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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

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Historical Inaccuracies

So, remember how we all yelled about Alec finding out about Magnus inventing the portals with Henry? Yeah, so it led to this ;)

You can read the fic here on ao3 too :)

“I’ll never get used to it,” Alec told his husband as they returned home from Cirenworth. “Sure, the runes are amazing. The angel blood is pretty cool. But portals. Damn!”

Magnus only chuckled, setting down the box of cookies Jem and Kit had baked for the kids.

“Sometimes I really pity the mundanes,” Alec continued, taking off his shoes and jacket. “I mean, we live in New York. I can’t imagine travelling without portals. Oof!”

“Alexander, you have been spoiled!” Magnus chuckled harder.

Alec winked at his husband. “I wish I could make portals. Then I can go anywhere I want anytime I want.”

“You 're married to a warlock. You already do,” Magnus pointed out. “Besides, you can’t make portals without a warlock. You need our magic and panache.”

“Clary can though,” Alec pouted. “How can she make portals without warlock magic? It doesn’t make sense.”

“She got herself to engaged to Jace,” Magnus pointed out. “A lot of things Clary does doesn’t make sense.”

Alec giggled at that and flopped down on the bed, his t-shirt discarded on the floor. Magnus walked sat down next to him.

“Alright, think of it this way,” Magnus said. “What Clary does, that’s pure magic. Straight from the angels. But what we do…It isn’t just magic, it’s also science.”

“Oh,” Alec said, propping his face on his palms.

“Henry created the portals only after tinkering with them for weeks. It was an experiment, you see? It was a combination of science and magic. While Clary’s powers are no doubt fascinating, I’ve always preferred warlock portals. It’s a combination of nature and nurture. A fine balance of how all things should be. Actually, back in the day-”

Magnus stopped abruptly, but only because Alec was giving the biggest heart eyes in the world.

“Stop it!” Magnus blushed.

“I can’t help it,” Alec grinned. “I love it when you talk about magic. It’s like watching Simon talk about movies or Jace talk about weapons, but 100 times better and it doesn’t make me want to jump off the balcony.”

Magnus laughed. “Anyways, I’m saying you’re right. Portals might be the coolest invention because they combine science and magic. See how much we can achieve when we allow to entertain mundane thoughts?”

Alec smiled. “I wish I was there when the first portal was made. It must have been so badass!!”

“It was actually rather terrifying,” Magnus said. “We were off to defeat Mortmain. We didn’t know if it would work. Knowing Henry, there was an equal chance of us ending up in the Thames. But it all worked ou-”

“Hold up,” Alec interrupted. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

Magnus blinked.

“Magnus,” Alec said. “Were you there when the first portal was made?”

“You’re welcome,” Magnus winked. “Now, what should we have for dinner? I’m craving ba-”

“I don’t understand,” Alec looked stunned. “I didn’t know. How could I have not known? I should have never slept during the history lessons!”

“You shouldn’t have,” Magnus chuckled softly. “If it’s any consolation, it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d been awake either. Contributions of warlocks such as myself are not usually a part of the Nephilim curriculum.”

Alec only stared. "But that's ridiculous. Surely it must be in the Codex. I remember there is an entire subsection on portals.”

“Alexand-” Magnus called, but Alec had already jumped off the bed and was going to Rafael’s room.

He came back a moment later, flipping through the pages furiously.

“The first successful portal was created in 1878, a collaboration between Henry Branwell, then head of the London Institute, and a warlock whose name history, unfortunately, does not record.”

Alec looked up from the book.

“This is bullshit. BULLSHIT!”

“Alec-”

“Whose name history unfortunately doesn’t record?” Alec repeated. “Well, that’s fucking convenient, isn’t it?”

“It’s just an oversight,” Magnus shrugged.

“This is outright bigotry and discrimination!” Alec yelled. “It’s racist!”

“Alec,” Magnus called. “Shh! You’ll wake up the kids.”

“Good! They should hear this! In fact, everyone should,” Alec took out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Magnus asked, getting up from the bed and walking to his husband quickly.

“I’m texting the group,” Alec said, punching the buttons as if he was punching a demon. “Everyone should know about this. I’m going to send mass fire messages to every shadowhunter-”

Magnus grabbed Alec’s phone away. “Darling, it’s midnight. You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” Alec asked incredulously. “Magnus, I’m pretty sure, No-I’m 100% certain that none of us would be alive if it wasn’t for you. I’ve heard enough stories from Jem and Tessa to know what you have done. And this is what you get back in return?”

“I never did any of those things hoping I’d get something back in return,” Magnus pointed out. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it does to me,” Alec replied. “It matters to me that your kindness is valued. It matters that your power is respected. It matters that your contribution is acknowledge. It does matter, Magnus.”

Magnus only sighed and sat down on the bed again. “What do you what me to do?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Alec said, his voice softer now. “You’ve done enough and more. It’s us. Nephilim need to do better.”

“Nephilim need to do better,” Magnus chuckled softly. “Could be your slogan for a reelection campaign.”

“Magnus, I-” Alec faltered. “If this is the how the Clave operates, then I'm not sure I want to be a part of it.”

“Alec, no!” Magnus said forcefully. “Don’t you ever say that. Many Consuls wouldn’t have even bothered about this. You do. Shadowhunters need a leader like you.”

“Someone who didn’t even know his husband invented the portal?” Alec mumbled.

“Someone who gives a shit,” Magnus smiled. “Someone who cares – not just about the shadowhunters but about all of shadow world.”

They were quiet for a moment. The only sound in the apartment was the windchime from Max’s room.

“I’m sorry,” Alec said quietly. “I’m sorry they did this to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Magnus caressed his husband’s cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

“It isn’t,” Alec said. “But downworld erasure like this exists because no one bothered to question it. I did know a warlock helped Henry but I never bothered to look it up. It didn't matter to me.”

Magnus kissed Alec on the cheek. “It’s alright. I never cared for credit anyway.”

“I know, Magnus,” Alec smiled. “But I...I got the Codex from Rafe’s study table. I don’t want our son learning from a book that only documents half of what happened. It isn’t fair.”

Magnus’ face softened at that. “Okay. If it matters so much to you. Then I will talk to Rafael in the morning.”

“No,” Alec said. “This isn’t just about Rafe. It’s about all the kids.”

Alec looked away, as if he was ashamed.

“You know I wasn’t always like this. I was bigoted too – in my own way. And I think…If I had known…If someone had taught me, it would have helped. If shadowhunters had been taught history as it is, and how it should have been…We could have avoided wars. We could have avoided so much loss.”

“You could have,” Magnus said quietly. “It isn’t just warlocks who are erased. Faries, werewolves, vampires…even mundanes.”

Alec looked pained. “Ignorance breeds hatred. We can’t go on like this.”

“I agree, Alexander,” Magnus said. “But sending a mass fire messages in the middle of the night or spamming the group chat isn’t going to fix this. You said it yourself. This attitude is discriminatory. Discrimination and racism can’t be erased overnight. If you really want to fix this, then you need to sit down and think about this properly.”

Alec was quiet for a moment. A long one.

Then he held out his hand, clearly asking for his phone. Magnus sighed and gave it back.

He started pressing the buttons rapidly again before throwing the device on the bed. “Alright.”

“Did you just scream at the entire clave in all caps?” Magnus laughed, a little nervous.

“No,” Alec said, pulling Magnus into his arms. “Just texted Diego and Simon. I want to talk to them first thing in the morning.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to ask Simon to analyze the existing curriculum at the Academy. Catarina should help him. I want to know what the future generation is learning. I want to know how much of it is the truth,” Alec said. “And I’m going to ask Diego to put a team together to rewrite the codex. We’ll make sure we have representatives from the downworld. If we are going to teach history, then it needs to be as accurate as possible. The Codex should be a book of truth, not carefully worded propaganda.”

“Lots of people might not like the truth,” Magnus said quietly.

Alec kissed him the forehead and shrugged. “Too bad. They picked me as the Consul. Now they gotta deal with it.”

Magnus laughed, his voice becoming softer as it was filled with unending happiness.

“Nobody gets left behind,” Alec promised. “Not this time.”

“Thank you,” Magnus smiled.

“For what?” Alec chuckled. “Giving a shit?”

Magnus shrugged and hugged his husband close, never wanting to let go.

“Thank you,” Alec whispered. “I know the Codex doesn’t say it. But thank you. For all that you do. For all that you are.”

#they own my heart and soul #malec #malec fics #malec fanfiction #tsc #dani writes stuff

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hopecountyisforlovers · 3 years

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Case#0122208

rating: spooky stuff in here but otherwise general

pairing: none

words: 1727

summary: Statement of Roger Tao regarding his time lost at sea. Original statement given August 22nd, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

( this was my go at writing a statement about my newest magnus archives s/i, alexei underwood ! i wont give away much more than that BUT i will say tumblr really fucked up the formatting on this one. it was set up to look like a transcript on word. oh well )

----------x----------

Archivist

Statement of Roger Tao regarding his time lost at sea. Original statement given August 22nd, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Archivist

I've always loved the ocean. The crash of the waves against the shore, the cries of sea birds, the way the sun dyes the water orange and red, the reflection of the moon against the rippling water. The serenity of it.... on the beach at night, it almost feels like you could easily be the last person on earth.

I used to.....to find that a comfort, believe it or not. That it was just me- that I had no worries in regards to taking care of anyone else, no family, no job that I hated that I still had to get back to once my short respite was done. Don't get me wrong, I love my wife, and my kids, I just- a man needs his alone time, doesn't he? An escape from the... hectic pace, of everyday life.

It was like a routine- every Friday afternoon, after getting off work, I would make the hour-and-then-some drive to Whitstable Beach. I'd bring, you know- a folding chair, maybe a beer or two.. and stay just long enough to get my fill of what I was seeking all the way out there. Peace, I guess.

That night was like most others- I had had a few. Not enough to be proper drunk, mind you, just enough to put a buzz in my head and a tingle in my fingertips. The sun fell in the sky as it always did, and still does- the moon shone up off the water, full and fat and round, a distorted image that didn't quite match its partner in the sky.

I had just risen from my folding chair to stretch, having sobered up enough to consider making my way home, when... when I saw someone, standing a ways down the beach from where I was. It sent a shiver down my spine- how long had they been there? It's a scary thing, to suddenly realize one is not as alone as they previously thought they were. But even more frightening than that was... was their stillness. The water washed in over their trouser legs, soaking them, but... but they just. Stood there. Staring out over the ocean. Just like I had been, I guess, but. Something about looking at them... made me feel....cold, despite the balm of the summer night.

I didn't realize I was getting closer until I could start to make out their features. It was a man, albeit a feminine one- long, mist-and-water colored hair flowed down his back, blew in the sea breeze that didn't seem to bother him despite his wet clothing.

I stopped, dead in my tracks, making for the first time that night an audible shuffling sound as my feet planted in the damp sand. It was barely loud enough for me to hear, and...and yet...

He turned, slow, fluid- and looked right at me.

His face was soft and round, I could tell even from a distance. But his eyes... they glowed, bright blue-white, with all the force of a sunny sky. It hurt my eyes to look at, and I felt all at once vertigo, and that bone-chilling cold- as if I had been shoved off of a frozen mountaintop.

I could have sworn I saw him smile.

And... and then. Well, here's the part where you're going to start thinking I'm crazy. Or that I was drunk, I guess, but I swear to you that I wasn't. Even if I had been... No. No. I saw what I saw. What happened to me... what happened to me was real. It had to be. He has to be.

He turned away from me, and... and he walked onto the water. Not into it. On top of it. The man took a few steps, looking back at me expectantly- I wanted nothing more than to run, at that moment. To turn the other way and get back in my car and never come back to this beach again. Except that I didn't- that was what my rational brain was screaming at me of course, but.... but something much, much deeper, more ingrained, a part forgotten by modern society... it begged me to follow him.

So follow him I did.

I truly don't know what I thought I would accomplish. In a way, it almost didn't matter- when I took my first step on top of the water, he turned back to look at me. Up close, his smile was sweet and demure. He giggled, honest to God giggled, and although looking him directly in the eyes made my knees weak and my fingers cold and my stomach feel like it was about to evacuate it contents, I couldn't look away. But no- I didn't want to look away, anymore than I didn't not want to follow him.

It's embarrassing to say, but... that was all it took. I had forgotten my family, my life- all I wanted was to see that smile again. It dominated my mind so easily that I didn't even notice when he had begun walking forward again, away from the safety of the shore and into the deep, inky black of the ocean we were standing on.

I don't know how long we walked. It could have been minutes, hours, days... but the moon never moved from it's position in the sky, so I figured it couldn't have been too long. The ocean stretched on and on for miles and miles, and I watched him. I kept such a close eye on him, the new focal point of my universe, the only thing that mattered. Every so often, when my legs would go weak and I'd consider the traitorous thought of turning back, he would stop and turn around, eyes lighting up the night, smile making my heart race, and.. and I would be refreshed.

It went on like that....until he....disappeared.

There isn't a better word for it, really. He turned back towards me, smiled his incandecant smile, and....and it happened so instantly, like he had been swallowed up by the mist and fog that rested gently atop the water, that I thought for sure it must be a trick of the dark. Surely, he had to still be there. Surely.

But.. but he wasn't. He was gone. And I realized with a newfound panic when I spun around that the shore was gone, too. That I wasn't even sure what direction it was in, or if we had been walking in a straight line the whole time. It wasn't even a pinprick in the horizon.

That wasn't... wasn't the worst part of it, though. If it had been cold, to look at him, being without him now felt like...like whatever warmth lives inside us and makes us human had been all but extinguished. I fell to my knees on the water, but not through it, somehow, soaking my pant legs, clutching my chest where that flame had once lived so happily like it was the bloody hole it felt like as heaving sobs overtook my body.

They wouldn't stop, incensed by the pain that ripped and tore it's way through my chest. Tears fell to join the ocean water, the mist that covered it rising and swirling and wrapping around me like it was overjoyed by my pain. I know... I know I heard him giggle, again. The same way that he had when I had first started following him.

I don't know how long it was, how long I spent out there, pouring my anguish and grief into the unforgiving ocean, before the energy left my body so thoroughly that I collapsed onto the water. Only that when I awoke on the beach the next morning, waterlogged and with a sore throat but no worse for wear, families were just starting to gather on the sand, setting up blankets. One of the children even waved at me, although they were quickly chided by a protective parent for doing so.

I packed up, got back in my car, and drove home. Linda was speaking with the police, when I got there and was all but overjoyed- if not incensed, to see me in one piece. She told me... told me that I had been missing for almost 3 days. She hugged me, and I apologized, but..

I wish I could say I never went back to that beach. I wish I could say that I didn't see him in my dreams every time I manage to fall asleep, beckoning for me to follow him, smiling that angels smile. I wish I could say that I didn't still want to. I wish I could say I'm still a devoted husband and father of two.

But it would be a lie. I'm there every night, now. Watching. Waiting. I need... I need for him to come back. I need to see him again. The empty space in me that he created.. the light that he snuffed out. It hurts. It hurts. I can't.. laugh. Or smile. When I try, it... it just sounds. Looks.

People have stopped inviting me out. I think my wife might leave me.

I just have to see him again.

Archivist

Statement ends.

This one is rather easy to corroborate, but much harder to actually prove, if such a thing is possible. Police reports do indicate that Mr. Tao was reported missing by his wife Linda on the 10th of August 2012, stating that he had been gone without a trace for 48 hours, a missing persons inquest that was succinctly called off when he returned home the next day while the officers interviewed her.

I had Martin do some digging, and unfortunately, Mr. Tao was found dead shortly after a motion was filed for his divorce. Someone who lived in a home near Whitstable Beach reported seeing him simply walk into the ocean and never come back out. The police eventually did locate his body- cause of death was, unremarkably, drowning. On his person was what seemed to be a letter, although it had become soaked through to the point it was quite unreadable.

One can only hope it was not a love letter.

#my writing #s/i: alexei #im so proud of this wtf #i didnt even think id be able to finish it #much less that it would flow out like it did and actually be well #REALLY GOOD i think #i know its only tangentially selfship related but please read it and let me know what you think

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dreaming-in-alicante · 3 years

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New chapter is up! Way longer than I planned it to be, lol. I mention Grace training with a bow and arrow in this chapter and now I'm just thinking about how awesome it would be for her to bond with Gabriel over archery.

Chapter 2: Taking stock

Grace jolted as a loud bang echoed through the basement. She was grateful that she had set down her glass beaker a moment before, else she surely would have dropped it. She whirled swiftly around, locating Christopher, and was relieved to find him startled but unharmed. Still, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, inspecting his shirtsleeve where a hole had burned through. “My apologies. It turns out that combining a Swiftness rune with my current modified rune does not in fact make a message travel as desired, it just causes the message to explode,” he said, unfazed. He had been working on another long-time project, a way to send messages in an instant. “Perhaps I should take a break and return to this project later when Henry is around to consult with. He should be back from Idris next week.” Christopher bent to write something in his notebook, then made his way over to Grace’s station where she had a solution refluxing over a Bunsen burner. “How are you getting on with the synthesis?” he asked.

Grace had been working her way through some of Christopher’s old notebooks. The best way to gain scientific knowledge, it turned out, was to do the experiments yourself. She was attempting to replicate his results on past projects. In the process, she was learning basic techniques and becoming comfortable with the various instruments and chemicals in the laboratory.

“It seems to be going well,” shee told him, “although the solution is a darker yellow than you have described in your notes.” This began a very informative discussion about reaction conditions and the purity of compounds. By this point, it was starting to get dark outside, and so Grace finished her experiment and tidied up somewhat. “I’ll see you – not tomorrow, with the family day– Sunday then?” she asked.

“That’s right! I had nearly forgotten,” Christopher said, smiling. “My parents have – wait a moment. I thought we were inviting you and Jesse over! Oh heavens, I hope I wasn’t in charge of telling you,” he said worriedly.

“They did remember to invite us. Jesse will be there,” Grace assured him as she located her coat.

“And you won’t?” Christopher asked, head tilting in confusion.

“I thought it should stay strictly family. Jesse will always be my brother, but Tatiana was never truly family. And I share no blood with you all,” Grace explained. “It all worked out anyway because I… actually have family of my own that I’m meeting tomorrow. Cousins, or technically second cousins, around my age who are coming to London on some business this weekend.” She had sent a letter to her father’s cousin soon after everything had happened, and quickly gotten a response.

“I didn’t realize you had contact with the remaining Cartwrights! That’s wonderful then,” Christopher said jovially. “Have you met them before?” he asked.

Grace shook her head. “Perhaps as a young child, but not that I can remember,” she told him. “They were thrilled to hear from me though. Apparently, they sent letters infrequently over the years. Tatiana,” she said, fists clenching, “never let me know about them, and evidently sent short replies to tell them that I was well, but didn’t want to see them.” It was just one more cruelty Tatiana had inflicted.

Christopher frowned and said solemnly, “I’m very sorry Grace. That’s a terrible thing. I’m sorry that you had to suffer under her for so many years.”

“The important thing is that I’m free of her now,” Grace told him. She had to leave so that she could meet Jesse on time for training, so she quickly put on her coat and started out. “Until Sunday, then,” she said, bidding Christopher good evening before she left.

_________________________________________________________

Grace felt unusually light as she made her way home. It was incredible, she reflected, how so much had changed in just over two weeks. Spending her day in the laboratory was strangely peaceful, despite the occasional explosions. For so many years she had been defined by other people: she was Tatiana’s obedient girl, Jesse’s loving and determined sister, Tatiana’s weapon. In the lab, with Christopher… she was learning how to just be Grace.

Things had also improved outside the lab. Bolstered by a new confidence, Grace had finally accepted Jesse’s offer to join him in training. She was pleased to find that she remembered much of the training they had done together before he died. Over the years she had practiced when she could, but those times were rare with Tatiana prowling the house at odd hours. She was fast becoming skilled with a bow and arrows. She was also learning quickly with a Seraph blade, an entirely new weapon, although she doubted she was yet proficient enough to effectively wield them against a demon.

It was immensely satisfying to train and think how horrified Tatiana would have been. Grace wore dark gear rather than pale silk and lace dresses, hair kept in a simple braid instead of elaborate styles. She was gaining muscles and callouses, as well as covering herself in marks to increase agility, speed, accuracy, and so on. She was no longer Tatiana’s flawless porcelain doll. Even when not training, Grace now preferred simple dresses – necessary when she spent extensive time in a lab where spills and fires were always a risk.

Grace usually joined Jesse for training either quite early or quite late in the day, when fewer people were at the Institute. Jesse would share new techniques that he had learned and spar with her, as did Lucie on the days she joined them. Lucie had warmed again to Grace somewhat, although she still was a bit awkward whenever Cordelia or James came up in conversion. Another wonderful outcome of training was a tentative friendship with Ariadne that began when she encountered Grace and Jesse while training one evening. Ariadne confessed she had been unsettled by the revelations after Grace’s trial, but she bore Grace no ill will. They had started trading book recommendations.

Three friends made in three weeks, Grace thought, quite a change after a lifetime with none. Well, perhaps she had friends before her parents died, but if so, she did not remember them. Although it was difficult to tell whether she was truly friends with Lucie and Ariadne quite yet and not just familiar acquaintances. Grace didn’t entirely know how a friendship worked, how one should interact with friends. However, she was sure that Christopher could be counted as a genuine friend. They spent lots of time together and talked about numerous topics and weren’t those basic elements of a friendship?

_________________________________________________________

Sunday came quickly and Grace arrived in the lab early, eager to start a project she had considered for several days – organizing chemicals and other supplies in the lab. There was a system, vaguely, but she felt it could be much improved. She saw Christopher do a double-take when he arrived a half hour later and realized she was there.

“Grace! Good morning. You’re early. Or am I late?,” he asked, perplexed.

Grace felt a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Up to this point, she had always gotten to Grosvenor Square later in the morning. “I arrived early today,” she said, alleviating Christopher’s confusion. “I’ve been getting to work on organizing all the chemicals and other compounds. I am also creating a more thorough inventory.”

Christopher appeared pleasantly surprised. “Capital idea, Grace!” he said. He examined the inventory list she had started, and offered a few suggestions for the layout.

“Jesse said you all had a good time together yesterday,” she said, hoping to make conversation as she started rewriting labels that were stained or faded on various vials.

“We did! It was a fine time having the family all together and talking to Jesse,” Christopher said happily, “although there was a small mishap when I tried out another rune combination.” His smile turned sheepish as he added, “Unfortunate, but my mother said the important thing is that no one got hurt, and she believes the sofa can be salvaged.”

Grace smiled slightly at the story, comparing it to the version she had heard from her brother. Jesse’s description of the incident had included a fairly large blaze that nearly set Sophie and Gideon on fire, a good deal of shouting, and the confiscation of Christopher’s steles for the remainder of the evening. “Jesse did mention something about an accident,” she said mildly.

“How was your visit with your cousins?” Christopher asked.

“Splendid. They were both very kind, and easy to talk to. I’ll be keeping in contact with them now,” Grace replied. Truly, it had been a pleasant afternoon with her two cousins – Samuel, Grace’s age, and Sarah, three years older. They had exchanged telephone numbers, and the two had extended an invitation for Grace to spend a weekend with them in Idris at the end of the month, to meet their parents and other siblings.

_________________________________________________________

They were working in companionable silence that afternoon when a voice that Grace recognized as Thomas Lightwood’s called “Hello Kit!”

“Afternoon, Tom!” Christopher greeted him as Thomas stepped into the lab.

“Oh, and Grace. Good afternoon. Kit and Jesse mentioned you were helping out now,” Thomas said, looking a bit unsure.

“Hello, Thomas,” Grace said simply in reply. She turned back to the bench and busied herself inspecting a bottle, putting on a new label, and marking it in the growing inventory list. She had seen Thomas several times in passing, and he came up fairly frequently in conversations with her new mutual friends, but she had not spoken with him directly. She was grateful when Christopher began updating Thomas on his research, and Thomas’s scrutinizing gaze moved away from her. Evidently Thomas had stopped by early to catch up with Christopher before the Merry Thieves all went out that evening.

Grace did her best to avoid Thomas as she moved around the lab to get various chemicals or use different instruments like the microscope. She did have to interrupt their conversation at one point, calling Christopher over to inspect a vial, because did it actually contain demon poison? (It did – from a Raum demon to be precise) Several minutes later she searched for a bottle that she swore had been right in front of her. “Christopher, have you seen the hydrochloric acid?” she asked.

“Hm, I’m not sure that I have,” he said, searching around slightly, but keeping his attention largely focused on pipetting a solution.

Thomas sighed but smiled fondly as he plucked the bottle in question from among the glassware in from of Christopher. “It’s right here,” Thomas said, then walked over towards Grace. “There you are,” he said, handing her the bottle.

“Thank you,” Grace replied, taking the bottle from him somewhat clumsily. He started to turn, then halted.

“I know everything’s all still a bit awkward, but – especially after talking with Jesse yesterday– I just want you to know that I don’t hold anything against you, Grace,” Thomas told her earnestly. “Goodness knows I’ve made bad decisions myself. And when I imagine myself in your situation – if I’d had the opportunity to get my sister back,” he said, swallowing hard, “and only Aunt Tatiana for company, well… I’ll just say that I can understand your motivations. I hope that we can be on amiable terms.” He looked very sincere.

“I – er, thank you. I appreciate it,” Grace said, uncertain how to respond. That seemed enough to satisfy Thomas, however; he nodded at her and made his way back to Christopher’s work station.

The atmosphere was much less tense after that, but it did not last long. Christopher was somewhere upstairs, changing from his burned and stained lab clothing into something he was allowed out in for the evening, when she heard more than one person coming down the stairs. She looked up to see alarm rising in Thomas’s expression, and turned to see James and Matthew as they greeted Thomas.

“Ah,” James said, he and Matthew halting as they saw Grace. “Miss Blackthorn,” he greeted her coolly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His expression indicated that he would have much preferred not to see her ever again.

“It’s Cartwright again, actually,” Grace told him, fiddling with her pen, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright. What are you doing in my father’s lab? Are you planning to seduce Thomas or Kit now?” Matthew asked, voice bright with false cheerfulness.

Grace struggled to restrain her temper at the insult. “I am here to study science, and work on research with Christopher. I have been doing so for the last several weeks, in fact,” she said evenly.

“Science? You’re here to learn about science? With Christopher?” James asked, as he and Matthew stared at her incredulously.

“You expect use to believe that?” Matthew asked, eyebrows raised. “That you have suddenly been overcome with a burning interest in science, have come to the Consul’s house, and you don’t have some ulterior motive?”

Grace took a deep breath. “I am interested in science. I never had the freedom to pursue it before but I find it exceedingly fascinating. I am trying to find a place for myself, and a purpose. And Christopher,” she emphasized, “has no issue with my being here.” She stared them both down. “I know I did you terrible wrongs. I have apologized, to both of you, and many others. I don’t know what else you expect me to do,” she said in an icy tone. “And even if you doubt my sincerity, you must have by this point heard that my power was removed. Ask your mother the Consul,” she said, gesturing at Matthew, “or ask Jem Carstairs and the other Silent Brothers.”

It was at this tense moment that Christopher returned, changed into clothing that had not yet been stained or burned. “James, Matthew!” he greeted them happily, then seemed to finally register the fact that everyone’s expression looked strained. “Is something the matter?” he asked confusedly.

“Yes, somewhat,” James said. “You somehow forgot to mention that Miss Bla- sorry, Miss Cartwright has been helping you in the lab?” He stared hard at Christopher, face showing his disbelief.

“Yes, Grace has been helping. It’s been quite a good time so far,” Christopher said, still looking quite baffled. “Did you want to help too?” he asked, looking between both James and Matthew.

“We’re not upset because we want to help in the lab,” Matthew burst out, “we want to know why you not only invited our – our nemesisinto my family’s house, and neglected to even mention it!”

“Grace is our nemesis?” Christopher asked, looking even more bewildered.

“Kit, do you not remember the entire ordeal over the past few months? In which we discovered that for years Grace used a bracelet and demon powers to control my mind? Under the direction of your crazy aunt and my demon grandfather?” James asked with great exasperation.

“Oh that!” Christopher said, looking pleased that he had finally figured out what they were discussing. “Yes of course I remember that. Grace apologized! She feels very badly about all of it,” he stated, apparently expecting that to settle the matter.

“Kit, we are telling you that you can’t be sure of her intentions. She could still be up to something,” Matthew said.

“I am not-” Grace began to retort, but was cut off as Matthew continued, “It’s just that you have to see how it looks, you suddenly being all friendly with someone who is a known manipulator who, for very good reasons, does not get on with your friends?”

“Thomas has Alastair around all the time, and we never used to like him either,” Christopher said stubbornly. “I don’t understand why we can’t also be friends with Grace now too.” Thomas sputtered, clearly uncomfortable having his still-new boyfriend brought into the conversation. Up to this point he had been hovering nervously, eyes darting back and forth as his friends argued. “Grace has apologized,” Christopher continued “She’s here because she wants to pursue science, and seeing as neither of you spend much time down here, you wouldn’t see her much.”

Grace was astounded to see ever-cheerful Christopher looking slightly angry. His friends looked quite surprised as well.

“Also,” Christopher added, “isn’t it rude to be arguing about Grace while she’s still in the room?”

Clearly taken aback, James said, “I didn’t mean to…I – look, Kit, just…” His mouth tightened as he glanced at Grace, then back to Christopher. “Gwyliwch eich cefn. Mae hi'n aml yn dweud celwyddau,” he said in some odd language.

Christopher answered him in the same language, his tone still uncharacteristically sharp. “Hyderaf hi.”

The cousins stared each other down for another moment until an abashed-looking Matthew cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “We’ll go wait upstairs, I think,” he said, tugging James towards the stairs.

They left, and Christopher told Thomas that he’d be cleaned up in a minute if he’d like to head upstairs too. Thomas did so as Christopher capped his open test tubes and turned off the Bunsen burners, face still pensive.

Grace broke the uneasy silence. “I’m sorry to put you in a difficult spot with your friends, Christopher.”

Christopher looked appalled as he replied, “No, I’m sorry Grace. I suppose I never thought to mention that you were helping in the lab now. I didn’t think about how they would react if they just saw you down here.” He sighed. “I’m never sure what to tell which people, or predict how they will react,” he said sadly. “I think they’ll come around though,” he added, brightening. “I’ll talk to them tonight. Maybe if I just tell them about the experiments we’ve been working on, and your organizational system…”

Grace began cleaning her station as well, but she still had a remaining question. “What was it that you and James were speaking? Was it some demon language?” she inquired. She had not yet covered any demon tongues in her training.

Christopher gave a small, surprised laugh. “Not a demon tongue actually – Welsh. Although my father does like to say it’s quite unnatural,” he said, amused.

Grace hadn’t connected the pieces. She had known that James spoke Welsh. It would make sense that his cousins would speak the language as well. “What were you two saying?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Christopher looked somewhat uncomfortable, avoiding her gaze, instead focusing on his notebook. “James warned me to watch my back because you’ve been known to lie,” he said finally. He looked up, now meeting her eyes, and said sincerely, “But I told him that I trust you.”

Grace looked back at him, overwhelmed by his earnestness. “Thank you, Christopher. You don’t know how much that means to me,” she said softly, and her cheeks suddenly felt a bit warm.

“Of course!” Christopher said. “You’re a wonderful lab partner. As good as Henry.”

Coming from Christopher, who greatly admired Henry, Grace recognized that this was indeed high praise.

“I should be leaving now,” he said, grabbing his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Have a good time tonight.”

Christopher smiled at her as he left. Grace wondered what it meant that she felt an odd fluttering in her stomach at that. And as she made her way home, she kept replaying the moment in her mind where Christopher looked earnestly at her with bright violet eyes and told her that he trusted her.

#finished writing this instead of studying oops #gracetopher #tlh #fanfic #my fic #grace blackthorn #christopher lightwood

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lindberghtm · 3 years

Text

* . desirée lindbergh was spotted in the fashion district adorning prada platform chelsea boots , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to you know i'm no good by amy winehouse . you may know them as @desi or as that aisha potter lookalike . their twenty first birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be duplicitous but on the other hand reliable . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cis female / she/her + c / 21+ / she/her ) .

hey !!!!!! i was planning on coming thru with a cool intro to establish myself as a ~ cool ~ person , but covid has absolutely ✨ decimated ✨ my social skills so ,,,,,,, this is what im left with . anywho hi i’m c ( short for clown tbfh ) , im 21+ , from the rainy ole’ pnw , & i use she / her pronouns . i was in wealthy like , , , , AGES ago & tbh i’ve been missing it real bad lately so here i am with a brand new bitch , , , , , ms . desi lindbergh 🖤 i just finished reading the girl with the dragon tattoo so you’ll find elements from that novel in my biography like the names , & the general ‘ company comes first ‘ & ‘ no one gets a divorce in this family ’ attitudes . but hennyway here’s a pinterest board , & my discord is 𝐌 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁#1264 ( the best tiktok song imo ) . my bio is rambly but there are stats at the top , personality & wanted connections ( inc . this sideblog w wanted plots ) at the bottom ! xoxo

* . stats .

full name : desirée ‘ desi ’ charlotte lindbergh - montenegro

age : twenty - two

gender : cis female

pronouns : she / her

pob ; current home : london , england ; current residence in tribeca .

family : henrik lindbergh ( 80 , deceased , ceo of lindbergh corporation ) ; miriam montenegro ( 46 , lives in the upper east side & london , supermodel turned vindictive widow ) ; no siblings or pets .

birthday : september 2 , 1998 ; virgo sun , taurus moon , cancer rising .

career : heiress / model / daddy’s credit card swiper .

drinking / drugs / smoking : yes / no / occasionally .

physical : aisha potter fc , dark brown mid - length hair , dark brown eyes , no tattoos , two ear lobe piercings in each ear , 5 ′ 6 ″ .

* . character biography .

1998 : miriam montenegro , an english model coming from a humble background , made it big when she was scouted for runway shows , eventually making her way to being a household name . by the age of twenty five , she’d found love ( or , financial comfort , rather ) with the fifty nine year old henrik lindbergh , a swedish business magnate whose involvement in global industrialization spanned far wider than the european economy . the relationship took the world by surprise , miriam’s friends being far more involved in pop culture than an aged man . while she claims it was love , the world had already made up its mind on her motive — money .

the pair got married six months after they initially became involved , & desi was born a year after . her father , the product of the ‘ silent generation ‘ , was of the impression that children should be seen , not heard , an outdated idea that her mother was comfortable abiding by . desirée , by association , quickly became accustomed to the spotlight , the interest in the uncommon relationship between miriam & henrik only growing after the birth of their sole child . desi grew up a prop , a toy for her mother to dress up in matching outfits & parade on the global stage , before stepping behind closed doors & forgetting about the child entirely . this led to desi being raised almost exclusively by nannies , her mother more interested in savouring the last of her youth & her father too busy with his international duties . originally based in london , the family moved to new york when desirée was starting her schooling to be closer to the hustle & bustle of american life .

2017 : desirée is graduating high school a year early after having been sent to institut auf dem rosenberg , a swiss private school that prides itself on being highly exclusive∫ˆ highly expensive . the name was a selling point for her father , but more importantly she would be safe & out of the way on another continent while her parents bickered ceaselessly . desirée found herself to be nothing special at rosenberg , her identity having been formed on the idea that public exposure equated to popularity ; without the constant public eye while at school , desi found a freedom & lightness she hadn’t before experienced . she could be real , & have real friends , & not be putting on a fake smile to allude an air of comfort . most of all , she could get away from her spiteful mother , who , once desi hit puberty , saw her as a threat to her own beauty , success , & public popularity . being sent to private school was the best thing to happen to desi & her mother’s relationship .

after graduating , desirée moved back to new york city , moving back into the expansive upper east side apartment , & being sure to move into a room on the opposite side of the home from her parents . being thrust back into the spotlight , a ‘ homecoming ‘ of sorts that her mother capitalized on , desi fell into a depression . she feared leaving the house , she feared that people would only want to be her friend in order to access the family’s wealth ( a seed of an idea planted in her father at the age of twelve , when she was told there was to be no dating unless their family’s net worth was over 500 million ) . soon enough , though , desi made the choice to get in contact with her mother’s rival modeling agency , inquiring about the possibility about modeling . they , of course , welcomed the legacy with open arms ; her mother , however , decided that this deceipt would not be tolerated under her roof , & kicked desi out as soon as she’d heard . desi called her father crying , explaining the situation over the phone , who immediately created a separate bank account of her own for desi , secretly hidden away in an overseas bank to avoid her mother finding out . the account held far more than desirée needed , but it was her father who enabled her to get back on her feet , find her own home , & start a career for herself .

2020 : desirée hardly speaks to her mother , though they keep up the public illusion that they are as close as a mother - daughter duo can be . her father though , now 80 years old , was actually close with desi , the two catching up daily & him celebrating her accomplishments she believed were self - earned . in october , though , she received a phone call from her father’s attorney , mr. berger , who informed her that henrik was in the hospital in critical condition after a heart attack . she flew to stockholm , where her father had been taking care of business items , & realized that it was time to say her goodbyes . her father & her played chess , talked about her childhood , & reconciled on any old issues . he passed away three days after she’d arrived . seeming as if he’d been able to tell something horrible was coming , henrik had updated his will a matter of weeks before the heart attack , naming desiree as the sole inheritor of all his assets & belongings . except , of course , her mother , who inherited a whopping five dollars from her husband . this was , mr . berger explained to desi , so that miriam could not claim that she had accidentally been left out , & was entitled to more of his estate .

if this wasn’t enough , the press soon released that interntional business mogul henrik lindbergh had passed away , & the companies he owned were now owned by a twenty one year old model who had never truly worked one day in her life . to make matters worse , her mother quickly played the victim , launching a multitude of lawsuits against her own daughter for defamation & coercing her father to leave her mother out of it . berger quickly chose desirée’s side , though he couldn’t become her personal attorney out of conflict of interest with the executing of the will . as the accounts lie in limbo during the legal battle , desi is relying solely on the secret account her father made her in switzerland ; if her mother knew , she would try to go after it , as well .

2021 : desirée has layed low over the last few months , her mother continuing her public display of heartache as the widow . desi can be said to be two - faced due to her sweet disposition one day & her cold attitude the next . in reality , she is normally kind & thoughtful , giving the benefit of the doubt to those two wrong her , but lately she has become more withdrawn , secretive , & volatile . she was recently photographed in a restaurant , crying on the phone with her head in her hand , something she would never normally allow to happen . overall , though , she doesn't want to speak publicly about the legal battle because she considers it a delicate matter & wants to take the high road . because of this , she puts on a face that she's happy , has done her mourning , & intentionally does things to make it seem like life is normal , like making appearances at events about new york city & being spotted hanging out with friends . only a very small handful in her inner circle notice the immense stress she's under because she's good at managing it , & doesn't want to be pitied .

* . personality .

personality wise , she is quite bubbly , thoughtful , dependable , observant , calm , & chooses her words carefully . on the other hand , she can be very hot & cold , self - isolating , two - faced , & tells blatant lies when she ought not to , & denies vehemently when others call her on her bs . she’s the type to remember someone saying they like something , in passing , then suddenly she shows up with that exact thing when she sees them next . her love language is definitely gifts & acts of service . considers herself a good advice giver but won’t take any advice others give her . kind of an air head , in that she can get so wrapped up in her own world that she forgets that others aren’t just npc’s in her life sfjklsd . can get overwhelmed easily , & retracts back into herself & isolates in her apartment for days on end , pampering herself with huge shopping sprees , overpriced face masks , & too much champagne . her way to deal with problems is to pretend they’re not there until eventually they go away 🤡

the world knows the bulk of the lindbergh - montenegro affair , as its known in the media , thanks to her mother taking interviews left & right to allude to her being snubbed by her own daughter . desi pretends that it does not bother her , that justice will be served & that legality will prevail over her mother’s cries , but the weight of the affair is taking a toll on her .

* . wanted plots .

click here for sideblog with wanted plots !

best friend / ride or die : someone desi’s been friends with for YEARS , knows all her family’s bs , prob has called her mother a b*tch to her face dflkjsdkl . literally the nicole to her paris , the lorelai to her rory .

squad : a group of friends who go clubbing every saturday & get brunch & gossip the next morning , have shady nicknames in their gc , have designated ‘ roles ’ in the friend group ( mom friend , the cr*ckhead , the wingperson , etc . ) , go on trips together , have the wildest birthday parties , etc . please !!

first love : this would’ve been in their teens , a summer fling that she fell hard for & who her father didn’t approve of bc he’s business - minded first . they tried to do long distance when she went back to school in the fall , but it didn’t work out & now they’re either on good terms & have sweet memories of that time , or one is still kinda salty how things ended .

bad influence : encourages desi to get the stick out of her *ss , & when she hangs out with them , they tend to go overboard on whatever the entertainment of the night may be .

friends to lovers / slow - burn romance : they’re friends first , but there’s been undeniable romantic tension between the two of them ( imagine pope towards kiara in obx ) , & their friends can pick up on it . they’ve never acted on it , worried of ruining the friendship , but they’re always a lil disappointed when the other goes home with or gets involved with someone else , but are ultimately there to pick up the pieces afterwards .

enemies / mutual dislike : maybe someone whose family her father screwed in business , their parents could have been friends before desi’s mom turned on them somehow , they think desi thinks she’s queen of the world , etc . let’s plan it out hehe

cheating : oop ! i love the angst , so gimme someone who either a ) cheated on desi , or b ) they think she cheated on them due to some tabloid article , rumor around town she was seen with someone , etc . their relationship was prob rocky as fuck , toxic , & lacked trust & communication . just a total shit show tbh .

that’s all i can think of now dskljfkl please feel free to reach out over tumblr msgs or on discord !

#wealthyhq:intro #excited 2 be here 🖤

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sinnhelmingr · 3 years

Text

tma au rundown. revised from the old blog and updated for new lore from rp. warning. long with too many bullet points.

BASICS:

her name is leah lindqvist. no, this is not her birth name, not even a name in any official records, but it’s what she goes by and what the majority of characters will know her as. the only exceptions to this are those who knew her in her human life and those who have stumbled upon her in statements – more on that later.

appears to be in her early 30s, with an old world aristocracy look under her gothic leanings. has a propensity for elegant/historical looks in her day to day life, being rather more put together than the setting’s usual cast of characters. notable for her bloodless complexion and bright green eyes. tall and thin.

has lived in london for the last seven years, with occasional travels onto the continent. looking for an in to the institute to further her own research. changes living arrangements at around season 3 to better stalk keep an eye on ongoing plots.

originally scandinavian, specifically danish, though her accent seems strangely lax for someone who claims to have only left her motherland a few years before. speaks multiple languages fluently.

is an avatar, though her exact ‘patron’ is a question she’s been trying to answer for a long, long time. the circumstances of what she deems her ‘becoming’ seemed to involve at least 4 separate entities, only one of which could have won her. add in her upbringing beholden to being a good agent for the beholding and, well, the waters do get muddied.

BACKSTORY:

was born the youngest of three children in a happy copenhagen home, her father a prodigal from good stock and her mother a force to be reckoned with in the community. at some point, the house of cards crumbled for the couple, and their children were shuffled off to what relatives would take them. leah, or whoever she was before, went to her paternal grandparents specifically.

said grandfather, odin, was a proper gentleman, a pillar of the community, worldly and wealthy. he had a particular fondness for the macabre, and venerated an englishman known as jonah magnus and his various associates. this man about town had such dreams for his latest acquisition, for this bright and tender child who wanted the whole of the world in her hands. he would introduce her to his world over the coming years, training her not only as a proper heir to his legacy, but a perfect sacrifice for whatever esoteric entity he had turned to for patronage.

leah was raised to be a proper academic and globetrotter, groomed for something beyond her understanding. she was expected to read and recite, to observe others, and to mind her ps and qs more than her cousins ever would. as she grew towards adolescence, odin took to traveling the world with his ward with deeper intent, haunting locations of past or ongoing fear activity. leah was meant to observe the world beyond humanity, and to be seen by his associates.

that was a perilous thing, and got her on the wrong side of various avatars and monsters more often than she cares to remember. she has had confirmed run-ins with the spiral, the stranger, the desolation, the corruption, the vast, and the dark through these ‘misadventures,’ and has had at least one brush with the lukas family in her youth that leaves open the possibility of later lonely interference.

carries scars from the spiral, stranger, and the corruption at least. said corruption incident is in fact the cause of her limited mobility from her early twenties onward -- and no, she doesn’t want to talk about how she got her cane. what a fucked up question to ask.

odin referred to her in his records as his martyr, going back to the proper root of the term. martyr, meaning witness, meaning a girl forced to stare unblinking at the influence of the fears upon the world. that these moments of martyrdom occasionally caused her to be physically harmed was an inevitable coincidence. it should be noted, however, that leah’s moments of martyrdom over active instances of fear were almost invariably fatal for the subject of observation. while odin perceived her as witnessing the world and following the path of the eye, leah herself was chasing death.

the dawning realization that her life was to be given solely in service to this all-seeing eye led to brief fits of rebellion or anxiety that her grandfather worked to combat with subtle manipulations. these only worked for so long, as the situation came to a head at some point in her twenties when she managed to escape for a number of months. the event led to her run in with the corruption and an attack that left her severely limited in terms of mobility. recovering in the hospital under her grandfather’s tender, doting visit, it was made clear to leah that he could have stopped this at any point and taken her home. he instead chose to teach her a lesson: she was only safe under his shelter, and that of his patron.

the realization didn’t stop her. her fate might be inevitable, but she could choose how she would meet that moment of sacrifice. eventually, her diligent composure and simmering disdain boiled over into open rage, an event that lead to an attack on one of her uncles. the exacts of the event have never been put to paper or spoken of, but it rattled odin deeply enough that he ended his pet project immediately. leah was ousted from the family, abandoned to a distant property. the outside world, however, would receive the fiction that she had gone missing, and this time she would never be recovered. it was clear to odin that he had created a monster, but not one he or his patron could control and use.

left to a rarely-traveled locale on the norwegian sea, stripped of the protections her grandfather offered under the sheltering eye, those entities who marked her soon came begging their pound of flesh. locking herself into a small cabin on the property, she endured bouts of darkness and mist rolling over the outside world, a constant knocking or clawing at the cabin door, and an apparent loss of self. after some perceived days of this isolation, some hallucination or dream came to her in which she perceived her patron reaching out and taking all of the fear away. it was always going to come to this, for someone that had never lived. she didn’t fight the inevitability. these eyes that were made only to see would now wither the world around her.

once awakened, she was discovered by a passing ship and returned to the mainland, walking and hitchhiking her way back to the main family estate. she found her grandfather badly aged in the weeks of her absence, striking when he was alone and demanding answers from him : what was her intended purpose? what did the eye have to do with this? what had she become? why did he choose her? at some point, her interrogation became too much for the old man, and he passed before she received the answers she sought. after disposing of his body, odin became another missing person’s case in the family, and leah made her way across europe for the next few years seeking the answers she had not received from the source.

has a past attempt to breach the institute under her belt. lasted a good few days keeping a low profile and dodging anyone who might question her cover story. was eventually found out, however, and was made to escape. all the way to the mainland, in fact, due to whatever she uncovered about the place rattling her deeply enough to keep away from england for some years.

eventually, with all other avenues of knowledge running dry, leah was forced to return and consider that the answers she sought lie in the institute itself. to that end, she had taken up residence in a london apartment complex and tried to decide how best to enter the very seat of the entity she fears the most.

RECENT EVENTS:

has been an accomplice in several unsolved disappearances of young men in the london area. it’s an open secret among her peers that she makes offerings for her ‘partner’ out of these human sacrifices. this has rendered her something of a laughingstock to those who know her partner and its nature, as leah is fighting a losing battle.

had a s1 run in with her old nemesis the corruption, saved only by the timely intervention of a door. she never specifies where she had this stand off but it’s easy to infer she tried to find another way into the institute.

has developed a growing fascination with the latest archivist, including a desire to reach out to him if at all possible.

keeps her options open as far as interacting with her own kind. through rp she has proven herself an ally to the spiral-aligned figures of the narrative, and has passing association with the lonely, desolation, and stranger.

SPOILERS:

has been completely divorced from the concept of time as it flows for others. many of the discrepancies about her story as she tells it can be explained through this: her days abandoned on the island actually took place over a year, her time spent combing through the european continent took more than a decade, and she can no longer remember her birth year because it does not align to her perceptions of self. even those she knew in humanity, such as gerry, register as oddities for having aged in accordance with real time rather than her own.

her patron is the end, who had indelibly marked her at some point in her youth and seems to have intervened and claimed her once she was in serious danger. her exact role as an avatar of this fear is muddled by her decades of self-serving pursuit of knowledge rather than living up to whatever she was meant to do.

odin really stumbled into getting an intended avatar of the eye marked by different fears. it was not his intention, but rather a result of caretaker negligence in trying to make a witness of the girl. he never expected that it could have meant something in the grand scheme of things.

despite appearing all of 32 at most, leah was already in her twenties by the 90s. she’s actually far older than her body implies though her general issues with time mean she has not realized this fact and her status as an avatar has left her pretty ageless.

ABILITIES:

if looks could kill. a potent bit of irony is that the end turns leah’s intended purpose into a strength. leah has proven on two separate occasions to be able to kill with a glance and focused willpower. the look tends to induce some form of fatal medical problem in the subject, and she tends to use it sparingly, usually to generate more potent fear for her entity rather than her personal needs.

ghost interaction. as established through rp, leah has some affinity with the ghosts occasionally seen within the narrative. through roleplay with sittimoranimiinterfectorem, her presence seems to give them a fullness, making them more as they were in life than at the moment of death. one character in particular notes that he feels lesser if too far from her, like he’s losing himself. this accounts for the various dead things that have cleaved to her over the decades -- which leads to a demonstration of leah’s secondary ability of banishing the dead to oblivion if she so chooses. it’s a threat she holds over the heads of those she cannot do away with for plot reasons. one assumes she could manage the opposite, and call up a lingering soul for her own purposes, but why should she?

immortal. unchanged since the day she accepted the touch of the end, leah has neither aged nor weakened since. unlike some who require regular sacrifice to maintain their unlives, leah seems particularly resilient, feeding more to keep up her strength than anything. this doesn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t be killed by outside means, and has proven capable of being injured by other avatars or fear-adjacent creatures.

RELATIONSHIPS:

alliance/partnership/friendship with sittimoranimiinterfectorem‘s michael. michael was the first of her kind leah met in any serious capacity, and one she looked up to as a potential font of answers. instead, michael has been toying with her for years, as a liar ought to. there’s a lot of ways this relationship can be interpreted by outsiders, not helped by recent revelations about their patron.

former companion/occasional ally of bookburnt‘s gerry. the two crossed paths every once in a blue moon during the years, given odin and mary were associated with one another in their travels and overlapping ideals. leah tried to take on a supportive role for the teen, sometimes sending gifts, while gerry in turn tended to cut loose with someone who actually gave a damn about him as a person. in adulthood, the two sometimes ran into one another in the weird world in which they inhabited, though leah had no idea this man was the same boy she had bonded with years before.

potential acolyte/student of medisinals‘s blackwell. we’re still plotting it out but the two have each other’s acquaintance as avatars of the end.

RELEVANT STATEMENTS (whether to leah or the wider narrative of her grandfather’s legacy):

statement of frida [redacted], concerning the work, achievements, and disappearance of her husband odin. first mention of the family and leah’s original identity. (2001)

statement of olaf agner, concerning his time working for the family in north zealand. a less rose colored view of odin’s ‘visionary’ work and his ‘creepy’ granddaughter. (1987)

miscellany statements referencing a one eyed man and dark-haired girl/young woman at or around the scene of various incidents involving the fears across europe. sometimes references the girl in question reaching out to those that are marked, though those she touches are never saved. (80s-90s)

statement of torsten [redacted], concerning the personal records of his father and the disappearance of his niece. (2007)

reference to leah’s invasion of the institute archives in an incidental post-statement discussion with a certain assistant about his allowing a certain young woman into the archives. his boss proves decidedly unforgiving even after being made aware he had been deceived.(2009)

miscellany statements establishing odin as a sort of chessmaster invariably working with the eye before, during, and after leah’s part in his life. he’s part of the evil senior citizen’s union and actually kept professional ties with a lot of them. (60s-2001)

statement of james berger on the subject of his friend ethan hamilton going missing. first clear picture of leah and michael working in tandem. (2014)

statement of eve hall concerning the sudden and televised death of her employer at a political debate. another incident of leah and michael scratching one another’s backs, this time while mutually spiting the eye. (2014)

statement of anthony farrell on his interrupted night shift duties at a fast food restaurant. establishes leah as being nonplussed with the activities of her peers so long as no one is getting seriously hurt without reason. the hypocrisy. the audacity. (2015)

statement of leah lindqvist concerning her personal history and… ‘becoming.’ statement recorded direct from subject. (2017)

#it is knowing it is knowing [V: TMA]#they can't get into my head [HEADCANON]

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aratilightwood · 4 years

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Old ghosts of years past.

Little Mina has a surprise guest and Kit’s worried.

Set: 31st October 2015.

...

Kit Herondale was wide awake when he heard murmurs drifting down the hallway, from his little sister’s bedroom.

He should’ve been sleeping.

After training nearly every day, for at least six hours, it surprised him that he hadn’t become accustomed to his new lifestyle.

A lifestyle that was only fit for a Shadowhunter.

It had been a long day.

It was a holiday that was dedicated in remembrance of the dead, as well as, marking the celebration of ghouls, goblins and anything that went bump in the night. Mundane children ran around the neighbourhood in costumes and knocked on strangers’ doors for candy.

Kit remembered Halloween as it had been when he lived with his father. His school friends often insisted on going ‘trick-or-treating’ when he was young, but Johnny Rook always refused to allow his son the freedom of enjoying the day.

It was common knowledge that some Downworlders, particularly faeries, used the day to their advantage. They disguised themselves as children wearing fancy dress to deceive mundanes, and demanded something more valuable than sweets.

Kit wasn’t aware of it at the time, but he soon realised the most precious thing Rook hid from the outside world was him, and the faeries that instilled such cautiousness were the Riders of Mannan.

It’d been three years since the battle in Idris, and still the memory of the confrontation haunted him.

Yes, they were killed.

But there would be others, intrigued by his true lineage and determined to exploit the mysterious magic surrounding him because of his relation to the First Heir.

Now, he tried willing himself to slumber so he could wake up early. Jem had planned a hike for them across Dartmoor National Park the following day.

Tessa and Mina had made egg mayonnaise sandwiches, before placing them inside two backpacks with drinks. His sister was insistent on making the food herself, nevertheless Tessa stood beside her daughter to ensure no eggshells fell into the mixture.

Kit even laid the clothes he was going to wear on an armchair beside his bed, the night before.

It was the largest park within miles of Devon, and the more he thought about the long trek ahead, the more he curled under his covers and buried his face into pillows.

He wanted rest.

He needed rest.

But Wilhelmina Carstairs was unwilling to cooperate.

It hadn’t been the first time she kept him awake during late hours of the evening.

Their bedrooms were located on opposite ends of a hallway, but there was no mistaking she hadn’t slept either.

She was, no doubt, talking to her ‘friends.’

Kit often dismissed this as a, ‘child’s imagination.’

But Jem and Tessa had been sceptical, considering these ‘imaginary friends’ were occasionally described wearing period clothing dating back more than one hundred years ago.

Annoyed with his unrest, he tried covering his ears to drown out her incessant giggling by placing the duvet over his entire body.

Min Min, please let me sleep, he thought.

When sleep hadn’t come, Kit sighed with frustration. He sat up with a flinch when his feet landed on the cold floorboards and rubbed the weariness from his eyes.

The t-shirt he wore had been crinkled after hours of continuous pivoting, from one side of the bed to the other.

Jem had bought it for him two weeks before, claiming the store manager said it was a superhero’s symbol and Kit loved Marvel.

It was only after he unpacked it, when Kit realised the red colour and ‘W’ came from a D.C comics heroine called, Wonder Woman, instead.

He wasn’t fussed.

To spare Jem’s feelings, he said he loved his new t-shirt and would wear it paired with comfortable black joggers.

He stood up then and walked barefoot, across the room and turned the doorknob to step outside.

The hallway was dark and still entailed some elements of the Edwardian era. Century’s old wallpaper adorned the interior, a few portraits of an old Shadowhunter family were attached to the walls while sconces hung low and emanated witchlight instead or fire from a candle.

They’d contemplated redecorating when they first moved in, however Jem claimed it wouldn’t have felt like home.

The grandness of Cirenworth Hall often reminded Kit of the fictional Hogwarts castle.

When he first made this remark, Tessa replied with, “Read those books.”

To which he responded, “Saw those movies.”

Jem, as always, contributed in the only way he could with, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Now the closer he walked towards Mina’s bedroom, the louder the voices inside became.

Her door was painted white and it was opened slightly ajar.

The room was mostly dark, and only the moon emanated brightness from outside the large window. It cast a ray of light down on the bed, as if to present the little girl sitting on top of it in the most theatrical manner.

Mina was dressed is a cream onesie she wore on most days because of the bitter Autumn weather. Her hair was loose and ruffled, reaching just below her shoulders as she swept it aside to prevent it from obscuring her vision. It was like she was performing on stage, waiting for a playwright to give her next lines.

But sitting on the edge of the bed was a figure of a man - a ghost of a man.

They were immersed in their conversation, so much so, they failed to notice the boy peaking in through the door.

Kit felt overwhelmed with protectiveness and prepared to walk inside to cast the phantom away, until he began to identify the mysterious guest.

The man appeared to be around his age, seventeen or eighteen. He was wearing a clean Victorian suit, white in colour. A tribute to those who were mourning amongst the Nephilim. It contrasted with his black hair that tangled in untameable curls.

Kit remembered another day, standing on the imperishable fields beside a boy in similar clothes and features that took his breath away, before he boggled and shook his head to chide himself.

Memories served one no good, especially if they were painful. Kit trained himself expertly over the years to leave his past behind, by locking such thoughts away in the furthest recesses of his brain.

Focusing on the situation at hand, he began recognising the voice of the phantom, as it spoke in warm and friendly tones.

Will Herondale of course, Kit thought. This is the same bastard who kept me awake the other night, singing about something ghastly called, ‘Demon pox.’

Only when Kit had asked whether Will’s own death was caused by the disease, did the ghost disappear with a shriek of outrage vowing to return and haunt him for all eternity.

“So, can you go anywhere in the world? Anywhere you like?” Mina piped up, capturing his attention.

“I suppose I can - ghosts don’t get tired of travelling,” Will replied.

“Shadowhunters get tired. Dad wants to take Kit out for a long walk tomorrow. But he doesn’t want to go.”

“That’s because he’s a lazy sloth.”

“I like sloths. They’re cute. Like Sid in ‘Ice Age.’”

“What’s that?”

“‘Ice age’ - it’s a movie. A great movie. Do you want to watch it?”

“Maybe another time,” Will said with a smile.

“Of course if we go downstairs, we’ll wake everyone up!” Mina giggled mischievously.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea. I got you into trouble last time.”

Kit remembered.

A few weeks ago, Mina had woken in the middle of the night, and made her way to the library. She opened a famous book called, ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ and began reading it out loud. No one would’ve woken up, if her hand hadn’t clumsily upset a bookend that was holding a row of tomes on the windowsill. When the heavy books fell and toppled onto the floor with large thumps, the entire household woke up.

Tessa had walked hastily out of her bedroom with Jem on tow, both in pyjamas, as Kit came out of his room calmly to assess the situation.

They had stood in the hallway looking at each other’s bewildered faces, when realisation hit them.

“Mina,” they’d said in unison, before running towards the library.

When they entered it, they were met with an innocent looking girl curled up on a bench, looking guiltily down at the mess she created.

Only Kit saw a glimpse of a transparent figure vanishing into the darkness, leaving him horrified yet curious.

Tessa had been firm with Mina, but Jem couldn’t remain angry with his daughter for very long.

When it was evident little damage was done, Kit was instructed to pick the books up while the rest of them returned to bed, much to his dismay.

Mina had stuck a tongue out to him cheekily while he pulled a face before they left the room.

“I remember! That book was great,” Mina exclaimed, drawing Kit away from his thoughts.

“What? ‘Alice in wonderland?’” Will questioned. “It’s a classic.”

“What’s your favourite snack?”

“Caramel apples.”

Kit snorted.

Mina scrunched her nose with distaste, “that’s too sticky and messy.”

“What do you prefer, then?”

“Candy floss!”

“Like the time when your parents took you to the funfair? You got a big sugar rush, became overexcited and wouldn’t settle down all night.”

“You were there? I didn’t see you!”

“Of course I was. I can choose when I can and cannot be seen.”

“Can you see other ghosts?”

“I’ve seen your aunty Jessamine.”

Jessamine? Kit thought. The ghost from the London Institute?

“Jessie! She comes to visit me sometimes,” Mina said happily.

“I bet she takes good care of you.”

“She does! Do you see others?”

“Most of the people I’ve known have found peace.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Who do you love most in the world?” Mina asked to lighten the mood.

There was a pause and Kit listened more intently.

“Two people. Two of the best people I have ever known.”

“Do I know them?”

“Would you believe me if I said you’re closer to them, than you could ever imagine?”

Mina gave it a long thought.

“Is one of them Kit?”

At that, Will laughed out loud and Kit pretended to gag.

“I think you’ll be able to figure it out when you’re older.”

With that, Kit retreated to his own bedroom for his long-awaited rest.

One day, Mina would understand.

Her parents would eventually tell her exciting stories of the war against automatons, the great demon invasion and the endarkened. But most importantly, they would talk of the epic and beautiful relationship they shared with one man they, too, loved most in the world.

Just not tonight.

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virtual-lara · 4 years

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Irish Times - Cyberbabe Gets Real

Article appeared on the Irish Times website, dated to 23rd June 2001, and was written by Steven Poole, author of 'Trigger Happy: The Inner Life of Videogames'. Article features a look into the history of Lara and what she is as a character.

It's Valentine's Day, 1968. In a hospital in the south London neighbourhood of Wimbledon, a daughter is born to Lord and Lady Henshingly-Croft. The girl has a drawerful of silver spoons in her mouth. Between the ages of three and 11, she is privately tutored at home; she then attends Wimbledon High School for Girls and Gordonstoun.

At the latter, she discovers a passion for rock climbing in the mountains of Scotland. (She also takes up shooting, but is soon banned for showing "too keen an interest".) By the time she is 18, everyone can see she has a wild streak, but her parents believe she can be thoroughly civilised - and eventually married off to the Earl of Farringdon - after three years at a Swiss finishing school.

While in Switzerland, however, the young woman takes to extreme skiing and spends a holiday pursuing the sport in the Himalayas.

On the return journey, her plane crashes deep in the mountains, and she is the only passenger left alive. Somehow she survives and, two weeks later, staggers into a mountain village. By this time, the course of her life has changed. She feels truly alive only when travelling alone. Lara Croft has decided to become an adventurer.

Or you could look at it this way: Lara Croft was born on the screen of a computer in an English video-game studio in 1995. First, she was a pencil sketch on paper, then a series of more detailed illustrations. Next, her vital statistics were plotted on a VDU screen. Thousands of triangles meshed together to build a computerised outline of a female form.

At this stage, Lara would have looked like a sculpture in chicken wire. Then the figure was "skinned" - wrapped in shaded, coloured surfaces to approximate a clothed human being. Lastly, she was animated: taught to walk, somersault, run and pull herself up on rocky ledges. Virtual worlds were also built around her to test her physical abilities to the limit.

Lara Croft and the Tomb Raider franchise are the products of Core Design - the game-development studio where Lara was born - and Eidos Interactive, its British parent. The man who fathered her was an artist in his early 20s called Toby Gard.

"When I came up with the idea for Tomb Raider," he says, "it wasn't necessarily going to be a female character. We wanted a real-time cinematic game, and I designed a couple of characters; one was a girl, one was a bloke. Eventually, we realised there was going to be a lot of story element in the game and we couldn't keep both the characters, so it was back down to one." So which should they choose? At the time, a female lead in a game was almost unheard of, Gard says. "There was resistance from marketing quarters, saying that female characters never sold."

Eventually, Core chose Lara as a refreshing antidote to the muscled meatheads that usually populated video games. And boy, did she sell: 26 million units, and counting, earning about $1 billion gross in retail sales.

Having turned her back on the upper-class society of her parents, who terminated her monthly allowance in disgust, Lara metamorphosed into a modern-day Indiana Jones.

For her first commission as a professional tomb raider, she was hired to retrieve the three parts of a mysterious artefact known as the Atlantean Scion. Hurtling through Peru, Rome and the lost city of Atlantis (well, it wasn't lost any more), Lara negotiated booby traps and shot a variety of wildlife, including rats, tigers and, alarmingly, a tyrannosaur.

In later quests, she travelled to Venice, Tibet and the Great Wall of China, snuck around the US military institute Area 51 and battled goons in the London Underground. Along the way, Lara was constantly learning. On the trail of a weird dagger that could turn you into a dragon, Lara discovered that she could climb walls, flip through 180 degrees while jumping or swimming, and wade into shallow pools of water.

By the time of her next adventure she could even get down on her hands and knees - in order to negotiate low tunnels and ventilation ducts - as well as monkey-swing from walkways and run much faster than she ever had. She could even blink. The programmers at Core extended Lara's capabilities with each new game, exploiting the fact that she had become a star.

Every year, another sequel popped up just before Christmas and went straight to the top of the video-game charts. Meanwhile, Eidos, Lara's parent company, was becoming a stock-market darling. In 1998, the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, named the British firm the world's fastest-growing company, and in the summer of 1999 Eidos's share price was trading at a delirious high of $18.20.

Lara Croft, we must note, has brains as well as beauty. She is said by her biographers to have penned several travel books, including A Tyrannosaurus Is Jawing At My Head and the follow-up, Slaying Bigfoot. But she clearly does not read the newspapers or watch television, for in none of her adventures do we see any awareness on Lara's part that she has become an international media darling.

The first wave of Lara coverage came shortly after the game's 1996 release, with David James, the Liverpool goalkeeper, explaining to the London Times that he was playing badly because he had been staying up late playing Tomb Raider. In 1997, U2 used specially commissioned digital footage of Lara in action on their Popmart tour.

Lara appeared in comics, and plastic action figures of Lara sold like hot cakes. The original game had appeared on both the Sega Saturn and Sony PlayStation consoles, but Sony soon signed an exclusivity deal that meant episodes two and three would appear only on PlayStation.

Then came the acme of media acceptance: Lara on the cover of the Face in June 1997. Not only was this the first time the style magazine had used a digital person on its cover, it was the first time it had allowed an image to interrupt its red masthead. Newsweek, Rolling Stone and Time soon followed suit, and a video for the German pop outfit Die Artze, featuring Lara fighting with members of the band, went heavy-rotation on MTV.

Marks & Spencer produced a range of Tomb Raider III merchandise. Douglas Coupland, the writer of Generation X, contributed to a fey devotional tome entitled Lara's Book. In November, 1998, Tomb Raider and its first sequel were awarded Millennium Product status by the British Design Council.

In 1999, Lara - or rather Core Design, won a BAFTA for her "outstanding contribution to the interactive industry". In 2000, filming began in England on the imminent Tomb Raider feature film, budgeted at $100 million and starring Angelina Jolie. You can now, if you wish, clothe your children in nattily miniature Tomb Raider threads.

Perhaps the cleverest marketing coup was the association, begun in 1999, between Lara Croft and Lucozade, the orange liquid that used to be thought of as medicine for the sick but reinvented itself through the 1990s as a sports drink.

The latest advert has Lara pausing for a friendly Lucozade with her enemies while the player's back is turned. This summer, in order to tie in with the feature film's release, Lucozade will be labelled "Larazade".

They probably call this "synergy", but it works because Lucozade is a product one can imagine Lara using, even if it is unclear where she might find a bottle in a dusty tomb. Jeremy Heath-Smith, the managing director of Core Design and head of global development at Eidos - who, despite Eidos's financial difficulties, was last year paid $3.5 million thanks to a long-standing royalty agreement - says: "The fact that it's a health-giving energy drink matched Lara's profile exactly. I'm not sure Irn-Bru could have the same effect, as nice as Irn-Bru is."

Lara is careful about who she's seen with, for obvious reasons. We can be confident that she would never endorse fruit-flavoured alco-pops, or depilatory creams. But the Lucozade partnership is a marvel of mutual reinforcement: association with Tomb Raider and Lara helps to sell Lucozade.

In his novel Idoru, cyberpunk writer William Gibson imagines Rei Toei, a Japanese-engineered virtual celebrity who rebels against her makers and plots to find herself a physical body. In fact, the Japanese did have a virtual media star in 1997. Software programmers collaborating with Japan's leading modelling agency, Horipro, created Kyoko Date, the world's first digital pop singer. But sales of her debut CD did not live up to expectations. Why? Her face was a combination of features mapped from photographs of famous models; her singing voice was taken from one woman, her speaking voice from another; and her dance moves were digitised from the performances of real dancers. She was far more detailed and "realistic" than Lara Croft was at the time - but in a sense, Kyoko Date looked too real.

Our idoru does not fall into this trap. Lara Croft is attractive because of, not despite, her glossy blankness - that hyper-perfect, shiny computer look. She is an abstraction, an animated conglomeration of sexual and attitudinal signs - breasts, hot pants, shades, thigh holsters - whose blankness encourages the viewer's psychological projection.

Beyond the bare facts of her biography, her perfect vacuity means we can make Lara Croft into whoever we want her to be. If the computer-generated Lara Croft ever became too photo-realistic, too much like an individual woman, says Heath-Smith, "you'd lose some of that feel for her". The plans to finesse the character design for the next-generation Tomb Raider game, coming to Sony's far more visually powerful PlayStation2 some time next year, are "to smooth her off without changing the aesthetics that work".

But will these aesthetics be influenced by the performance of Angelina Jolie in the Tomb Raider film? Lara's creator, Toby Gard, rather approves of the casting. "Yeah, Angelina Jolie certainly looks the part," he says. "She has that certain wild quality which is important - that's what I had in mind." Jolie, we are told, performed most of her stunts; emulating the acrobatic, gravity-defying grace of her digital counterpart in the unforgiving real world resulted in injuries to her knee and shoulder and torn ligaments in her foot.

Bear in mind Lara has already been impersonated by several flesh-and-blood women without danger to her virtual hegemony - the models and actresses Rhona Mitra, Nell McAndrew, Lara Weller, Lucy Clarkson and Vanessa Demouy have all stepped into the boots for promotional appearances. Lara Croft, the virtual character, is the Platonic ideal: a human actress can give a better or worse account of that ideal, but she can never embody it fully, still less outstrip it. In that sense Lara is more like a creature of time-fogged legend than a contemporary "personality".

The rise to ubiquity of Lara Croft came as a surprise to her digital dad. "I never expected to have that happen," Gard says. "You know, as a designer, I'd gone through my life making sketches for these characters, and you think they're yours - then you realise they're not yours at all."

It was the massive success of Lara, in fact, that prompted Gard to leave Core Design and set up his own company, Confounding Factor, before the second Tomb Raider game appeared. "Other people were just doing things with her I didn't agree with," he says, guardedly.

He is working on Galleon, a game he promises "will have the same effect as Tomb Raider had in terms of how far ahead of everything else it's going to be".

It will be interesting to observe how Lara Croft ages. If the franchise is still going in 2020, will she be raiding tombs at the age of 42? There seems no reason why not. What allowed Lara's extraordinary success, after all, was the fact that Gard had created not a singular female character but a new archetype: an image so fluid and malleable that she can cross media barriers without appearing to whore herself.

Odd as it may seem, Lara has never been a primarily sexual being. In the immature world of video games, Lara was a revelation. In contrast to the standard near-pornographic portrayal of helpless women characters, Lara was a Germaine Greer of video games. Sure, she showed some skin, but her wardrobe was practical, rock-climbing, tomb-raiding stuff: shorts, hiking boots, vest, backpack. Gard says this was a deliberate reaction to the digital representations of women around him at the time, which persist today: spangly thongs, S&M corsets, strange spirally metal bras.

"I wanted to make sure it wasn't the thigh-length boot-style stuff," he says. "You can't get emotionally involved with a character like that because it has been objectified. Lara, I felt, had more dignity." It wouldn't make any sense, you understand, to describe the dignified Lara as a sex symbol.

Because "sex symbol", if that overused phrase means anything at all, must mean a person with whom you can imagine having sex - however improbable that may be. Angelina Jolie may be a sex symbol. But Lara can't be. It is in principle impossible to have sex with Lara Croft: she is always and forever unattainable.

And, as we have seen, there are far more overtly sexual depictions of women in video games. So all the prurient fans' artwork - the notorious "Nude Raider" images created by boys disturbingly skilled in computer-aided imaging and posted on the net, and all the leering over Croft's breasts in the chat rooms - these are incidental, a predictably perverse subculture of the fan base, not its raison d'etre.

It seems probable that men who like Lara don't want to have her; they want to be her. That's why they play the game. Lara is a symbol, if anything, of aspirational gender reassignment. In both directions. Men who like trying on a female persona, or women, such as Jolie, who like doing what is usually thought to be men's stuff. To paraphrase Damon Albarn of Blur, Lara works for boys who do girls, or boys who like girls who do boys, or girls who do boys.

And perhaps it is this all-things-to-all-people, don't-you-dare-try-to-pin-me-down quality that has ensured her longevity. For it is axiomatic that the jumping, rolling, sprinting Lara Croft is physically inexhaustible. What is surprising is that over the five years of her career so far, she has also proven inexhaustible as an icon.

All rights belong to Irish Times and/or their affiliated companies. I only intend to introduce people to old articles and preserve them before they are lost.

#TR History #VL Posts #TR in the News

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missjosie27 · 4 years

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Year 2 Part 1- Coming Back

Hey, guys! Year 2 of David Grant’s adventures at Hogwarts have begun! Not really much to say except thank you for your patience and I hope you all enjoy! Any feedback is welcome:)

David Grant stared outside of the window almost precisely three months after his last trip on the Hogwarts express, witnessing . The summer passed slowly, too slow for his own liking, but the time had come to return to the gargantuan institution once more and he could not have been more excited.

To be sure, he had not spoken of his adventures to his parents. Evidently, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall felt it wasn’t important to inform them of the majority of his misdeed and run ins, something for which he was extremely grateful. His mother was overbearing and cautious as it was, and dad didn’t do much to counteract it. Other than family meals, or an occasional excursion into London to visit relatives, there wasn’t much to report from the Grant household. It also went without saying that he had also not mentioned being on Jacob’s trail. Though they only had one clue at the moment, it was enough and more than ever, David believed he was alive. Before his first year, he wouldn’t have even entertained the possibility. Now, he was determined to find the break through that would lead him to his long lost sibling and the vaults were the key.

His thought process brought him back to earth with Rowan prattling endlessly about his summer within their compartment.

“…she’s such a cute cat. Fuzzclaw is the real brains of the family I always say. Also my parents started growing another kind of wood made for a batch of wands. Ollivander just ordered a whole bunch.”

When David didn’t respond immediately, his friend waved a hand to grab his attention.

“Hello? Earth to David? Are you going to say something? I feel like I’ve been talking for over ten minutes.”

“That’s because you have.”

Rowan appraised him.

“You’re distracted and that usually means you’re thinking about your brother, the vaults, or both.”

“Good guess,” David replied. “Sorry, Rowan, I don’t mean to be rude. But my summer was…forgetful let’s just put it that way. Going back to Hogwarts, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Forgetful? Did anything bad happen?”

“More like it was just incredibly boring,” he shrugged. “Mum had us visit our relatives and my little cousins but I rarely had the opportunity to do, well, anything. The sooner we get back to Hogwarts, the happier I’ll be.”

“Too right. I’ve been running through our coursework this year. It should be slightly busier and more challenging than last year,” Rowan said excitedly. “I hope we get to learn more about giants.”

“If Binns doesn’t put me to sleep first, I’d share that sentiment.”

Laughing, Rowan chucked him a chocolate frog, which David began munching on before the spell could take effect.

“That reminds me, did you find anything more about those Aramaic ciphers?” he said through a mouthful of chocolate. “I couldn’t do much with my mum hovering about all the time.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” his best friend answered. “I wish I had the book on me right now, but I can show it to you when we get to our dorms. But the basic gist is that the language was used by a sect of wizards back in the early Middle Ages, including Merlin. It’s enchantments and power were apparently greater than that of Latin, even though that’s what most wizards used around the time Hogwarts was founded.”

“That’s interesting,” David said genuinely. “Did it say anything about the vaults?”

Rowan shook his head.

“No, but there’s a lot of interesting history there and what the vaults could have or rather be hiding. Aramaic was also inscribed on ancient relics, including one that King Arthur personally searched for: The Holy Grail.”

David thought back a minute, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Hold on, isn’t that part of some muggle fairy tale?”

“It’s more than just a muggle fairy tale, Dave. Remember who advised King Arthur at the Court of Camelot? Merlin, arguably the greatest wizard who ever lived. I’ve read that story a million times and I love the adventures they go on. Especially their quest for the Grail.”

“You keep mentioning some sort of Grail.”

“King Arthur and his knights were Christian, which is the majority muggle religion in Britain,” Rowan explained. “The Grail was an important part of their faith.”

David had to admit, Rowan’s encyclopedic knowledge of these kinds of things came in handy and provided entertaining stories. But he failed to make the connection.

“That sounds brilliant and all, but what does a Christian relic have to do with the cursed vaults?”

“Everything,” Rowan said becoming more excited. “Because the Grail wasn’t some religious piece. It was real and created by Merlin himself! Supposedly it had all sorts of powers, and anyone who drank from it would be granted immortality. As I said, it was probably inscribed with ancient Aramaic like we found on the door. It could be one of the treasures hidden inside the vaults.”

This was all well and good, but believe it or not, the now second year Gryffindor held no interest in the concept of living forever. This ‘Holy Grail’ was actually quite fascinating, but it was not quite enough to go off of in terms of actually finding the vault or his brother.

“The treasure is irrelevant, Rowan,” he said firmly. “We need to discover the location of these stairs first and foremost before doing anything else. Jacob is the number one priority.”

“Of course,” the Indian preteen nodded. “Still, doesn’t mean it’s not fun to think about.”

“You read too much, Rowan.”

“And you don’t read enough,” his best friend chuckled.

David chucked the wrapper at him in jest. He peered around idly curious as to where some of their other friends were.

“Did you see Ben on the train, by the way? He should be sitting with us.”

“I caught a glimpse of him,” Rowan told him. “Last I saw he was talking with Bill Weasley about something.”

Well at least he’s in good hands

David was comforted knowing he was probably among those who would treat him well. While Ben had made great strides the previous year, he still didn’t like the idea of him running into any of the Slytherins on his own. Honing his full potential as a wizard would still take some time.

“Maybe we should say hello-”

At that moment, a crash and a muffled yelp could be heard outside the door. The two boys wasted no time in peeking out of the compartment to see what the ruckus was about, only for a blur of orange to stumble into them.

“Quick, shut the door!”

Only then did David realize that the blur was Charlie Weasley, who was grimacing and grabbing his shoulder.

“Charlie are you alright?”

“Never mind that, is the door shut?”

Rowan double checked that it was secure and gave a thumbs up.

“Good. Merlin, that freaked me out.”

“Slow down,” David said, pulling him up off the seat. “Just what the bloody hell happened?”

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Charlie said, still grabbing his shoulder. “I was just reading an article about Chinese Fireballs as I walked down the hallway. Must not have watched where I was going because I accidentally bumped into this Slytherin girl. Next thing I know, she’s firing hexes at me.”

“What did she hit you with?” Rowan pressed him urgently. “Maybe we should find a nurse.”

Charlie gave a wave of his wand.

“Nah, I’m fine. Worst she did was a stinging hex on my back. Though no doubt she was using deadlier stuff than that.”

“Any idea what she looked like?”

“Yeah, actually I do. Pale girl, recognized her from last year. Black hair covering half her face, a little freckly, with giant boots.”

David and Rowan looked at each other, gaging whether or not they were on the same page.

“Does that ring a bell, David?”

“Somewhat,” he said racking his memories. “She’s a Slytherin in our year. Real quiet, never says anything. I think her name is Ismelda.”

“That’s it,” Rowan confirmed. “I remember overhearing Professor McGonagall talk about her hexing a whole bunch of Gryffindors last year. Said she used spells that someone her age isn’t supposed to know.”

David raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Sounds like another Death Eater in training to me.”

Charlie shrugged as he grabbed a frog from the pile they had collected.

“Lots of Slytherins are gits, but I can’t imagine all of them are.”

“Trust me, the less of their presence I have to deal with, the better,” David frowned. “One in particular.”

“Merula,” Rowan answered for him. “I’m hoping a summer away from Hogwarts mellowed her out a bit.”

“That’s about as likely as a giant’s ass fitting through a straw.”

Charlie snorted as he laid back down on the seat.

“We’re not even halfway to Hogwarts and you both are carrying on about rubbish we don’t need to worry about just yet. Let’s relax and play some exploding snap or something.”

Charlie had a way of putting things into perspective and in the end David and Rowan acquiesced, putting aside the vaults, Merula and everything else. During the course of the game, they discovered their red headed friend’s desire to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which was not surprising given his natural talent for flying.

“So you have a broom and everything?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said plainly. “But it’s not very good. Mum and Dad really couldn’t really afford a decent one. It’s a cleansweep seven.”

Cleansweeps were serviceable, but it was common knowledge that they couldn’t go as fast as the comet and nimbus series.

“Maybe you’ll get another at some point?” Rowan encouraged. “My family could help make one for you at a discount with one of the better makers.”

“It’s okay, I appreciate that, Rowan,” Charlie said, going pink slightly at the generous offer. “But I’ll make do. It’s the talent after all, not the broom.”

“Well I hope you make it, mate. We can’t be any worse than we were last year. Haven’t had a real team since James Potter was seeker back in the seventies,” David said shaking his head. “The father of the boy who lived himself.”

“He was a legend. If I can be as half as good as him, I’d be more than happy.”

They discussed Quidditch for the better part of the next few hours before the light slowly gave way to dark and the Express was minutes away from pulling into the station.

A knock on their compartment and Bill appeared in the doorway, looking as cool as ever even in his uniform.

“Hey, you all might want to get changed into your robes, we’ll be arriving soon.”

“Time flies when you’re talking about Quidditch,” David yawned, stretching out his arms. “Didn’t even realize it was so dark. Thanks, Bill.”

“No problem. By the way, have any of you seen, Ben?”

That perked up eyebrows.

“We thought he was with you,” David said, a note of anxiety in his voice.

“Wasn’t he sharing a compartment with you earlier?” Charlie asked.

“He was. But then he left, and I haven’t seen him since. I figured he went and found you guys.”

“Well he isn’t here, Bill,” the younger Weasley replied. “Haven’t even caught wind of him.”

An uncomfortable silence followed at the revelation that their friend was missing. Rowan gave a sideways glance to David, who in turn looked at Charlie. It appeared that the mysteries to solve this year had grown by one more.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bill reassured them. “I’ll keep an eye out for him. In the meantime, make sure you’re in your robes by the time the train pulls in.”

He exited the compartment leaving the three second years in a state of puzzlement. Rowan looked especially anxious.

“Rowan, relax. We’ll find Ben, okay?”

“It’s not that,” he replied, and now he sounded excited. “I mean I’m worried about him of course, but Bill Weasley actually talked to me!”

“He was talking to all of us,” David pointed out, trying not to laugh.

“I know! But still, no one that cool even acknowledges my existence usually!”

Charlie silently rolled his eyes, while David couldn’t help but give a nervous chuckle. Amidst the positive emotions about returning to Hogwarts, the fact that one of his friends was nowhere to be found was an ominous welcome back greeting.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Given that they were no longer first years, this time around they rode the carriages, which were pulled by some kind of invisible horse, into the front entrance of the school as opposed to crossing the lake with Hagrid (the big man still waved his usual massive hand, cheerfully at them). Privately, David was thankful for this step up in seniority, however minor it might be. His sorting the previous year had been quite the spectacle and he was more than content with being among the general crowd this year.

Still, his brother was out there somewhere and he would continue to pursue that avenue. He didn’t care about the vaults as much as he did Jacob. After a tumultuous first year in which he had risked expulsion (and worse), the last thing he wanted to was to incur the ire of Filch or Snape.

Or Merula for that matter…but in that case I have no choice, he mused.

The returning students made their way to the Great Hall, taking their seats at their respective tables. As the crowd continued to shuffle in, David took his seat next to Rowan and Charlie, Jae trailing in behind them.

“Any sign of him?” David asked.

Rowan scanned around, briefly.

“No, not yet. Honestly I’m starting to seriously worry now…”

“Who are you guys referring to?” Jae cut in.

“Ben. You haven’t seen him have you?”

“Yes, actually.”

Rowan eyes nearly popped up out of his glasses.

“What?! Where?!”

“Just now. Two rows down from you actually.”

The two boys quickly turned their heads to find the blond boy sitting in his seek looking perfectly normal, which in itself was a contradiction.

“Psst,” Rowan whispered trying to get his attention. “Ben!”

“Huh? What?”

He angled to see them better.

“Ben, where the hell were you today on the train?”

“I was with Bill,” he said simply.

“Yeah, but where were you before that?” Rowan pressed. “Or after you left his compartment.”

“Around.”

In David’s opinion, there was something off about their friend. Though he otherwise appeared fine, the non chantant way in which he was talking and the half glazed look in his eye was odd to say the least. But before he had a chance to dig further, they were interrupted by the sound of the Great Hall doors swinging open, Professor McGonagall and the new first years in tow.

Though only second years, David already felt like a veteran from a war compared to the fresh, young curious faces that now entered their presence.

“Did we really look that way when we were sorted?” Charlie whispered, evidently thinking of the same thing.

“Nah, no way.”

Soon enough, Professor McGonagall explained the rules to the young students, the hat sung its song, and the sorting was on its way. Unlike last year, however, it seemed to take forever. Time flew when your stomach was empty and the prospect of food salivating. The young Gryffindors tried to cheer their fellow inductees as best they could but by the time the sorting reached the letter ‘R’ most, including the older students were pretty burned out.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” David grumbled.

“Probably how everyone else felt when we were sorted,” Rowan said.

Though it felt like agony, at long last the last of the first years were sorted and up Dumbledore came to the podium, his midnight robes shimmering, his old, but penetrating blue eyes twinkling at them.

“Welcome to all, once more, to a new year at Hogwarts!” he announced. “To our first years, I give my warmest welcome and I’m sure that our returning students can forgive an old man so he may explain a few rules and boundaries,” he said with a wink.

A few quietly groaned, but that was all the protest one would hear. One did not complain openly to the Headmaster when making a speech, even someone as eccentric as Dumbledore.

“First, I would like to reiterate to all that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all students and there will be severe consequences straying its borders. Second, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to inform you that the list of banned items has been increased to one hundred and thirty six. Anyone wishing to know more may see the visit outside of his office door. For those of you know old enough to try out for your respective house Quidditch teams, Madam Hooch will be posting the dates within the next couple of weeks, so do be on the lookout.”

Dumbledore took a pause, his eyes becoming more searching than twinkling, as though he were gazing into the soul of each student in his presence.

“Lastly, I would like to add one thing, Hogwarts is a place of education and growth. Please, focus on your studies and spend time with your friends, but above all else, be careful as you journey about the castle. If you see anything odd that isn’t the Hogwarts sort of ‘oddity’, do not hesitate to tell a professor. Every year is an interesting one, but something tells me this year holds more surprises than most.”

The smile returned to the centenarian’s face.

“But enough of my ominous warnings and grand proclamations. Enjoy the feast.”

Immediately, food popped out of nowhere and David couldn’t help but grin at Rowan at the reaction of the first years. Only a year ago they had done the same thing at their first feast. Now, it was simply time to enjoy.

“Turkey?” a Gryffindor girl in their year offered.

“Don’t mind if I do,” David thanked her. “I’m starving.”

Rowan, however, gave him a small nudge.

“Dumbledore’s speech was especially cryptic. Do you think it means anything?”

Privately, the now second year never put anything past the Headmaster. The man was something of an enigma, even if he was also brilliant. Last year had taught him that much.

“I’m not too concerned with it, really,” he shrugged. “Let’s just eat. Pass the potatoes, will you?”

And so they feasted, stuffing themselves senseless, drinking gallons of pumpkin juice, laughing the night away with old friends in the hope perhaps that new ones would be made as well. Summer vacations were discussed, Quidditch matches polled, old companions reunited, and Jae even mentioned off handedly he was going to take a first hand look at Filch’s list in order to update his buyers. All in all, it was a night to remember, so much so that amidst the merriment, David forgot about Ben’s odd behavior. However, that was only temporary.

The feast ended and Dumbledore ordered them to bed. Being second years, they no longer were required to hang back and wait for the guidance of a prefect. It was truly amazing what a one year difference could make. There would be no Angelica to lecture them this time, though no doubt she would have her eye on him and his friends this year.

Climbing up the last staircase that led to the Fat Lady, David attempted to make conversation with his muggle born friend.

“Hey, mate. Haven’t had a real chance to say hello yet. How was your summer?” he asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Dave. It was good. Not much to report, though. Took a holiday to Ireland.”

“Sounds fun. Wish I had gone out of the country. Mum won’t let me do much.”

“It was actually nice not to think about magic for a bit,” Ben admitted. “For my parents, this is still pretty new. Takes some getting used to, you know?”

“Yeah.”

David silently appraised him, trying his best not to act suspicious.

He seems perfectly fine. So why do I get the feeling that he’s not?

Instincts aside, he simply let the conversation peter out as they took over the second year dormitories and settled in for the night. But even trying to sleep through Charlie’s snores and Jae’s personal tinkering with an object he claimed off a Hufflepuff, David could not put away the combination of excitement and anxiety that rattled around in his mind.

He was back at Hogwarts, but as Dumbledore had hinted, they were in for more than a few surprises.

#hogwarts mystery #david grant #hphm #hphm mc #rowan khanna #charlie weasley #bill weasley #ben copper #fanfiction #hphm fanfiction

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tsc-living · 5 years

Photo

And Kit meeting Will (CW: swearing)

The portal whirled in all its stormy glory on the side of the building and Tessa stood beside it waiting patiently for Kit to go through. Jem had gone first through the portal to the house in Devon because Kit couldn’t visualise a place he had never been, and Tessa would follow Kit last so she could close the portal behind them. Kit swallowed heavily, knowing that if he stepped through that there was no going back. He was leaving the Blackthorns behind without saying goodbye. Leaving Ty behind without saying goodbye… the voice was stern and persistent and sometimes sounded like Livvy and other times it sounded like Dru and either way whatever the voice was telling him it was often with disappointment and with residual grief. But how can I stay here when I don’t mean anything to them? I have to go. He told himself firmly, there is nothing left for me here. He knew he had an opportunity and the semblance of a family or at least two people who could love him in Devon. “See you on the flipside.” He said to Tessa who smiled encouragingly and Kit emptied his mind, stepped forward and felt the maelstrom take him away with the stomach lurching feeling of being ripped apart and put back together on the other side of the world. Kit fell out of the portal onto a well-manicured green lawn beside a winding white gravel path and after a moment staying on his hands and knees he let Jem haul him up to his feet. Tessa came out gracefully behind him and the portal closed with a flourish Kit associated with warlocks.

“Welcome home Kit.” Jem said, his hand resting on Kit’s shoulder. Kit looked at the scarred hand and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat before looking up at the house he would be living in. He blinked twice rapidly and then rubbed his eyes; perhaps the glamour was stronger here for some reason. Jem laughed and Tessa put her hand on his other shoulder.

“There isn’t a glamour Kit, what you see is what you get.” She said lightly and Kit felt his mouth fall open. He was standing on the edge of a shadow created by the biggest place he had ever seen. A literal castle rose up from the ground, all gold and yellow and red in the sunlight.

“Excuse me?” Kit choked out, staring up where the turrets literally hid the sun from his view.

“Welcome home.” Jem said again, still sounding amused. Kit whirled on Jem, his eyes the last thing to follow his body because he couldn’t tear them away from the huge damn castle, and gaped at him.

“You’re loaded?” He said, sounding more accusatory than he felt. Jem raised an eyebrow and glanced at Tessa for help.

“He means wealthy.” She explained and Kit nodded. Jem shrugged one shoulder carelessly and squeezed Kit’s shoulder affectionately.

“It’s a family place. A Carstairs manor out of Idris so to speak…” He explained and Kit raised an eyebrow.

“This is the size of a manor house?” He asked sceptically, remembering some of the mansions in Idris which had been more than half the size of the castle he was standing in front of.

“Mmm, no…” Jem hummed and then smiled, “It is bigger.” He confirmed and Kit swallowed the urge to say well no shit Sherlock.

“We are going to live here?” He asked instead and Jem nodded. “Christ.” He said under his breath and looking up. I’m going to need to start talking like the fucking queen.

“Shall we go inside?” Tessa asked gently and Kit nodded mutely, allowing himself to get lead into the massive lobby of the beautiful castle like monstrosity he was to live in.

“Do I get to wear Gucci and get driven around in a limousine?” Kit asked as Tessa guided him up the huge winding staircase with a chandelier dripping diamond looking things above them in the high ceiling.

“We don’t need a limo when we have portals.” Jem responded from behind Kit and he laughed.

“We can go to Harrods next week if you want?” Tessa added and Kit’s eyes widened even more than they had been before. He had seen a Harrods catalogue online once and there had been a plain white tee shirt for $403, Tessa couldn’t actually be serious. He glanced at her suspiciously, but her pretty face was deadly serious and he nodded hesitantly. He would go, just to look. Kit had a vision of himself returning to the LA institute decked out head to toe in Gucci with a big fur coat on and wearing rollerblades to make an entrance, although he wasn’t sure where the rollerblade idea came from because he knew he’d just fall face first through the front door. Besides… Ty wouldn’t like him if he was wearing real fur. He would find something else as equally obnoxious to wear.

“Kit?” Jem said and Kit blinked himself back to the present and saw both Tessa and Jem looking at him expectantly.

“What yes sorry…” He stammered and Tessa pushed a door open.

“This is your room.” She said and Kit realised he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had no idea how they had gotten to this part of the castle and he was absolutely going to get lost. He peered into the room and saw it was set up much like the institute with a large four poster bed and a wardrobe, a wood trunk and a second door he assumed led into a bathroom or something like that. His bag that had been sent ahead of them was sitting on the fresh made bed. The room was also huge.

“You can do whatever you want to it, we’ll go shopping for a desk, TV, whatever else you want.” Jem said and Kit could hear how much he wanted Kit to like it here. He turned and hugged him tightly and then hugged Tessa. They both beamed at him and Tessa kissed his forehead in a ridiculously maternal manner that made Kit feel very small.

“We’ll leave you to it; if you need us then just yell out.” She said and Kit nodded, knowing full well he was going to need them to take him anywhere else that wasn’t his room.

“See you later.” He told them and they closed the door behind them. Kit leant on the wall beside the door and surveyed the room. He wasn’t really sure how he was going to fill it, but he was excited to try.

Kit felt the presence before he saw the man dressed in clothes from a bygone era standing near the massive window. He wasn’t really surprised that this huge, old building was haunted, but he was a little bit surprised that his room was. “Hey… this is my room.” Kit said, knowing he sounded lame. The ghost smiled and ran his hand through his black hair which Kit didn’t know ghosts could even do.

“Yes I know that, that’s why I’m here.” He said, distinctly British.

“Can’t you like… go into the light?” Kit asked straightening up off the wall and the ghost man did the same- the synchronicity of which, to be completely honest, freaked Kit out.

“I have come from ‘the light’ you speak of, although it’s not what you’re imagining. The end of my life was the darkness of night; I faded from this life into the next on one swell of music notes fading into another…” He said and Kit had the urge to ask the man if he knew he sounded pretentious. “However I do appreciate the polite way of telling me to fuck off.” He added, smirking at Kit who smiled back, albeit embarrassed.

“Thanks.” He said and the ghost floated closer to him, his blue eyes familiar although Kit couldn’t say why.

“You’re blonde too.” The ghost mused and Kit narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly.

“Yes I am…” He agreed, “Why does that matter?”

“Why are you all blonde?” He mused and then squared his shoulders and looked hard at Kit, “And why, pray tell, do you all have this bad habit of not accepting you’re a Herondale until the last minute?” He added. Kit felt a little bit taken aback and he crossed his arms defensively.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Will Herondale, you’ve heard of me no doubt?” Will said, but he wasn’t asking a question. Kit had hear of Will before, of course he had. He was somehow related to him? Or Jace was? Or they both were? He was also Tessa’s first husband.

“How come you look twenty years old? Didn’t you die at like a hundred?” Kit asked and Will shook his head, paused and then nodded.

“I did die at an old age, a blessing I never would have thought for myself. The thing about death though, is that I can choose the form I take when I come here.” Will explained which Kit decided was a perk of dying.

“Why are you here?” He asked remembering the pretty blonde Jessamine who was charged with protecting the London institute.

“I wanted to tell you something.” Will said.

“Okay…?”

“I see everything that happens from what comes after death, whether you believe me or not I see and hear it all.” Will began and Kit swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth, “I know what you’re going through. I just wanted to tell you that no matter how lost you feel right now that you’re in the right place. They will look after you and they will help you grow into strong, brave, and good young man.” His smile was fond and a little far away. Kit felt small again, and he didn’t like it very much.

“How do you know?” He asked, hating how timid his voice sounded. How scared and emotional. Will’s eyes were wide and vulnerable and he stared at Kit with love, but Kit was surprised to see that it was love for him.

“Because that is what they did for me. They helped me become a good man.” He said, his voice soft and sincere. Kit nodded, his heart aching and racing at the same time.

“Why won’t you say their name?” Kit asked. Will, he was horrified to see, was starting to disappear.

“Tell them I miss them,” Will said, already sounding faraway, “Tess and James…” then he was gone and Kit sat down heavily on the bed. His door opened and Jem was standing there with an incredible pain behind his eyes.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked and Kit looked down at his feet for a minute and then back up at Jem.

“Will, he wanted to tell me that you guys will help me become a good man like you did for him.” He said quietly and Jem swallowed visibly. “He… he said he misses you. And Tess.” He added. Jem smiled and he nodded, but it was the nod of a boy being told his best friend’s last words. Kit stood up and walked to Jem, wrapping his arms around the man who hugged him back and ruffled his hair affectionately. Kit wasn’t sure if it was his own loss he was feeling or if it was Jem’s, but he held on tightly. Jem didn’t seem inclined to let go yet either.

I tried to make it funny, but like it ended kind of sad and emotional... but I hope you like it anyway. @claralightwood-gray <3

This a fic for the times, Gucci Kit lives. Fur coat rollerblading idea comes from this post here of which there is some cool fan art here

#fan service #fan theories #gucci kit #kit herondale #will herondale #ghost will #jem carstairs #tessa gray #castle carstairs #fanfic #requested #tda #tid #tmi #tsc #twp #kitty #kinda anyway

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owlways-and-forever · 4 years

Text

Summary: Lily Evans thought her life would be normal. Well, as normal as it can be for a muggle-born witch in England. But when her boyfriend turns out to be the prince of the wizarding world, and tensions begin to rise among factions of wizarding society, Lily must find her way in situations she never anticipated, and try not to lose sight of her identity. Word Count: 4,239 (41,766) Links: ao3 | FFnet | Tumblr: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9

A/N: Welcome back! This chapter went in a completely different direction than I initially thought it would, but it just kind of seemed to want to write itself this way. It's a little emotional and I think I should give you all a head's up that this chapter does deal with sexual assault. If you're not comfortable reading that, I'll include a summary of important points from this chapter in the AN of the next one so you can keep reading without missing anything. With that, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 10

In the weeks since Whitefire Palace had made it's announcement, Lily's situation had improved somewhat. Articles still came out every now and then, but they had less fodder to them than they had before. At most, it was commentary on her outfits, or stories that were so blatantly false they were almost laughable. She was able to put it all aside and continue with her life as usual. James had taken the liberty of having her added to the Come and Go list at the Palace, so they had taken to spending their nights together in James' apartments instead of at Lily's shared home. She had been so traumatized by the article that she found it hard to relax in her own apartment, but they both felt more secure at the Palace.

But work was becoming more intense for both of them, and between that and their Order missions, their time together was quickly becoming limited to catching a few hours of sleep between late nights and early mornings. Often James would crawl into bed long after Lily had gone to sleep, and she would have to rise with the sun. They seemed to keep missing each other, and it was rapidly becoming frustrating for both of them.

"I've got to go away for a little bit," James said, stroking her hair lightly. It was Lily's first day off in weeks, and they were enjoying a little bit of time cuddling together before James had to get ready to attend some stuffy lunch.

"Away? Where?" Lily asked, twisting a little to look at him.

"To Italy, for a diplomatic visit with Sirius," he answered. "And then I think Remus and Peter are going to meet us after to have a bit of a lads' weekend on one of the islands."

"Really?" she pressed, skeptical. She knew all too well the kinds of things Sirius had gotten up to in school, and she could only imagine what he would do with an unsupervised weekend thousands of miles away.

"Don't worry, Lily, you know I'm yours," James soothed, pressing a kiss to the worry lines between her brows. Though they dissipated slightly, her anxieties were still there, twisting into tight knots in her gut.

"It's not really that," she said, frowning. "It's just…" She shook her head and bit back her words, not wanting to start a fight.

"Lily, what?" he encouraged. "You can tell me anything."

"It's just that, well, we haven't had much time together lately, and I just feel a bit…" She struggled to find the right words, and restarted her thoughts. "You don't have any time to spend with me, but you can clear an entire weekend to party with Sirius, Remus, and Peter."

"Lily it's not like that," he insisted, clearly upset by her words.

"No?"

"No," James stated defiantly. He was starting to feel very defensive. "Any why shouldn't I have fun with my friends? You don't have a monopoly over me, Lily."

"That's not what I meant," Lily backtracked, taken aback by his statement.

"You don't get first dibs on my time," he barrelled on, riled up at that point. "My friends aren't just some random people who get me whenever you've cast me off or when you've decided you're too busy. We've been friends for a long time, and they deserve some of my attention too."

"I never said they didn't," Lily replied, her face warming as she felt tears starting to form. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, and his words should have been making her angry, but she simply couldn't find it in her. She just felt sad. It felt like they were diving off a cliff, the beginning of the end.

"Besides, I'm only nineteen," he continued without any sign that he'd heard her. "I should be allowed to party and have fun still. Just because I'm in a relationship, doesn't mean I've died."

"That's not all you want," Lily hissed, finally finding the anger. "Because if you really just wanted to party, then we could go out in London, or you could've asked me to go with you. I like a party as much as anyone, and you know it would've been fun with me too. But you don't want to party with your girlfriend, because then you wouldn't have girls fawning over you and offering you anything you want and sucking up to you. You want the attention, you want everyone in the world hitting on you, and if I'm there, I'll spoil that, but Sirius will probably be trying to convince you that you should shag some random girl because it's not cheating if it's a different country or because we fought or if you only go so far, or maybe he'll just say that none of it matters because you're royalty and everybody knows that comes with the lifestyle."

"Lily, I would never -" James tried to interrupt, suddenly looking stricken, but Lily was already on the verge of tears and she didn't want him to see her cry this time, not when she couldn't stand the sight of him.

"Whatever, have fun on your trip," she said, with a final huff, striding from the apartment and slamming the door shut behind her.

She almost wished he would come running after her, tell her he wouldn't go, that clearly it bothered her and he cared about that more than some stupid lads' weekend. But he didn't, and it felt like a slap across her face.

o . o . o

James had several reasons for his trip to Italy. He was on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the crown, it was true, but it was all but a secret that he had volunteered to go on the trip instead of his parents. On Corsica, there was a renowned jewelry-maker, who was able to create little galaxies inside his gemstones. The lad's weekend was really just a cover to give him reason to be on the little island, should he be spotted. And it was true that he hadn't spent much time with his friends lately, so he really would enjoy it.

Of course, once Dumbledore had gotten wind of his trip, he'd tacked on another mission of his own. James was tasked with sniffing out possible international recruits and allies. Dumbledore was worried that Voldemort was beginning to extend his influence outside of Great Britain. It was going to add a few extra days onto his trip, he would be away for a little over a week in total.

James hated leaving Lily, especially after the fight they'd had. He wished that he could clear the air with her before he left at the very least, but their schedules just didn't sync up. He looked around wistfully before stepping into the spacious limo, half hoping Lily would show up to say goodbye. But she didn't, so he simply sighed and climbed into the vehicle to prepare for his flight.

The limo was the pride and joy of the Royal Family's fleet. It had started out with the idea of a flying carpet, being outfitted and upgraded over time. Now, it was completely state of the art, with all the most advanced magical enchantments on it. Inside, the limo was as spacious as a private jet, with a stocked kitchenette, a full closet, and even a small bedroom for particularly long (or late) flights. From the outside, it had an array of concealment charms. When driving on the ground, it would appear as any ordinary limo to onlookers, little British flags flying from the front to identify it as a diplomatic envoy. But when flying, the vehicle would take on the guise of an owl, perfect for flying anywhere needed without arousing suspicion. It was a really magnificent little vehicle.

The trip itself was short and uneventful, but the moment they landed on the ground, their schedule was packed. James and Sirius stepped out of the limo to cheers from the gathered onlookers, and were greeted by the Italian Foreign Minister. They did a quick walk about, saying hello to the fans who had waited to see them, before being ushered inside to begin their day of meetings.

Five full days of meetings and engagements at charitable institutions. Touring hospitals and orphanages and schools all around the country. It was dull, especially since James only understood half of what was being said - honestly, it was shocking that they couldn't find better translators - and Sirius was getting restless. At night, they took a few surreptitious meetings on behalf of Dumbledore, but they weren't making as much progress and he had hoped. They spent another two days speaking with prominent members of the wizarding families, and though they were diplomatic in their responses, James wasn't feeling optimistic that it would come to anything. The Italian wizards seemed to think that the situation couldn't possibly be as dire as they were making it sound, and offered little support. The Minister himself, James was sure, was a lost cause, and he barely even bothered with any of his recruitment arguments.

And throughout the whole thing, James kept thinking about Lily. He felt awful about the way they'd parted, and he wanted so desperately to be able to talk to her. He made a mental note to give her something along the lines of his and Sirius' two way mirrors, so that they wouldn't be in this situation again. Although she probably would've smashed it after that fight. He just wanted to be with her again, and apologize for the way this was done. And ideally hear her apologize for snapping at him. Only two more days.

o . o . o

James wished he could say that he'd been careful, that he'd been mindful of Lily's words and her feelings and he'd kept the drinking to a minimum and made sure he didn't do anything that could possibly be misconstrued. He wished he could say even one of those things. But James was an absolute idiot, so he couldn't.

He had known, when Sirius said that he found a party on a private yacht and scored invites for all of them, that it was a bad idea. Yacht parties meant too much fancy alcohol and girls in bikinis and paparazzi taking blurry pictures that made it look like anything was happening - especially things that were most definitely not happening.

He had known, when he saw the girl staring at him from across the boat with eyes like a lioness hunting her prey, that he should be careful. He knew what that look meant, and he knew he should stop drinking so he could stay alert. And yet somehow he still accepted the next drink Sirius thrust at him, and the one after that, and then another still.

Everything became a fog, and the rocking of the boat did nothing to help his balance. He needed to find somewhere to sit down, or lie down, but he couldn't for the life of him think where that might be. And then she was there, standing right in front of him in the doorway, with her amber eyes fixed on him boldly. She was pretty, but her eyes were the wrong color, and so was her hair. She was all wheat-coloured, not shades of Christmas. He needed to find green eyes.

"Dove stai andando?" she asked, a question that James did not even begin to comprehend, but her voice had a buttery quality to it, like silk sheets over smooth skin.

James frowned at her, but she simply smiled, leaning her shoulders back against the frame of the door so that her hips were still angled toward him. She curled her fingers around the waistband of his swim trunks, but James stepped away quickly.

"I… I need to sit down," he said, excusing himself and staggering backward. He wanted to get away from her, and he definitely did not want to walk past her to the bedroom he knew was hidden away somewhere.

He turned and walked across the deck as well as his legs could carry him, fulling aware that he was teetering and careening with each hasty step. Finally, he found an empty pool chair, and he collapsed into it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Merlin it felt good to sit. Now that his eyes were closed, he couldn't seem to open them. He must have fallen asleep because he was having a great dream.

In his dream, he must not have fought with Lily, he must have asked her to come with them. Or maybe she simply decided to surprise him. But she wasn't mad at him. She was straddling his hips, grinding down on him, her breasts tantalizingly close to his face, he could feel it. If they weren't at a party, her bikini top would be off so that his lips could find every inch of skin unimpeded. His hands found her backside, a bare expanse of smooth skin. If he was quick, he could probably move aside the little scrap of fabric that was between them and nobody would be any the wiser.

Except Dream Lily didn't smell right. His Lily always smelled like flowers and vanilla and a little bit like antiseptic, even when they were at the beach. But Dream Lily smelled like sun tan lotion and alcohol and something like licorice, which was just all wrong. And then she was disappearing, being yanked away from him, and James could hear shouting and he tried to open his eyes. They felt so heavy.

"Get the hell away from him," he heard Remus snarl, and he knew that it wasn't a Dream Remus because his mind could never nail the feral nature Remus' voice took on when he was furious. "C'mon James, we're leaving now."

Remus's hands were around James' ribs, yanking him up to a standing position, and he felt someone smaller slip underneath his shoulder on the other side. Peter, probably. With a pop and a quick jerk, they were moving, squeezing through space, and then they hit the floor in their hotel hard. James vomited where he stood, heaving. Alcohol and Apparition were not a good combination.

"Let's get to bed, mate," Remus sighed, and he and Peter helped James to the bedroom, and then he was well and truly asleep.

o . o . o

James awoke with his head pounding and a vague memory of what happened the night before. He felt swamped in regret - he'd but such an idiot. He scrambled from the bed and emerged into the little common area of their shared suite, Remus sitting at the table sipping on coffee while Peter scrambled what looked like at least two dozen eggs.

"Morning," James groaned, sinking into the seat next to Remus. His friend slid the coffee pot across the table, allowing James to fill the empty mug in front of him.

"Eggs, beans and toast are all on the way," Peter announced loudly, and James winced at the volume. "Sorry. In a bit of pain?"

"Not as much as you deserve I reckon," Remus snorted, tossing a set of newspapers across the table at James.

The text winked and flickered for a moment as the papers tried to find the right language for James, before finally settling on English. He wished they'd remained unintelligible though. In reality, the titles weren't even relevant, it was the pictures that were damning. That blasted girl with a seductive grin and her hand sneaking under his trunks. Her sitting on top of him, her fingers in his hair as his hands caressed her backside. James felt like vomiting again as he looked at them, and he threw them aside.

"She's gonna see those, you know," Remus admonished. "You're a right ass."

"I know," James answered sullenly. "She's going to leave me for this."

"Frankly, I think she's going to murder you for it, but yeah, either way, I don't think you'll be together anymore," Remus said. He clearly had little sympathy for his friend.

"You know that it wasn't… that I didn't want to…?" James struggled to find the right words for what had happened to him the night before.

"Of course I know that not of it was bloody consensual!" he exclaimed, frustrated. "Why do you think I got you out of there so damn fast? But James, you put yourself in this situation, and that is what is hard to forgive."

"I -" James began, a little bit outraged by his friend's stance.

"Oh not the position to be assaulted, nobody ever gets themselves into that," Remus sighed exasperatedly. "But you knew that people would take pictures and there might even be paparazzi. You knew that anyone was just dying to snap a photo of you talking to another girl just a little bit too close. You were mad at Lily and you wanted to hurt her, so you got drunk anyway and got yourself in a situation that you knew would almost certainly result in pictures like this."

"You think I wanted to hurt Lily?" James asked, more than a little bit shocked by the statement. "I just bought her a damn engagement ring!"

"James, we know you as well as anyone, and you have a temper on you," Peter chimed in, placing the breakfast plates on the table. "Besides, loving someone doesn't mean you'll never get mad at them."

James chewed on his eggs as he thought over his friends' words. Perhaps they were right and he'd been angry. Maybe it had made him stupid.

"Where's Sirius?" he asked. "It's time to go home."

o . o . o

James was sullen throughout their journey home, trying to decide what he could possibly say to Lily so she would understand and hopefully forgive him. He hated himself for screwing this up, and would give anything not to have gone to the party. As soon as they arrived in London, James hopped into the shower. Somehow, he didn't think it would help his case if he still smelled like vodka and vomit. He left for Lily's apartment as soon as he was dressed again. Lily was probably at work, but he would simply wait until she got home.

There was no one at the apartment when James arrived, and though he could easily let himself in, he felt like it would be an intrusion in this case. Lily deserved the opportunity to deny him entry if it's what she wanted. He sank to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, tapping his feet on the ground anxiously.

Almost two hours passed before James heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and he straightened up. Lily rounded the corner and he immediately scrambled to his feet, quickly brushing his hair back in his typical nervous habit.

"Lily, can we talk?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up.

She ignored him, walking straight past him with a hardened expression and unlocking the door to her apartment. But she didn't shut the door again behind her, and James took that as an invitation. He stepped cautiously into the little apartment, softly shutting the door and hovering by the entrance, waiting.

"I know I fucked up," he said after a long moment.

She did say anything, but Lily reached into her bag, pulling out two newspapers and throwing them on the kitchen counter with an aggressive slap. James cringed at the sound and wished he could crawl into a hole as he saw the headlines.

LILY LEFT BEHIND

EVANS ELIMINATED IN THE RACE FOR PRINCESS

"You could have at least told me," she spat, pulling out a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. There was venom in her words, but James was almost positive that she had turned away so that he couldn't see her cry.

"It's not what it looks like," he said, cursing the words for their cliche, and she scoffed. "I swear on Merlin's wand, Lily, please just hear me out."

"Well this ought to be fun," she huffed, sitting down on the sofa with her arms crossed and anger boiling like a potion in her eyes.

"Look," James began, taking a deep breath, "I fucked up, Lily, I know I did. I shouldn't have gone to the party with the guys, and I definitely shouldn't have been drinking. There's no denying it. But I didn't do that."

"So what? The pictures are doctored?" LIly asked, her eyebrows flying up in skepticism.

"No, they're real, but I…" James paused, his expression pleading with Lily even as she was shaking her head and turning away. "Lily the first picture, I was feeling dizzy, and I was trying to find a place to sit down for a bit, and I wanted you, and she came up to me, and… I don't even know what she said, but she reached out and then I excused myself. We spoke for maybe thirty seconds, that's it."

Lily stood there, still looking angry, but she hadn't shoved him out of the apartment yet, so he knew he still had a few minutes to explain, or at least try to.

"I don't really know what happened in the second photo, Lily," he continued, sighing and running his hand through his hair as he stared down at the ground with furrowed brows. "I remember finding the chair and collapsing in it, and then I think I fell asleep. I remember dreaming of you, but it felt weird, like something was off. And then Remus was shouting and waking me and carting me off to the hotel. And I know it looks bad, but I swear on Merlin's hat that I didn't want any of it, I didn't even know…"

"James…" Lily replied, her expression softening a bit. "James, that's assault."

"I… yeah, I guess it is," he answered, trying not to think about it too hard. "Honestly, Lily, I haven't thought about it except for how badly I've fucked this all up, and I'm sorry. I don't think I can tell you enough, but I really am."

"It's okay," she said, reaching out to push his hair back from his forehead.

"I und - what?"

"It's okay," she repeated. "I understand that it wasn't something you did intentionally, or even wanted. But are you okay?"

"I don't know," James answered honestly. "I really haven't thought about it like that."

"I think… look, obviously this is pretty emotional for both of us," Lily reasoned, "and I think we should try to maybe stay out of the public eye for a bit until everything is cooled down a bit."

"Right, yeah," he agreed, emotions other than panic and regret starting to sink in for the first time.

"Come on, let's just go sit down for a bit," Lily suggested, tugging on his arm for a moment.

They curled up together on the sofa, trying to remind themselves that everything was alright. Lily felt exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions that she had been on throughout the week. She wouldn't be surprised if it took a week's worth of sleep to recover. Meanwhile James had only just begun to process what had happened during the trip, and he was more than a little overwhelmed.

"Hey Lils?" he said, trying to turn his mind to something happier.

"Mmm?" she hummed, content where she was with her head resting on his shoulder.

"What if we went on a vacation together?" James asked nervously. "I wanted to ask you before I left, but then we fought and things got so mucked up. But we could go anywhere you wanted - to the Caribbean, or to the Sahara, or wherever. Some time for just the two of us."

"That'd be nice," Lily agreed, smiling. She hoped she would dream of luxurious vacations and desperately needed time away from work, rather than worrying about the nightmare they'd been going through for the past few weeks. Things would start to look up, they had to, she was sure of it.

#gen writes #atttr #jily #jily ff #jily fic #jily au #royalty au #james potter #lily evans

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harry-lloyd · 5 years

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While Season 3 was still shooting, Collider got the opportunity to tour the incredible sets at Paramount Pictures in Hollywood and participate in a series of interviews to talk about all things Legion. Here are the highlights from what actor Harry Lloyd, who’s playing iconic X-Men character Charles Xavier, aka Professor X, said during a group interview on set where he talked about not fully realizing who he would be playing when he was offered the role, what it’s like to take on such a well-known comics character, the homework that he did, how this version is different from what we’ve seen previously, how Charles reacts to meeting his adult son, time travel, the Shadow King, what’s still to come in Episodes 307 and 308, and whether we might see him in the famous wheelchair.

Question: How does it feel to play Professor X?

HARRY LLOYD: It’s great. So, I got this call in December saying, “You’ve been offered a part in Legion.” And I was like, “Amazing!” And the breakdown was, “His name is Charles. He’s a war veteran, but believes in the good of humanity.” And I was like, “Sounds interesting.” I didn’t realize. And then, they said, “You’ve gotta Skype with Noah [Hawley] on Monday.” So I spent the weekend watching the first season of Legion, and realized, which I hadn’t done before because I hadn’t seen it, that the X in the title was the big link back to the Marvel Universe. So then, I was talking Noah that Monday and asking him questions, and he was told me about Episode 3, and then about Episodes 7 and 8. He was chatting and saying, “Of course, Charles does this. Charles Xavier . . .” And I was like, “Wait, what?! Oh!” I pretended that I knew, but I hadn’t pieced it together. But then, obviously, that made it even more exciting. I’m not really in the business of being offered parts, out of the blue, so it’s been a wonderful adventure. And then, I had to sort out moving to L.A. for three months. Luckily, my wife and dog and baby all followed me, and it’s been great. It’s such a fun show to work on. Even just doing a few episodes, there’s a crazy creative crew who are always doing really interesting stuff in the camera. They’ll say to you, “This is how it’s written, but we’re gonna do something a bit different.” It’s just really collaborative and playful, and it’s a really close knit, little family. It’s been absolutely brilliant.

Did you look at any previous performances?

LLOYD: I did my homework. I watched all of Legion, I watched all of the X-Men films, and I’d seen a couple of them, back in the day, and I went to this great comic store, called Mega City Comics in Camden, in London, and I found a really good geek there who found me a lot of different source material. One of my favorite things about Legion is that, having watched the X-Men films, and seeing [James] McAvoy and [Patrick] Stewart in these live-action portrayals of him, and the comics, and the different things that they had in common, but then you look at Legion and it gives you permission to throw that all away, to a certain extent. I’m glad that I saw it, so that I knew what I was getting into. It’s such an irreverent, ridiculous, surreal show, that I didn’t feel that I had to do the straight-laced Charles that we know. The story that we’re telling doesn’t really allow for him to always be in control and very pope-like. He’s a young man, and he’s been thrown into his own story before he’s ready because of what’s happening in the future with David. He’s actually quite lost for most of it. So, to play someone who’s normally quite grounded, thoughtful and deliberate in his actions, and to see him before he gets there, as a young man who’s confused and doubtful and exploring his own powers, and it’s his first time ever on the astral plane, that’s been really fun.

How is your version of the character different from the past live-action versions?

LLOYD: We started off doing Episode 3, which is entirely in flashback, and that’s the story of how Charles came out of the war and ends up in this sanatorium, or mental institution, and falls in love with Gabrielle. The way he uses his powers, at that point, is to get into the heads of men with PTSD and help them, but he hasn’t really unleashed them, or thought of them, in terms of doing a wider good. He’s still keeping a lid on it, and keeping it very secret and private, and living in hiding himself. And then, he goes and moves to suburbia and has this child, and he stats this new life with this woman. He makes this prototype of a cerebral type contraption. That’s when he sees Farouk, for the first time, in his basement. It’s this man in Morocco, who has the same power as him, and then, this big change happens. When he realizes that he’s not alone, he becomes very serious and quite fraught, and actually abandons his wife and child. He’s quite perturbed by it, but he also cannot avoid it. I felt that he realized that he’d been in denial, for a long time, about what he had, and he has to explore this. Charles, suddenly, is now in the realm of someone else with seemingly even greater powers than he. He’s constantly waking up in a different place, and he feels like he’s in a dream. You realize, watching Dan Stevens’ performance, from the first two seasons, there are so many times when he seems to be reacting to something that’s not there, and it’s very staccato and confused, and it’s almost like he’s in a dream. I found this Charles, who was quite composed in Episode 3, suddenly becoming more like his son, in terms of how he’s reacting to baffling situations.

Since he hasn’t met other mutants yet, how does he react to meeting his adult son?

LLOYD: Before I read the script, I was thinking, “How’s that scene gonna go?” I, myself, have a baby daughter who’s about the same age as baby David is to Charles, and I was imagining that, if I met her when she’s in her 30s, my first reaction would be, “I’m so glad you’re okay. This is great. I’m so excited. I have so much to ask.” But then, very quickly, Charles learns about the reality of the life his son has had, ever since he was given up for adoption, and the miserable life that he’s had, in mental institutions and causing death and dealing with his powers. We haven’t really started filming the aftermath stuff yet, which we’re doing in the next few days, but after then, he’s just massively guilty. It’s very emotional for him, and he’s still just dealing with the joy of having a baby. He doesn’t actually know yet how to be a father, or to take responsibility for his son. For Episode 7, his journey is to take responsibility for this mistake that he made. Trying to save him actually exposed him to this danger, so he wants to help him, and then going into the final episode, they’re now a team.

So, time travel is not a problem for Charles Xavier?

LLOYD: Time travel is not a problem for Switch, piggybacked by David. So much happens that, suddenly he’s in Morocco, and Charles is a smart guy. We don’t have to telegraph it, but when he’s out of his depth, he’ll also be using his own powers. When he’s looking at someone who he doesn’t understand, he’ll also be reading their mind, so he’s not gonna be quite as lost as someone else. And I feel that he’s someone who after awhile goes, “Maybe I am in a dream, but I’m gonna go with it.” He’s just very perceptive and very thoughtful, and he’s watching. Sometimes things still come out of nowhere, but as you get into the episodes, he embraces the weirdness. And then, when this man turns up, he doesn’t just say, “I’m your son.” He says, “Open your mind.” So, he knows it’s his son. It’s not that he doesn’t believe him because he sees inside. And then, he’s introduced to the astral plane. He’s introduced to so many different facets of the series, quite quickly. It would be too much for some people, but I feel that Charles just about can handle it.

Who was Amahl Farouk, before he was the Shadow King?

LLOYD: From what I can see, based on the Farouk I’ve seen in the last seasons, and the Amahl that I’ve met in Episode 3, the one simple difference is that Amahl is excited and naughty and playful and mischievous, whereas Farouk is more cynical.

Does this show make you think more about the effect of a parent’s actions on a child’s life?

LLOYD: Yeah, I think so. When you get to the end Episode 7 and into Episode 8, you’ll really see how that feels, in these scenes that I do with David, in a room that’s in his own mind. He creates a safe place so that we can actually talk and catch up, and that’s when I learn this barrage of information that’s air-dropped into my brain. I think about any parent taking responsibility for aspects of your child that you don’t want to. You can’t disassociate yourself, as you would with anyone else, and be like, “Well, I didn’t do that.” For Charles, parenthood is accepting the whole package.

What do you think is the most important aspect of having Charles in this part of David’s story?

LLOYD: I think because this is the third and final season, you can’t really wrap it up without at least talking about him. It’s great that you actually get to explore him, and it’s great that you have an episode almost without David, setting him up, in time for this finale. One of my favorite scenes, in Season 1 of Legion, was that scene when he finds himself in a blackboard room, in that university classroom, and he’s piecing it together, through all of the madness. He knows that he must’ve had a father, and he pieces it together. I didn’t know much about it originally, but when I saw that scene, I was like, “Okay, so when are we going to meet him?” It became a big question. Through all of the wackiness and weirdness, that’s something that kept you going. You do want to go back to the beginning and find out when the Shadow King entered his mind. Season 1 played with getting Farouk out, and how slippery is. So, it was very clever to introduce the time travel because we really get to see the heart of the matter, and relive it and change it, rather than talk about it, at a distance. I feel that it’s essential for a cathartic resolution, which hopefully, we’ll be able to provide

Do you get to sit in the wheelchair, at all?

LLOYD: I haven’t seen it, but we still have some left to shoot. There’s been a little bit of rubbing at the temples, which I feel he just does when he’s turning it up to like 11. If I close my eyes, it’s at level two, but if I touch my temples, it’s an 11. That’s when he’s really focused.

#harry lloyd #interview #legion

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midnightiscoming-kasabian · 5 years

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Far Out Meets: Serge Pizzorno invites us inside the David Lynch inspired world of The S.L.P.

30/08/19

Serge Pizzorno is an enigma. He is the beating heart and the mind behind Kasabian, a band who have conquered just about everything there is to conquer in their career to date—including their incredible headline set on Glastonbury’s iconic Pyramid Stage which solidified their status as one of the most important British bands of the last twenty years.

It’s 15 years since their classic self-titled debut record stormed the charts and, while endearing the band to the public at the same time, they made the decision to take some time off last year. After six full-length records and no new plans in-store, what was to happen next was a mystery even for Pizzorno.

Not content to sit back and relax, the result of a prolonged period away from the band for Pizzorno was to get his head down and change direction as his new moniker of The S.L.P. was born. Pizzorno and his one man solo album, whose mesmerising self titled debut album is available today, spoke with Far Out to explain why now was the perfect time to try something different, what The S.L.P. means to him and the importance of artists like Slowthai—who features on the record—in a polarised Britain.

I pondered if this project was something that Pizzorno had been yearning to do for years, but that’s not the way that he works. The Kasabian guitarist, is a man who lives in the moment, as he explains nonchalantly: “We finished touring in September and had a year off so it was now or never really. I was like ‘I’ve got a year off, shit what am I gonna do?’ But I had these three pieces of music that I thought was the start of something quite interesting, I wanted to finish them but I just thought they’d hang around on a hard-drive for the next ten years so I thought, ‘I’ve only got to fill in the gaps between the beginning, middle and the end then I’ve got a nice little album.’”

Given the fact that Pizzorno was sat on the music for a considerable amount of time, I was interested to know if at any point he considered turning what would become The S.L.P.’s album into the next Kasabian record—a question he quickly shot down before I even finished uttering the words out of my mouth, almost predicting the question before I even asked it: “No, it’s a whole different thing,” he said passionately. “The reason why I still care about making stuff is that I just want output and I didn’t really overthink it, it was just the matter of getting in the studio and making this little record and then do something else after.”

Although this record isn’t a Kasabian record, I asked if this meant changing up the way that Pizzorno went about making it, which he shrugged off adding: “No,” he said amid a spit of laughter. “I work in a certain way, I worked in exactly the same way on this record as I have done on the last six. But, I’ve really enjoyed the freedom of just putting something out for the sake of it rather than it being this huge thing.”

“I think creating this S.L.P. world now means that it’s a world I’ve created that I can live whenever I want to, it’s this now and it’s something,” he added.

Two names which have stepped foot in Serge’s new world are the Mercury nominated pairing of Slowthai and Little Simz, both featuring on ‘Meanwhile…At The Welcome Break’ and lead single ‘Favourites‘ respectively. “I wanted this British connection and they are two people that I really admire, it’s that simple really,” he told me of their contribution. “There was a long-list of people that I wanted to get in the studio with and I think moving forward that’ll be the move.”

The more we discussed his recent collaborations, the more I sensed that working with these exciting new artists has re-energised Pizzorno and has made him fall back in love with making music for the fun of it, excitedly adding: “It’s well important when you’ve been doing it a long time and you get in your ways, it’s nice to just experiment and to go in the studio where anything can happen and be open to anything.”

A sincere Pizzorno continued: “I very much felt like I was on that cycle and on that way of going finish album, tour, come home, make album, tour. I’ve been doing that for nearly 15—no actually 20 years—at some-point there always needs to be a storm in the harbour, there needs to be some kind of re-set, some sorta like a storm that wipes everything out then you open the door and it’s calm again and you say: ‘ah, I see things differently now, I’ve been through something different and come back with a whole new perspective’ and that excites me for the next thing I do.”

Pizzorno will be taking The S.L.P. on the road for a limited run of dates and revealed to Far Out what his vision is for these very special nights, divulging: “We’re gonna try and do it differently. It’s all a bit of an experiment, we’ll just see what happens, it’s also a nice feeling to not be so wrapped up and to just put on a great night, entertain and have a great time. I’ve got this vision of this club at four in the morning which sort of anything goes where everybody is welcome, but also like a little David Lynch sort of film in some elements of it and I want it to put people on edge.”

Listening to Pizzorno vividly describe the way he wants to make fans feel pure escapism from the world, even if it’s just for one night only, sees our conversation turn to how important the concept of escapism is on a whole: “I think it’s vital ‘cos I think the danger as artists a lot of it is about escapism and your art becomes a way of escaping out of it which is massively needed and important for us all to lose ourselves. It’s also important to be aware of what’s going on and to represent a voice so it does get heard to a wide audience, voices that aren’t listened to or not cared about, that need artists to push that.”

Pizzorno then continued with the most heartfelt of passion in his voice: “For us to move forward in society, we need to listen to people’s stories human to human. There’s a reason they got where they got and it’s usually a past that’s given them that way of thinking so we have to figure out how to listen and come to some sort of agreement that we can all get on cos a fractured society is no fucking good for anybody.”

The fractured society we are living in, as Pizzorno referred to, is one that he can’t comprehend in the slightest. Like all conversations about music and society, our chat led me to ask about what his thoughts on former Smiths frontman Morrissey—a character making yet more controversial headlines given his very public political stances. “I don’t really understand that way of thinking like I find an odd way of thinking that we’re not just one,” Pizzorno said with his usual impassioned sentiment. “I’ve never really understood boundaries and flags, it just doesn’t make any sense when you look at the world and look at what we are, we’re humans. What the hell does any of it mean? Going down that line just seems like a very backwards step.”

Pizzorno and I spoke around the time that Boris Johnson was appointed as Prime Minister by just over 100,000 members of the Conservative party following an internal ruling leadership contest. With a renewed anger in his voice, Pizzorno said: “The system is rigged, it’s like a fucking Vegas casino, no matter who you put in charge it always ends up the same way.”

The conversation then turned to the politics of Kasabian with an animated Pizzorno stating: “The point of what we always wanted to do was to communicate with a large audience, communication and bringing people together. It’s all out of the rave scene and the massive guitar boom in the mid ’90s, we were born out of this. It’s about and always will be about bringing people together, that’s our politics.”

Kasabian have undoubtedly brought unity and Pizzorno has succeeded in his ambition of bringing as many people together under one roof with a common aim of having an evening never to forget. The S.L.P. may have seen him take a left-turn down a different path but the destination remains the same. The album will still leave you with that same euphoric feeling burning inside that you got 15 years ago when you first heard Kasabian’s debut. Serge Pizzorno is enjoying himself every bit as much as he was at the start of his journey all that time ago.

You can get your hands on a copy of The S.L.P. here and check out the tour dates below:

5TH SEPTEMBER – SWG3 GLASGOW, UK 6TH SEPTEMBER – ALBERT HALL MANCHESTER, UK 7TH SEPTEMBER – O2 INSTITUTE BIRMINGHAM, UK 9TH SEPTEMBER – EARTH LONDON, UK 10TH SEPTEMBER – EARTH LONDON, UK

faroutmagazine.co.uk

#kasabian #sergio pizzorno #the s.l.p.#interviews #interviews 2019

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lemmeoverexplain · 5 years

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Europe’s Industrial Revolution: AKA Supply and Demand 101

Disclaimer: this is written by a 16 year old with far too much access to wikipedia, so if I got something wrong lemme know and I’ll change it so I don’t look like a complete dunce :)

Scene set? Well, we have to go back a little ways before we actually start talking about the industrial revolution, not too far back though, just to the very early 18th Century, during what was called the “Cottage Industry.” See, Europe was fresh out of its agricultural revolution, where things like seed drills and other tools were being used to make farming a lot more efficient and faster. This is a time where the French Revolution is happening, people like Mozart and Bach are alive and kicking, and the world is kind of in this weird growth period. So anyways, the agricultural revolution happens and suddenly there’s a lot more food everywhere. With more food comes more people and with more people comes the need for clothes, which means more textiles, which means– well, you get it.

So, what was the answer to this newfound demand for clothing and fabric making? Well the AR (agricultural revolution) also made the need for farmers significantly less, so you’ve got a) a sudden need for textiles and b) a bunch of people out in rural 18th Century Europe who need jobs. Basically, some merchant dudes realized “wait, I could make a butt-ton of money if I swing this right” and so the cottage industry was born.

It involved a few things, the first being an “entrepreneur,” or someone who would invest in their system and buy a bunch of raw materials that needed to be processed (wool, stone, wood etc.). Then this entrepreneur would go to different houses (cottages) and drop off the supplies, say he’d be back in like a week, and leave the household to do their part of the chain. When he came back a week later, he’d take the processed supplies and scoot off to the next house, where they would take care of the next step in processing, and he would repeat this until finally he had the stuff he wanted to sell. Then he’d go to the nearest market, sell off all his goods, buy new goods and repeat the cycle while also paying the various cottages a portion of the earnings.

I explain all this because it does eventually lead into– and even directly cause the industrial revolution. In fact, this system lead to the very creation of capitalism.

Ok, so we’ve got people working to make sellable goods, a head honcho selling everything and keeping everyone in line, and a now pretty saturated market. Doesn’t that sound a little familiar? Well, it should, because it’s the beginnings and what would evolve into the factory system. This new burst of income and lack of farmers meant that people could spend time doing something other than just farming, which lead to new markets and industries such as shoemakers, haberdashers (hat makers), sculptures, and so on all became increasingly popular as people began having not only the time, but also the money to invest in their own businesses.

And now, just as someone had before, someone gets the idea “hey, ya know what would make this go a lot faster? Machines.” Inventions like James Hargreaves spinning Jenny, Eli Whitney’s cotton gin and Samuel Crompton’s mule made everything insanely efficient. But bigger is better, right? So far all these machines had fit into the cottages of the workers, but when people started making bigger, better, faster machines they needed places to put them (power loom/ water frame). Thus warehouses were built to hold multiple, huge machines and workers were to come out of their homes and work in the factories.

This all caused a bunch of things, most namely a) new demand for coal, b) housing for all the workers who were traveling from their rural villages, and c) more effective transportation for said works and also for the supplies. This is actually were a bunch of the problems started. For one, these workers were already typically pretty underpaid working in their homes, but they went with it because they liked having the money without having to work in the fields or buy more property to have fields to work in. Then, when people dropped the cottage industry and instead forced people to come in from the rural countryside, they didn’t really have the money to move into the city, which caused a decline in workers until workhouses became popular.

Now, I use the term workhouses lightly, because they really weren’t close to nice enough to be a house. Most of the time it was a big open warehouse where all the workers would sleep on the floor packed tightly together. They were fed the barest minimum the factory owners could get away with and usually suffered from horrible diseases thanks to the close proximity, overworking, and lack of sufficient nutrients. It was really bad.

AND– and, it became a popular practice to sell your children to factories because they needed small bodies to clean out the machines. The children (usually aged 4-10ish) would be forced to work as long (or sometimes longer) as the adults and were fed less. Their jobs also tended to be dangerous, and loss of limbs or death was horrifyingly common. This actually lead to a bunch of child labor laws being instituted to prevent shit like this from happening again. All of this is happening and now Europe is mass producing all these goods that were typically exported out of the country, the biggest problem with this though, was that horse-drawn carriage became much too tedious of a transportation way, and the bumpy roads could even damage the goods and lessen their profit. So, people began to invent alternatives, and the government became involved and implemented road building laws when it started realizing that the random “I’m building a road here because I feel like it” system could become problematic. These new roads were usually made with stones or later on asphalt over stone and were way smoother rides. This wasn’t enough though, and soon people began building canals (dug holes, filled with cement to keep water in, added water, then floated supplies down), and eventually, railroads.

So now we have big rich guys running factories and mass producing goods, actual roads and now trains and railroads, and a bunch of people being worked to the bone and underpaid and capitalism. That’s fun. The industrial revolution created jobs, efficient transportation, less need for farmers, and a brand new, competitive economy. So while it was… well, revolutionary, it also caused a bunch of problems and anger.

(P.S. if you want a good peek into industrial revolution London watch Peaky Blinders on Netflix)

[Sources]

My Western Civics Class

Wikipedia

#industrial revolution #in europe #I say in europe because this was literally just a small portion of the Industrial Revolutions going on #like #there was one in america and ones that happened later in other contries #and even others in europe because this is basically just a british industrial revolution essay #sorry about that #anywyas #history #history facts #I don't know how to tag things #europe #interesting #I think at least #ranting

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letsbfrank4 · 5 years

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Book Review: Clockwork Prince

Rating: ☕☕☕☕☕

Title: Clockwork Prince Author: Cassandra Clare Series: The Infernal Devices Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books Genres: Young Adult, Science Fiction, Fiction Pages: 498 Format: Hardcover

“’ Look well on this, my son… for one day I shall rule a clockwork kingdom of such beings, and you shall be its prince.’”- page 155

“I feel myself dissolving, vanishing into nothingness, for if there is no one in the world who cares for you, do you really exist at all?”- page 179

“’ I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted—and then I realized that truly I just wanted you.’”- page 468

To continue with the next book in the Infernal Devices series I have decided to review the second book, Clockwork Prince. I’ve heard a lot of good things about this series and how some people think it is even better than the first series. I don’t know if I can agree with that thought yet but I have to say I really enjoyed reading this book. Just like the first book it was a little slow in the beginning but by the second half of the book it really starts to pick up speed. Now for the details. Warning: this review contains spoilers, please skip to the conclusion if you would like to avoid these (last paragraph starting with bold print).

As always with Clare’s books the characters are amazing. They are very detailed with rich back stories that keep growing, even more so, in this book. There is a ton of character development not only for the main character Tessa but for all the others as well. Emotions are brought to the surface, secrets are revealed, flaws are found, mistakes made, and some characters make a complete 180 from the beginning of the book to the end.

Clare’s books are at a great reading level so you can just sit back and enjoy the book. The main plot is simple to follow but the subplots of Will’s curse and Sophie’s romance are tailored perfectly to the story. Will’s curse explains a lot of his back story for which I have a feeling will play a big part in the next book. In addition, Sophie’s romantic relationship adds to the classic Victorian era romance that is a staple for that time period.

There is a tremendous amount of circular plot that happens in this book. It makes everything harmonize well and leaves readers feeling satisfied. My first example of this is when Tessa states that the first words she ever heard Jem say were “Will? Is that you, Will?” I was wondering why Clare decided to add this seemingly random bit of information until, later on, Will walks into Jem’s room and Jem says the exact same line. The first time Jem says this line is at the very start of this whole adventure, when Jem and Will were almost inseparable. Their relationship was so tightly knit. However, when Jem says the line again, when Will is coming into his room, the dynamic is very different. Their relationship is dissolving slowly from the love triangle with Tessa. So even though this is a sad part of the story this one line makes the situation really hit home. Branching off this example the same idea takes a broader point of view. In the first book and the beginning of this book it becomes clear that Jem is the only person Will lets in. Jem is the only person that knows who Will is deep down. Jem is all that Will has. By the end of the book, however, Will starts letting everyone in again. Will isn’t afraid of loving and being loved in return and he gains back almost everyone he has ever pushed away. Ironically, though, in the process Will ends up losing Jem. Because of the engagement and the tension it puts on their relationship Will closes himself off from Jem hiding, probably for the first time, his true feelings. Will always seems to have to sacrifice something he cares about which, even though is tragic, keeps the reader’s interest in Will as a character.

This book’s ending is not one of the happiest I have ever read but Clare does a great job by distracting the reader with something new and exciting. I am glad she does this because it doesn’t leave the bitter taste from the love triangle as the lasting thought before her next book. She gives the readers hope and a bright future, something to look forward to; she ends the book with starting a new chapter (so to speak).

One of the biggest aspects of this book that I did not like was the poems that would start in the beginning of each chapter. Yes, this is the Victorian Era and, yes, poetry plays a strong role in the story but I found it overall too distracting. If the poems had more significance or if there was a set pattern for the poems (all of them being related to the chapter titles instead of sometimes) I would understand that. However, I found myself starting to get annoyed by being jarred out of the story by having to read a few lines of poem, it felt like a pop up advertisement.

The cliché of the warlock potion was way too obvious. I knew that something was up when special attention was brought to the lemonade at the party. It is a given not drink strange and unknown beverage from someone you don’t trust at a seemingly shady party. It doesn’t take long to put two and two together. This could have been way more subtle.

There was also a huge character flew in Tessa when she runs over to her dying brother and doesn’t even give Will a second thought. I felt that no one in their right mind would actually do this. Anyone would think instantly of the wellness of the person who just saved their life by being a human shield, not to mention Will is a major love interest. The thought would at least cross one’s mind. I don’t agree with the logic behind this decision. Nate may be her brother and Tessa may still love him but even that doesn’t make this choice make sense, especially, when her brother has been betraying her and working with the enemy for the entire book.

I would have also liked more story talking about the Magister. It wouldn’t have to be something revealed to the Shadowhunters. I just wanted some more back story and history to build of the villain in my mind. It would have been a nice touch.

With all this being said I really enjoyed the time I spent reading this book. Cassandra Clare knows what she is doing and knows how to work in the space she has created. I would recommend reading the first book in the trilogy otherwise you will be very lost. I would also recommend reading the previous series The Mortal Instruments but it is not absolutely necessary. Would I recommend this book? Yes. Would I recommend this series? Yes. Would I tell people to read her other series? Absolutely! Given the very strong character presence and plot flow of this book I would give Clockwork Prince a 5 out of 5 All-Nighter Worthy rating. I would also say the show Shadowhunters on FreeForm is really good as well, so feel free to check that out.

Otherwise…bookmarking this for now.

Summary: In the magical underworld of Victorian London, Tessa Gray has at last found safety with the Shadowhunters. But that safety proves fleeting when rogue forces in the Clave plot to see her protector, Charlotte, replaced as head of the Institute. If Charlotte loses her position, Tessa will be out on the street—and easy prey for the mysterious Magister, who wants to use Tessa’s powers for his own dark ends.

With the help of handsome, self-destructive Will and the fiercely devoted Jem, Tessa discovers that the Magister’s war on the Shadowhunters is a deeply personal. He blames them for a long-ago tragedy that shattered his life. To unravel the secrets of the past, the trio journeys from mist-shrouded Yorkshire to a manor house that holds untold horrors, from the slums of London to an enchanted ballroom where Tessa discovers that the truth of her parentage is more sinister than she had imaged. When they encounter a clockwork demon bearing a warning for Will, they realize that the Magister knows their every move—and that one of their own has betrayed them.

Tessa finds her heart drawn more and more to Jem, though her longing for Will, despite his dark moods, continues to unsettle her. But something is changing in Will—the wall he has built around himself is crumbling. Could finding the Magister free Will from his secrets and give Tessa the answers about who she is and what she was born to do?

As their dangerous search for the Magister and the truth leads the friends into peril, Tessa learns that when love and lies are mixed, they can corrupt even the purest heart.

#book blog #book review #bibliophile #bookworm #blogger #fiction #booklr #book critic #book critique #booklover #books #young adult #clockwork prince #cassandra clare #the infernal devices #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters

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cottonwren · 6 years

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Oxford - Finn Shelby

// A/N: Thank you to @blinder-secrets for the original concept of Finn going to university! So excited for people to read this, please give me feedback //

The overly priced record player continued to play as you continued to dance, slippered feet gracefully winding and sailing through the marble floor. Arms outstretched, extension in your limbs as you had always been taught, your image graceful and carefree but only because you were so strict on yourself and how you danced. Though your strictness upon yourself was nothing considering your mother and father’s view on things. You were only allowed to take the vital qualifications for a doctor thanks to your agreement with them. As long as you continued ballet, you could study to your own interests.

Letting out a high screech, you heard the door edge open. You had rented out the room for a Friday afternoon, from two o'clock to five o'clock, as always, so which fellow rich ballerina had chosen to try and override you? Who had dared? If it was Priscilla Bonpraque again, you were ready to fight her. You turned, stopping the opera music and looking over your shoulder to see the bewildered boy in the doorway. Freckles decorated his face, curls resting atop his head. He looked a little rougher than the boys you were used to, granted, but that was not a negative at all. You’d got tired of the ridiculous amounts of hair gel by the tender age of fifteen. “Hello, are you lost? I’ve seen you in my biology lectures, you do ballet here too?” Your voice was steady, soft with a London accent that was definitely what people considered ‘highly educated’

He nodded, then shook his head, taking in a breath as you walked over, on your blocks still as you did, making you as tall as him. “I’m Finn. I was looking for the library, but somehow I managed to find the most graceful ballerina in the whole of Europe” He ran a hand through his hair and smirked at you. Nothing about his body language said that he was about to leave, and his cap reminded you exactly of who you had been told to stay away from. He was at Oxford, so how dangerous could he be?

“Thank you, Finn. I’m Dorothy Lillian Goodheart, do you want me to show you around? The library’s massive, I’m surprised you missed it” You laugh softly, sitting down on a bench and untying your ballet slippers. “I’ll get changed first, but then we could go on a tour?” Not many boys refused this kind of offer from a rich, young Ballerina. Then again, not many boys got this offer. Finn looked excited, though kept his cool and nodded. For some reason, you were excited too. Maybe it was the rebellious act of walking with an off-limits boy. It was definitely the rebellious act of being with an off-limits boy.

“Dorothy” He mused, tasting the sound of your name off his lips to test. “I’ll see you outside, yeah? Twenty minutes” It was more of a smooth order, leaving you stunned slightly at the quick step-change between a boy who needed to run to a boy who’d done this all before. He consumed your mind as you changed into your clothes, making you wonder so much.

Dressed in a pleated navy skirt and a beige jumper, your black angel boots coming just above your ankle as you walked out of the building. You immediately spotted the brummie boy, a smile flashing across his face as he stubbed his cigarette out on the wall, making you grimace slightly. The smell of smoke made you want to vomit, nevermind the fact that long-term cigarette use ages anyone. Genetics couldn’t help you there, no matter how good yours were. Looking across at you, he offered his arm “You don’t smoke, I imagine? What with the whole dancing thing” He shrugged, wondering aloud. Obviously, he had no idea of the lives Royal Ballerinas lived. Then again, why would he?

“No, no smoke. I hate the stench, and I need to stay as nice looking and as fit as possible if I’m ever going to be a half decent ballerina as a backup plan.” You let out a long sigh, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear “My first plan is to become a doctor, though if my parents were to find out that that was my idea, I’d be taken off of the course within a snap of their fingers” Your arm linked with his, a soft smile on your face as you bared your soul to someone you had never met before. What was worse was that you knew it was bound to crash and burn on you. The worst thing was that that made you even more excited.

“That strict, hm? Then why are you trusting me with this information, Dorothy?” Finn asked, walking with you around campus, his breath like expensive cinnamon liquor - warm, sweet, slightly husky. “Anyone can wear a flat cap, you know” He smirked, and you didn’t need to look to know it.

“Because, Finn, When you lock girls away and force them into institutions and ballet slippers, you create a danger-excited, thrill-seeking daughter with a lot of money. And from what I’ve seen so far, you’re as danger-excited as me. You know why? If you are a blinder, your hometown is Birmingham and you see more illegal action in a weekend than the local nunnery does in a week. If you aren’t a blinder, you’d be eyeless for wearing that cap” You smirked, having been well informed on his brothers since the other ballerinas had gone to Birmingham frequently just to fuck whatever blinder they could.

“Fuck, you ballerinas are insane” He smirked, chuckling, “I think we’ll get along, though” Finn was very sure that he was feeling homesick because her talk about Birmingham had made him feel warm and happy “How’d you know so much, hm? Ballerina princess Dorothy Lillian Goodheart, a secret spy?” He teased, now laughing at your expression.

You let out a laugh, nudging him with your elbow, feeling as if you had known him forever as you started jovially teasing him. Finn suddenly missed home a little less, as the girl showed her around the university campus. You knew that many of the toffs that had tried to court your peers were watching you laugh with the brummie lad, and that made you happier.

Once you had finished the tour, you stopped outside his flat. He smirked “Well, princess, wanna come in? I make the best fucking tea in the whole of Oxford” His face, though smirking, was quite soft. His freckles peppered his pale skin, his eyes radiated a soft youth that you no longer had, and you were slightly envious of this factor of your new friend.

It was your turn to smirk “The whole of Oxford? Well now I just have to come in, don’t I?” He let out a small chuckle and undid the lock on the door with a pretty brass key, letting you walk in before he did himself. You took off your coat, hanging it on the peg and following him through. As you walked through the hall, you saw the pictures of his family, making you smile. The biggest one was a wedding one, obviously Tommy Shelby because everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew, definitely.

Finn walked next to you, handing you a cup of tea “That’s my family. Tommy, who helped me get here. He supports my studies. He’s great. That’s Arthur, who bought me a nurse outfit. He’s just glad I’m not dead” He finished there, not wanting to talk about the third brother. You sensed a change in him and decided to change the mood. After sipping the tea, you gave him a teasing smirk “This really is good tea. He bought you a nurse outfit? Does it fit?” You asked, sitting down next to the wall with him.

“Not as I’m aware, Princess” Finn smirked “When your eldest brother gives you the equivalent of an apron and nothing else as one outfit, whilst in his bar, you most often decide not to wear it”

“You should try it on, might look good” You grinned, laughing “Nurse Shelby, no? Gonna patch me up after a bad rehearsal?”

“Only if you let me watch your performances” Finn grinned back as if you wouldn’t actually invite him to your ballet performances. Oh, yeah. Maybe you couldn’t, seeing as your parents came to every performance. Oh, fuck it. Finn wore a suit and could say a sentence without swearing, it’ll be fine.

“Why not? That’s if girls in tight leotards won’t bore you….” You pouted “I know that at the age of being in your twenties makes girls in tight clothing incredibly boring, but hey, at least you get to see my livelihood in practice?” You offered, laughing softly.

“I’ll come, I’ll come, ah, what are you making me go through, eh princess?” He chuckled, setting a soft cheery mood for the afternoon.

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder oneshot #peaky blinders oneshot #finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby oneshot #old writing

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