcastle: professional theorist and horrible scapegoat

This is my Official Essay-Post complaining about the absurdity that was the family tree. I'll be trying to explain my thoughts in a well-structured manner.

Firstly, I think we can all agree that making that goddamn family tree was one of the greatest mistakes CC's ever made, if not the greatest. It's been haunting her and us since tlh was announced and, frankly, should never have seen the light of day. However, once it did, it was a reality whose incorrectness the story had to live with and explain. And CC explained it, but in the most underwhelming, unsatisfactory way possible.

We're told that Esme Hardcastle, an ascended mundane James first meets in the shadowhunter academy, was the mastermind behind the family tree and that her mind is, actually, quite underdeveloped, hence why the family tree is full of errors. Well, that is a good way to explain certain aspects of the family tree, for example:

Why Alastair's name is misspelled as 'Alistar' -> many English names have different spellings and Esme might not have known which one to go to for Alastair; or perhaps she just made a typo because she was writing the family tree too fast

Why Sona's name is way off -> Alastair is a bitch and who knows what lies he could've told her to get her to leave him alone

Why some people (like Thomas) are supposed to die earlier than we now can expect them to -> she got angry and shortened their fictional lifespans

If the family tree had only silly mistakes like those, then Esme's existence would be nice, but nope. The family tree royally fucked up.

For once, it shouldn't contain info up until tda, since Esme surely didn't get to live until 1995 (when Emma was born), but also, she's a real character in-universe. She's supposed to know everyone in tlh, she should know that Barbara and Christopher died in 1903, she should know that Christopher certainly didn't get to marry Grace nor have children with her (even if they'd married they wouldn't have had any because they're both ace). Why, then, did she write that?

Esme is stupid, but she's not blind ffs. If CC really wanted to make her the reason behind the family tree, she should've explained further why Esme went full happy-flower-power mode and imagined a whole future for a guy who died at sixteen: is she a hardcore gracetopher shipper? A conspiratorial theorist who, in spite of seeing Christopher's body literally burn in a pyre, still thought he was alive? Both? I guess we'll never know.

This is all, for obvious reasons, frustrating.

I'm beyond overjoyed that she won't make another family tree. I wouldn't be surprised if she actually wrote a trilogy about tlh's children after twp (since her idea of it being the last shadowhunter trilogy has pretty much disappeared) and I don't want her to have to make up any other stupid reasons for why xyz info is wrong because Idiotbrain McStupid wrote it to compliment his real-person fanfiction of the next generations.

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 3: Teaching/Learning

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

It's a Modern!AU where Kit asks Grace to teach him something. I’m sorry, my bugged brain thought it was funny. 471 words.

Christopher breathed deeply to calm his nerves. He’d asked Grace to help him with this thing, and his girlfriend had accepted.

Sometimes, he thought he shouldn’t have waited so long, but he hadn’t wanted distractions through secondary school and university, and not even during his PhD. 

And now, at twenty-six, Christopher had no experience on the matter and felt incredibly nervous. 

Everyone he knew had done it at seventeen or eighteen, and he didn’t want to feel that nagging sensation of being behind his peers anymore.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine to mess up the first time,” Grace said. 

That didn’t help. She, unlike him, had started as soon as she was of age, and now she had a lot of experience he lacked.

“When did you do it for the first time?” Grace thought about it for a moment. “I think I was in Paris with Tatiana. But you know, it’s the other way around in France.”

Oh, fantastic. Grace had so much more experience than he thought.

“Yes, I know.”

Christopher focused his gaze in front of him to steel his nerves.

Almost everyone did it, and no one had that many problems.

In his mind, he repeated the theory he’d learnt in his book. He’d done the test just a few days ago: why, then, did he feel like he’d forgotten most of it?

“It’s something you get more with practice,” Grace said, guessing his thoughts at first glance as usual.

“Yes, I know. I’m just nervous.” She kissed him, and when they parted, she looked him straight in the eye. She, Grace, his girlfriend, would be the one teaching him, and that thought calmed him much more than he’d thought possible.

“I understand. I’m honored to be the first one showing you how it works.”

Christopher took a deep breath and grabbed the stick firmly, but he froze immediately. 

He felt Grace’s hand on his as she gently guided his movement.

“Are you ready to start?” Christopher nodded. He couldn’t back down now: he had to do it. 

“You have to go all in, all the way,” Grace told him. “And after that, you have to move very slowly and be very delicate.” She touched his face so he turned towards her. “And don’t worry if you can’t, it’s normal if you fail the first time.”

Slow and delicate, Christopher repeated to himself as he followed Grace’s instructions.

Slow and delicate, slow and delicate, slow and delicate…

There was a bang, and the car suddenly stopped as the engine went off.

Disappointed, Christopher lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. 

“I’m never getting my driving license.”

Grace kissed his cheek. 

“I told you it’s not easy to start a car the first time, especially with manual transmission,” she said affectionately. “But I’m here to teach you, aren’t I?”

[thebellekeys]

Not the original anon, but weighing in with a Rant. In addition to what you said, harassing fic writers about what they do and don't write is a douche move. I've literally gotten comments telling me I write too much Thomastair and Wessa and should write (x) things instead, and I find the comments super rude, ngl? Like, someone else is definitely writing what you want! Leave me alone!

One of my good friends also got some really nasty ass guest comments on a Gracetopher fic where the person spent what must have been like an hour catching every typo and perceived historical/scientific inaccuracy. Like dude my friend just wanted to write cute lab fluff, I wanted to read cute lab fluff, it you don't like cute lab fluff gtfo

Yes, exactly – fanfiction is the Wild West. There is no logic, no real editing, no complete originality. You pay nothing to write it or read it. You can publish it on ao3 after writing it on a post-it at 2am while drunk. Criticizing fanfiction is stupid when it’s easy as hell to not read what you don’t like. And people should just, yunno, get to write what they want anyway. The rules of books, original prose, and literature do not hold up in fanfiction because fanfic exists within a completely different creative framework.

There is not a single individual fanfiction criticism that holds up when you contextualize what fanfiction even is. You think this person used the phrase “blue orbs” too much? Great, they’re not a writer, they didn’t make the fic intending for it to have good prose. They just wanna squeal over Damon Salvatore’s blue orbs with their five friends online. The writing is bad? Great, the purpose wasn’t it for it to be good in the first place, so keep it to yourself. No one is reading this one specific fic for “good writing”.

[astriefer]

STARDUST

Summary: Post-CoT. Grace is surprised to find a very overworked Christopher in the Fairchilds' lab when she comes to retrieve some Raum scales.

Words: 1330

Ship: Grace × Christopher

Warnings: None

A /N: it's very bland and ahort but I wanted to serve some fluff for the new year! This ficlet is dedicated to @darklingswhxore (see notes in the end) <3

“Kit.”

No response.

“Christopher.”

Silence.

“Christopher Lightwood!” Grace says, her voice laced with annoyance, her tone dangerously low.

Christopher finally looks up from his papers. He blinks with surprise at the figure hovering at the doorway that is Grace, crossed-armed with a stern look on her face.

"Grace?" he asks, taking his protection spectacles off. "Why have you returned so soon?"

She stares at him incredulously. The anger in her voice vanishes as she spots the black bags under Christopher's eyes. Concern takes its place.  "Soon? Christopher, I was off since yesterday."

His lavender eyes are full of wonder. He glances at his experiment, then his hands, then back at Grace. "But - not far ago, you've left to Jesse and Lucie's loft."

"Angel, Kit. How long have you been here all by yourself?" Grace demands. "No one came to check on you?"

"They all have their own affairs to tend to. Regardless, I haven't noticed how time flew by." He explains dismissively. However, he averts her fierce gaze, picking up a receptacle. "I've been consumed by work, and I'm on the verge of a breakthrough-"

Grace cuts him off. "Have you taken any rest since I left?"

Christopher stays silent. She steps forward until she is next to him near the table.

"You've been locked up in the lab for over a day, kit," she sighs and pushes back a few bright strands that escaped her hairdo.

He looks exhausted, she notes. It gratified her immensely to see Christopher do what he loves, but she wished he wouldn't be so forgetful about his own needs. Thomas and Grace often accompanied him in the lab to watch over the laboratory.  However, they also were there to remind Christopher to take care of himself when he got too immersed in his work.

"I'm on the verge of a breakthrough," he repeats. The desk is full of papers with equations, notes, and instructions all over. There's also a forgotten piece of Shepherd’s Pie. He gestures in its direction as if to prove his saying. 

She lifts a gloved hand up to guide Christopher's hand away from the receptacle. "And it could wait for later. You've been overstraining yourself."

"No, no," Christopher insists, his voice slightly raspy. His hand rests on his lap now, and his eyes fixed on Grace's grey ones. "I can handle this."

"Aren't your parents worried you wouldn't come home at night?" she tries to reason with him.

The boy shakes his head. "Matthew's old room is available to me," he tells her. "I stay here at night some of the days. They're used to it."

"You ought to rest," she chides him gently, stern but not unkind.

Christopher frowns and looks away, absorbed in his own thoughts. "I will. I must finish this first. I can't - I can't get it right. Maybe if I examine the papers once more-" 

"Kit, listen to me," when his eyes locked on hers, she goes on, "You seem thoroughly drained, I am certain a well-needed rest would be of help. Besides, A good night sleep will aid you to have a fresh point of view on your experiment," she adds the last part quickly, knowing he'd be more inclined to agree to this line of reason.

There is a long pause before Christopher speaks again.

"Alright."

He sighs in defeat, but there's no heat behind when he smiles at her. She beams in triumph. He discards his protection spectacles and lab coat on a nearby chair, and swiftly enough they are out of the laboratory and up the ground floor.

"Let me escort you out," he offers, and Grace accepts.

They walk side by side out of the Fairchild's residence. They've done it many times before, and it always gives her a fuzzy feeling inside knowing Christopher cares for her, that he finds her deserving his affection. Christopher was too good of a person for someone like Grace. That is what she always thinks. Christopher, however, keeps telling her she's good, so good that stars in the night sky are pale compared to her brightness.

When Grace looks up to the endless darkness above her, she sees no stars in the heavens.

"There are days I miss Alicante," she babbles, not knowing why she talks at all, as they walk in the pathway to the mansion's gates, "And the Blackthorn manor. It holds many bad memories of mine, and yet..." she hesitates and glances at Christopher. His eyes are tender as he looks at her, warm and appreciative. "I would look out the window and see the stars, bright and comforting. Now I see none." 

That was true. London's polluted air, combined with the perpetual light from the road lamps and the city, made it hard to see stars in the middle of London.

"Wasn't the sight from Chiswick house well enough?" Christopher inquires, regarding her former residence at the outskirts of London. He seems tired but attentive.

"Yes, but not as much as in Idris." she reaches her hand forward, letting it flow in invisible paths. Her mouth twists to a ghost of a smile. "The air is clean and fresh. The stars dance in their eternal melody. It's not much of my interest now, but back in those days, Jesse used to tell me about the stars."

At nights, Jesse used to sneak to her room and teach her about constellations or try to count all the stars they could see. He pointed at Polaris for her and told her stories of myths and legends hiding in the stars. When they strode in the gardens of the blackthorn manor, with the wind in their hair and the smell of spring, and her brother lifted her in the air to try and capture a star in her hand.

It's chilly outside, and Grace shudders slightly. Christopher notices and shrugs off his jacket before putting it on her shoulders.

"Aren't you cold?"

Christopher pushes his spectacles up his nose,  "You need it more than I do. Keep it."

Grace smiles faintly. Christopher raises his hands, like he doesn't know what to do with them, then lets them fall limp to his sides.

Grace extends her hand and interwinds their fingers together.

They reach the gates, and both halt in their place, turning to each other. Grace turns to look at Christopher. "Thank you for escorting me, Kit. Good night."

The Blackthorn carriage stands near the gates, waiting in front of the house. She let loose of his hand and takes two steps toward it before Christopher's voice stops her. 

"Grace!"

She spins around with a bewildered look on her face. "Kit?"

He closes the distance between them and wraps her in an embrace. Grace is stunned by this show of affection, so much as she almost forgets to hug Christopher back. "Perhaps we should visit Royal Observatory in Greenwich. Together," he suggests quickly, cheeks tinted pink, and not because of the cold. "We can seek for the stars your brother and yourself watched back then."

Graces drew away, just slightly, to look Christopher in the eye. "This place is close for visitors."

The grin Christopher gives her causes butterflies to flutter around in her stomach. "This law has never stopped me before."

She gasps at him, and he laughs a tired laugh, reminding her he hasn't taken a rest for over 24 hours. "Consider it my thanks for coming all way here and taking care of me." They break from the hug. "So, what do you say?"

He rubs his hand together in front of him, with a hopeful glint in his eyes. It melts Grace from the inside to see him looking at her this way.

She plants a kiss on the corner of Christopher's mouth before starting for the carriage. She doesn't turn to astonished Christopher until she's on the steps of the carriage. "Yes!"

The moon illuminates them in a soft glow, washing Christopher in silver. His eyes are sparkling with content and love, and Grace finds herself mimicking the smile tugging at her fiancé's lips.

Because even if she couldn't see the ocean of shining lights from her window anymore, she had something else to brighten her life.

~~~*~~~

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed!): @ary-es @writeordie-4 @justanormaldemon @life-through-the-eyes-of @hidethebreakables @tessherongraystairs @merry-esfandimas

Happy new year everyone!! ✨

~~~*~~~

Notes: @darklingswhxore alright this ficlet has three purposes: one, you once requested Gracetopher and I couldn't write it, so I do now.

Second, it's our late one-year anniversary since we started talking! Worth celebrating, I believe. ����✨

And third and most importantly I think, I wanted to write you something for the new year, for this past year with all its ups and downs wouldn't be the same without you 💕 I wish the new year will be amazing for you, full of new opportunities and all you could ask for because you deserve the WORLD. I love talking from you about whatever, seeing you work for what you love, and I can't understand how you tolerate all my rambling and fics but I'm grateful to have you In my life. SO MUCH.

So happy new year!! May this new year be wonderful for us 💜💜

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

tlh social media AU - character intros part 1

I'm super excited so here's some character bios! I'm thinking of starting a sideblog for the AU so it's more organized. I hope to post part 1 today or tomorrow! This is in a modern, no magic, US college setting. They all end up participating in a musical for their school's student-run (lucie-run) drama club. Mainly thomastair with side lucelia, joshwood, and gracetopher! It will be a mix of fluff and angst. This is a new format than I'm used to writing in, so I'm excited!

please let me know if you do or don't want to be tagged! my usual fanfic taglist: @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @thecodexsays @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

[vashs-posts]

An afternoon in the lab

hi!! this is the first fan fiction I have written. Do give me feedback if you read this. Do tell me if I have grammatical errors too since English isn't my first language

characters: Grace Blackthorn and Christopher lightwood from The Last Hours by Cassandra Clare

----------------------------------------------

Christopher rarely felt this energised after a session of training. Usually, it exhausted him quite a bit, as he wasn’t the fit sort. But this day, kit was really excited- as he finally had a sample of ichor from an iadelon demon and he wanted to run some tests on it.

He skipped towards the winding stairs that led to uncle Henry’s laboratory when he heard aunt charlotte call out “kit is that you?” from the other room. 

“Yes aunt charlotte it’s me” he replied cheerily. 

“alright then, Henry and I are leaving for an enclave meeting, try not to blow anything up this time” she told him kindly.

“yeah thank you- I’ll try not to aunt charlotte” he replied with a smile to himself. He really liked aunt charlotte. One because she let him dally about her house whenever he pleased to the point of allowing him to use Matthew's room as a resting place, and two- she never objected to his curiosity and interest in science- as long as he didn’t blow up the place; which he, unfortunately, did a lot. He liked how she always encouraged uncle Henry’s genius pursuits.

As he climbed the stairs he thought that although a partner's encouragement in the sciences was always good, he always craved for his partner in life to be his partner in science too. Like Marie and Pierre Curie. His mind shifted to grace blackthorn, which he thought was odd since they weren’t very well acquainted. He suspected that she was interested in science like he was. perhaps he should ask her to be his lab partner? But he didn't know if she would agree to that, after all, she used to be close to James- and James never had a keen interest in kit’s many experiments. Besides, he thought, she must have been going through a lot. He knew that her mother had been sent to the citadel and that she probably was in no headspace to be courted- not that kit was good at courting girls in the first place. Kit barely knew how to talk to people, let alone court them. 

as he reached the bottom of the staircase he turned to enter the laboratory when he saw a shadow sitting near the Venturi meters. The figure was familiar- short frame, and hair the colour of platinum which glowed like the moon. He saw that she was staring at the ticking pendulum of the grand clock across the lab from her. She looked like she had been crying 

He quickly hid behind the door. Did him thinking about her bring her to the lab? He had read a few books on psychic abilities, was that what was happening? “No,” he thought, those claims didn’t have sufficient scientific backing. Then what was grace doing here? And why had she been crying?

—

Grace has no idea why she asked for the carriage to go to James’s Parabatai’s place. She still had no idea why, as she slipped into the back entrance and went to the lab. James had to leave with his family to search for Lucy, so he had let her leave Curzon street on the condition that they would report everything to the clave when he got back. After that, she made her way back to the Bridgestock’s residence. Now it was a few days later, and Grace was at the consul's house.

But she hadn’t gone there to see Ms Fairchild, she was sure of it. She entered the laboratory and sat directly across the vast wooden clock. Its steady ticks rang across the room. Tick-tock.  Tick tock.  

As if on cue, tears slipped from her eyes. She didn’t know why she was crying, or rather for what exact thing-out of everything- in particular she was crying about. Her mother always told her she was a stupid, weak child, and now she was crying like one. 

She heard the door swing open slowly and quickly rubbed off her tears and straightened her skirts. it was Christopher. He looked at her curiosity with his beautiful violet eyes. He looked concerned. He was gnawing at his lip and was restlessly pushing the door open. 

“Er- grace is that you?” he said softly. 

Why had she come here? How could she explain this to him? He probably thought that she had lost her mind.

“Christopher! I’m so sorry, I’ll leave right away if you’re busy- I was passing by and er- I wanted something from you- um do you have any dried lavender extract?” 

Dried lavender extract? she thought cringing a little bit at his puzzled expression. Surely he knew that she could make it from the Bridgestock gardens and didn’t have to come all the way here for it. But she couldn’t help it, lavender was the first thing she thought of after seeing those bright eyes of his. 

“yeah! yeah- I could give that to you by tomorrow!” he said brightly. 

“Thank you, Christopher,” grace said. She could feel her cheeks hot with embarrassment as he stared at her with a small smile. The ticks of the clock were louder than ever now. She turned to look at it, to avoid making a bigger fool of herself.

“I always liked the way clocks ticked. Like with a steady frequency, you know?” Christopher told her, breaking the silence. Then he started tapping the table with his long scarred finger and matched the frequency to the clock. She didn’t know why, but she started tapping to it too.

“Ah! Look we’re in resonance!” He said and beamed at her. Then he looked away a little embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry, this might be a little uninteresting to you” he said shyly. 

“No! It’s not” she said, adding “I read somewhere that resonance is when the amplitude increases because of matching frequencies. The book said that with very loud sounds- you could break windows. Is that true?” 

Christopher stared at her. and then he smiled his perfect, cat like smile.

“maybe, I’ve never tried it! We ought to try it sometime don’t you think? I mean I don’t think aunt charlotte would appreciate that too much because the windows might break- but what is that small damage in the grand scheme of things?” He told her excitedly. 

“Anyways, I wanted to run some tests on iadelon ichor. Er-if you’re not occupied elsewhere, would you like to help me?” He asked, as his fingers fluttered a little in his pocket. 

Grace liked how Christopher didn’t think she was uneducated just because she was a woman. She liked how he viewed her as an equal. And somehow he made her forget all of her worries. 

“Sure.” Said grace “as long as I get to blow some things up.- if it comes to it!” 

and Christopher beamed at her again, brighter than the unusual London summer rays falling in through the window that day

And slowly they fell into a routine. Both of them took turns running the experiments, with matching goggles and smocks to protect their eyes and clothes. Grace ran some preliminary tests, while kit scratched away in his books. A couple of times the samples of ichor boiled out of the test tube, or exploded into a huge fire- but overall the tests went rather smoothly. 

Kit found that he worked well with Grace, and she was extremely smart too. When the ichor reacted with concentrated sulphuric acid, it had become a huge fire- and he and Grace had to put it out quickly before it burnt them and the lab. He had looked worriedly at Grace then, to see that she was smiling- and then they both were smiling and giggling over their blunder. 

He liked her company, he liked how she chewed the back of her pen as she took down the observations, or how she furrowed her brow while calculating the density of the ichor. 

By the time they both were done, the clock chimed to indicate that it was 3:30pm. Grace looked at him with a small smile. “Do you want to go out into the garden for a while? I don’t think this much time with ichor is good for us” she said 

“Yeah sure!” he told her as he followed her into the garden. A few silver strands of hair had escaped her bun and he had the urge to put it back in place. he didn’t know why he had that urge. Her hair was beautiful, as the rest of her was. She was more beautiful in her smock and goggles too. Kit never understood fashion, but right now it confused him the most. Why wear expensive dresses when you were beautiful in anything? He was suddenly self-conscious about his rattled appearance and stained clothes.

They had reached the garden. Aunt charlotte’s cook had laid out tea for them after seeing them. The birds were fluttering, and the Sun-rays were falling on Grace’s small face. Her hair was reflecting some of the light- and she looked radiant. 

“Do you know why the sky is blue?” she asked him. He did know, but he wanted her to keep talking, so he didn’t respond.  

“It’s because of Raleigh’s scattering. the light of colours with a wavelength less than blue gets scattered off, while the blue light passes though” she said and looked at him. “Interesting isn’t it?”

“It is interesting.” He told her and leaned back against the chair to look up at the sky. all this talk about wavelength and frequency made kit’s mind wander to all the books and papers he had read about them. He and uncle Henry had spent so much time on documents about light and energy, and he knew many things about frequencies and wavelengths. But the fact that was the most obvious of all, was that Grace Blackthorn for some odd reason matched his frequency perfectly. They were the perfect resonance. 

he suddenly sat up. She was steering sugar in her tea and looking at him with a half-smile. He picked up his teacup too and asked her

“Have you heard of the Curies?” 

-----------------------------

by vash

[zoyalannister]

Thanks to @fimproda for the tag!

How (not) to end a feud (Gracetopher | complete | 49k+ words): the Clave is tired of the Lightwood-Blackthorn feud of 25+ years, so they have a brilliant idea: Christopher Lightwood must marry Grace Blackthorn to unite the families again and stop the feud. Obviously, it's not going to work.

Geranium (Cecily & Grace mother-daughter relationship | Gracetopher, Gabrily and AriAnna as side relationships | ongoing | 16k+ words for now | co-written with @fimproda): Grace is kicked out of home and she has to survive as she can until she meets Gabriel Lightwood. Please, read all the TWs before reading it.

Balance (Gabrily, Lightwood family, AriAnna, Gracetopher | ongoing | 2k words for now): A collection of Modern!AU one shots about slices of life of Gabriel, Cecily and their family. The one shots are in chronological order and all told by Cecily's POV.

Still insists she sees the ghosts (Gabrily | ongoing | 13k+ words for now): Cecily is accused of a bunch of crimes she didn't commit, and her story will span between two different parts of her life going through unresolved traumas and anxiety.

Endless Sunlight (Gracetopher | ongoing | 39k+ words for now): Grace, two years after the end of ChoT, is obsessed by the idea of finding Christopher Lightwood in another dimension, and she ends up in Thule, where she finds a Christopher Lightwood, but this man is the opposite of canon!Christopher. Please, read all the TWs before reading this too.

I forgot, I tag @livia-dovehallow.

✨️happy June 14th✨️

So first, today is Sophia's 6 month birthday 🥺🥺

Second, we are halfway through 2024. Isn't that insane?! I decided to start a tag game for us to celebrate everything we've accomplished so far this year.

I thought it would be fun for us to post our top 5 favorite things we've wrote/drawn, and have posted since I know some of us have gems hidden, to bring love to things that maybe haven't gotten the attention we wanted or that thrived💕

Fanart, moodboards, dividers. Headcanons, drabbles, one shots, or a chapter update to your epic on going fic, I don't care, I want to read and see them and give you love!

So, without further ado, here are mine in no real order:

Drumming Song - Summary - 49 long years without your mate finally comes to an end after Amarantha grants him one night of freedom - smut - Rhysand x reader

The Breakfast Club - Summary - After missing breakfast unexpectedly, a hidden relationship is revealed to Azriel's family, who can't tell if they're more surprised by you or his cat. - Fluff - Azriel x reader

Love Language - Summary - Lucien never wanted you to question his love, so he makes sure you never have to by leaving small reminders every time he leaves. - Fluff - Lucien x reader

Mine - Summary - Cassian always gets a little riled up when he gets to fight for your honor. - Smut - Cassian x reader

Limbo - Summary - You would never be able to move on from your untimely death. Not while the two males you loved kept you trapped here. - Angst - Tamlin x Rhysand's Sister Reader

No obligation tags to: @claireswritingcorner @honeybeefae @thehighladywrites @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars @danikamariewrites @sarawritestories @milswrites @itsswritten @illyrianbitch @acourtofladydeath @nocasdatsgay @littlestw01f @loneliestluvr @lady-of-tearshed @hopeinvelaris @daycourtofficial @writingcroissant @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @historiaxvanserra @utterlyazriel @dawneternal @stormhearty @tsumani-of-tears @secret-third-thing @teddyhoneybear @zenkindoflove @ninthcircleofprythian @achaotichuman @hieragalbatorixdottir @artists-ally @invisibleanonymousmonsters @lucienarcheron @tadpolesonalgae @serpentandlily @azrielsdove

really anyone who'd like to do it 💕

[fimproda]

Night-blooming Jasmine

@gracetopher-week

Day 3, Fic Day

Rated R, still unfinished, set in the The Last Flowers universe after Chrisanthemum

The point is, Grace doesn’t actually know how to have sex.

Giving her history, she should. She really should. But she’s never been an active participant: in the past, with her... clients―she has to stop calling them that―she just... lay there, closed her eyes, and thought of England. Occasionally, which meant nine times out of ten, she also suffered like a dog.

Nothing more.

By now, though, she’s come to understand that her firsthand knowledge of sex has nothing to do with how sex is usually experienced; even less, with how sex should be experienced. She was too young, for starters, which is something Cecily, and Cordelia, and Anna, and everyone worth their salt never seem to stop blabbering about; moreover, she’s been sold, trafficked, stripped of her every right. She’s never had a choice.

And, maybe most importantly, she’s never truly wanted it.

Well, not until this moment, at least.

She wants it. She does, she really does, she’s ready to swear it on the Angel if need be.

She’s just not sure what she wants, exactly.

Which is why they’ve ended up here. She and Kit, that is. Sprawled on the bed in her room at the Institute, laying on their sides, kissing.

The kissing is... good. Nice. They’ve done it before, of course; as a matter of fact, they’ve never done more than that. It’s been a couple of months since Kit kissed her for the first time, and that was a good ten days after her trial, when she’d been cleared of all involvement with the whole Belial-and-Tatiana-related mess and could finally start making her peace with it―start making her amends to those she’d hurt, either willingly or not.

Kit liking her, kissing her, opening his heart up to her, hasn’t been much of a surprise.

Everything that’s happened since...

Yeah.

She should stop overthinking it. She should just do what Kit told her to, last week, and get this over with already.

Problem is, that’s a thing she has no idea how to do. To tell the truth, it’s the very reason why they’re on this bed and Kit’s hand is slowly, so slowly, making its way between her legs.

Listen...

She tried, alright?

If anything, she knows what it’s supposed to feel like. It isn’t as though she’s never come before: statistically speaking, it just had to happen, sooner or later. Mere physical stimulation can, and sometimes will, be enough. And some of her cl―abusers prided themselves on being able to bring their women to orgasm, and had a penchant for rubbing her like they were hacking at a particularly persistent stain on their fancy church clothes.

So, she has experienced climax.

And she’s never failed to hate herself for it.

She’s perfectly aware that that’s the problem. And, as she’s told Kit half an hour ago, the only solution is for him to―quite literally, as it turns out―take the matter into his own hands.

She knows he’s an overthinker, just like her. She knows there’s a fat chance neither of them is going to get anything out of this. But she’s used to yielding control, she’s done it all her life, and she isn’t―yet―able to function in any other way.

The silver lining is that Kit has already had her remove her undergarments, which is a step further than where she’s taken this when she made her failed attempt. She’s still got her dress on: he doesn’t want her to be naked in front of him, not when it could be uncomfortable for her. Besides, with the fire having wilted down to embers hours ago, the room is chilly.

The goosebumps starting to show on her skin have nothing to do with the chill.

Kit’s lips are a kiss away from hers. His eyes are half-closed, as though he’s squinting to be able to look at her. (He doesn’t have his glasses on; she removed them as soon as he came into her room. But he’s near-sighted, so his vision should be good).

He’s staring at his hand on her inner thigh, she realizes. She’s willing to bet he’s as tense as she is over what they are about to do. What he is about to do.

“Kit,” she whispers, not even knowing why she spoke in the first place. Maybe it’s because she wants to reassure him. Or maybe it’s because she wants to reassure herself.

“Grace,” Kit echoes, the tips of his fingers drawing circles on her skin, his free arm sliding underneath the pillow on which both their heads are resting. “What do you want me to do to you?”

She lets out another, “Kit,” and it’s halfway between a scoff and a plea. “If I knew that, I would have succeeded in doing this myself.”

They make eye contact. Kit’s pupils are dilated, the violet of his irises reduced to little more than a ring around ever-growing black. He wets his lips, opens his mouth, inhales... and stays silent.

He’s at a loss for words.

Her third, “Kit,” is barely a breath. Soft. Acknowledging his worry, his unease, his feeling of being inadequate. “Whatever you do, I’m going to like it.”

She wants to eat her words the very second they leave her mouth. It was the wrong thing to say.

And indeed, a shadow falling on his handsome, boyish face, Kit replies, “How can you be so sure?”

“Kit.” She can’t get enough of saying his name, tonight. It grounds her, reminds her of who she’s with. “I chose this. I chose you.”

The title, Night-blooming Jasmine, refers to a work of the same name by Italian poet Giovanni Pascoli, which you can find here in the original Italian and a pretty good English translation. Pascoli wrote it for the wedding of a good friend of his, and it's obvious from the text that the poet thinks of sex as something violent, not gentle, something that crushes the petals of the flower ("si chiudono i petali un poco gualciti").

My co-author @zoyalannister learned to hate this poem in school (it's taught, at the very least, during the last year of high school), but I think it's a perfect metaphor for Grace's past and her journey in The Last Flowers.

Come check out the series if you hate yourself and want to suffer!

[idrisnnet-archive]

The Taste of a Kiss

SHIP: Grace x Christopher

TROPES: Fluff

WORDS: 482

•

Grace smiled as Christopher's eyes widened at lemon tarts in the basket.

“Are all of these for me?” he asked.

“Yep,” Grace said with a smile. “If you left any, you can take them home with you.”

He looked seriously at her. “You make me very happy.”

Grace giggled. She wasn't used to such honest straightforwardness. But it was one of the things she liked about Christopher. He would be honest, always.

They were sitting on a blanket on the grass. It was a sunny day, one of the first this year. The beginning of the spring was Grace's favorite time of the year. The flowers were blooming, the weather was getting warmer. It reminded her of old, long lost memories of a life that didn't exist anymore. Pain of a soft nostalgia hit her in the chest as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“What are you thinking about?” Christopher said.

He was looking at her intensely. His lavender eyes were concentrated only on her. He wasn't even eating the lemon tart in his hand.

Grace looked at him, blinking. One more thing she wasn't used to. The intense attention, the try to see her and not her beauty. She hoped Christopher always watched her like that.

She smiled. “Nothing specific. Just wondering how... how were things for me before... before Tatiana took me.”

Grace looked at the bright blue sky and wished to be an easier person to be with. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why was nothing never simple?

“Grace,” the soft voice of Christopher made her turn. His face was suddenly very close to her own. She could see the little, so little black spots in his violet eyes. He was looking at her with tenderness she wasn't used to.

He gently took her chin, cupping one side of her face. The few inches between them disappeared. His lips were soft and warm. Maybe a little dry. Grace could feel the calluses on his fingers. His hair tickled the other side of her face.

Parting lips she signed into the kiss, wrapping a hand around his shoulders. She tasted the sweetness and the lemon from the lemon tarts. She placed her other hand on his cheek, wanting to feel him closer. He wrapped his arm around her waist, gently pulling her closer.

It remained a gentle kiss until the end. When they parted, Grace couldn't let go of Christopher. He didn't let go of her either. They just breathed together.

A gentle wind blew their hair, breaking up the silence between them. Christopher laughed softly and tucked Grace's hair behind her ears.

“Do you want to...” he stopped. He looked uncertain for a moment. “Will you be interested in coming to the laboratory? Henry will be there and I want to show you something.”

Grace’s smile was big.

“I would love to.”

[thomaslightwood]

35 with gracetopher?

35. An awkward kiss given after a first date + Gracetopher

From 50 types of kisses prompt list (request closed)

“That special effects sucked,” Grace said, biting from her pizza.

“Yes! And why there is noise in space?” Christopher said, too excited to eat his own food. “Everyone knows there isn't noise in space. They did it so they can sell it as an action film.”

They were walking around the park, slowly going towards Grace's house.

They were commenting on the awful sci-fi movie they just watched. It has been terrible. Even Christopher who wasn't very critical of such things, had to admit it was bad.

“True,” Grace said with a frown. They left the park, heading towards Grace's home. “I hate when they do this. Just say you want money, duh.”

“Exactly!”

They reached Grace's front steps, facing each other now.

“Hey,” Christopher said, unable to hide the anxiety in his voice. “The date... It doesn't sucked, right? Because of the movie? Do you hate it?”

Unexpectedly, Grave smiled. A real, nice smile.

“No,” she said. “The date didn't suck at all. I quite enjoyed the whole evening. It's the company that matters not the action.”

Christopher smiled too, his face a little hot.

“Also,” she added with an amused smile. “I love to hate on things, so this was a bonus.”

This time Christopher laughed. Sometimes he wondered how people could never see past her "cold beauty". She was so warm.

“So...,” he said, looking at her grinning face. “Do you wanna go out some time again? I promise I wouldn't make you watch shitty sci-fi movie again.”

Grace chuckled. “I would love to. But I'll choose the food.”

“Fair enough,” Christopher said with a smile.

Grace watched him for a second then quickly rose on her tip toes and kissed Christopher on the cheek. He smelled her perfume. Her hair tickled his face.

When she pulled away she turned away quickly, opening her front door. Christopher could see her face for a second. She was blushing.

“Okay, bye!”

Christopher watched the door for a second, stunned. His face were hot. He couldn't even say goodbye.

He touched his cheek. He couldn't stop a smile. He turned away but he couldn't help the bubbling warm feeling in his chest.