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wearykatie · 4 months

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Journey Into the Wild Beyond Chapter 5: The Palace of Heart's Desire (Part 1)

If I drank alcohol, this is where I would insert a gif of me setting The Wild Beyond the Witchlight book down, picking up a bottle, flicking the cap off, taking a swig, and then picking up my dice.

Also, this is endgame spoiler territory, and I’ll be talking about one of the campaign’s big deal surprises as well as its ending in these final parts. If you want the bail out now to run the campaign or play it yourself, feel free. I understand. Have a great rest of your day and enjoy what is a really fun and interesting campaign.

For the rest of you, here we go.

Nice Job Breaking it, Hero

Despite the worries of some party members, killing Endelyn didn’t cause the arcane anchors holding Prismeer together to deteriorate. They had begun failing the moment Zybilna was frozen in time, it was just really convenient narrative timing that they started to demonstrably fail right after the last hag died. The hags were never powerful enough to maintain the domain. After all, it took all three of them working together and using Zybilna’s own magic against her just to cast the spell that froze her.

The party had heard most of this already, but learned additional information from Charmay who was getting ready to GTFO. She saw the writing on the wall and she didn’t want to be around when Zybilna woke up. Why? Charmay, or rather Skylla as she’s actually known, is a warlock whose patron is Baba Yaga, the mother of the hags, and she knows some things.

Zybilna is Iggwilv, aka Natasha, aka Tasha, adopted daughter of Baba Yaga. And if she wakes up, she’s not going to be happy.

So all of that stuff about the arcane anchors? I made it the fuck up. There are floating stones surrounding Prismeer, seen on many of the outdoor maps, and those are where I took the inspiration. The book credits the cartography to Stacey Allan and Will Doyle, and I don’t know their intentions behind some of the unmarked things on the maps, but I like that they included little unexplained things. It got my imagination going, and I imagined those giant stones as a sort of summoning circle for the domain and currently serving as the anchors maintaining its presence in the chaotic untempered raw magic of the Feywild.

Why add the bit about Prismeer falling apart without Zybilna? Well, because honestly, the book doesn’t really give a very convincing argument for freeing her. The hags suck and Prismeer is better off without them, but once they’re gone you go into Chapter 5 and learn that Zybilna is potentially just as bad if not worse.

Tasha’s Cauldron of Bullshit

So who is Zybilnda/Iggwilv/Natasha? Well, if you’ve played a spellcaster and you’ve used Tasha’s Caustic Brew, Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise, or any other spell with her name in it, that’s her. She reached demigod levels of power, studied demonology in the Abyss, she had a love-hate relationship with a demon prince, had a few kids, made more than a few enemies.

Now, a bit of research on the Forgotten Realms Wiki tells me that Tasha and Iggwilv weren’t originally intended to be the same character, but Expedition to the Ruins of Greyhawk retconned that, and her entire history as Zybilna seems to have just come up in The Wild Beyond the Witchlight. The final chapter of Witchlight brings back a lot of characters from D&D lore, so that’s not surprising, and retcons are fine if you can make them work.

I just feel like this is trying to turn the Wicked WItch of the West into Glinda the Good Witch. Or maybe they were going for a White Witch thing. Either way, Chapter 5 really presents Yassified Witch Queen in a pretty dim light. I feel like maybe they were going for a more morally ambiguous character, but the lady has a prison in her castle where she slow dips prisoners into a sludge that turns them into mindless demons and the hallways outside has a 40 foot long Rug of Smothering that attacks you if you don’t take a flower from a nearby vase.

Threading the hell out of that “Chaotic Neutral” needle, Z.

What I’m saying is, there isn’t a lot of reason to free Zybilna and fewer reasons to trust her. Yes, a few NPCs speak favorably of her, and there’s the enemy of my enemy thing with the hags, but there’s no reason to free Zybilna after the hags are dead. And finding out her history may deter the party from doing just that. Sure, she can send them home or offer them a wish with the Wish spell, but that’s a gamble, and if the players have been exploring, they might have found one to four ways home already.

And so, I made it so they had to free Zybilna. Figure out if she’s worth a damn after she fixes Prismeer.

Shamelessly Ripping Off Everything

The party borrowed a couple of flying machines from Motherhorn and headed for the Palace of Heart’s Desire, Zybilna’s home. Outside, they found a massive army of arcane constructs led by Warduke.

They mocked Warduke for just being called Warduke. I made a point of telling them that it wasn't on me. Someone else made and named that character. Not my circus, not my monkeys…okay, I’m kind of borrowing the circus and the monkeys, and I’d feel bad about changing a character like that.

“But Katie, didn’t you just say you changed a lot of this chap–?”

ANYWAY, BIG ARMY. This is something else I added because for the entire campaign, the party had been making friends and helping people. People they didn’t even need to help. Even those they gained nothing from helping. So there four young people stand face to face with an army they can’t possibly defeat…

And then they get a telepathic message from a pixie they befriended in Thither. Portals start opening all around them and friends they’ve made from all over Prismeer step through: Jingle Jangle, the harengon brigands, the bullywugs of the soggy court, Tsu the innkeeper, Lamorna and Elidon, Will of the Feywild, Juniper the owlbear, the korreds, the brigganocks, Amidor the Dandelion, Gleam and Glister, the theater crew from Motherhorn, and the carnival hands of the Witchlight Carnival, including Mr. Witch, Mr. Light, and a now-human Diana the carousel operator, riding atop her warhorse.

With the Army of Prismeer at their command, ready to attack at any moment, what did the party do?

They talked. They convinced Warduke to stand down through intimidation. Have I mentioned how proud I am of my players?

The scene was a cheeky nod to Avengers: Endgame, but I had players who would get a kick out of the reference, and I wanted to reward how all of them had played the game so far with a grand display that showed off just how many allies they had in their corner. Also, I use Spotify for background music, and for that scene, I played “The Shepherd’s Boy” by Murray Gold, one of my favorite bits of music from Doctor Who, and amazingly, my narration of the scene lasted exactly as long as the song. I don’t know if any of the players noticed, but that was icing on the cake for that moment.

I Hope Your Desire is to Have No Idea Where You’re Going

Did I just spend this entire part talking about setting up Chapter 5, just to get the party through the front gate? Well, I have mentioned before how difficult this chapter was. Everything from the characterization of Zybilna through her backstory to the environmental storytelling of the Palace of Heart’s Desire complicates the narrative, but the layout of the palace is downright baffling in a lot of places. Navigating it is difficult, there’s little logical structure to suggest it’s a functioning home for anyone, and the DM might have to retcon things to bail out the players if certain choices are made.

I like this campaign overall, and even Chapter 5 has some high points, I just find this chapter lacking half the time and frustrating the other half. I don’t know if maybe they ran out of time and had to rush the chapter or if there was a mandate to include certain lore characters that never got fleshed out. When the chapter is good, there’s a grand hall full of glass statues that dance about, each depicting a mortal Zybilna aided as a fairy godmother.

When the chapter is bad, you get a 3000 square foot room with only a small table and three jars.

Creative liberties were taken, and I will talk about them more next time.

#d&d #d&d 5e #dm #gm #journey into the wild beyond #the wild beyond the witchlight

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tigerkirby215 · 3 years

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5e Vex, the Gloomiest build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Horace “Hozure” Hsu. Made for Riot Games.)

Writing this build in a dark room late at night, super tired and stuff... Stuck inside cause of this dumb virus... AFKing in TFT for a Prestige skin like a tryhard... It’s kinda aesthetic, ya know?

GOALS

Another person to kill... Shadow? Can you handle it? - You don’t need best friends: you’ve got your Shadow. He’s the only cool one, because he’s basically you.

Ugh. Can we get some rain clouds in here? - No one likes a debbie downer, but everyone loves a good scare!

Man, walking suuuucks - Nowadays even the anti-dash champion needs a resetting dash. “Do the thing, Shadow.”

RACE

I could make Vex a Harengon to justify her rabbit ears, but she doesn’t really do much “jumping.” That, and I didn’t buy Wild Beyond the Witchlight. So Halfling still works good enough for a yordle. Your Dexterity increases by 2, and while your movement speed goes down to 25 you have Halfling Nimbleness to move through people who are bigger than you. You’re also “Brave” for advantage against fears (when you hang around the Shadow Isles stuff really isn’t that scary) and of course have good ol’ yordle Lucky to reroll Nat 1s.

Halflings are normally pretty cheerful but Ghostwise Halflings are perfectly dark. You’d normally increase your Wisdom by 1 but I’d recommend increasing your Constitution instead. But I mean, it’s not a big deal if you take Wisdom instead. It is only +1. You also get Silent Speech to keep to team chat with 30 foot telepathy. I mean, they have to understand your languages but at least you don’t have to tell everyone what you’re talking about. And oh yeah you obviously speak Common and Halfling.

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - Turns out when you don’t release any new yordles for (wait it’s been 5 years since Kled was released? Holy shit) people end up wanting them.

14; DEXTERITY - Just because you don’t like walking doesn’t mean you’re slow.

13; CONSTITUTION - Imagine dying like a normie.

12; WISDOM - Vex isn’t sad because she’s pessimistic. She’s just realistic.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You’re too cool for school. (And I needed everything else more.)

8; STRENGTH - Ughhh I don’t wanna lift heavy stuff! I’m tired...

BACKGROUND

I guess you’re technically a Haunted One, even if the black mist is the best thing that ever happened to you. You get proficiency in Arcana and Survival as well as two language of your choice to talk to your "allies.” (I guess one of them has to be exotic or whatever.) (I’d personally pick Sylvan as the language of yordles and whatever language the majority of your party knows as your second choice, but that’s just me.)

The thing that sucks about having a Heart of Darkness is that everyone keeps trying to help you, thinking that your sadness (and the living shadow on your back) is something to be fixed. I mean, at least you can get the NPC normies to help you, as long as you don’t spook ‘em. “No doctors! I told you: being sad makes me happy.”

(Artwork by @ToggleD0wnFall on Twitter.)

THE BUILD

or whatever...

LEVEL 1 - SORCERER 1

Starting as a Sorcerer for saving throws and stuff. Also proficiency in Intimidation and... Persuasion, I guess? Look, persuading people that you’re fine “no really” is a skill too.

I wonder what Sorcerous Origin we’ll pick... If only there was one based entirely on shadows and darkness... Oh hey Shadow Magic. As a Shadow Sorcerer you get Eyes of the Dark for 120 feet of Darkvision to see with your dumb Halfling eyes, and Strength of the Grave which will let Shadow take a hit for you. (As long as you make a good Charisma save.)

But of course the main appeal of a Sorcerer is the Spellcasting. You can learn 4 cantrips from the Sorcerer list and two level spells: For cantrips Mage Hand will let Shadow pick things up for you, Mind Sliver and Sword Burst will keep loud people off you both up close and from afar, and Prestidigitation will let you do all sorts of normie yordle magic. As for leveled spells Shield and Mage Armor are both kinda mandatory for some Personal Space.

LEVEL 2 - WARLOCK 1

What? Did you really think we wouldn’t get at least some support from adults? Work for that cool gloomy dude Viego and make a pack with The Undead. That’s because Undead are super dark and morbid and have a Form of Dread: as a bonus action you can turn on your Doom and Gloom for 1 minute. You get some temporary hit points, fear people when you hit them, and are immune to fears yourself. You can transform a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

You also get Pact Magic, which is different from normie Spellcasting because you get the cool stuff done with just a Short Rest. Anyways you can learn two cantrips from the Warlock list like Minor Illusion to have Shadow trick some normies and Eldritch Blast to Eldritch while you Blast. You can also grab some first level Warlock spells like Hex to mark people you don’t like, and Arms of Hadar if you really need your Personal Space.

LEVEL 3 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get their Eldritch Invocations for extra stuff that you don’t have to put effort into. While Armor of Shadows does exist it’s honestly better for you to cast Mage Armor with a spell slot, so with that being said take Agonizing Blast to agonize while you blast and Eldritch Mind so you can keep your concentration around annoying people.

You can also learn another spell like Hellish Rebuke, because people just keep barging into your Personal Space!

LEVEL 4 - SORCERER 2

Now that you can agonize your blasts it’s time to go back to Sorcerer. Second level Sorcerers get a Font of Magic for Sorcery Points which currently don’t do much other than give you more spell slots. You can turn your Warlock slots into Sorcery points though, which is good because they come back on a Short Rest but the rest of your magic does not.

You can also cast another spell like Earth Tremor, to slow people down with Looming Darkness and sunder the land with your edginess.

LEVEL 5 - SORCERER 3

Third level Sorcerers finally get Metamagic! Empowered Spell will allow you to maximize your damage and retain your role as an artillery mage. Alternatively if you want to guarantee fears in your foes take Heightened Spell to give them disadvantage to resist Shadow’s influence.

If you want Shadow to stick around then Dust Devil will swirl around for quite awhile. Alternatively Shadow (Magic) also teaches you Darkness for free, and you can cast it with 2 Sorcery Points to see through it! Your friends can’t see through it, but you can team up with Shadow for some powerful combos when you can see them but they can’t see you!

(Artwork by @jpdiasarts on Twitter.)

LEVEL 6 - SORCERER 4

4th level Sorcerers get the first of many Ability Score Improvements, but I can’t take Fey Touched every time for Flash. That, and we won’t give into basic yordle society. So let’s get value out of our Halfling race with the Second Chance feat. Along with +1 to your Charisma you can also use your reaction to make an enemy you can see attacking you reroll their attack roll, potentially making them miss.

Don’t use this against an attack that you can Shield against, but if someone gets a really good roll you can use this to get your Personal Space back! You can only use this once per combat though (it comes back when you roll for initiative!) so make sure to use it when it matters to keep your spell slots in check.

Oh and you can also learn another spell, and another cantrip! For your cantrip Shocking Grasp will help you push people away if they get too close (folk tend to react poorly when zapped by a tazer!) As for leveled spells Web will keep foes from dashing around, and is also pretty flammable. Huhn; wonder if that’ll be useful.

LEVEL 7 - SORCERER 5

5th level Sorcerers get gifts from the Ruined Queen Tasha in the form of Magical Guidance. You can use a Sorcery point to reroll a d20 if needed, potentially squeezing a success out. Don’t use this all the time (even if Warlock slots means you’ll have plenty of Sorcery points to spare) but this can be very useful in an emergency!

You can also learn third level spells and hey: Fireball may be a normie spell, but it’s still pretty effective. It’s maybe a bit too flashy to be Looming Darkness but it’s a good source of AoE damage which isn’t as loud and annoying as Shatter.

LEVEL 8 - SORCERER 6

All this time being a Shadow Sorcerer and Shadow hasn’t even done anything for us! Well how about you go out there and get some work done, Shadow? For 3 Sorcery points you can summon a Hound of Ill Omen to target a foe within 120 feet of you.

Shadow is basically a Dire Wolf except he’s Medium, has temp HP equal to half your Sorcerer level, can move through stuff (but takes damage if he ends his turn in stuff), and automatically chases whoever you told him to go for. Shadow will appear 30 feet away from the person you told him to get, and will chase after him like I said. All he’ll really do is attack the target you told him to though; he won’t even opportunity attack unless it’s the person you told him to chase. But if Shadow’s near someone they have disadvantage on their saving throws, which is pretty cool. (Unfortunately it’s only against spells, not your Form of Dread.)

Speaking of saving throws: Slow is a really great way to keep normies from running around doing annoying stuff. And you don’t have to hit Shadow with it which is pretty cool.

(Artwork by @Lauriquess on Twitter.)

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get to choose their Pact Boon: if you want a really small Shadow go for Pact of the Chain, and if you want your cool necklace go for Pact of the Talisman, but we’ll be going for Pact of the Tome because you’re mostly a spellcaster really. (And we definitely don’t have enough cantrips.)

You get a Book of Shadows (See? Books can be cool!) with three cantrips: take Thaumaturgy to be extra spooky, Vicious Mockery for some sick teenage burns, and Sapping Sting to make normies fall over when you fear them. Some might say that 10 total cantrips by level 9 is a bit overkill but look on the dark side: you’ve now got a cantrip for basically every type of saving throw in case you can’t hit with Eldritch Blast!

Honestly none of the Pact Boons are particularly important for Vex so I picked the one that made the most sense. Feel free to take something more practical since 10 cantrips is admittedly overkill.

Oh and you can learn more Warlock spells, so now it’s time to finally take Misty Step. For Flash!

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: getting more Charisma for better spellcasting is probably a good idea.

You can also learn another spell, and hey look another cantrip. For your cantrip even if more damage options are kinda overkill by this point Chill Touch inflicts Grievous Wounds, which might be useful. You can also grab another second level spell and Blindness / Deafness (which is on the Undead list) is far more useful than any of the other normie options you’d have at this level anyways.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 5

5th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation, and even if you’ve got a resetting dash you’re still a squishy mage. So grab Tomb of Levistus for Zhonya's Hourglass.

You can also grab third level Warlock spells now! Remember how I took Fireball and complained that it wasn’t a good replica of Looming Darkness? Well Hunger of Hadar takes your Concentration but it’s a lot edgier!

LEVEL 12 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Undead Warlocks have become Grave Touched by the mist, and can make mist of their own! Along with being able survive without eating, drinking, or breathing you can turn any of your damage into necrotic damage. If you’re in your Form of Dread however you can add one extra damage die to whatever you’re using to get people to buzz off, adding to that morbid and macabre aesthetic.

You can also add another spell and if you’re bored with Shadow being a wolf how about you make them a Summon Shadowspawn? Weaponize your Fury, Despair, or Fear (I’d honestly recommend Fury since it has good synergy with your Dreadful Aspect) and work together with Shadow to deal with all your annoying foes! I’d also suggest replacing Hellish Rebuke with Counterspell, because even if the former fits better the latter is way more useful.

(Artwork by Jennifer Wuestling. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks can finally activate Shadow Surge. Relentless Hex lets you mark a foe with Hex and then dash to them. And technically you can move Hex around after the fact to reset your dashes! And while you’re at it you may as well grab Dimension Door for Summoner Teleport.

You could also upgrade Summon Shadowspawn to Summon Aberration if you so desire, but Summon Shadowspawn is more than strong enough and far more fun and thematic.

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 8

Another Ability Score Improvement. Yay. Cap off your Charisma for the best spellcasting you can get out of Shadow. You can also learn another spell, but we’re going to wait for...

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation: even if it’s kinda ineffective Ascendant Step is still pretty useful to have Shadow carry you around. I mean yeah it’s slow but not that much slower than walking for you, and Shadow can lift you up in the air. “Shadow; carry me...”

You can also learn 5th level spells. If one guy’s being particularly annoying Negative Energy Flood can get them to shut up and work for you. Alternatively if you want more Personal Space Antilife Shell is on the Undead List and will make sure normies keep faaaaar away.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 10

Are you ever so sick of everything that you just want to explode? Necrotic Husk has two benefits: for one you’re resistant to Necrotic damage, and immune while in your Form of Dread because being around Viego for so long means you’re used to his work.

But additionally when you are reduced to 0 hit points you can use your reaction to drop to 1 hit point instead and cause your body to explode! Each creature of your choice within 30 feet of you takes 2d10 + your warlock level in Necrotic damage. You do gain 1 level of exhaustion after using this, and after using it once you can’t do so again until you finish 1d4 long rests. So I’d perhaps use Strength of the Grave first unless you really need to lash out.

I hope you weren’t expecting more spells because you aren’t getting them from Warlock: just a cantrip. By this point we’ve honestly got far too many cantrips so I dunno maybe just grab Prestidigitation again and swap it out from Sorcerer when you get the chance.

(Artwork by @DukkoArt on Twitter.)

LEVEL 17 - SORCERER 7

Finally back to our yordle roots: 7th level Sorcerers get 4th level spells like Storm Sphere for a sphere of darkness and angst. But I mean the real benefit is that you get more Sorcery points let’s be real.

Oh and you can swap out Prestidigitation for Gust I guess. Spooky winds and stuff. Either this level or next level depending on your DM.

LEVEL 18 - SORCERER 8

Your last Ability Score Improvement... You’re gonna have to ask: what’s more important to me? More Metamagic, or more Eldritch Invocations? If Metamagic is to your liking take Metamagic Adept for Careful Spell and Distant Spell along with two more Sorcery points to use on them. If you like Eldritch Invocations though Eldritch Adept has a ton of options as a level 10 Warlock. I won’t tell you what invocation to take (they’re all great boosts but none of them shout out at me as something you should prioritize) as there are plenty of options to make your own Vex now that they’re all grown up.

I can at least tell you what spell to take: none of them! Wait until next level!

Oh and you can swap out Prestidigitation for Gust I guess.

LEVEL 19 - SORCERER 9

9th level Sorcerers can learn 5th level spells which means you’ve finally caught up to your Warlock slots. And look at that: the good wish Tasha gave you one last way to weaponize Shadow. Bigby’s Hand does a bunch of cool stuff and is pretty much the ultimate way to make Shadow crush some normies. (Most literally.) Alternatively if you want to borrow from Viego Enervation will let you heal from the mist and also do some damage. Great if you’re stuck in a corner with a bunch of annoying normies.

LEVEL 20 - SORCERER 10

Our final level is the 10th level of Sorcerer for one last spell, one last cantrip, and one last metamagic option! For your metamagic it’s honestly about time you take Quickened Spell to up your DPS. For your cantrip take Mold Earth to dig holes in the sand and brood. And as for your leveled spell? Honestly I just like Synaptic Static, and there isn’t much else I want anyways.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

We’re all doomed. But you’re more doomed - 5th level spells pack more than enough punch, and you’ve got plenty of them. Warlock slots will always be at your fingertips, and Sorcery points give you plenty of flexibility too!

I can feel it: someone’s happy over there! - Along with giving you a temporary hitpoint shield Form of Dread puts a nice bit of CC on all your abilities. Keep enemies scared and sad with tons of Doom and Gloom!

Ugh. Stop copying me Shadow! - Hounds of Ill Omen are cool. Summon Shadowspawn is also cool. Bigby’s Hand is especially cool. And hey: even your lower level Concentration spells like Hex? They’re pretty cool too.

CONS

Ughhhhhhhhhh this is gonna take foreeeever! - You’ve got limited fumes, even for a coffeelock. Form of Dread has limited uses and there’s only so much spell slot melting you can do to get your magic back.

I’m dancing... Happy? - You’ve got a really boring set of really normie skills... and if you’re playing Vex the way she’s meant to be played you’re probably not going to use any of them except for Intimidation.

Yup; the glass is half empty - Half your levels are Sorcerer levels, meaning you’re squishy. You’ve also got Mage Armor on which guess what: also means you’re squishy. People who hit teenagers sure are lame but it’s really not hard to Power Word Kill you.

But I guess you’re pretty cool overall. Shadow’s an alright partner and you can spread Ruination even without Viego. Trudge around and get people to frown for once. There’s nothing wrong with being sad, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting the world to be sad. But do try to at least be happy out of character, because we play games to have fun. I mean, who’d play a video game that just makes you depressed and angry?

(Artwork by @AzzylumArt on Twitter.)

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd build #dnd guide #League of Legends #League of Legends Vex #vex league of legends #Vex #yordle #shadow isles #dnd warlock #dnd sorcerer #shadow #meh #whatever #I dunno what to tag this

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melanielocke · 3 years

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An experiment with a Fairchild

Alastair goes to the Fairchild's house to visit Charles, but finds only Henry home, who is working on something.

CW for toxic relationship

Taglist: @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

I don't think this really adds up with the timeline since I'm not sure Henry was actually in London at the time but I don't care. It's somewhere during early Chain of Gold.

Alastair knocked on the door of the house in Grosvenor Square. The consul was currently in Idris and would not be home, and Alastair was fairly certain Matthew was someplace else with his band of bandits or whatever they called themselves nowadays. Charles’ father he wasn’t so sure about, but Alastair imagined he would have gone with her. He sincerely hoped Charles would be home. He’d missed Charles and hoped they could talk about his engagement. Alastair could make him understand, how unhappy it made him. They would work something out, Alastair was sure of it. It would be like Paris again, just the two of them. He could be happy, as long as he had Charles’ love.

The door opened, but it wasn’t Charles standing in the doorway, nor any of the servants. Instead, sitting in a bath chair, was Charles’ father. Henry Branwell, known for inventing the portal, although Alastair didn’t think he got the recognition he deserved. He didn’t know much about Henry beyond that, Charles was far closer to his mother than his father and Alastair didn’t think Charles really understood his father’s work.

‘Good afternoon,’ Henry said. ‘I’m not sure we’ve met? I’m Henry Fairchild.’

Alastair didn’t realize Henry used his wife’s name. He knew Charles’ mother had chosen to give him her last name instead of Henry’s because of her position as consul, which was an unusual decision, but he’d never heard of a husband taking his wife’s name.

Charles often claimed his parents hadn’t married out of love either, that his mother had married his father because she needed the support of a husband to advance her career. Therefore, it was fine he was marrying for political reasons and would never love his wife. But Henry Fairchild must love his wife very much, to have taken her name.

‘I’m Alastair Carstairs,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m here to see Charles, is he home?’

‘Right, you must be Charles’ friend. No, I don’t think he’s at home right now.’

‘Oh that’s too bad,’ Alastair said, attempting to hide the disappointment in his voice. ‘Do you know where he is?’

Perhaps he was at his club, Alastair thought. He’d been there once before with Charles, who’d wanted to introduce him to the club. Alastair had not yet managed to win much approval there, but he was determined to keep trying. Many high standing shadowhunter men were members of the same gentleman’s club Charles went to, and Alastair wanted so badly to fit in there. Even if deep down, he knew he never would, not really. Even with his hair dyed blonde, his skin was still too dark to pass for a white English man. At most they would accept an act he put on. Still, Alastair tried the best he could to be what they wanted and win their approval, especially Charles’.

‘No, I’m not sure. But I expect he’ll be home soon. Why don’t you come in and wait there. I am working on something fascinating.’

Alastair hesitated, but he guessed it couldn’t hurt to come in. If at any point Matthew arrived, he could always make his way out. He didn’t hate Matthew, not really. He thought Matthew was immature, and sometimes Alastair was jealous that it was so easy for Matthew to be himself, but that was all, and Alastair deeply regretted his behavior at school.

However, Alastair thought it was best for all parties involved if he stayed away from Matthew, who was clearly still mad with him. Who could blame him, honestly? Charles knew, of course, about the bad blood between them, but had chosen to believe Matthew had been a brat at school and did not blame Alastair for his behavior. While that was true to some extent, Alastair had been far worse. However, if he was to be accepted, he should not show such weakness, and the best course of action was to stay away. Perhaps coming here was a bad decision.

Henry retreated into his lab, and while Alastair waited with some tea provided by a servant, he felt very awkward. What were his duties here? He would have expected someone inviting him in to stay with him, although a conversation with Charles’ father would have been just as awkward. Where was Charles? Was he coming?

In the end, Alastair did decide to take a look in the lab.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Henry said. ‘You were taking your time with that tea. Do you prefer it colder?’

Truth to be told, Alastair didn’t like the way the English made their tea at all, but he reserved his complaints about the awful food and drinks of this country for when he was having tea with his mother and Risa.

‘It was quite hot,’ was all Alastair said.

‘After some deliberation I’ve decided to give the Phosphor another chance,’ Henry said. ‘It was unfortunately, a failed invention, but I still believe I could make it work.’

‘What is it supposed to be?’ Alastair asked.

Henry fell into a lecture of his work, how he’d wanted to invent a light source five times brighter than witchlights. So far the Phosphor had mostly resulted in fires, and Henry had abandoned the project in favor of the portal. Alastair noticed how passionate Henry seemed when he talked about his interests. He could be passionate too, but Charles said that was not a good thing. It was important that he appeared rational at all times, not clouded by emotion.

‘Nor did I like working with something so highly flammable while Charles and Matthew were small,’ Henry said. ‘It would be too dangerous with small and vulnerable children depending on me. But they’re growing up so fast. Charles will be married soon and move out with his wife.’

Alastair wasn’t so sure what Charles intended to do. He’d assured him the engagement was temporary, that he would not marry miss Bridgestock. But she was under the impression the marriage would take place. Then who was Charles lying to?

‘So now is the right time to give it another try?’ Alastair concluded.

‘Precisely. However, something is not right with my calculations, and I cannot figure it out. Do you have an interest in science yourself, Mr. Carstairs?’

Alastair had once, although not to the extent Henry did. He was good at math, at least, and fascinated by the theory.

‘A little,’ he said. ‘But I’m mainly interested in politics.’

Alastair glanced over the calculations Henry had written down. They were complex, but Alastair was good at math and at least this part of the inventing process he could follow along.

‘There’s a mistake here,’ Alastair said. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s not working.’

Henry moved over to look at the calculations, and Alastair pointed out the errors, working with Henry to fix the errors. Would it work now?

‘Are you sure you’re not interested in becoming a scientist or an inventor?’ Henry asked. ‘You’re quite clever. I think it is limiting, to think of shadowhunters only as warriors. Some are, and that’s fine, but there are more ways to make the world better than just killing demons. The experiments Christopher and I do all serve the purpose of improving life for shadowhunters, yet so few understand.’

Henry sounded resigned, had he accepted the way he was viewed? Alastair found it difficult to imagine. He knew what it was to be mocked, and he never wanted to experience that again. He didn’t think he could bear it, but perhaps Henry was simply stronger than he was.

‘That’s their loss,’ Alastair said. ‘There are many ways to improve the world beyond fighting. I’m not an inventor, but I hope I can improve the Clave by getting into politics someday.’

Alastair wasn’t completely sure it was what he wanted anymore. Even if he did succeed, he knew people would gossip. He could never be the perfect politician shadowhunters expected, not without a wife, and Alastair was determined that no matter how much he pretended to be something he was not, he would never pretend to love someone he could never have such feelings for. He admired Henry, for not caring what people thought of him. He wished he could be like that, be himself, and be appreciated, if not by society then by a smaller group of people who loved him. But Alastair didn’t think that was possible, because no one could love the real him, could they? After pretending for so long, he didn’t even know who the real Alastair was anymore.

‘Ah, like Lottie,’ Henry said. ‘I so admire what she does. I could never make people listen like she does. And Charles wants to be just like her. Truth to be told, he’s a far better assistant to her than I could ever hope to be.’

‘Charles is good at what he does,’ Alastair said.

Alastair hoped some day he would be too. He read all the books Charles recommended, he worked tirelessly on formulating his own ideas. But whenever he presented his ideas to Charles, he was met with laughter. As if his ideas were just a joke to him, as if he were far too young and silly to understand. It made him feel awful. Alastair usually tried to downplay it then, pretend he hadn’t been absolutely serious about these ideas. Because clearly if Charles didn’t take him seriously, his ideas weren’t as good as they’d seemed at first and he needed to do better. He’d convinced his mother that he could help their family’s social standing by succeeding in politics rather than marrying, but how could he if not even Charles thought his ideas were worth anything?

‘I must admit I don’t understand his work nearly as well as you must,’ Henry said. ‘I’m glad he has a friend like you. I have worried about him. Always so focused on work, he doesn’t have many friends and I worry he’s lonely. I think he finds it difficult to make friends. But you and he, you are good friends are you not?’

‘We are,’ Alastair said, suddenly terrified Henry would suspect he and Charles were not quite friends, but lovers instead.

He wasn’t quite sure what Henry meant about Charles not having many friends. Charles attended his club along with many shadowhunter men, and he seemed friendly with many of them. Of course, even then he mainly talked about politics and tried to build alliances to further his career. Alastair wasn’t sure Charles really cared about any of them, perhaps he was the only one Charles had former a true connection with. If anything, it made him feel more special to be the only one trusted and appreciated by him.

‘He’s lucky to have you,’ Henry said.

‘Father, what are you doing here with Alastair?’

Charles was standing in the doorway. He looked weary, and Alastair wanted to go to him, but he didn’t dare, not when Henry Fairchild was still here to witness them. Although strangely, he suspected if there were shadowhunters who did not condemn men like him and Charles, it would be Henry.

‘Ah, there you are, Charles. Your friend has been waiting for you.’

Charles sighed. ‘Please do not bother my friends with your experiments. I am sorry for this, Alastair. I was caught up at the Institute, you know how it is.’

Alastair was a bit shocked by the way Charles spoke to Henry. Compared to his father, Henry seemed kind, if only a bit absent minded. He knew Charles did not understand his father well, but it was quite rude to speak to him in such a manner. His mother certainly wouldn’t tolerate it if he spoke to her like this.

Henry didn’t say anything else, and Alastair left the lab with Charles to go upstairs, to his bedroom. As Alastair understood it, Henry rarely left his lab and there was little danger of him interrupting him.

‘Are you very tired?’ Alastair asked.

‘Just work,’ Charles said. ‘It’s becoming a bit much lately, but that’s alright. This is my chance to show my best qualities, after all. Exhaustion is a small price to pay. And I have you with me now, and that more than makes up for it. I could use some relaxation.’

And Alastair obliged, as he always did. Even if part of him was still upset with Charles, he knew that if he wanted to earn his lover’s affection and loyalty, he would have to be there for him when Charles needed him and give him what he wanted. At least now he could experience what if felt like to be loved, and Alastair knew love was supposed to hurt. It was better than nothing, better than being alone. Still, he wished he could be more like Charles’ father, doing what was right for him and being who he was regardless of what anyone else thought. But Alastair had lost himself a long time ago, the only time when he felt even remotely like himself was when he was in Charles’ arms. And even then, he still did not feel quite right and couldn’t figure out what was missing. He did not know who he was anymore.

#Alastair Carstairs #Henry Branwell #Henry Fairchild #Charles Fairchild #the last hours #fanfiction #fic

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livia-dovehallow · 3 years

Text

future talks - gabrily

in honor of yours truly managing to score tickets to MARINA’s virtual concert next month with an afterparty pass and t shirt before they sold out, here is a un-related fluffy piece for our favorite shadowhunter couple to have ever existed !!!

Characters: Cecily Herondale, Gabriel Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Time/Place: 1882, London, England, UK

Documents scattered the library table in an unorganized shuffle of thoughts. Cecily scanned the names of each sheet of paper before her looking for the one she needed in that moment, growing more and more frustrated the longer it took her to find it.

Gabriel sat beside her searching as well. He had not made any sound of frustration as she had been doing but his face gave away that he felt the same way. Only Gideon across from them remained calm, though if a bit exasperated. “It’s not here, Gideon,” Gabriel stated for the third time in the last five minutes. He tossed the stack of papers he had in his hand back onto the table with a sharp slap. “How could it be missing? It’s the most important sheet of paper in this mess!”

“There’s no need to get cross,” Gideon said calmly, which only aggravated his brother more.

Cecily set her hands on the table, palms pressed against the solid wood, and inhaled slowly. Both boys ceased their bickering. Gabriel set his hand over hers gently. She looked at him, then at Gideon. “Is it possible to get a new one, Gideon?” she asked, tired. “If there is a fee, you can charge it to my brother.”

Gabriel let out a short puff of air meant as a laugh and squeezed her hand. Gideon began to gather his own set of papers, organized as he kept them always, and began to stand from the table. “I will go see if they can provide a new print now, that way if it will take time to arrive, we can still get it in before the ceremony.”

“Thank you,” Cecily said and smiled gratefully. Gideon nodded, and with a quick smile and wave, he left the library to the Hall of Records in Alicante. She turned to Gabriel, who still had her hand in his, and squeezed his fingers. “It’ll be all right,” she assured him.

Gabriel nodded and dropped his tense shoulders. She’d noticed how stressed and tense he had become over the last few days. Their wedding was only days away, and after years of courting and engagement, she knew he was as restless as she was to finally be married. “I know,” he answered with a small smile. “I just want everything to go smoothly. No hiccups or problems.”

Cecily laughed and threw her head back onto the backrest of her chair. “When has there ever been a no-problem event among this group of people, hm?” She turned back toward him and admired the way his cheekbones were enhanced by the witchlights in the library. “Gideon will find us a new marriage certificate and everything will be well.”

“Should you still be called Mrs. Lightwood if there is no marriage certificate?”

“I can do as I please.”

Gabriel smiled, affectionate and genuine this time, and turned back to the papers across the table. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself, and reached for the first paper he saw. “That makes me feel better. We can work on the other documents while we wait for Gideon.”

Cecily pouted. “What else is there to do?” she lamented. “Mundane marriages do not involve nearly as much paperwork.”

“Do they?” Gabriel asked absently, shuffling through his pile. Cecily groaned. Over the course of their engagement, they’d completed a variety of forms and documents needed to make their union official in the eyes of the Clave. Providing birth certificates (which proved more difficult than Cecily would have liked. How was she supposed to know that her mundane-issued birth certificate had been stored in special forces?), filing for an officially sanctioned union, choosing wedding decorations and food, and not to mention the ages she spent finding the perfect wedding dress. And yet there was much to do—including having their marriage certificate ready for signing at the end of their ceremony.

“What is this?” Gabriel asked suddenly, pulling Cecily out of her half-asleep state. She blinked at him and took the page from his hand, reading the type as it came into focus.

“’Ensure your future husband is ready for life,’” she read aloud. Below was a list of topics one was meant to discuss with their betrothed prior to engagement. Cecily giggled. “It’s from a mundane women’s magazine,” she explained to Gabriel, who clearly had never touched a mundane magazine before. “Sophie or Tessa must have thrown it in with our files in jest. It’s meant to be taken at the time of engagement.”

Gabriel took back the page and studied it. “These are all quite important topics indeed,” he commented. “’Finances and Dowry, Size of Home, Duties, Children.’”

“I don’t have a dowry,” she said and raised an eyebrow at him. “That isn’t going to be an issue, is it?”

“Of course not,” Gabriel answered seriously. Cecily giggled again; she was only joking, but Gabriel was always serious about being a modern man. “And if you did, I would reject it.”

“Truly?” Cecily questioned, intrigued.

“Truly,” Gabriel answered. He turned to her. “Others see marriage as a business transaction. Indebted men seek plentiful dowries to pay off their debts, nothing more. I do not want any part of that.”

“My father would be pleased to hear you say that.” Cecily reached up and kissed his cheek gently, feeling his face lift with a smile beneath her lips. “Besides, I am proud of you for giving up most of your inheritance to Tatiana. Angel knows that girl is not deserving of your kindness.”

Gabriel’s eyes were sad. “She’s my sister,” he said with a heavy sigh. “And I hope she uses it to take care of Jesse. I think that is the primary reason I did what I did. She had a child and no salary.”

“You’re a very loving uncle,” she whispered to him. “I know you’d give anything for the little ones. I think you’ll make an excellent father.”

Gabriel flushed red and avoided her eyes, fidgeting with the magazine in his hands. “Speaking of children in the same building where your brother is present seems likes a death wish,” he said.

“For you,” she chirped with a shrug and fully turned in her seat so her entire body faced him. “Don’t worry. He’s all talk now.” Cecily paused then bit her lip. “Do—Do you not want children?”

Gabriel jumped in his seat and jerked his attention toward her once more, looking frazzled. “No!” he said quickly, then shook his head. “I mean, no that’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “I-I just never thought I’d have the opportunity to—you know—have children, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever get married,” he answered quietly, with a pink flush to his cheeks. Cecily felt her heart squeeze at his tone. “It was always Gideon who was groomed to carry on my father’s legacy. I was just backup really. I thought I would have given my life in the field before I was ever mature enough to get married.”

Cecily brushed her fingers through his ever-toussled brown hair and admired him. He’d changed so much over the years and she only continued to fall deeper in love with him as he did. “Did I change your mind, then?”

Gabriel’s face lifted as did the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he confirmed with a short laugh. “I may actually grow old now.”

Cecily rolled her eyes but she laughed, happy to see him in a better place in his life than he had been when she met him. “I am glad,” she said.

“I do want children,” he added, squeezing her hand once more and looking into her eyes with those comforting green ones. “Especially with you. You’re right. I love being an uncle and being around the little ones. It’d—be very nice to have some of our own.”

Her heart burst in her chest with more happiness and love than she ever thought she was capable of. Without hesitation she surged forward and took his face in her grasp, pressing her lips to his. He smiled against her and held her steady as she leaned out of her chair. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you, too.”

She pulled away from him reluctantly. “I think I need to be an aunt, first,” she said.

Gabriel blinked. “You’ve been one.”

“Not officially. We are not yet married.”

“The girls call you Aunt Cecily.”

“It needs to be official.”

He laughed and nodded. “All right,” he caved, pressing another quick kiss to her before setting her back into her seat. “Anything else you wish for upon marrying me?”

“Besides children and an official Aunt title?” She teased.

“Yes, besides those.”

Cecily pretended to ponder long and hard about her answer, despite the fact she knew exactly what it was before he even asked. “I want you to stay with me.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? Seems easy enough.”

“And also tell me how wonderful I am every single day.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“I am not expensive to please.”

“I can see that.”

Cecily grinned at him, unable to contain her excitement to spend the rest of her life with him. She wanted a love as strong as her parents’ and she had found it. “Is there something you want from me?”

Gabriel seemed surprised by this. “Anything I want?”

“Yes, you.”

He mocked her pondering expression from moments ago, prompting her to huff in faux annoyance. “I also want you to stay with me.”

“I can do that.”

His smile was sweet and vulnerable, an expression she knew only she got to see. She hoped one day he’d look at their children with that expression as well, but until that day came, she was content being the only person in the world he looked at with such love and affection. She began to imagine what their children together would look like in her mind. Whose eyes would they inherit? Would they get her black hair or his brown? Would they have all girls or all boys or a mix? Oh, Gabriel with a daughter would be so sweet—

“Cecy? What are you thinking about?”

“Our children.”

Gabriel flushed red once more and quickly looked away and back toward their documents. “One step at a time, Cecy. We need to get properly married first.”

“Details.”

#gabrily #gabriel lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #gideon lightwood #will herondale #the infernal devices #the last hours #fluff fic #tsc #tid #tlh

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beclynn-herondale · 3 years

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In Another Universe Chapter: 11 - Retrieving the Mortal Cup

It was still slightly raining when Simone pulled up at the corner and honked at them twice. Clar's heart took a leap, a part of him was worried she wouldn't come. Jayce squinted through the rain and said something about how the van looked like a rotting banana, which wasn't wrong.

Simone honked again. Clar saw her through the blurry wet windows. with a sigh he pulled his hood up over his head. "Come on, let's go."

They splashed through the filthy puddles on the pavement.

Simone crawled into the back to open the door for them, revealing the torn and beaten up seats, that had springs sticking out.

Isidore's nose wrinkled. "Are these safe to sit on?" "It's safer than riding on the roof," said Simone in a pleasant tone. "Which is your other option." She nodded a greeting at Jayce and Alec, ignoring Clar entirely. "Hi." "Hi indeed," said Jayce, and lifted a bag that held their weapons. "Where can we put these?" Simone pointed to the back, where the girls usually kept their instruments, while Alec and Isidore climbed into the van and sat on the seats.

"Shotgun!" Clar announced as Jayce made her back around the side of the van. Alec grabbed for her bow strapped across her back. "Where?" "He means he wants to sit in the front seat," said Jayce, pushing wet hair behind her ear. "It's something mundanes say."

"That's a very nice bow," said Simone, with a nod towards Alec. Alec blinked water off her eyelashes. "Do you know anything about archery?" she asked, in a tone of doubt. "I did archery camp," said Simone. "Six years of it." The response for this was three blank stares and Clar giving a supportive smile, which Simone ignored as well. She looked up at the sky.

"We should get going before it starts raining again." The front seat was covered in chip wrappers and food crumbs. Clar brushed as much as he could off. Simone put her foot to the pedal before he'd finished, and flung him back against the seat. "Ow," he said. "Sorry." She still didn't look at him.

Clar heard the soft talking of the others in the back, probably discussing battle plans and the best way to cut off a demons head with getting ichor on your new leather boots. There was nothing separating the others from the front of the van, Clar still felt the awkwardness between him and Simone.

"So what's up with the 'hi' thing?" he asked as Simone turned the car. "What 'hi' thing?" she replied. "The 'hi' thing that people do. How when you saw Jayce and Alec, you said 'hi' and they replied 'hi' back. Why not 'hello'?" "Hello is not badass," she informed him. "Real badasses are laconic."

"So you're saying the more badass you are, the less you say?" "Exactly." She nodded past him, he could see the east river. "That's why in the movies the badasses don't say a word, just nod. The nod means 'i am a badass, and I recognize that you are a badass as well,' but they don't say anything cause they are Wolverine and Magneto and it would mess up their vibe to explain it."

"I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about," said Jayce, from the back.

"Good," Clary said, and Simone gave him a small smile.

——————

When they got to Clar's house, the rain had stopped. Jayce, Alec, and Isidore, went to check the "demon activity levels" while they had Clar and Simone wait by the van.

Simone watched them as they went around the house. "Demon activity levels? Do demons like do workouts inside the house or something?" "No," Clar said and pushed his hood back. "The sensor tells them how powerful the demons are and if there are any demons around." Simone had an impressed look. "That's actually very helpful."

He looked at her. "About last night—" She held her hand up. "Don't. We don't need to talk about it. In fact I don't want to talk about it." "Let me say one thing," he spoke quickly. "I know when you said you loved me, my reply was not what you wanted." "True. I had always thought when I finally told someone 'I love you' they'd say 'I know' back, like in Starwars." "You're so geeky," said Clar, not able to help himself.

She gave him a glare. "Sorry," he said. "Look, Simone i—" "No," she said. "You look, Clar. Really look at me. Do you think you can do that?"

He looked at her. Looked at her brown eyes, her uneven eyebrows, her dark brown hair and shy smile and her hands graceful like a musician's that was all part of Simone, who was part of him. If he told the truth, could he really say that he'd never known she had loved him? Or that he had just never thought what he'd do about it if she did?

He sighed. "Seeing through glamour is easy. It's people that are difficult." "We see what we want to see," she said quietly. "Not Jayce," he said, thinking about those clear and emotionless eyes of her's. "Her more than anyone."

He gave a frown. "What—" "Okay," called Jayce's voice, interrupting their conversation. He turned to her. "We have checked it all, nothing. Very low activity. Most likely just Forsaken, and they probably won't bother us unless we bother them." "And if they do bother us," said Isidore, with a grin. "We'll take them down."

Alec pulled the bag out of the back of the van, dropping it onto the sidewalk. "You ready to kick some demon butt!" she announced. Jayce gave her a odd look. "Alec, are you ok?" "Fine." Not looking at her, Alec put her bow and arrows down in the back seat of the van and grabbed a wooden staff with two blades on the end. "This is much better." Isidore gave his sister a look of concern. "But your bow. . ." Alec cut him off. "I know what I am doing, Isidore."

The bow kay in the backseat, Simone reached a hand out to touch it, then drew back when she saw a group of young women pushing strollers down the street. They didn't notice the armed the three teenagers, standing by the van. "Why can I see you guys?" asked Simone. "What happened to your invincibility glamour?" "You can see us," said Jayce. "Because you know the truth of what you are looking at now." "Yeh," said Simone. "I suppose I do."

She fought a little when they insisted she stay back and wait with the van, Jayce told her the importance of needing getaway car by the curb and ready. "The sunlight is fatal for demons, but not to Forsaken. What if they come after us? What if the car were to get towed?"

The last Clar saw of Simone was her feet on the dash and going through Erica's CDs.

The moment they walked into the house the smell hit Clar, he couldn't quite describe it. it smelled like rotten eggs, bad meat and seaweed rotting in the hot sun. Isidore's nose wrinkled and Alec looked sick, but Jayce looked as if they were in a field of flowers and smelling the perfume of them. "There were demons here recently," she announced with a cold delight.

Clar with an anxious look, asked. "They aren't still here—" "Nope," she shook her head. "We would have picked it up on the sensor. Still." She jerked her chin towards Dorothea's door. "She may have questions to answer if the Clave finds out she has been dealing with demons." "I doubt the Clave will be happy to hear any of this," said Isidore. "Although, she'll probably fair better than us with this." "If we get the Cup they won't care," said Alec, looking around, her blue eyes taking in the foyer. "Especially if we take down a few Forsaken while we're at it." Jayce shook her head. "They are in the upper apartment. I guess that unless we try to get into the upper apartment, they won't bother us."

Isidore blew a strand of hair out of his face and frowned at Clar. "What you waiting for?" Involuntarily Clar glanced at Jayce, who gave him a sideways grin. Go on, her eyes said.

He walked across the foyer to Dorothea's door, gently stepping. The skylight was blackened with dirt and the entryway lightbulb was out, the only light came from Jayce's witchlight. He reached the door and knocked lightly, and then again with more force.

The door swung open, light spilling out into the foyer. There stood Dorothea.

"Clar!" she exclaimed, and swept him into a hug. "Good God, boy," she said, shaking her head. "The last I saw of you, you disappeared through my portal. Where did you end up?" "Williamsburg," he said. Her eyebrows went up. "And yet they say there is no convenient pubic transportation here in Brooklyn."

She swung the door open all the way and gestured them inside. The place looked to be unchanged, everything the same as it was when Clar was here last: The same tarot cards and crystal ball on the table. He had the urge to grab the cards. Dorothea sat down in a armchair and stared at the Shadowhunters with Beady eyes. Scented candles burned on the table, which didn't do much for the smell that was in the entire house.

"I am assuming you still haven't found your mother and sister?" she asked Clar. He shook his head. "No. But I know who took them, now."

Dorothea darted her eyes towards Alec and Isidore, who were looking closely at the Hand of Fate on the wall. Jayce, looking unconcerned in the slightest in her role as bodyguard was lounging against a chair arm.

Satisfied that the none of her stuff was being destroyed, Dorothea looked back to Clar. "Was it by chance—" "Valentine," Clar confirmed. "Yes." She sighed. "I feared that," she sat back in her chair. "Do you know what he wants from her?" "I know that she was married to him—" "Love gone terribly wrong. The worst."

Jayce made a soft, almost inaudible noise at that—a chuckle. Dorothea pricked her ears at that. "What is so funny, girl?" "What do you know about it?" she said. "Love, I mean." "More than you may think," she said. "I read your tea leaves, little Shadowhunter, remember? Have you fallen in love with the wrong person yet?"

Clar thought back to that day, when Jayce seemed to not be paying much attention to Dorothea reading their tea leaves and him drawing the ace of cups, in fact he was almost sure Jayce was probably only half there until the name Valentine came up. But he remembered Madame Dorothea saying something about her falling in love with the wrong person, and he wondered if she even cared.

Jayce said. "Unfortunately, my one and only true love remains to be myself." Dorothea roared. "Well, at least," she said. "You don't need to worry about rejection, Jayce Wayland." "Not necessarily, I do turn myself down occasionally, to keep things interesting."

Dorothea roared again. Clar interrupted her. "You are probably wondering why we are here, Madame Dorothea." "I figured," said Dorothea, "That you enjoyed the pleasure of my company. Am I wrong?" "I don't have time for the pleasure of someone's company. I need to help my mom and sister, and to do that there is something I need."

"And that is?". "It is something called the Mortal Cup," Clar said. "Valentine thought that my mother had it. That is why he took her." Dorothea looked astonished. "The Cup of the Angel?" she said in disbelief. "Raziel's Cup, in which he mixed the blood of angels and of men and gave it to man to drink, and created the first Nephilim?" "That's the one," said Jayce with dryness in her voice.

"Why would he think she had it?" Dorothea demanded. "Why Jocelyn, of all people?" Realization started to dawn on he before Clar could say anything. "Because she was not Jocelyn Fray at all, yes of course," she said. "Back then she was Jocelyn Fairchild, his wife. Who everyone thought was dead. She took the Cup and fled, didn't she?"

Clar thought he saw something flick in her eyes but it was gone so fast that he thought he Imagined it.

"So," said Dorothea, "have you any idea what you're going to do now? Wherever she has hidden it, t can't be easy to find—that is if you even want to find it. Valentine could do horrible things with it." "I want to find it," said Clar. "We want—" Smoothly Jayce cut him off. "We know where it is," she said. "It is simply a matter of retrieving it."

Dorothea widened her eyes. "Then where is it?". "It's here," said Jayce, in such a smug tone that Alec and Isidore came over from the bookcase they were looking at to see what was happening. "Here? As in you have it on you?"

"Not exactly," said Jayce, who, Clar felt was enjoying herself in an appalling manner. "I mean you have it." "That isn't funny in the least," she said with such a sharp tone that Clar was worried everything had gone terribly wrong. Why does Jayce always have to antagonize everyone? "You do have it," said Clar quickly. "But you—"

Dorothea sat up from her chair to her full height and Looked down at them angrily. "You are mistaken," she said with ice in her voice. "In Imagining I have the Cup and in daring coming here and call me a liar."

Alec put her hand to the staff. "Uh, oh," she said under her breath.

Bafflely, Clar shook his head. "No," he said very quickly, "I am not saying you're a liar, I swear. What I am saying is the Cup is here, just you never realized it." Madame Dorothea still looking at him coldly. "Explain," she said. "What I am saying is my mother hid it here," said Clar. "Years ago. But she never told you because it had nothing to do with you." "she gave it to you disguised," Jayce explained, "In the form of a gift."

Blanky Dorothea looked at her. Doesn't she realize? Clar thought, he was puzzled. "The tarot cards," he said. "The card deck she painted for you."

Dorothea's gaze went to the cards on the table. "The cards?" Clar walked to the table and picked the deck up. He found the Ace of Cups and pulled it out, setting the rest of the cards back down. "Here," he said.

They all were looking at him, perfectly still. He slowly turned the card over and looked at his mother's artwork: the hand wrapped around the golden stem of the Mortal Cup.

"Jayce," he said. "I need your stele." She pressed it into his palm. He turned the card over and traced the runes that were painted on it— a twist there and line here, they meant something entirely different. When he turned the card back over, the picture had changed:;the fingers had released their grasp on the Cup, the hand seemed to be almost offering it to Clar as if saying, take it. He slid the stele into his pocket. And reached into the small square of the card. His hand wrapped around it and he pulled it out, and thought he heard small sighs before, the card that was now blank disappeared into ashes.

Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @megs-readstoomuch @magnus-the-maqnificent @replayfootsteps @simply-ellas-stuff @bookfast-at-tiffanys @my-archerboy @jazzkaurtheglorious

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julieandthefandoms · 4 years

Text

Best Day Of Our Lives

A Jemma wedding fic featuring a Kitty reunion, married with children Kierartina, and Haline being cute together. It can also be found here on AO3 :)

Also, a thank you to Kaitlin, @ineedadrinkorsleep, for allowing me to use her list of Kierartina baby names, you’re amazing!

Tagging @katie33333 @tessagraycarstairs @zafirafox4636 @fairchild-squad @lily-chen-deserves-better @ineedadrinkorsleep @older-brother-kit because I have a tag list now!

Julian straightened the collar of the suit. It was bright in shade, a thing of fire and gold. It was the kind of fire so bright it almost seemed to hold no color at all, leaving the shimmering runes custom to shadowhunter weddings to almost compete with the brightness of it. It was blinding, and Julian could admire the craftsmanship of the suit, tailored to near perfection. Julian could care less about the flashiness of the suit though. It wouldn’t matter whether he were wearing jeans, or even were covered in paint splatters. What mattered was that he was getting married to his best friend, Emma Carstairs.

For the longest time, he was sure he wouldn’t have this opportunity. He had thought he had sealed his fate on that day in Idris. The day after the Dark War, when he had asked the person he loved to be his parabatai. He was prepared to live a life of unrequited love, but by some stroke of luck, he was getting married to her. The bond had been broken, and they could be together. He could be happy.

A pang went through him as he thought back to those days, back when Livvy was still with them. She would've been wild with excitement to be there, to have planned it to perfection. Julian was almost surprised that the pain hadn’t dwindled over time, but there was still an ache as he thought of her. The feeling of loss never truly fades. He had enough space in his heart to love Emma, while still hurting from the loss of his sister.

Julian tugged at the bottom of the jacket once more.

“You look lovely, Jules.” He turned to spot his sister, Helen Penhallow Blackthorn, his suggenes, leaning against the doorframe, a bright smile on her face. She herself was dressed in a flowing gown barely brushing against the top of the floor. “We should probably get going though, you wouldn’t want to be late to your own wedding.”

~^*^~

Kit Herondale should have known better. It was bound to happen really, he was definitely pushing his luck after about the second or third wedding he’d been to, but he hadn’t expected it to be so sudden. It had all started earlier that year, when virtually every friend of Jem and Tessa’s had collectively decided to destroy Kit’s life, a simple one of sneaking Mina extra cookies and avoiding his problems, by forcing him to face all his problems at their weddings. And currently, he was faced with the person he was avoiding most.

Kit had somehow managed to skate by during most of the weddings though. Simon and Isabelle’s was first, Kit having managed to stay as close to the crowd as possible, and silently slipping away after the main portion of the ceremony to reduce his chances of getting involved in a rather awkward discussion. Only a few months had passed before Clary and Jace got married as well, Kit glimpsing a head of dark hair before bolting as soon as he could, claiming that he had to take care of Mina. In fact, what was doing was hiding in the library, pouring his heart out to his little sister.

“You’d think after 3 years my heart would stop beating so rapidly that I became concerned about my own health, but no,” Kit glanced at Mina, who was currently laughing at him, eyes half shut from joy.

She let out another giggle.

“How dare you find joy in my pain?” he said, dramatically laying a hand on his head and leaning back against the bookshelf, though the smile illuminating his face revealed his true intentions. “How can I go on now, betrayed by my own sister?”

Kit smiled at the thought.

Kieran, Mark, and Cristina’s wedding had been somewhat more challenging, him having been caught behind a huge oak tree by none other than Livvy Blackthorn, but he had somehow managed to convince her to tell no one, i.e. her twin brother, a.k.a. the person Kit was trying so desperately to avoid.

“Please, Livvy, don’t tell him I’m here,” Kit was pleading now, already on his knees, gazing up at the ghost above him.

Livvy rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because I want you to do this on your terms. Remember though, my ship must be canon!”

“Your what?!-”

And that finally brought them up to this wedding, Emma and Julian’s to be more specific. Having been related to, however distant that relation may be, the bride had seemingly got the Herondale/Gray/Carstairs family (or as Kit liked to call it, the Herongraystairs family) a one way ticket to the wedding, and consequently, Kit facing the person he was dreading to meet again.

It had been going relatively well, he’d thought, the ceremony about to begin, and Kit quietly tucked into a corner. That was until Mina dragged him towards the table piled high with drinks, having spotted Max Lightwood-Bane, Rafael Lightwood-Bane, Tavvy Blackthorn, Gianna Blackthorn-Rosales, and Nico Blackthorn-Rosales (Cristina, Mark, and Kieran had Gianna and Nico a year before being married, and Mina instantly fell for them, claiming that they were her “best fwends”) playing near there, and Kit had thought maybe a drink or two wouldn’t hurt. He was severely wrong of course as Kit had failed to notice one head of dark hair standing not far from that very table.

Kit blamed Mina’s doe eyes, and his ability to fall for them instantly.

After his first drink, a voice had made Kit turn, causing him to end up where he was currently, nearly on the floor.

“Hello. I’d like to talk to you.”

~*^*~

Julian was bubbling with joy, a smile brightening his face as he was led to a platform, Helen by his side. He stopped at the top of the steps, turning to give Helen an appreciative nod and a smile. Julian took a sharp inhale as Emma walked around the corner, Cristina lending her off to the stage. All thoughts left him. She was breathtaking, wrapped in a gold silk gown that hugged her waist before flaring down to the ground. A sheer overlay on the silk skirt caught the brightness of the witchlight, complimenting the gold in her hair.

But it wasn’t only gold, was it? It was a beautiful mix of cadmium yellows, naples yellows, golds, yellow ochres.

She was beautiful, and Julian couldn’t help but think that he was the luckiest person in the world. As Emma reached the platform, she leaned in, a grin plastered on her face.

“I know, I look stunning.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a playful manner.

Julian shot back a nod. “It is your wedding, I’d expect no less.”

And with that, the ceremony began, Brother Enoch reciting a few words, before steles appeared in their hand. It passed by in a blur, and before Julian knew it, they were kissing. Time seemed to still, Julian thought he heard a crash somewhere in the crowd, a flash of blond hair blurring by the table, but he paid no attention to it. The room melted away, it was as though they, Emma and Julian, were the only two people in the room. It was perfect.

~*^*~

“HOLY-” Kit choked on his drink. He had forgotten how graceful shadowhunters were, how easily they could move without alerting anyone surrounding them. Unfortunately, that shadowhunter grace had apparently skipped a generation because Kit found himself clutching at the table for support, having nearly fallen from shock.

“Are you alright?” It was none other than Tiberius Nero Blackthorn, his arm outstretched. He was looking at him, and at that moment, all rational thought left him. He said something roughly equivalent to an audible keysmash before clearing his throat.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Kit brushed himself off, standing up as though nothing had happened. If you pretend to be confident, it won’t be long until you begin to feel confident as well. For the first time since the wedding fiasco began, he actually looked at Ty. He was taller now, Kit was surprised to see, though he supposed he shouldn’t have. Three years did a lot to change someone, he supposed, but those eyes were the same. A beautiful yet deadly storm churning above a sea. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Kit leaned against the table once more, this time a bit more suave and cool, and less panicky than the first.

“Why are you avoiding me?” It was a simple question, clear as day. Kit choked up a bit. “And why did you leave?”

All of a sudden, he was fifteen again, doing anything he could for Ty, the beautiful shadowhunter that had held a knife to his throat. The nephilim he would have done anything for. Years of suppressing his emotions didn’t prepare Kit for this moment, he doubted anything could have. Ty looked calm enough, but his hands were frantically twisting and unknotting a ball of pipe cleaners. He was nervous, Kit knew it, and so Kit blurted it out. He never could have told Ty a lie, even if he wanted to. Even after three years.

“Because I was hurt, and I was running away from what had happened,” Kit took a deep breath, as Ty nodded, understanding it. Kit, suspecting he was going to turn away, proceeded to continue talking, hoping to get a laugh, a smile, anything out of Ty. “Tessa thinks it was the Herondale dramatics though.”

Kit didn’t add the second part of what she said, “Running away from the person you love ‘for their own good’ is alarmingly common among Herondales,” but Ty let out a laugh, bright and brilliant, so it was a win in Kit’s book.

It was an amazing laugh, low and lovely, beautiful to hear.

“Tessa knows Herondales well.”

“She does.”

The silence stretched on for a moment, though it was a comfortable one. A silence in which both parties simply enjoyed the presence of the other.

The soft piano finally registered in Kit’s mind. A crazy idea formed in his head, one his fifteen year old self would banish to the darkest corners of his brain.

“May I have this dance?”

Turned out he wasn’t the only one to have that idea, Kit thought as he accepted Ty’s hand. An impish grin spread across Kit’s face.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

~*^*~

Soft music began playing from the piano in the corner, Jace Herondale shooting a wink at Helen as she rolled her eyes at his antics. A smile rested upon her face, as Helen looked at her brother and Emma, both beaming joy, foreheads together as they swayed to the music. It was so genuine, and beautiful, she couldn’t stop grinning even if she wanted to. She’d already missed so much of her family’s life, exiled on Wrangel Island, that she was glad to be here, sharing this moment with them.

And how lovely it was, gold decorations pinned to the walls, tables lined with dishes and drinks. Kieran, Mark, and Cristina were on the sides, cooing at their third child, Emelia, an adorable baby girl born only a few months ago. Helen spotted Ty dancing with Kit by the drink table, both blissfully unaware of the children bouncing about close to them. Dru was at the center of the ballroom with Jaime Rosales, gown flaring as she was spun.

Aline leaned into her, resting her head upon Helen’s shoulder. She was stunning, in a wine red gown with glittering gold accents, dark hair brushing against her back. Helen couldn’t stop but think about how lucky she was, to have someone so beautiful, so wonderful.

“Young love, it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Her wife was most certainly correct, and Helen agreed wholeheartedly.

“It really is.”

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kuiinncedes · 3 years

Text

guess who keeps writing random quinntina drabbles in completely unrelated aus and refusing to expand on any of them :D so yeah i wrote a shadowhunters!quinn and tina thing (that i actually might expand on bc i was working on a klaine shadowhunter thing and it’s not super different or anything ANYWAY) idk if i need to explain shit to make it easier to understand or anything but here’s some explanations :P

shadowhunters = demon killers born with angel blood, they draw runes on themselves to do things like heal or give extra agility, strength, etc. also shadowhunters usually have compound last names it’s a whole thing but i kept their last names anyway it doesn’t matter lmao

iratze = healing rune, when a shadowhunter uses one it heals them :P

parabatai = platonically bonded shadowhunters basically, and runes given to someone by their parabatai are sometimes more powerful

Behemoth demons = gross slimy demons with like a giant mouth or something and they’re really hard to kill bc they reform and stuff lol

witchlight = a stone that shadowhunters can use that lights up when they hold it

and i think that’s it, if anyone reads this lol and is confused about any of the shadowhunter aspects feel free to ask me about it :P

also kinda took some things from this prompt list that came across my dash - “you’re bleeding” and “There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow your close.” idk it doesn’t really stick to that tho

oh but yeah that means there’s description of blood and stuff not a lot at all and it’s not graphic or anything but yeah just fyi :3

ANYWAY YEAH I KINDA REALLY LIKE THIS LDFJSLFJ maybe one day i’ll stop adding this random stuff at the beginning of the ficlets i post lol

---

“You’re bleeding.”

“News flash, Fabray, we’re Shadowhunters. It happens.” Tina rolls her eyes, then returns to scanning the surroundings for the Croucher demons that just disappeared. “I can’t believe I got stuck on a patrol with you,” she grumbles.

Quinn scoffs. “I’m not too happy about it either, hon.” She rubs her forearm, bare to the chill of the night air, and examines the wound on Tina’s leg, as best as she can given the distance between them. The blood has already soaked through her gear, the material itself slashed viciously halfway up her thigh. “Let me give you an iratze, at least. It looks bad,” she says, trying to keep the biting in her tone to a minimum. It’s hard, though, around Tina. She thinks she at least succeeds at not sounding like she’s actually going to kill Tina if she gets close.

Tina looks at her with an indecipherable expression, somehow different than the contempt and anger that she usually directs at Quinn. “It’s fine, we don’t have time for that. Mercedes can do it when we get back.” Tina seems to swallow, then looks away. “You know, being my parabatai, it’ll be a lot better than anything you could do.” The insult doesn’t carry half the heat of anything Tina usually says to her, which confuses Quinn. But she doesn’t have time to think on it when Tina’s eyes widen at some point behind her and Quinn whirls around with her seraph blade to meet the dark face of a demon, Tina coming up beside her, stabbing one demon and effectively causing another to vanish with a perfectly-thrown dagger.

Try as she might, Quinn can’t ignore just how insanely good of a Shadowhunter Tina Cohen-Chang is. And it annoys the fuck out of her.

Together they easily kill the demons in the group -- Croucher demons are not the brightest by far -- and Tina is retrieving a dagger from the ground when Quinn sees them.

Three Behemoth demons, moving sluggishly, and not towards them, but they are going to have to take care of them.

“What the fuck are Behemoth demons doing in a group…?” Quinn mumbles. They need help for this; no matter how exceptional of a Shadowhunter Tina is, and although Quinn is far from bad herself, two Shadowhunters can’t take on three Behemoth demons.

“Fuck,” Tina whispers, coming up beside Quinn again. She can’t help but notice how Tina’s dark hair has fallen out of her bun a little, messy strands surrounding her face but of course she still looks so good --

“How do you feel about Behemoths, Fabray?” Tina says quietly, her tone challenging. They’re still just watching the demons, who haven’t done anything yet and have given no indication that they’ve noticed the two Shadowhunters.

Quinn scowls, “Hate them.” Which is an understatement. She and Kurt had a terrible experience with one a few years ago and she prefers not to think about it.

Tina nods. “Same.”

Of course, one of the demons finally turns their way and spots them. “Fuck, we gotta run,” Quinn hisses. She can already see that the demons are dispersing their slimy, disgusting bodies -- she really doesn’t like Behemoths -- to reform somewhere else, no doubt somewhere significantly closer to where they’re standing --

Or behind them. Quinn is yanked sideways by Tina and they sprint down a small road, dark but for the dim street lights reflecting off the wet asphalt.

It doesn’t take long for Quinn to notice something is wrong. She hasn’t patrolled with Tina before, but she’s trained with her, she knows Tina is somewhat faster than her. So why isn’t Tina way ahead of her right now…

Quinn spares a glance over and right, her leg. Before Quinn can think about it, she’s pulling Tina into a small alley off the side of the road.

“Shit,” Tina breathes, clenching her jaw and leaning against the wall in this really very narrow alley, they barely have enough space for the two of them, each against one of the walls --

Quinn looks at the wound on Tina’s thigh and hisses, “You idiot. You should’ve let me put a damn iratze on you, or you should’ve done it yourself, Angel’s sake -- ”

A Behemoth slides past, dispersing and quickly reforming further up the alley. The other two follow close behind. Quinn presses herself into the shadows of the alley, lessens her breath and tries to force her heart to stop pounding so loudly. She doesn’t think Behemoths have a sense of smell, she’s never learned that, but if they do, she and Tina are screwed and she will need to have a little chat with her demons instructor Will Schuester because this would not be a good time to find that out.

The demons pass. Quinn lets out a slow breath.

“Lost my stele.” Tina’s breath is coming in shallow gasps; Quinn can tell she’s trying to minimize the sound. The gash on her thigh is way deeper and longer than Quinn realized. It’s hard to see anything with the lack of light in the alley and lack of contrast between Tina’s blood on her skin and the black gear she’s wearing.

“Fuck, do you have a witchlight?” Quinn asks.

“No.” Tina’s muscles are tight and her body is wound. “It doesn’t matter right now. Call the Institute, we need someone to get rid of those Behemoths.”

Quinn wants to argue, wants to ask Tina if she’s seen her leg, but Tina’s right, infuriatingly. She quickly presses the number for her parabatai on her phone while Tina closes her eyes, resting her head against the brick wall, seemingly trying to calm her breathing.

“Quinn!” Kurt exclaims when he picks up. “What happened? Mercedes said she felt something happen to Tina and you guys have been out longer than you’re supposed to -- ”

“We’re fine,” Quinn interrupts. “Tina’s mostly fine, just a nice cut from a Croucher. We ran into some Behemoths though, need someone to take care of them.”

Kurt groans. “Of course you guys ran into Behemoths.” There’s some faint talking in the background -- Quinn can make out Mercedes demanding to know where her parabatai is, some other voices chime in that she can’t recognize. “Okay, luckily Mike’s here and he can go try to magic them away or whatever he does. Beiste is going with him. Mercedes and I will meet up with you and Tina. Send me your guys’ patrol location.”

“Don’t you know it?”

“Yes, but send it to me anyway,” Kurt says, exasperated, but Quinn can tell he doesn’t really mean it. “Okay? Be careful.”

“Always am.” She ends the call and shoves her phone back into her pocket. Then she remembers Tina, who’s sitting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her and looking exhausted.

“Here,” she says, finding her stele and holding it out to her. Tina gives her a half-smile and accepts it. She rolls up her jacket sleeve to draw the rune on her forearm, flowing black lines of the iratze stark against her skin in the dim light.

“Kurt and Mercedes are coming,” Quinn says. “And Mike and Beiste for the demons.”

“Good, saves me from more time with you,” Tina mumbles halfheartedly.

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Let me help,” she says, kneeling down and reaching for her stele. “It will work better closer to the heart -- ”

“I’m fine,” Tina says hurriedly, leaning away from Quinn slightly. Quinn ignores the slight disappointment she feels at that and exclaims, “Are you serious? Your leg is still pouring blood, you can see that, right?”

Tina swallows. “I don’t want you that close to me.” Her voice is resigned, quiet and Quinn can barely hear her.

“Again, are you serious? What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Quinn knows she shouldn’t be getting angry, especially when they don’t know how far the demons are and they could hear her raised voice -- can Behemoth demons hear? Mr. Schue really didn’t do a great job in their demon education -- and come back to finish them off.

“Quinn, just… just don’t.” Tina rolls her stele back towards her. “Thanks for the stele.”

“No, I want to know! I want to know what the fuck I did to make you treat me like this, because I sure didn’t ask for it.” Quinn is seething now, unable to stop even if she tried. “When we were kids you were okay, but ever since the Shadowhunter Academy you’ve been such an asshole to me, and now you can’t even let me near you to help you, to put a fucking iratze on you -- ”

“I have feelings for you!” Tina yells, effectively shutting Quinn up. Quinn looks down at her in surprise.

“What -- ?”

Tina puts her head in her hands, running them through her hair and pulling out her bun, her shining black hair spilling across her shoulders. “I… can’t let you near me because… I’m scared,” she says softly to her boots. “I’m scared of what my feelings mean when you get close to me and I want to kiss you so fucking badly... I want to be with you. I -- I realized that at the Shadowhunter Academy when I saw other girls kiss each other and I just,” she shakes her head. “I realized I want to do that with you. And I know there’s no chance for that, I get it. But that’s why I’ve been... mean.”

Quinn stares at Tina, jaw dropped open. Tina meets her gaze for a moment, then averts her eyes and smirks slightly, sadly. “It’s fine, Fabray. I’ll stop being an asshole and you don’t have to talk to me again. Except, you know, when Kurt and Mercedes want us all to hang out, but I’ll stay away.”

Quinn wants to say something -- wants to say no, I don’t want that, when the alley floods with light and she turns to see Kurt and Mercedes, the light coming from a witchlight stone in Kurt’s hand.

“You know,” he says, smiling, “you could’ve come out after the demons left, would’ve made it easier for us to find you.”

Quinn makes her way through the unfamiliar halls of the Columbus Institute. She has a vague sense of where she’s going but she doesn’t live at the Institute so she’s still a little disoriented. But she mostly tries to follow the sound of voices and sure enough, it leads her to the library, where Mercedes and Tina are huddled together over a book, talking and laughing with each other. She watches them, quietly, awkwardly, for a second, then Tina turns and spots her, smile faltering a little.

“Hey, Quinn,” she says softly. Mercedes turns too and waves at her.

“Hey, guys,” Quinn says. She swallows. “Um, could I talk to Tina for a second?” Mercedes shoots Tina a look. She nods back and Mercedes pats her hand and leaves the library, and now Quinn and Tina are alone.

“How’s your leg?” Quinn asks, deciding to stall.

Tina smiles a little, walks up to her. Her hair is in braids today. “Good as new. Tends to be the case after a few iratzes.”

Quinn nods. “Good.”

A moment passes, then Tina exhales and says, “Look, Quinn… I’m really sorry about what I said in the alley. I… can’t say I didn’t mean it, but I promise I won’t act like anything’s different, okay? We don’t even have to talk about it -- ”

“I want to talk about it.”

Tina stops. “You do?”

Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “You meant what you said?”

A slow nod from Tina, and a deep breath from Quinn.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Quinn says, gaze fixed on the floor between their feet. “I think I feel the same.”

“… what?”

“I want to kiss you. If you’ll let me.”

At some point, they’ve gotten closer, and now Quinn stands right in front of Tina, their faces almost touching. She barely has to move to press her lips to Tina’s. Tina inhales sharply, but then relaxes and her hands flutter up to lightly cup Quinn’s face as Quinn pulls her closer.

They pull away and Tina laughs slightly, breathlessly.

“Does this mean you still hate me?” Tina asks, her dark eyes sparkling, pupils dilated. Their breaths mingle in the lack of space between them.

“Of course,” Quinn murmurs. “Do you?”

“Why would I like you?” Tina tries to say, grinning, but she’s cut off by Quinn’s next kiss.

And another, and another.

#quinntina #tina cohen chang #quinn fabray #glee #glee fic #enemies to lovers baybee #not me writing this instead of doing anything else lmao #I HAVE CLASS IN LIKE 2 MINUTES SO *SCREAMS AND HITS POST*#ive been sitting on this all day tho soooo #idk #ive reread it a lot #hopefully enough lmao #my ficsssss #also i accidentally did some stuff my last reread and im not sure if i changed something and didnt notice so if yall see something weird #before i can catch it and fix it lol no you dont :P

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beyondtheciouds · 3 years

Text

Part 29. 3 of 3

Twas the night before Yulemas and all through the house not a creature was stirring except for a small brown mouse.

The children were all snug tight in their beds. Smiles on their faces as dreams of sugared plums danced in their heads.

Outside, the snow fell in droves and filled the streets, impassible for cars and carriages. The windows were frosted; icles hanging like glittering packages.

The brick and mortar chimnies chain smoked; pairs of lungs coughing ashes.

Dust saturated the fresh snowflakes on snowcapped rooftops; heavy as Lucie's lashes.

The moon was nearly full; the fringe of dawn barely a heartbeat. Lucie didn't hesitate getting out of bed when she suspected Henry and Charlotte were fast asleep.

Her secret plans were already in motion; she was in far too deep.

Tonight Lucie and Grace would wake the one lost in an eternal sleep. The anticipation ran through her bones; sidewinding up her veins like an ivy on a chase.

The candles on the Yulemas tree were long snuffed out; the yuletide log smoldering in the fireplace.

The only sound downstairs was the incessant scratching inside the walls. A mouse was hunting about, searching the halls.

The manor was festive; the decor just right. Charlotte had decorated in odd bright colors; glitter and gold balls. A sight to behold, a treasure left scandously untold.

Mugs of cold, sugared tea and burnt biscuits were dutifully set out by Matthew's sisters in hopes of toys being brought.

They were antsy and fought before bedtime. That is, until Lucie sang them a sweet rhyme.

Earlier, Lucie had been filled with warmth as Henry played carols on the pinafore and the girls sang loudly and off key.

She had spent the evening after supper with Cordelia and Charlotte, knitting sweaters for the three.

Now she felt bitter and upset, but the night wasn't over. No, not yet.

The conversations had flowed so easily between the women in the hours before. Lucie had almost forgot the other demands; the baby she tried to ignore.

But the truth was, she was happy to be doing something productive with her hands.

Lucie enjoyed the conversations even if listening to Charlotte was quite the chore.

Tomorrow was Yulemas but Lucie could not have felt less festive.

Yes, the girl Herondale had become rather quite obsessive.

A solid glance over her shoulder gave her courage in the dark. Cordelia was fast asleep on the opposite bed, stiff like chalk.

Lucie stilled, thinking she heard Oscar bark.

Cordelia's back was turned to Lucie; the long braid resting against the comforter like a serpent.

Cordelia was the only one who wouldn't help and the lack of support streamlined Lucie's determination like a torrent.

Lucie felt guilty, like a sneaky child as she opened her door. She crept out into the candle-lit hall ignorant of the consequences her actions might cause.

A familar frown pressed her lips as she closed the door and paused.

For weeks a string tugged at her, knowing that her freedom was slipping through her finger. Each free moment was ready to disappear; the life with a drinker.

Everything seemed doomed; so unfair.

Selfishly, she assumed tonight was only a prelude to the tired life she would soon have living in the walls of Fairchild Manor or worse: Matthew's downtown London flat.

For hours, Lucie had tried to sleep after adjusting the ribbons on an old hat.

She read Cordelia a chapter or two of a mystery book, then finished with a cup of warm milk.

Poor Lucie begged her brain to shut off long after she was wrapped in cotton and silk.

But Charlotte's voice kept droning on in her ears, until her heart was able to tilt.

"I am really happy that Matthew is with you, Lucie. You do know he is trying quite hard to be a better man for you and the baby. You will be quite a good match for my wild child, and quite happy I assure you."

Lucie was uncharacteristically careless in her response. She had only thought about her own wants.

She whole heartedly disagreed before silencing herself much to Cordelia's horror.

Many times Lucie Herondale had tried to imagine being married to Matthew, just for a minute or an hour.

She pictured having a family, a normal Shadowhunter life with him at her side. A family life like her own.

But she just couldn't picture herself being trapped inside. A bird in a cage; her wings barely flown.

She couldn't stay in the net waiting up for him every night. It was just too much to ask.

Worrying. Wondering if tonight would be the night he'd get in a fatal fight or worse; death by her own axe.

How they would feed their family if he died. How would she live, crumbling on the inside. She didn't even have the faintest idea how he felt about women writers or the socially responsible duties they were to provide.

Lucie didn't have a clue how to be a mother or run a household.

This much she'd been told; they'd be wed under the sacred Shadowhunter vows; their bodies marked each with a matching rune.

After they would go on living as two separate people under the light of the moon.

He would conquer binges of weeks where he'd be drunk daily and purges where he would be sick and sober.

She'd stay home; keep house and take care of the children, and he'd lovingly call her his good luck clover.

This would be a cycle that wouldn't end. It would only grow worse with each year; each baby born on the cusp of regret and condenscend.

That didn't mean living with Matthew Fairchild was hopeless as a snowflake in the rain. Perhaps Lucie was wrong. Perhaps Matthew Fairchild was only in pain.

What the cards were showing Lucie now was just a reality she didn't think she could endure.

The truth was, part of Lucie did love Matthew, so much more. When he bled, she bled in her core.

Nightmares and dreams about him had often haunted her into rejecting his previous advances and now she knew why.

She presumed the dreams were omens; warning her not to abandon the sky.

The Fairchild/ Herondale union had been long awaited for by both families, but particularly by the Consul.

Lucie knew what Charlotte expected of her future daughter-in-law was damn near impossible.

Change Matthew. Fix him.

Lucie dreaded every moment spent under the Consul's watchful eye. Every minute she was in Charlotte's company was as unpleasant as a stye.

As Lucie passed Matthew's room, thinking about the last time he'd held a sober smile, she slowed her pace and stopped short. A groaning noise came from within and Lucie wondered if Matthew had overdone it on port.

His door was open just a crack, enough to see into the chaos of his existence; a dream. The stench of stale cigars and regurgitated gin spilled into the hall; hitting her nose like steam.

Lucie gagged and her heart broke at the sight of him laying like a rag doll among dirty linens.

She hadn't expected him to be home and was shocked to see him in such a position.

Lucie had never been able to read Matthew's mind. Now, she wondered if it might have been a good find if she'd had the time.

Her heart had conceded and concluded any type of relationship with him was out of the question.

Being Matthew's bride had never been a suggestion.

She pretended that had been the reason she never reciprocated his feelings. Not until she plainly understood him and his bad dealings.

A well of sadness filled up inside her as she reached out her hand, shining the witchlight into the darkness of the room. The bed was empty except for Oscar, a pillar in the sand.

As usual, the golden retriever was unaware; sleeping loyally ontop of a ragged blanket tucked under his hand.

She shined the light just above Matthew's sleeping body. His arms were spread, legs tucked tight together; a disgusting hottie.

Distracted by the way the light sweat on his chest gleamed pale under the flickering witchlight, Lucie thought about that night. The sweet smirk that swelled on his face was a haunting memory; a sin and a show. One she had hidden in her bones reminding her of a promise she made to him that felt so long ago.

The breeze was cool; the night hot. Cicadas and crickets staged their favorite tunes in an effort to provide a sonata. Not a cloud nor haze flooded the starlit sky; only fireflies lit up the night. Shades of blue from the lake lit her eyes with a warm glow. Lucie watched Matthew with anticipation as her skin grew warmer from every sip of his flask.

Do you love me? Matthew's hot breath on her neck. His lips were fire; hot cinnamon liquor burning her skin with each devious kiss on her flesh.

Yes. Everything would have been yes to him in the heat of that moment. Her hands were beyond confinement and reached eagerly for the buttons on his waistcoat.

Do you promise, Lucie darling? His green eyes were dark, serious under the stars.

I promise. And she meant it. Or she thought she did.

I love you, Lucie Herondale. You're the only one besides James that means anything to me. This is for forever. I swear on my life.

I love you too. Her lips against his were ice on fire; electric and numbing the voice screaming in her head.

Lucie blinked, rolling out of her reverie with the grace of someone used to disappearing into herself.

Matthew was still sprawled out, drool trickled down, out of his mouth.

His hand rested among the fresh vomit and spit on the rug. He was still in his rumpled navy pants and his belt was half undone; broken as the wings of a dead bug.

Stained socks and muddy shoes were discarded in a heap. It was as if he meant to climb in bed and instead just collapsed on the floor, fast asleep.

Lucie wondered if she should wake him; maybe help him into bed or the bath.

Matthew was snoring loudly; the sound sheilding his lips like a mask.

Lucie frowned, watching him and the moment of charity pass.

Matthew stirred and kicked out his leg. He groaned and rolled his head in torment and wrath. "Luce...Lucie. please. PLEASE. Forgive me. Forgive me."

Lucie sighed and flipped the braided pigtails over her shoulders, disgusted and disappointed instead. She shook her head at Matthew, her heart turning to ice.

How could she ever love him like this? The strings of her heart pulled her into a vice.

Lucie knew she wasn't entirely being nice.

At least now she knew Math was safe and breathing. One crisis averted. Now she could stop caring for awhile and continue seething.

Butterflies rolled inside her belly as the baby turned; shifting positions as if it sensed his father's presence and his mother's disgrace.

Lucie tried not to cry as she quickly shut Matthew's door, glad for him to be out of her sight at least for the night.

Lucie Herondale knew she'd be learning a hard lesson in faith.

The manor was cold, bitter like her uncharacteristic temperament. It was just the way Lucie liked things lately; quiet without comment.

The cold made her feel closer to death; closer to Jesse's spirit.

He was quite the opposite of Matthew who had the most obnoxious tendency to be satiric.

She warmed her heart as she thought about the ghost and his quiet, melodic ways. She imagined him in the sunlight; alive during the days.

Lucie became once more determined to save his soul. A debt that was unpaid; a secret not to be told.

Christopher and Grace had snuck downstairs after the lights went out. They were headed to the lab without a doubt.

Christopher thought he might have figured out a chemical compound needed in the spell Grace had shown him during tea and lemon tarts that afternoon.

James promised to guard the door as Thomas occupied the insomniac old housekeeper with a card game and some gin. Every one was in their places; helping Lucie's cause and Lucie shivered, feeling Matthew's hands still on her skin.

A whistle helplessly escaped her lips as she moved down the hall. She felt slightly more optimistic, smiling and all.

Lucie could feel the hairs on her arms rise, theories becoming reality. She felt Grace and her were getting closer to the right order of the specialty.

Goosebumps coated her bare arms as her feet padded quietly towards the music room; the hem of the nightgown billowing around her ankles like a flowers bloom. She tried not to skip like a schoolgirl.

The witchlight she cupped in her hands bounced off the walls; reflecting the contemporary colors in various variations of self portraits and Lucie couldn't help but look down at her hand; Matthew's ring and his pearl.

Suddenly, she was breathless. She stopped; reckless.

Something was wrong.

Someone was watching.

Someone was waiting.

Most of the walls were covered with expensive self paintings. Here and there; scattered were exquisite Idris countryside landscapes which Lucie found intoxicating.

Minature statues and other odd art were strategically placed on pedestals along the walls. Flowers on tables; Oscar Wilde inspired green carnations graced the hall; smelling pecularily of mint and clover during the fall.

This was Matthew's wing and it was freely decorated over. An artist's heart trapped in a body lacking talents. Everything was either beautiful or tragic to him; a man of great gallant.

Nothing was traditional or logical. Should it be to a man of illogical graces?

Lucie noticed the bright green of his eyes in some of the faces. They seemed to move slowly and appeared to be following.

She ignored their name calling as she caught her breath and moved on into the fray. The eerie feeling reminded her of Matthew's favorite legend; Dorian Gray. The fear that story brought back drowned out any other excuse she may have had for being frightened.

Lucie shook slightly as she quickened; her toes were red and numb as her limbs tightened. She scolded herself for venturing this far in the manor for a waste of a shortcut. Down this demented, self loathing hallway she desperately desired a peanut.

She hated that she discarded Matthew's privacy so blatantly. Even moreover her eagerness to meet Jesse hastily.

It had been almost a week since they'd met in private. The time spent apart dramatic.

In all the time she had been in the manor, she had never been in one of the extravagant rooms he uses. He had always forbid it and come to her; insisting she was the favorite among his muses.

Lucie was reminded of the story of Beauty and the Beast, which she found odd and sad at the very least.

Down the stairs, nearly tripping over her feet. Lucie felt a strange tingle on her sheet of skin as she reached the doors to the music room. She took a deep breath and pulled the solid oak doors open and slam against the wall with a boom. "Jesse?"

The moonlight greeted her; pure and silver like a star. Lucie was awestruck by what she saw.

In it's center was a black grand piano; to the left was another Yulemas tree twinking with candles, surrounded with gifts. The branches were strung with gold ribbons and mistletoe adrift.

The shapes of the gifts were shadows on the ceiling; fingers beckoning to the great beyond. Lucie could sense other spirits shamelessly coiling in the dark corners; not ready to move on.

Jesse was tired, trembling and translucent. Lucie felt like she on a boat on the rocking seas. His body was perched on the bench; his hands poised above the ivory keys. His head was lowered; ink stains on the pure, paper skin of his face.

Lucie gasped, parched. She could see he was singing an old Welsh song quietly by the light of a illuminating hearth. She smiled as his fingers instinctively played the tune in the air.

He was beautiful and fair.

Lucie hushed the intrusive and intricate shape of a story taking place in her head. She didn't want to break the moment, but she had to say something to make her heart stop racing and her breath like lead.

"Hello," she whispered to the dead.

#cassandra clare #the last hours #lucie herondale #the shadowhunter chronicles

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2, bc this is happening

Yo. I’m charging ahead on this project because I’m a terrible mother and my kid is getting a lot of (educational) screen time during the day while my husband works from home and I get this written. It remains based on this comic by @lostmypotatoes. It’s so long that I split off the end and it’s mutating into Chapter 3. Lots of talking, with Stuff to come of it very soon, no worries.

Now featuring a cut! Thanks (what’s an easy nickname for you? “Lost”? “‘Tatoes?”) for the tip on how to very easily do that.

Lastly, I have login shenanigans to deal with, and have been chatting with Lost (?) using @ikustioa on my phone, so I suppose that’s my blogging/personal handle now. Anyway, here we go:

Three nights later, Sans woke with a jerk. Someone in the next room was sobbing. It wasn't a memory or nightmare, he realized a moment later, and it wasn't the priestess; it was a small child, crying so hard that it could barely breathe. Steeling himself, the boss monster slid out of bed and listened intently.

He heard a woman whisper something, and the child's sobs quieted as a familiar sound came through the door. It was the same humming that had de-powered his blaster the other day, though not the same tune. The skeleton took a moment to be sure that the glow in his eyes was out, then cracked the bedroom door open.

Frisk was kneeling, bare-headed, with her arms around a little boy of perhaps eight or nine years. In the light of one lamp on the worktable, Sans saw a dark patch of blood in the child's hair. Frisk glanced at the skeleton, giving him a wan smile, still humming. Sans closed the door enough that the child wouldn't see him.

The priestess waited till the boy had calmed down to the occasional sniffle, then leaned back and reached for something on the table. "I've got a treat for you," she said cheerfully. "Do you like peppermint?"

The child thought it over, and nodded.

"Wonderful, because that's exactly what this is. You'll feel better in no time." She held out a glass bottle. "You can have three big swallows, but only three, all right?"

Well played, Sans thought, framing it as something he got to have, not something he had to take. Sure enough, the little boy gulped it right down, smacking his lips as the young woman retrieved the bottle. "Good. Can you do something very important for me?" she asked. Nod, nod. "Can you lie down and count to one hundred? That'll make the magic work better. Let's go to my office."

The child went with her quite willingly. After a few minutes, the High Priestess re-emerged into Sans' field of vision. Her pleasant expression was gone, replaced with one that actually made him feel a little sorry for whoever had pissed her off. Then he remembered the blood on the kid's head. "Anybody you want me ta kill?" he asked through the door.

"Don't tempt me." Frisk jerked a sheet of paper from a stack on the desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing rapidly.

Sans checked the time. "God damn, what's that kid doing awake at two in the morning?"

"Being beaten." The pen scratched viciously across the page.

He decided to shut up. Frisk soon finished the message, blew the ink dry and folded the paper in thirds, then sealed it and marched to the outer door, where she woke up the guard on duty. Sans heard her reaming the guy about doing his job properly, serving a writ, and not letting a guy out of the castle. She came back in, only to return to the office.

This seemed to be typical for her, as far as Sans could tell, though it usually wasn't this dramatic or this late at night. If she wasn't off at church or giving him lessons, she was talking to someone who needed help and apparently couldn't get it elsewhere. He had yet to see her do something for fun, or sleep more than five hours at a time.

Meanwhile, his daily routine had been surprisingly low-key. The first day, after being flagrantly mind-controlled into agreeing to stay, he'd eaten some more, then slept for another dreamless twenty-four hours. The next morning, she'd let him have another pile of food, then started his apprenticeship by showing him the most common ingredients for potions and how to identify them by sight, as he couldn't smell and didn't have much sense of touch. Yesterday had been a review, emphasizing that a mistake could literally kill someone, and she'd given him a book of basic recipes, asking him to make a list of any ingredients he found that she hadn't already introduced.

It was kind of annoying to have homework, and he was starting to get cabin fever, but otherwise, the whole experience hadn't been too terrible. He was relieved and disappointed that she kept the veil on almost all the time, which reduced the distraction somewhat, though she persisted in having a fantastic shape, and he was really starting to enjoy the sound of her voice. When he could focus enough to ask questions, she was patient and encouraging, and let him use all the paper he wanted to write down the answers. She was obviously pleased that he cared enough to take notes, though not in a smug or irritating way; it just made her happy, and that made him...not unhappy.

It was also still novel to talk to a human who wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't seen many humans up here besides the little boy, and figured they were forbidden to come into her rooms unless they desperately needed help, or could sneak past a sleeping guard. That was fine with Sans, though he'd overheard one cleaning lady being so persistent that he really wanted to come out of the bedroom and tell her to piss off. Unsurprisingly, Frisk had asked him to not do that.

There were only a few real mysteries so far. One was a pile of letters she'd brought in on the second day and tossed into a basket of also-unopened envelopes standing by the roaring fireplace in her workshop. He'd caught her looking at the basket a couple of times, as if debating whether to burn them all, but she never did it, or opened any in front of him.

The biggest question was how she knew he could teleport, and the nature of his blue magic, even if was getting more red than blue these days. He had unthinkingly used the latter to grab a couple things yesterday, and his magic had almost immediately died out. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it, but her barriers weren't just blocking him in: they kept his power so muted that he couldn't have summoned a single bone. It seemed that he'd be allowed to use some magic to make the actual potions, and that was it.

Well, there was time to worry about that later. The injured kid had made him think of Kris again, which made him think of the book passage Frisk had quoted at him. He'd have to ask if she...wait, no, he didn't have to ask. She'd given him carte blanche to read anything he found in her bedroom or workshop. Sans tapped the nearest witchlight on, noting that it was much weaker than the ones Underground, and started perusing the shelves.

Fifteen minutes later, Frisk knocked on the door, waiting for him to grunt acknowledgement before she came in. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, dropping into her chair with a deep sigh. "There's going to be hell to pay in the morning."

She did look like hell, with bags under her eyes and a smear of blood on her cheek. Sans put the book down and tapped his own face, and she got the hint, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Ugh. That poor child." She sighed again, curling up and resting her head on the arm of the chair. "I'll wash up in a minute."

"Didn't you just get back from a thing?" he asked, wondering if she was always this cavalier about bodily fluids.

"Yes. His Holiness decided we needed more midnight services, and I have to be there every other night." She rubbed her eyes. "Flynn must have followed me back here. People aren't supposed to know where I live, but word is spreading. At this rate, I'll have to move again."

Sans drummed his fingertips on the bedpost. She'd found an oversized stool to use in the workshop, but there were no armchairs big enough for him, so he spent most of his leisure time on the bed. "Bein' High Priestess sucks. How long ya been at it?"

"Three years. The last Thea was assassinated, and they had to find a replacement as fast as possible. Out of all the minor priestesses available, I was the only one who passed all the tests. It's been...instructive."

"Hm." That didn't surprise him. A human strong enough to block a boss monster's focused attack had to be pretty rare. "How old are ya, anyway?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her eyes shut. "Twenty-two. I was educated in a convent, ordained at sixeen, High Priestess at nineteen." A mighty yawn was partly hidden in her arm. "Lucky me."

Sans didn't know much about humans, but he was pretty sure that was young as hell for so much responsibility. The problem was that she was good enough to handle it, which meant they'd pile on more and more until she went nuts. "Nah, it sucks ta be you. Any way you can get out of it?"

"Well," she mumbled, eyes still closed, "I can die, or marry, or go back to the convent and become the Mother Superior, which would also be until I die." Frisk yawned again. "The Feast of All Saints is next week. That's when the last High Priestess was murdered."

Something prickled up Sans' spine. "You spend all yer time doin' church stuff, kissing babies and healin' puppies or whatever. Why the hell would anyone wanna kill you?"

"I meant it when I said I have influence in the Church and at court. I don't hate monsters, which is inconvenient for several people, and I'm not quiet about it, which is extremely inconvenient for many more of them. Besides, my natural father is very wealthy, and his other childr—"

"'Natural' father?" he queried. "What, do some humans have unnatural kids?"

Her eyes opened. She looked lovely in the soft light, but troubled and sad, so much that he wished he hadn't asked. "I'm illegitimate. My father never married my mother, and our life was...bad. Very hard, for a very long time." The priestess rubbed her fingertips together, as if seeing more dried blood. "He was a very busy man, but he only has one legitimate heir. After his second wife died, he started tracking down his children born out of wedlock, and it's an open secret that he'll leave each of us a large amount after he passes."

"And whoever's left gets a bigger piece of the pie?" Sans guessed.

"Exactly. As far as I know, there were fourteen or fifteen of us, but magic runs in his side of the family, and most of his children became sorcerers. Almost all of my half-brothers have been killed fighting monsters. Two of my half-sisters blew up in an experiment that went wrong. There are only six of us left, including the—his heir."

Sans' eyes narrowed. "What is it with humans an' explodin' stuff by accident?"

He couldn't read the look on her face. "If we knew the answer to that, history would have taken a much better course."

Of course, that made him think of Kris again. It seemed pretty inevitable, so he might as well ask... "I don't s'pose," he mumbled, "there's a record of the humans who went t'the Underground on that last trip? Maybe what happened to 'em after they got back?"

Frisk raised her head a little. "That depends. We know exactly which nobles, sorcerers, and other dignitaries attended. Do you mean one of them?"

"Nah, this was a servant, I think. Prob'ly. I dunno." The skeleton felt his eyes lighting up again. "He was only 4 or 5. S'comin' up on thirteen years ago, so he'd'a grown up by now."

The priestess frowned. "No one that young was in attendance, so far as I know, and I've read every account that I could find. May I ask why you want to know?"

"Nah." Sans flexed his hand around the bedpost. "Forget it."

Frisk sighed, carving a design into the plush chair with her thumbnail. "Well, I'm afraid the answer is no. There's no record of the servants who came along, except the ones who were killed, and that didn't include any children. You'd have to check with each of the—" She sat up. "Wait. I know someone who was there—my mother. Do you want me to ask her?"

"Hell yes, I do!" Sans' hand tightened, splintering the bedpost. He guiltily released it. "Did she talk much about it? What all did she tell ya? Can I ask 'er a coupla things?"

The priestess laughed, quieting him with a wave of her hand. "Sans, please! She's been very sick recently, and I don't want to excite her too much. I will ask her anything you need to know, thank you. And yes, she talked about it to anyone who'd listen. She's the one who told me all about monsters, and what you're actually like."

Sans sat forward, but she forestalled more questions with another gesture. "First, her name is Rosa. Did you ever meet her?"

It did sound familiar. "I think so. Little, blonde, wore her hair up?"

"That's her. She would've been in charge of any children they brought along, but she never mentioned any of them to me." Frisk tapped her finger on the chair arm. "She did say there were things she wasn't allowed to talk about. She worked for the Duke as a nurse, and she would never disobey him."

He wondered for a moment if that meant the guy was Frisk's father, but was too excited to dwell on it. "What'd she say about us?" he asked curiously.

Frisk hesitated. "Well...she didn't talk very much with individual monsters, but she said the Queen was very kind and made sure to tell each of the humans how glad she was to have them visit. The King was also very courteous. He tried his best not to frighten anyone, and he thought it was rude that the servants weren't allowed to eat with the nobles."

Sans' foot started tapping. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stopped. "Who else?" he demanded.

The next moment, they both heard the office door open into the workshop. "Miss?" came a plaintive voice.

Frisk was at the bedroom door in an instant. "What is it, Flynn?" She closed the door most of the way.

Damn it all to hell. Sans grumpily listened to the child explain that he'd scratched his head and sorry, there was blood on the couch now. Frisk explained that wounds got itchy as they healed, and to please not scratch it, and that it would be much better to wipe his hands on the towel she'd put down than on the furniture. Then he had to be cleaned up again and a bigger bandage applied, and someone was sent for to take the boy somewhere he could sleep safely.

A thought stabbed at him as he listened to the proceedings: that was how she knew he could teleport and zip things around without touching them. King Asgore had insisted the monsters show off their powers in various amusing ways so that the humans would be less afraid of their magic. Sans thought it was a bad idea at the time, and look what came of it!

Frisk eventually came back to the bedroom, drying her hands on her skirt. "Let's cut t'the chase," Sans said quietly as she sat down. "Did she tell ya about any skeletons?"

"Yes." Frisk folded her hands and looked straight at him. "Two brothers, Sans and Papyrus."

Sans laced his fingers together to avoid accidentally destroying anything else. "And...?"

"She liked them very much," Frisk said calmly, "especially Papyrus. Sans was friendly, but she said he watched their every move, and it made them nervous." The priestess smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Papyrus was a joy to be around. He was very full of himself, but there wasn't a mean bone in his body, and he considered it his duty to welcome the humans as much as possible. My mother talked about him more than any other monster." She coughed. "Apparently, his spaghetti was terrible."

"...Sounds about right."

Frisk looked at him sharply. "I wanted to ask you about that, but...are you all right?"

Sans couldn't answer. He'd avoided thinking too much about home, especially the fact that he'd already been gone for a week when he got caught. It'd been easy to tell himself that he could always bust out of here if he needed to, or that the lady would let him send a message or even go have a quick visit before coming back here, but...

"Are you Papyrus' brother?" Frisk asked.

"Yeah," he ground out.

The priestess shook her head. "I don't understand. R—Mother said that Sans was shorter than any of the humans who came to the Underground, and the only boss monsters mentioned in the official histories are Asgore and Toriel. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn't sure if you were the same skeleton, you seem so diff—"

"A lot of shit happened, that's what." Sans lurched to his feet, and she had to tip her head back to look up at him. His sockets were glowing again. "Ya know what? I'm tired, an' you look like crap. Time for night-night." He jerked the door open, rattling the hinges. "Good luck cleanin' up. Blood's a bitch to get out. Trust me, I know."

She rose quietly, folding her hands in the style he recognized from the very first time he'd seen her. "All right, then. Good night, Sans," she said, and walked past him, out of the room.

He didn't slam the doors shut behind her, but it was pretty close.

Once she had control of herself again, Frisk wiped her eyes and resumed scrubbing the couch. She kept glancing underneath it, and as she threw yet another towel into the laundry basket, she decided, To hell with it, and pulled the couch aside. A nearly invisible seam in the floor showed where a board could be pried up to access her hidden safe. There was no lid, no lock, and no key, just a solid golden film that vanished when she pressed her thumb into its center.

The High Priestess surveyed the contents: several tight-folded papers, a bag of high-value dinar, a sack of silver ingots, a few pieces of jewelry, and a small box. She selected the box and removed its rosewood lid to reveal a tiny glass orb, something swirling around on its surface like smoke. She stared at it for so long that her knees began aching, but she didn't notice. Her vision blurred again, and she jammed the lid back on the little box, shoving everything back into the safe, re-sealing it, thumping the floorboard into place and pushing the couch back. Not today, she told herself fiercely. She didn't care what Sans said or how he acted. It couldn't be worth it. Nothing could!

The next day, after a late breakfast, Frisk quizzed him on the differences between various herbs and powdered animal bits and their uses; they looked over the list he'd made of new ingredients, going through the recipes and identifying how each item worked in each potion. That was the first time she demonstrated how to mix and infuse something, and the first time she warned him, "You have to be careful how you feel when you make potions. Intent is always important when you're using magic—you fully intend to cause damage, and I fully intend to protect, which is why we're good at what we do, yes?"

He shrugged philosophically, and she half-smiled. "Well," she continued, "it's similar when you're making something for someone else to take. If you're in a foul mood and you want to cause harm, or you simply don't want the person to get better, you might as well be concocting poison, or giving them water. Of course, your feelings don't matter if you're just throwing herbs into a pot, but these work as well as they do because you're putting a tiny bit of yourself into it. You have to make sure that it's a good bit."

"Pretty sure all my bits are bad by now," Sans remarked. "How's about I make some poison instead?"

Frisk shook her head, leaning over the table. "No one is all bad, Sans. Here." She took the glass stirrer out of the miniature cauldron bubbling away in the middle of their workspace. "I'll infuse it now. Watch."

He did observe closely as she bent forward, though probably not the way she'd intended; he just made sure he was looking at the potion when she glanced up at him. "Try thinking of someone you care for, and imagine it's for them." She opened her hand over the cauldron and, to his surprise, let out a low whistle, piercingly sweet.

A mote of light drifted from her palm and settled into the mixture. It seemed to sparkle for a moment, then resumed being a potion. When he concentrated, though, he could feel a little tingle of magic in it. "I won't ask you to try it till you have better control of your emotions," she said. "Right now, you're so angry that I don't know what would happen."

A different note had crept into her voice. Sans shifted his bony weight on the stool. "S'not like I can help it."

"Perhaps," she said. "You probably don't even notice it anymore. It's become a part of you, through whatever stuff has happened since the humans left the Underground. And before you ask, my mother is ill again. We can't speak with her until she's better."

There it was; he'd wondered if she was going to pretend he'd never snapped at her. "Well, you can only ask me so many personal questions before I get touchy, lady. Frisk." He tapped the worktable a couple of times. "Look, I know ya have a lot on yer plate, an' havin' to deal with me isn't much help. I just want t'know...is there any way to tell the others I'm not dead or somethin'? My brother's gotta be out of his mind by now, and I don' want someone comin' after me and gettin' caught."

Frisk shook her head, and his SOUL sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Sans, but that's out of the question," she said, soft but firm. "Our King has forbidden any humans from coming within a day's walk of the entrance to the Underground, and let's be very honest—what would happen if a human came up to you out of nowhere and said they had an important message to give the monsters?"

Sans' jaw clenched so hard that the priestess put her hand out, not quite touching his arm. "Sans, please. If there was any way to—"

"Forget it, okay? Just...never mind." The skeleton glared at the windows facing out from the workroom. Like everything else in this damn place, they were too small for him to fit more than his head through. He'd gone through this in his own mind a dozen times: even if he could break through the wood and stone, he could sense the barrier set behind the wall to block his shortcuts. The one along the outside wall was heavier than the ones in the bedroom, which were permeable, purely there to track his movements. It was debatable whether this one could be physically broken with...something, but the moment he tried, she would know he was trying and stop him with a stronger barrier.

Hmm. What if...what if he waited till she wasn't here and couldn't get back in time to stop him? If he broke through when she was distracted, and far enough away – say, doing her church stuff in the middle of the night – then there wouldn't be much she could do. He could escape and decide later whether he wanted to come back or—

Wait. Come back? What the hell was he thinking? Why would he choose to be locked up by any human? No matter how pretty, and gutsy, and sweet and nice-voiced and...

Crap.

Anyway. He wouldn't come back. He'd have to be sure to grab his notes and a few books for Alphys; Frisk could always get more copies. He already had plenty to report to King Asgore, though he felt a little uneasy about letting ol' Gorey know that the most powerful barrier-making human was a determined sorceress whose SOUL could probably make you invincible. Actually, he felt a lot uneasy. Maybe he'd keep that to himself for now.

Too bad he couldn't bring her with him...

"...ans. Sans?" Frisk was touching his radius. She'd lifted her veil, large brown eyes turned up to his. "Are you all right?"

Sans studied her for a long moment, reflecting that Papyrus had always wanted a pet. The idea was more appealing than he'd have liked to admit; he had to dismiss it with a shake of his head, and shake it again to get it loose. "'m fine, kid. Remind me what this stuff was for?" After all, he thought darkly, he'd always told Pap no. Pets were too much trouble, especially if you got attached to them. Besides, what would they feed her?

A knock on the outer door startled them both. Before Frisk could respond, the door opened, and in strode a tall, thin man in dark robes, holding a box under his arm. "High Priestess. Honored guest," the man said in a cool, whispery voice, giving them a short bow.

"Dr. Serif? This is a surprise," the High Priestess responded, replacing the veil as she stood up. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Sans, this is Dr. Serif, the royal sorcerer. Doctor, please meet Sans the skeleton."

The man regarded Sans with mild curiosity. "I am very pleased to see you again, Sans the skeleton. Has Her Eminence been treating you well?"

"Uh...yeah," said Sans, nonplussed. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The royal sorcerer bowed again. He was unnervingly pale, the effect enhanced by dark eyes and long black hair framing his face. "I helped transport you from your cell to this room."

"It took magic," Frisk said helpfully.

He'd figured as much; magic was the only way humans could do any damn thing. The boss monster looked at the box under the doctor's arm, which had a strange feel to it. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew he didn't like it.

"This is for you, as we discussed, Your Eminence," the man said smoothly. "I will leave it in your office."

Frisk looked so uncomfortable that Sans glanced at the sorcerer, but nothing was visibly wrong. The man ignored them both, striding past the table and opening the door to her office. They heard rustling, and the doors closing as he stepped back into the workroom. "That will be all. Good day, my lady, Sans." With another bow, the doctor turned and left.

"Weirdo," said the ten-foot skeleton. He found he didn't want to look away from the door lest the guy come back and catch him unawares. He hadn't been threatening, but something about him was very off.

"He's...unique." Frisk sat down again. "Now, this infusion is almost ready. We'll leave it at room temperature for another ten minutes or so before we stir it again. In the meantime, you can add two drops of peppermint oil, mint, orange or lemon extract..."

The rest of the day passed without major incident. Frisk had to stop in the middle of concocting a burn salve and leave Sans to finish it, though she cautioned him not to infuse it yet. She rather envied him; she had to walk to the other side of the castle to go over her parish's monthly accounts, balancing foot-long columns of tiny numbers to check that tithes and alms had come in and gone out properly. They never quite did, though it had gotten better in the past year, as she had made it increasingly clear that she was not interested in stealing from the poor or turning a blind eye to it, even for a few hundred extra dinar in her own column.

The attempts at bribery were particularly insulting because she didn't need it. The realm's High Priestess was entitled to half a percent of the Church's total monthly income, and through the magic of frugality and compound interest, her personal fortune had grown to the point where she didn't want to use any of it. Life was so strange; as a small child, she had only eaten once every couple of days, and now she could decide not to buy her own estate and maintain a huge staff for it.

She was starting to wonder, though, about a rumor she'd heard regarding several hundred acres of land that would supposedly be up for sale in the next few months. They were principally wheat and barley fields, no more than two days' walk from the Underground's main entrance. That was food for thought, indeed.

Frisk eventually finished and stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her room. Sans was still wary of what he ate, and she took care to have more than one damned fork now when she tasted his food for him. She wasn't worried for herself: if she didn't have time to eat in the kitchen, she routinely paid several of the staff a bit extra to make sure that everything they brought her had come straight from the pot or the pan, with no chance for someone to add any surprises.

That had felt hypocritical at first, but she'd soon realized that she couldn't rely on people's consciences or sense of duty to keep her safe. Many, like the guard captain, were loyal for loyalty's sake, but many more of them needed external motivation, and she was helping the cooks and servers support their families. And she wasn't literally stealing from orphans to do it!

An overstuffed basket sat outside her chambers, and the guard hastened to open the door and push it inside for her. Frisk carried the tray to the table, setting it by Sans' elbow as he compared nearly identical recipes in two separate books. Then she dragged the laundry basket over, pulling a sail-like garment out end over end. "Here you are," she said around an armful of fabric.

The skeleton looked up, scowling at the interruption. "Wha?"

"This is for you." Frisk tried to hold up an enormous shirt, then an enormous set of trousers. "I had them measure your clothes when we washed them for you. They made you another set."

Sans slowly got up and took the shirt from her, holding it against himself. It was sturdy linen, almost as thick as the canvas shirt he wore now and much softer. The skeleton turned it this way and that, poking the material. "What's this for?"

Pause. "It's a shirt," said Frisk. "It goes on the top half of your body. Humans need it for protection against the elements, and modesty, but for you, it's principally so that you have a shirt on."

He acknowledged her smartassery with a respectful nod. "I mean, wasn't this a pain to make? I hope nobody expects me t'pay fer this. Not my fault if what I got on ain't pretty enough for ya."

"Oh, it was. Getting something that size made up so quickly cost me more than I paid for all the clothes I've had this year combined. But you're not a slave, you're my apprentice. That means you're working for me, and I'm keeping track of your wages. It'll take a while to pay this off—" Frisk stuck her arm through one of the trouser legs, flapping it to shake it out. "—but I think you'll manage it before you leave."

Sans had another odd expression. "Yer payin' me for the stuff I make? I thought apprentices were the ones payin' to learn."

"I consider the knowledge you'll bring back to the Underground to be your apprenticeship fee, and as this arrangement wasn't your idea in the first place, we're bending the rules," she said patiently. "I see you've made three sets of burn salve, two of which look useable, and you're almost done with a cough elixir. Fair market value for those is about ten dinar total, so minus the infusion I'll do for you, you've earned about seven already."

"Hm." He scratched the side of his head. "What am I payin' you for my food?"

Frisk laughed, shaking out the other leg. "The pleasure of your company." At his blank stare, she shook her head and uncovered the tray. "No one charges their apprentice for room and board, Sans." The priestess put down the trousers, picked up the fork and leaned in for a bite of baked fish.

The skeleton pulled the tray away, making her stab the table instead. "If I owe ya money, you're definitely not gonna poison me," he pointed out, and began shoveling it in.

"You're right," Frisk said gravely, trying and failing to hide her grin. "I'm glad you've had time to mullet over."

Sans pounded the table with his free fist, rattling the glass vials. "Might as well, just for the halibut. Right?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was weak. Think of a better one and let minnow," she said around it.

"You're right," he said, and waited for her to take a bite before he added, "We really need to scale back."

They had to stop laughing long enough to eat. By the time dinner was over and Frisk had carried the dishes out, both were relaxed enough to be sleepy. "Dunno why I keep wantin' to go t'bed, all I've done is read 'n catnap," mumbled Sans, trudging into the bedroom and flopping onto the mattress. "'m not even usin' my damn magic."

"You're eating human food, so your body is getting more nutrition and working harder to process it," Frisk pointed out, settling into her chair. "Mother said the humans all had to eat more to stop being hungry Underground." She tried not to burp out loud. "Besides, you're probably still recovering from the energy you spent being captured and then trying to kill me. Thrice."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The skeleton stretched all the phalanges of his toes, flexing them in turn. "Probably won't do it again," he added truthfully.

"Thank you." Frisk also stretched her legs out, Sans noticing how absurdly tiny her feet were as she got up from her chair with the recipe book. She reached down to dog-ear the page they were on. "Well, I—"

He whisked the book out of her hand and flipped it open to smooth the page out. "Use a bookmark, woman! What are ya, some kinda barbarian?"

"It's an old book! They're all creased anyway," she argued, trying to take it back. He held it over his head, roughly a mile out of reach. "All right, then, fine," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to take a bath. Read through and find five more ingredients to discuss when I get back." She shut the door on quiet skeletal griping, smiling to herself.

The next day passed in a similar fashion, at least outwardly. Frisk took careful note of everything Sans made, ignoring his suggestion to dock him the price of the ingredients when he screwed up; luckily, he was catching on fast, even if she wouldn't let him infuse anything yet. She also wouldn't tell him how much his new clothing had cost, saying only that she'd let him know when he broke even. What really got his attention was her adding, "If you make enough money, we'll send a few bushels of wheat back with you. No one can be upset that you were gone for so long if you come bearing gifts, can they?"

Sans was glad he didn't have facial muscles or anything similar to betray his inner turmoil. He'd had a lot of second thoughts last night about bashing his way out of here, due in small part to the new outfit and the possibility of bringing food to the Underground, but mostly because she was working her brain-magic on him again, being attractive and kind and easy to talk to like the terrible, sadistic person she was...not. She was not remotely terrible or sadistic, and that was the problem. He still didn't understand it, or how it was getting worse so much quicker than he'd anticipated. He just wanted to get away before she entangled him any further.

Then he'd started thinking of Snowdin right before he fell asleep, and for the first time since he'd been captured, he had dreamed of home. He dreamed their house was cold and dark, with no one upstairs and a single light on in the kitchen. A female form was silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, facing something slumped over the side of the couch. "C'mon, Pap. He's probably just out on another hunting trip," she argued.

"...IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?" The thin, nasal voice hurt Sans' SOUL, and not just because he'd desperately wanted to hear it again. This wasn't his boisterous, indomitable, recklessly cheerful brother; this was a small, heartsick Papyrus, one Sans hadn't seen or heard in a long, long time. The last time it happened, at least Sans had been there for him. Now Sans was gone, too.

"Hunting animals, Papyrus! He's hunting animals. Not humans." The woman thumped the wall for emphasis, knocking little bits of plaster from the ceiling. Dammit, Sans had told her to quit doing that. "That's gotta be it. We don't eat humans, and he knows how bad the food situation is, right? So..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE'S DOING. ...WELL. NOT MUCH." The skeleton heaved a sigh, raising his face from the couch cushion. "...UNDYNE, I...I CAN'T REACH HIM. IF HE'S ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS HE?"

And then something had seeped out of the darkness and gently enclosed Sans' mind, blotting out the dream like a sponge on spilled water. He had woken up knowing that it wasn't a dream, and was instantly enraged—he'd been so grateful that the nightmares had stopped, and too damn stupid to figure out that she'd set a barrier up against external influences, including dreams shared with Pap. He'd ponder the full ramifications of it blocking nightmares another day; the memory of his brother's expression had decided him. Agreement or no agreement, he was getting out of here tonight.

Of course, he couldn't pack up the stuff he needed before their lesson was done, or right afterward. He wasn't worried about giving himself away: as an accomplished bullshitter, he knew he was behaving perfectly normally. The moment dinner was cleared away, he called dibs on the bathroom, which had a nice, huge tub that he wanted to use one more time. When he was done and she'd gone in and locked the door – and after the usual stab of curiosity as to what she looked like outside of clothes – Sans quietly put everything he wanted into a satchel he'd found under the worktable, and stowed it behind the door in the bedroom, where he had to wait until she was done getting dressed.

The one odd thing was that after she emerged from her dressing room in her full priestess-y regalia, she went into her office and spent a few minutes doing nothing that he could hear, after which she was wearing a different brooch. She'd had a white one on the first day they met, but this one shone with a greyish light under her veil.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked carelessly. It was ten o'clock.

She smiled. "If my duties only included saying words and a few songs, I would sleep much easier. There's always someone to speak to before and after services."

"Gotcha. Well, have fun. 'm gonna read somethin' with a damn bookmark 'fore I go to bed—I forgot t'ask, mind if I try ta make a few things while you're not here?"

"Go right ahead. You'll pay for it if you burn down my workroom, so I'm trusting you to behave." Was he imagining a weird little inflection there? No, she looked totally wonderful. ...Normal. She looked totally normal. "Good night, Sans," she said, adjusting her veil.

"G'night, Frisk." He stretched out on the bed as she shut the door.

That was it, then. He might not ever see her again. It...wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it felt pretty bad. Time to quit feeling it, think of Pap, and focus on his plan of action.

The plan: well, for starters, it would be dumb to try breaking out immediately. He wished he knew exactly where the chapel was. He'd heard occasional church-type singing off in the distance, but that didn't give him an idea of how far away she'd be during the service, or for exactly how long. Instead, he watched the clock and fidgeted, as nervous as the first time he'd faced down a group of human sorcerers.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe he should just ask her to take down the barrier keeping him from dreaming with Papyrus, just for one night. She was too kind to refuse, and intelligent enough...

...to ask him for more information in exchange. Frisk knew he used to be a normal monster, and might think to ask if he'd always been able to speak across dreams; it wouldn't be too far a stretch for her to keep questioning how he became a boss monster. She'd also realize that if she let him communicate with other monsters, he could tell them several things that she would prefer they not know, including her identity and full capabilities. It was one thing for her to take a calculated risk and let him go back to the Underground with that information, or – much more likely – to make him forget it before he left; some humans had the ability to excise bits of memory like that. It'd be another thing entirely to permit a conversation that no one else could even hear. She was nice, not stupid.

So Sans waited until eleven forty-five, and then he sat in the workroom with the satchel looped around his wrist for another ten minutes, nerves humming. Then he got up, went to the double doors leading out of her rooms, and silently picked up a seven-foot decorative statue standing at the room's threshold, wedging it inward across the doorframe. He went back to the workroom, judged the weakest place in the outside wall, reared back, and slammed his fist directly between two of the windows.

Frisk had started to relax as the organist began playing and incense floated in the chapel air. She was opening her mouth for the first hymn when a warning note sounded in the back of her mind: the barrier to her workroom's outside windows was tingling, and then it suddenly burned away, the warning note sliding all the way up to a full-blown klaxon.

She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, controlling her expression with a supreme effort as the voice in her head screamed, Sans, you two-faced sack of fertilizer!

The only good thing about the situation was that she wasn't leading this service. Therefore, it was odd, but not completely conspicuous, when she stepped to the back of the choir, touched her new brooch, and vanished.

#frans this fic brought to you by ABC Mouse

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merrythievesfanboy · 4 years

Text

James Herondale and Cordelia Carstairs' First Night

Takes place after Chain of Gold so will have spoilers!

Cordelia stood before the mirror of her new room,in which she would wake up in at least for a year.

That was James' plan to save her reputation,after what she did in order to free him from his guilt of burning down the Blackthorn Manor. Cordelia didn't really knew what to expect of all of this.

Today their marriage had occured. It was quite a beautiful ceremony. Everyone was just so full of joy and happiness for them. Even if they didn't knew that it was actually a Mariage Blanc.

That meant that the reason for their marriage wasn't love. And that was true,at least for James. Cordelia loved him,she always had loved him. But James loved someone else.

She was there at their marriage,her expression blank as always. Grace Blackthorn,no longer trying to escape her mother's clutches,and engaged to Charles Fairchild.

If Grace was being sincere when she offered her compliments for her and James,Cordelia couldn't possibly know,she never knew when it was about Grace. James seemed troubled when he saw her.

It wasn't easy. Unrequited love was never something easy,and Cordelia didn't expect to ever face something like that in her life. Perhaps someday James would love her,or maybe she would love someone else.

Right now,in her golden nightgown,she didn't knew what to expect of the rest of the night. The ceremony of Shadowhunters' wedding ended in a very intimate act.

She had already marked James with his wedding rune on his hand,and so did he. But there were two runes,one should be marked on the heart. That moment was definitely one of the most specials for any couple. But Cordelia wasn't going to get that.

At least,not in this wedding.

It was a shame,really. Her mother,Sona,was so happy when she gave Cordelia that golden nightgown,it was a rare moment,after so many difficult episodes,Sona didn't smiled very often.

But she was so happy,Cordelia remembered very well.

-This is a special gift Layla! I'm quite sure you are going to love it!-Sona had said.

-Maman,there really is no need for more gifts. The parties that Mr. and Mrs.Herondale have offered are enough.-Said Cordelia.

-But this is my gift for my daughter! Oh Cordelia! Your life is only beginning! You and James are going to be so happy! You are going to live one of the most important moments of your life! This is for the first night you will have as Cordelia Herondale.-Sona said.

She opened the box that was on the bed and revealed a golden nightgown,one of the most beautiful nightgowns Cordelia had ever seen.

-It is...I barely have words!-Cordelia said,she couldn't help but smile.

-You deserve this my daughter! For your happiness!-Sona said.

Cordelia blinked,as if she had just woken up from a dream. Too bad,maybe the nightgown wasn't really needed.

She heard the door open,and James entered the room. He was still wearing the gear men had to wear for the ceremony. He looked absolutely handsome in black and gold. It suited him so well.

Only the silver bracelet didn't really fit with the colors. "Loyalty Binds Me",it was a gift given to him by Grace a long time ago.

James had been thinking about the words of his Parabatai during the ceremony. Matthew Fairchild sometimes had the amazing talent to speak the perfect truth,even if he was a little drunk.

"Don't take me wrong,Jamie. I just don't want you to accidentally ruin Cordelia's reputation. This is a Mariage Blanc,after all.-Said Matthew.

"What exactly are you trying to say,Math? I would never do anything that could somehow harm Cordelia in any way. I am really grateful for what she did to me. This marriage is the only way to guarantee she will be able to marry again someday.-Said James.

-I know,i know. What i am trying to say is that you shouldn't expect from Cordelia a different behavior than that of a friend. You said it yourself,this marriage has a different purpose than most marriages.-Said Matthew.

-I know it has. And i don't have any expectations towards Daisy. This marriage was my idea,it was my plan. I'll carry on with it. It will only be for a year. Though i don't quite get this whole behavior thing.-Said James.

-Don't expect her to behave like your wife. At least not in private. You know how the ceremony usually ends. Do the right thing James. I have faith you will.-Said Matthew.

Matthew was absolutely right,James knew that. He didn't put much thought in this thing of behaving. For the other's eyes,they were a happy couple,but in truth,they were only friends.

As Will and Tessa had promised,a special room in the Institute was prepared for their use. It would be their room for a whole year. They would have to share the same bed as well.

It was surely a weird thing. Sometimes James asked himself if he wasn't betraying the love he felt for Grace. He could have been married to Cordelia,but Grace was the only one for him.

On the other hand,she was also engaged. But Grace was excellent in hiding her feelings,even James didn't really knew what she truly thought of the whole marriage situation.

But James wouldn't talk to her for a whole year. He promised himself that he wouldn't cheat on Cordelia,even if the marriage was not for real. She didn't deserve such humiliation.

She was in the room already,dressed in her nightgown,the color as gold as James' eyes.

Her red hair was loose,and it fell on her back like a sea of flames and autumn leaves. James couldn't deny that Cordelia was absolutely stunning.

She turned to look at his face. Her bare feet on the wooden floor. She looked calm,as she usually did. Even though they still had another rune to mark on each other.

James sat on the bed,getting rid of his shoes and socks. Wedding gear wasn't exactly something one would like to use while sleeping.

Cordelia sat beside him. Her expression changed,and James realized that. She looked rather...anxious.

-Is everything alright,Daisy? You must be tired,it was quite the night,was it not?-James asked,smiling.

Cordelia felt a sudden need to kiss him,but she was able to control herself. He was her husband now,but that didn't mean she could take any action.

-Indeed. Have you enjoyed your night, James?

-Of course! Not bad for a first wedding,i guess.-He said,laughing.

Cordelia wished she could laugh as well,but for some reason,nothing seemed capable to make her smile now.

-We still have to finish the runes. Shall we get this done quickly?-Cordelia asked.

-Sure.-James said,taking a moment to really look at the woman who was now his wife.

Cordelia Herondale. Strangely,the name did seem to have a nice ring to it. When he was younger,he had always dreamt of the day he and Grace would be together and married. That dream seemed to be so distant now.

But Cordelia wasn't far from him. She was there at his side,where she seemed to have been for quite sometime now.

-You look stunning.-James whispered,causing a chill to run over Cordelia's veins. If his voice had that effect on her,the rest would definitely be something else.

Not that she would ever know.

-Thank you James. Could we just get this done quickly,please? I am quite tired.-Cordelia asked.

James blinked. He needed to remember Matthew's words. They were not married,not for real.

-Yes,sorry.-Said James,pulling of his shirt,revealing his bare chest to Cordelia.

The witchlight in the room gave a weird and romantic atmosphere. Looking at James' body like that was a sensation she wouldn't forget so soon.

Cordelia approached him,the stele in her hand,her hand getting closer to James' heart. She stopped when she saw the bracelet.

She was almost running out of patience. She knew James didn't love her,and that he didn't knew of her true feelings. Still,it was not easy to see that bracelet there. It was almost like a constant reminder of Grace and James' love for her.

-Can you please take that off for a moment?-Cordelia asked,grabbing a hold of his arm,and retrieving the bracelet.

James didn't had time to protest,suddenly,it was like everything around him got clearer,sharper. Like he could see everything that surrounded him.

Including Cordelia.

-Daisy. My Daisy.-James said,and pulled Cordelia into his lap,kissing her with a passion he didn't knew he had in him.

It was almost like the Whispering Room,but definitely better. He could feel Cordelia's dark,warm,soft skin on his hands. She placed her hands around his shoulders,deepening the kiss.

James started to kiss Cordelia's neck,he could hear her moan,in delight. They were both completely lost in those feelings.

-James,wait,stop,please!-Cordelia said,panting. She seemed lost.

-What is it? Am i doing something wrong?-James asked,worried.

-If you are doing something wrong? James,i-i-i thought you loved Grace!? This isn't how we should behave at all!-Cordelia said.

Grace? Why she would want to talk about Grace now? She didn't even crossed his mind for a second.

-We are not doing anything wrong Daisy. Grace is engaged to Charles,there is absolutely no reason for me to think about her. And i don't see anything wrong in your behavior,Mrs.Herondale.-James said,smiling.

-What? Mrs.Herondale?-Cordelia asked,incredulous.

-Yes. You are my wife now. You are Cordelia Herondale. Isn't this how a married couple should behave?-James asked.

It took a moment before Cordelia could smile to James as well. Perhaps there was still hope for the love she felt for him.

She was Cordelia Herondale,after all.

-You are absolutely right.-She said,and managed to remove her nightgown,revealing herself to James.

James stared at Cordelia,completely amazed. She was beyond gorgeous,all her curves and shapes,the runes on her skin.

-You are perfect. I have never seen a girl as beautiful as you.-Said James.

Cordelia threw the stele away. They could do that some other time.

-You are so gentle. James. My Jamie.-Cordelia said.

James embraced Cordelia,and layed on top of her in their bed. His hands were exploring everything in her body.

-James,i want to be yours. I have always wanted.-Cordelia said,nearly breathless.

James nodded. He was her husband,and he definitely felt something very strong for Cordelia. If he didn't,they wouldn't be married.

James removed the rest of his clothes,their skins in complete touch now. They were one.

They didn't had to say they loved each other,their actions spoke for themselves,as if shadows and flames were bringing life back to a love that had always existed.

A love that was more than ready to burn completely this time.

#chain of gold #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #jordelia #cassandra clare #matthew fairchild #sona carstairs

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