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[amchara-fic]

fic snippet: One Foot In Front of the Other

Shadow Market mornings were Ellie Harris’s favourite. Given she was still a student, maybe it was unusual but Friday mornings were the one time a week she allowed herself to visit the London Shadow Market.

Pigeons cooed from the rafters above and sunlight splashed on the cobbled, uneven stones as Ellie picked her way through the colourful stalls. It was much quieter at this time, the loudest hawkers less eager to make a sale and vendors of all types - from warlocks to Fae to werewolves all blinking a little blearily and drinking their coffee, tea or stimulant of choice. Except for the vampires - although they were also bleary at the end of their day, and huddled in their covered, dedicated area from the sun.

But Phil already had a customer at his stall, a tall Rastafarian who was talking in a low voice as he showed the warlock a small trinket in his hand. Phil acknowledged her briefly as she held up her two coffees but kept his focus on the client. Ellie slipped around the back of his table and sat on the spare metal folding chair.

She sighed and leaned back, absorbing the quiet burble of conversations and magical demonstrations around her and finally relaxing. It was like a controlled substance she thought, and she was enjoying the hit. She was also going to have to try and reduce her dependency on it further, if she had any hope of trying to move on.

Like any addict, Ellie knew she was mostly lying to herself. But it was okay to keep coming to the Shadow Market, she told herself, as long as she avoided-

“Shadowhunters.” Phil’s distinctive voice came from above, as he shuffled into her line of sight with his distinct pigeon-toed walk.

Ellie started. “How did you know-”

Phil pointed to the tall figure cutting his way through the sparse crowd and despite his normal attire and mostly covered runes, Ellie could spot the distinctive way that he held himself. The way all Shadowhunters held themselves, heads held proud as they knew they walked on the earth as the favoured children of angels, traces of heavenly fire burning in their blood.

The way Ellie could have… but no, she beat that traitorous thought down. The past was the past and she was moving on.

“Hey, you all right, pretty girl?” Phil’s friendly face held a slight frown, as he sat himself down in his armchair, cane held out in front of him.

Ellie smiled and she passed him the coffee. “Yeah, I’m fine- just tired I guess. It’s been a long week.”

He held her gaze but Ellie didn’t back down and eventually he shrugged, unphased and took a sip of the coffee. She had met Phil more than two years ago, when she had been a heartbroken, desperate girl and he had been the warlock to tell her magic could not cure everything.

His stall - Phil, the miracle worker warlock - was mostly ironic, he had told her. He had gestured to himself. “And considering I’m a warlock with cerebral palsy, I think I’m allowed to say that.”

“Yeah but a physical disability isn’t a death sentence,” she had shot back, crossing her arms miserably but meeting his distant eyes. “Terminal cancer is.”

And he had lifted a sardonic eyebrow, and Ellie suddenly remembered that this was the Shadow Market and he was a warlock who had more magic in his pinky finger than probably her entire ancestry line with the Sight had, and she had blanched. But she hadn’t dropped her gaze, fighting off the desperation as he was the last warlock she hadn’t asked and if he said no, it meant she had failed.

His voice had been gentle as he had told her. “I’m sorry darling- but there’s no miracle to be had here.” And she had fled.

Despite that rocky start, when she had finally returned to the Shadow Market six months ago, he had nodded to her from where she had been idly browsing the cursed jewelry stall across from his and she had plucked up her courage to start a conversation.

Now, they had a standing date most Friday’s, where Ellie bought him coffee and they sat, gossiping about the denizens of the market, or mundane pop culture - Phil had been born in the 80s so he was still a young warlock.

Ellie tuned back in to hear Phil still going on about the Shadowhunters. “Despite the influx of their kind into London these last few years, they rarely deign to come visit here.” He snorted. “I suppose they think it’s beneath them- they only come if we have something they want.”

Once, that might have spurred her to react but now she just shrugged. “Isn’t that the reason most people come here? Because the Market has something they want or need?”

He gave her a friendly grin. “Is that why you keep coming back?”

Ellie gave him a slightly hard smile. “Oh, you know me- I’m here for the atmosphere.” And then she froze because the Shadowhunter coming down the narrow aisle wasn’t just any Nephilim.

It was Tiberius Blackthorn.

Tiberius Blackthorn, as in the heart-stoppingly gorgeous, mysterious-yet-gentle and terrifyingly competent partner of her best friend, Kit Herondale. Neither of whom knew she visited the Shadow Market.

Ellie cursed and ducked behind Phil’s table before Ty could spot her.

[amchara-fic]

fic snippet from 'Herondales Don't Fail'

Samira’s shoulders slumped and she turned away. “I might as well just hand over the keys of the Institute now then, shall I?”

“God no, don’t do that,” Kit said lightly.

She snuck a glance over at him. “You don’t want to be head of the Institute?”

He shook his head, grinning at her.

She narrowed her eyes. This had to be a trick of his- she had heard that Herondales were wily strategists, although this was coming out of left field. She beat down that note of hope.

“Why not? You’re a Herondale; Evelyn is practically begging you to take over.”

Kit came over and took the dagger out her hand. “Nice ruby,” he said, hefting the blade and she could almost hear him thinking as he turned it over and it glinted in the light. “Looks similar to the ones I lifted out of the L.A. Institute.”

She rolled her eyes. “Teenage misdeeds, I’m sure.”

He handed the dagger back to her and hoisted himself up to sit on the narrow case that held some ceremonial swords. “I shouldn’t take over the Institute because I’m wholly unsuited to it,” he said. “I’ve broken Clave laws a lot - I’ve told my mundane friends about the Shadow World, I’ve been to mundane therapy, I’ve helped Downworlders escape Clave warrants, I’m definitely way closer to the mundane world than I should be…”

“I come from a mundane background,” Samira reminded him. “It seems to be less of a deal-breaker than it used to be. Plus, it doesn’t seem like breaking rules did Jace Herondale any harm.”

He let out a frustrated noise. “How about I just tell you- I don’t want to be head of the London Institute. Jace does a great job running the New York Institute but I’m not him. Fuck the Herondale name. Fuck its legacy,” he said, his blue eyes serious as he met her gaze.

There was a pause as they both sized the other up. “All right then…” Samira looked at him. “What do you want then, Kit Herondale?”

He gave a graceful shrug. “I dunno? To be a normal Shadowhunter, to go on patrols with my friends, to come back home to my brilliant boyfriend, maybe forge better ties between Shadowhunters and the London Downworld… I want to help rebuild the London Enclave however I can--” he said. “But I don’t want to be tied to it as head of an Institute. I hate meetings, politics… and paperwork.”

Samira felt tired. “You say this now…”

“Right- maybe, in say another decade,” Kit said. He smiled cheekily. “Maybe once you retire, I’ll reconsider.”

“Oi, I’m only four years older than you,” Samira said, but she was starting to see a plan come together. And he had said…

“So, you think I should be the next head?” she asked casually.

Kit looked surprised at her question. “Of course. You’re miles better than poshy mcposh face.”

“Jacob isn’t that bad,” she conceded.

“He’s also a Dearborn,” he muttered but backed down when she gave him a look.

“Bit rich from ‘I don’t want to be a Herondale-”

“I never said I didn’t want to be a Herondale,” Kit hastily corrected her. “I just want to be one in a different way.” He considered her question but quickly answered. “And maybe it’s petty of me with the Dearborn stuff but c’mon surely you don’t want to exchange one pale, stale male for another, just with a hotter accent. Plus, you’re a better Shadowhunter than him, right?”

“Definitely,” she shot back. “Better than you as well.”

Kit’s grin changed to one with a challenging, arrogant edge. “Oooh, I see how it is.” But it quickly softened as he jumped down and started walking for the door. “Let’s not argue semantics but say that you’re much better suited to running an Institute and I’m much better at-”

“Being Mr April on the Hot Shadowhunters calendar,” Samira quickly interjected and she saw his face jump in surprise.

“That was one time,” he said. “As a favour to Lily...”

“Sure, whatever you say, pretty boy,” she said.

His eyes lit up, happy that she no longer seemed to hate him and as they left the weapons room, he outlined the con he was planning to run on Evelyn to convince he was a terrible Shadowhunter and should under no accounts be trusted to run an Institute.

(unpublished story, I just was enjoying this exchange too much to have to finish the full draft before it gets posted)

[amchara-fic]

Ahh, my heart. :(

Oh wow, I have just gone through all the teasers for this fic and I am so excited to read it!

“Keep your eyes on the ball,” Magnus said gently. “You need to keep focusing.”

Max’s eyebrows frowned in concentration. Magnus wanted to lean forward and give him a kiss between his little horns.

“I’m sweating,” Max panted. 

“It’s your first time,” Magnus explained. “Magic becomes easier with time. Focus.”

Max frowned again but kept his eyes on the the ball floating between his palms. 

The little warlock had been ecstatic when he had found out his magic was blue. It wasn’t the same shade as his own of course. It was much lighter. The colour of the sky. 

Magnus thought it rather suited his son. Max was born to soar among the clouds. 

“When can I make portals?” Max asked and Magnus giggled.

“When you are taller than Rafe,” Magnus answered and his son pouted. 

“I’m never going to be taller than Rafe,” the boy complained. 

It might be true. Magnus wasn’t sure what the shadowhunters put in their food, but the boy was growing at an alarming rate.

“I want to make portals,” Max said. “I can do it. I can do anything.”

“Is that so? Can you clean your room then?” Magnus raised an eyebrow. 

“I can if you teach me more magic,” Max pointed out and Magnus couldn’t help  but chuckle. 

“You can’t use magic to do the house chores,” Magnus reminded his son. “Daddy came up with a rule, remember?”

Since the kids were old enough to pick up after themselves, Alec had taken upon himself to make a chore list for the family. Magnus neither liked chores nor lists. 

But he loved Alec. Some sacrifices had to be made in the name of love. 

“You use magic to clean the house when Daddy is not home!” Max argued. 

Magnus stared at this son. “Are you going to tell him?”

“If you teach me how to make portals I won’t,” Max grinned. 

The boy was only eight and he was into blackmail and fraud already. 

Max was going to be a problematic teenager. But damn if he wasn’t going to be an excellent warlock. 

“How about you don’t tell him and I’ll buy you ice cream?” Magnus asked. 

“Every day?”

“Not every day!” Magnus said, not wanting to get lectured by his husband. “Once a week.”

“Thrice a week.”

“Once.”

“Twice.”

Magnus chuckled. “Fine. Twice.”

“You will also do my chores with magic,” Max said. No - ordered. 

“Anything else, your majesty?” Magnus asked. 

“No. That’s all for now,” Max shrugged. 

Magnus notice the boy was keeping control of the ball with zero concentration. He couldn’t help but be proud of his little warlock. 

“You know if I do yours with magic I will have to do Rafe’s too, right?” Magnus asked. 

“Nope. Rafe likes doing chores,” Max said with shudder. 

“He does,” Magnus smiled fondly. “Just like Daddy.”

“What time are they coming back?” Max asked. “I need to borrow his seraph blade. I need to train.”

Magnus’ throat suddenly felt dry. They had been meaning to talk to him. But it was difficult. He had no idea how to start that conversation and he was terrified of how it will end. 

At times like this, Magnus just wanted to spill it out. But he couldn’t do it without Alec.

“Max,” Magnus started anyway. 

Max raised an arm to wipe away the sweat on his brow. His sweater - or Alec’s sweater - fell off his shoulder and Magnus noticed the mark. 

After all these years with his shadowhunter, Magnus had found his way around runes. He knew what they looked like. He knew what they meant. He knew this one too. 

Good luck. 

Max, who was due for his magic training with Magnus today, had drawn a good luck rune on his shoulder - probably with Magnus’ eyeliner. 

The little warlock had believed a rune from the angel would give him good luck to channel his power from hell. 

Magnus didn’t know how to explain it. A part of him didn’t want to do it at all. Alec had said they had to do it when the time was right. 

But when exactly was the right time to tell your child that their dream was a lie? When was the right time to tell Max that he was nothing more or less than a warlock?

When was the right time to tell Max he could always be with shadowhunters but never become one of them?

“Bapak!” Max called. “Your ball is gone.”

Magnus looked between his hands. He had lost focus. 

“I win!” Max yelled, his magic disappearing too. “I told you I can do anything.”

“Yes, you can,” Magnus said and let his son believe it to be true. “You can do anything, Max.”

LBAF - Days Past: Max 

[amchara-fic]

Yes, I love these! I don't know if we'll get much parabatai Simon and Clary in future books but I hope we do, as they are awesome together.

Give me Clary and Simon parabatai headcanons

Okay, I had to do some thinking, but I think I have some now.

They play video games together often (Clary wins a lot).

They go on trips to the comic book store together and always fangirl over them together.

They reminisce about their childhood together, and how they aren't those kids anymore, but if they could go back for a second to feel that way again they would. Just a second.

Simone often teases Clary about her height, even after years of knowing what she'll do to him when he does. She jumps on him and could on like no tomorrow.

Clary steals Simon's tshirts all the time (it's parabatai code to steal your parabatai's clothes).

When it comes to computers Clary and Simon are always the most knowledgeable in the room, something that pleases them both, and they usually have grins to show it.

They always support each other and encourage each other no matter what. "You and me, Fray. Always." Simon told her once.

They watch anime together, sometimes it's weird and Clary asks what it's about.

They both gush about their significant others together, but they don't say lmao.

They often use mundane slang, leaving Jace and Izzy confused. Until they slowly start to learn it themselves.

Clary has told Simon many things about Jace, Simon now knows even more how much of a softie Jace is. Simon does weaponize this.

Clary and Simon came up with an emergency noise they make when Isabelle is cooking.

When Simon needs help getting out of eating Izzy's cooking, Clar calls and says she needs her parabatai to go patrolling with her. Then they go Java Jones and drink coffee.

They train together just like every other parabatai duo, and they enjoy it a lot. They also joke around a lot.

They both had a staring contest once, concerning Jace for a brief moment. as he did not know what was going on, nor what a staring contest was.

When they watch movies or shows together they snuggle with each other, especially if it's a horror movie.

They are very affectionate with each other. giving kisses on the cheek, forehead, or the too of the head, and hugs of course.

Clary once spilled some things to Rebecca (Simon's sister) and then had an "ah, shit" moment. Simon burst out in laughter, because even unintentionally Clary broke the law (technically).

Clary goes with Simon when he visits George's grave, holding his hand the entire time.

Like a loyal friend, Clary always suffers through Simon's band's terrible poetry readings, and concerts (that was until she started sneaking away to get tacos with Alec).

Hopefully you enjoy these 😘

[amchara-fic]

Ty and Kit in the middle of their awkward reunion mutual stare when Mina senses a disturbance in the force and tackles Kit

Kit goes easily and rolls so he hits the ground first. Mina ruthlessly tickles him. He pretends to be greatly inconvenienced and hurt by her merciless attack in between bursts of laughter; "I think you did it, I think you've finally killed me" and she cackles and holds his nose shut while he pretends to die, tongue sticking out and everything

Ty watches this all happen in real time and realizes he's just somehow fallen MORE in love with Kit???

[amchara-fic]

AHHHH, I LOVE THIS THEORY. (way better than my sad one as to why the carstairs owe the herondales)

my theory for cot is that james will be the one to get cordelia out of the paladin thing with lillth and because of that the carstairs will owe the herondales. 

my guess is that he’ll make a deal with lillth that he’ll let belial take over his body and allow cordelia to stab him w cortana in exchange for cordelia’s freedom. 

but!!!! we know that belial owns jem a favor because of gotsm, so I think that, since we know james can’t die, jem will do something to save james’ life and by extension belial.   

[amchara-fic]

Ugh, Raphael. One of the best TMI secondary characters. Loved his and Magnus's relationship.

Raphael Santiago

“I think you’re fairly strong,“ said Magnus. ”And you have quite a lot of self-control. Look how you sternly repress all the hero worship you are longing to show me that you feel.“ ”It is sometimes an exercise of real self-control not to laugh in your face,“ Raphael said gravely. ”That much is true.”

[amchara-fic]

And Kit blushes but starts showing off a bit. And then kind of trips or messes up somehow and Ty jumps up to help... and they end up kissing in the corner of the training room (but of course jump apart when others walk in- Emma pretends not to notice)

After they reunite, Ty sometimes watches Kit train like. I am looking respectfully. Sometimes you can't help but notice your crush has been really working out for the last two years you were apart.

Kit asks if he wants to train too, which is a mistake: Ty kills him instantly by answering with a "I'm enjoying watching you".

[amchara-fic]

you know what would have been great? if ron got sorted into slytherin.

imagine– we have this kid on the train, the first friend harry meets, with his corned beef sandwiches and smudged nose. ron is eleven years old and he wants gryffindor, because he’s a weasley and that’s what always happens. but it doesn’t happen.

what a way to redeem slytherin house– or, god, at least complicate it. because ron is petty. he is mean and sharp and ambitious and jealous– and he is loyal to the ends of the earth. he is all those things, and he is and always has been good.

potter becomes before weasley in the alphabet, so harry says not slytherin please and gets told might as well be gryffindor. percy and fred and george are all sitting there in red and gold, ruffling the already-ruffled hair of the boy who lived, smug, and then ron sits down and the hat spits out slytherin!

c'mon it’d be fun. just imagine–

the weasleys freaking out– but even that first christmas molly sends him a sweater in beautiful green and silver.

snape taking points from gryffindor when ron breaks rules or mouths off. “i’m in your house.” “hm, couldn’t tell which weasley it was…” /drifts away

sitting with harry in potions and in flying– whatever classes they happen to share. meeting up to study. scarfing down their breakfasts at separate tables so they can go hang out in the empty classrooms before the day starts. hermione reads while they play exploding snap.

the trio signing up for all the same electives third year. this friendship being something they earn and work for; not just the one that looked easiest. (not to bash canon ron&harry, the bros to end all bros, but by putting this very obvious obstacle between them– it makes it that much clearer to the reader that this is a love worth fighting for, because they’re fighting for it).

ron being jealous that harry and hermione get to share this house, this home, these hours, while he’s stuck with malfoy and parkinson and goyle– because that would eat him up some days, some months, this insecure kid who’s been the last at everything all his life. this kid who always leaves and always comes back.

ron, who constantly compares himself to his brothers– not as smart, not as popular, not as good. one more nail in that coffin, here, yeah? he’s not a prefect, not a quidditch star, not a troublemaker– and even when he becomes those things, someone else has always gotten there first. 

well, i guess he got to this house first at least

ron still snaps at snape in potions, after hermione’s been ignored three times, “you know, sir, i think hermione might know the answer.” he still pulls the bars off harry’s window with a stolen, flying car. he still shows harry around the burrow shyly, not knowing what a wonder a warm home is. he still stands up in the shrieking shack as best as he can with a broken leg and tells a mass murderer that if he wants harry he’ll have to go through him first. 

ron weasley is a lot of things, but one of them is absolutely a true friend.

in their second year:

when everyone calls harry the heir, they eye ron at his side and sniff.

when hermione lays petrified in the medical ward, ron sits at her side and reads her homework assignments aloud and thinks my house this was my house. 

when ron hugs ginny’s damp, shaking frame after the chamber, ron says sorry and sorry and are you okay and i’m so sorry and ginny calls him an idiot.

the trio spends more time in the library with hermione, since ron can’t come to gryffindor tower to study, and homework remains a thing that has to happen. fred and george constantly try to sneak him into the tower anyway. 

“c'mon, ronnykins, you belong here, you deserve it, no one’s gonna fuss, it’s your BIRTHRIGHT,” and ron fusses and rolls his eyes at them

and then in fourth year in one of those periods where he’s not talking to harry and harry’s not talking to him– he just snaps at the twins

because it’s not, alright?

not his birthright, not his house, and maybe no one would fuss if he snuck in, maybe no one would care, and that makes it worse not better, because then he’s just that weasley who should’ve been gryffindor

and isn’t

(and harry overhears this caterwauling, feels his heart fall to his toes, and goes and awkwardly asks ron if he wants to go a few laps on his firebolt). 

(because, god, harry-the-chosen-one, harry-in-the-cupboard-under-the-stairs, harry-who’ll-save-us-all– he knows what it’s like to have should have beens on your shoulders, and he knows what it’s like to not be wanted).

ron cheers for gryffindor during quidditch matches in those first few years, and sits with hagrid and hermione and neville. harry’s seeker, and fred and george are beaters, and ginny becomes chaser eventually, and honestly screw the slytherin team. they have each and every one of them said disparaging things about ron’s mother.

harry and hermione badger ron into trying out for keeper fourth year; he and harry have been practicing on the quidditch pitch because its a non-library-shaped place to hang out where both of them are allowed. ron makes the slytherin roster, and malfoy grudgingly provides ron a team broom after the captain chews him out for a bit.

“he may be a weasley, but he’s our keeper, don’t you want to win, draco”

but the sort of things they spit in the locker room, the words the players hiss or snigger, the slurs that come easy to their tongues– ron would like to say that he considered just walking out of the cesspit, but instead he snipes and sasses and shouts and sometimes tries to spell slugs at the worst of them. 

it doesn’t do much, that one irritated voice of protest– except that it does. and he’s got a new (hand-me-down) wand, after the gilderoy fiasco, so the slugs even come out the right end.

fred gives him a black eye with a bludger one time (though ron does manage to block the quaffle) and molly sends a howler to gryffindor table with the morning post. (“RON DID YOU TATTLE”) (“IT WAS CLEARLY PERCY, FRED, SIT DOWN”)

(the weasleys often have family conversations across the great hall, with hufflepuffs and ravenclaws covering their ears long-sufferingly between them)

in the lake, it’s still ron hanging there in the water, still and bloated. it’s still harry’s heart that stutters in his chest, for all it’s just a game, just a game, just a game, right?

ron listens hard and tries to talk himself out of fist fights, all that next year in the slytherin common room as they read aloud rita skeeter articles.

when hermione calls dumbledore’s army to its first session in that pub, there are green scarves in that crowd– ron and one of the beaters who ron’s gotten to help glare to rest of the slytherin quidditch team into submission.

ron beats draco to being prefect (i think i remember it was dumbledore and not mcgonagall who seemed to award prefect status– snape doesn ’t get a say).

percy is SO PROUD, as usual, but so are fred and george. “did you see the little malfoy git? green with shame, my god.”

when harry has the dream about sirius, ron isn’t there to wake. but when draco’s pulled out of bed to be a professional bully– er, i mean inquisitorial squad member– ron follows at a careful distance and curses draco from behind. 

they ride thestrals over london. harry finds the prophecy and ron thinks about the sorts of things that get decided at your birth.  

sirius black was a son of slytherin who had a lion living in his chest that he couldn’t hide away. 

ron was meant to be gryffindor, and through a haze of injury and fear he watches sirius die just out of harry’s reach.

just imagine: ron with his temper and his sharp words and his fierce loyalty. ron who looks into the mirror of erised and sees house cups and prefect badges and ambitions earned– he could belong in slytherin. there is nothing wrong with wanting things, and he wants them so bad.

there are so many reasons to fight a war, and so many ways. harry and his sacrifices, his loving resignation. hermione’s good right hook and bottomless bag of supplies. luna, brilliant and a bit batty. lee jordan’s radio and mcgonagall’s burning patience and brittle, certain bones.

just imagine: when the last battle comes, there is a slytherin on the field who is not snape.

when draco and his parents walk away, in that last battle, ron–

who slept in the same dormitory as the boy for six years

who heard draco’s nightmares and saw him paling and desperate all sixth year

who is as pureblooded as lucius’s spoiled whelp

who remembers grimacing at the thought of squibs

who has known magic all his life

who spotted draco penning letters home to his mother every sunday and hiding them when the other boys could see–

ron sees them going.

he sounds no alarms. he says no farewells.

he turns back to his friends, and his fight, and lets them be.

just imagine: when harry kneels on the train platform and his second son asks him “but what if i get sorted slytherin, dad?” harry can say, “the bravest man i ever knew was in slytherin house. whatever you are, wherever you go, we’re going to be so proud of you.“ 

and they can both gaze over to where ron is squawking beside his daughter’s trolley of luggage because crookshanks (who will live to be forty eight million years old) has latched onto his shins with a violent fondness.

[amchara-fic]

My wild, out-there theory is that Cordelia/Matthew happens, Cordelia gets pregnant and somehow Matthew disappears or worse, dies (*sobs*) and James and Cordelia eventually get back together and raise the baby, alongside their own children.

Hence- the Carstairs owe the Herondales...

Like, I don't love this idea actually playing out in canon but... it could fit in with the bittersweet themes of TLH.

(am Fairstairs shipper but I sadly don't see a happy ending for them in canon- but at least they'll always have Paris)

@belle-keys @azure301

Cordelia be like “I do not love Matthew but I shall compare him to a different Renaissance angel every time I see him and analyze all the different shades of the forest I see in his eyes and also pointedly remark whenever I see his forearms, indeed”

[amchara-fic]

Excellent analysis of why George failed to Ascend. I hate it but it's very accurate.

I was talking with @fair-but-wilde-child the other day about how it seems like George Lovelace’s death came out of left field for a lot of people and didn’t serve any purpose other than being a random pointless angst hit right at the end of the book. But I never felt that way. I always felt like George’s failure to Ascend made a lot of sense in the story. (Which is not the same thing as saying it was a good thing he died, or that he deserved to die, please don’t send me hate anons accusing me of being a George-anti)

For starters, he’s a foil to Simon. They’re opposites who start in the same position. Simon is scrawny and nerdy, George is athletic and sporty. Both of them are initially put in the Shadowhunter course despite being mundanes, and they have opposite reactions to it. George is willing to go along with it and keep from making waves, but Simon quickly stands up for what he thinks is right. George follows right after because he’s a good person who does tend to make the right choices, but he never has that conviction in his opinions to stand up for them on his own first.

George is still a good person, despite this. George is kind and generous and funny. He’s a natural peacemaker. He’s well liked.

So why didn’t George become a Shadowhunter if he was a good person? One of the biggest themes running through all of the TFtSA stories is how Shadowhunters do not value these traits, to their detriment. Shadowhunters don’t care if you’re a good and kind person, they care if you’re a good warrior. And Shadowhunters can be very terrible people themselves.

Shadowhunters value justice—even when it means being cruel—bravery, and competence in battle. And the biggest thing George lacks is that competence in battle. We get two looks at the Academy kids on actual Shadowhunting missions. They’re all disasters on the first one, but by the second, they all have their shit together. All of them except George.

There’s a brief reference to him hesitating in battle.

And Robert Lightwood makes a point in his story about what hesitation in battle means.

Then Catarina expresses some uncertainty about his ability to lead a mission, which Simon overlooks because he loves George as a person.

And then there’s his actual mission. He makes bad choices that risk everyone’s safety from the get-go.

Splitting up, then pairing himself with Simon instead of doing all Shadowhunter/mundane pairs, hanging back to joke with Simon while the others go on ahead, into what turns out to be a trap, which gets Marisol hurt, and then showing no awareness of his surroundings by charging straight after the faerie he saw, which would have caused him to illegally trespass into Faerie if Simon hadn’t stopped him, but which Simon’s panicking horse knocked Simon into anyway. This is the only time we’re really shown how George acts in an actual battle, and the whole thing was a disaster that he was badly suited for.

George was a good person, but his good traits were ones that Shadowhunters don’t place any importance on. With his peacemaking nature and ability to smooth over awkward and uncomfortable situations, he could have been an asset in negotiating with Downworlders, but peacemaking isn’t a trait valued by the Angel.

Not valuing these traits makes Shadowhunter culture, as a whole, worse, which Simon notes again and again through the stories, and which culminates in him witnessing George’s horrific death. The Shadowhunters are worse for rejecting people like George, for seeing anyone who isn’t a Shadowhunter as lesser, and for the cruelty of their justice.

[amchara-fic]

discuss (insp.)

[amchara-fic]

Ahh, that is all I want for Kit. To come back to the Shadow world in TWP, having had years of unconditional love from Jem and Tessa, a sibling relationship with Mina and a circle of friends, including a best friend who accept him for who he is, without the Herondale or Lost Heir baggage. And therapy, of course.

So I uh, might have wrote it? https://archiveofourown.org/works/32714713/chapters/81161776

(sorry for the self-promotion but also- just in case anyone else is also craving this scenario- and I would love to see other people's takes on it!)

@foxglove-airmid @sandersgrey

Tired: Kit showing up with a girlfriend/boyfriend when he and Ty next see each other and Ty getting jealous

Wired: Kit showing up with a best friend

[amchara-fic]

Fanfic writer problems: TSC edition

Reading a bunch of really great Tessa/Jem and Tessa/Jem/Will smut

and then,

having to go back and write them as Kit's parents. (or James and Lucie's parents)

[amchara-fic]

Out of context Shadow and Bone but it's progressively getting worse 4/5

[amchara-fic]

YES. All of this. Practically why I'm writing a story covering the years in-between TDA and TWP, where I'm giving Kit a chance to have a more normal life (normal-ish) with Jem and Tessa, allowing him to have a more normal family experience and realise that what he went through before was fucked up. Because you know that TWP is going to put him through an emotional wringer and I JUST WANT TO MAKE SURE HE HAS A CHANCE TO BE HAPPY.

...

Yep.

My story -> Effortless (Or, the time Kit almost earned an A-level)

can we just take a moment to talk about how shitty kit’s childhood actually was because i feel like no one ever talks about it, and it’s obvious in so many scenes that johnny rook did nOt show this kid love...

first of all, he wasn’t even really allowed to leave the house.

“Shadow Market nights were Kit’s favorite.

They were the nights he was allowed to leave the house”

+

“After that his father kept him at home, mostly, letting him teach himself out of old books. He played video games in the basement and went out rarely, during the day, or when the Shadow Market was on.”

like ???? he wasn’t allowed to leave the house, and his dad made him stay at home and teach himself out of old books. johnny rook didn’t even teach him himself, he didn’t even give him a tutor, he just kept kit at home, and kit had to teach himself.

also, this:

“His father put an arm around him, a rare affectionate gesture.”

meaning that he was never really shown affection...

and when magnus met johnny rook and their conversation went like this:

“Kit. He’s a good boy. Growing like a sprout. Quick hands, very useful in my line of work.”

“You have your child picking pockets?”

“Some of that. Some passing on trifles like keys. Some sleight of hand. All sorts. He’s multitalented.”

“Isn’t he about ten years old?” Magnus asked.

Johnny shrugged. “He’s very advanced.”

if this is how his own father treated him—barely gave him any attention except for the fact that he was useful for his “line of work”—it would explain why kit was so sure that if he didn’t help ty in qoaad, ty would shut him out, and kit would lose him. because kit is used to getting the most attention when he’s useful.

and can we please talk about this:

“He had never had anyone but his father, and he was sure beyond any words that his father had never loved him like that.”

+

“My dad knew me, and he didn’t care. Don’t say he did. I know he didn’t. But he loved my mom, apparently, so it wasn’t that he couldn’t love anyone. It was that he couldn’t love me. And—and the—and—nobody else has, either.”

+

“Jem did know enough to see Johnny Rook must have done something truly wrong, if he’d had all Kit’s life to show him that he was loved and never convinced him.”

kit spent fifteen years being raised by only his dad, and his dad was the only constant in his life (+ the shadow market but i’m getting to that in a second) and his father never loved him. the one person kit had ever loved, aka his own father, never loved him back, and kit was fully aware of that fact.

and this part with the shadow market:

“You cannot wash the taint from your blood. I’m telling you for the last time, boy—leave the Market. And don’t come back.”

Kit backed up, looking around him—seeing, as if for the first time, the faces turned toward him, most blank and unfriendly, many avidly curious.”

remember when he said that shadow market nights were his favorite because those were the nights he was allowed to leave the house? or how at ease he was in the prologue of lm, and how comfortable he was around the shadow market? this was probably the closest thing to a home kit has ever had, and when he tried to go back to it after losing his dad, he was shunned.

and you know how when a child has been neglected and no one has ever really been there for them, they stop crying at all because they know no one will be there for them anyway? do you think that’s how it was with kit for a long time, and that’s why he didn’t even cry when his dad died and why he thinks he’s not able to “feel properly”?

“Kit had never had siblings, never had a mother, had only had Johnny. His father. His father who had died, and he didn’t think he’d ever looked the way Ty looked now, as if the possibility of something happening to Livvy was enough to break him inside.”

+

“Maybe there was something wrong with him, Kit thought as he followed Alec into the hallway. Maybe he didn’t have the right kind of feelings. He’d never wondered that much about his mother, who she was: Wouldn’t someone who knew how to feel properly wonder that?”

also later in this scene with alec when kit says:

“I’m no one, though,” he said, taking the box full of bandages. “Why would he care what I think? I don’t matter. I’m nothing.”

+ this scene with jem:

“I know that you and Tessa took me in because of Will. And I’m—I’m grateful, I want to—I can be like—”

kit thinking he’s not good enough if he’s “just himself “ because he doesn’t think he matters, and him thinking that he has to be more like will for jem and tessa to want him...

and the rooftop scene of course:

“Kit had never been a casual hugger, and no one had ever, that he could remember, come to him for comforting. He wasn’t a comforting sort of person. He’d always assumed that.”

he’d always assumed that ?????

in conclusion, someone needs to give kit herondale a hug and tell him that he is great just the way he is and that they love him

[amchara-fic]

Feels so seen

*cowering behind pillow* plz don’t kill me, Writeblrs….