#am I reading too many shadowhunter books or why am I suddenly also afraid of ducks?

[tys-kitty]

Taking a stroll through St. James Park when I suddenly spot a Herondale‘s biggest nightmare

[cassandraclare]

Our December flash fiction piece, A Lightwood Christmas Carol, is the second part of a two part story. If you didn't read part one last month, or want to refresh your memory, click here:

Otherwise, read on!

PART 2

“So,” Gideon said to Will the next night as they patrolled together in Mayfair, “the whole thing was a wash. I’m not murdering some poor bastard’s dog.”

Patrol with Will was normally a relaxing experience for Gideon. They enjoyed each other’s company, and demons had become so scarce in London that almost all of the time it was only a night stroll with a friend. Will even periodically recommended that they investigate for any suspicious activity in some local public house known to him.

Tonight, of course, there would be no ordering a quick round as a cover story for interrogating, i.e. merrily chatting up, the barstaff; Will was far too full of Christmas spirit. He had insisted on taking them by Trafalgar Square and spent many minutes in admiration of its temporary giant tree, and had stopped—twice!—to admire groups of carolers and applaud them. Gideon was bearing up well, he thought, considering. He even got into the spirit a very tiny amount, which is to say he was willing to eat some of the roast chestnuts Will bought.

Now Tatiana (and the dog news) had deflated Will’s mood, and Gideon felt a little badly about it. Will was frowning thoughtfully. “Why not just offer her money?” he said.

Gideon sighed. “Because Tatiana has plenty of money, all of our family money. And Gabriel and I have only our salaries as Shadowhunters. She doesn’t need money.”

Will looked scornful. “Everybody likes more money.”’

“Normally I would agree with you,” Gideon said, shaking his head, “but you did not see Tatiana’s state of mind. She cannot be approached in the way you would approach a rational person. I must do this task for her, but of course I cannot. Hurt a dog, of all things. I would never. Disgusting.”

Will stood looking past him for a long moment, and eventually Gideon said, “Will?”

“We will take care of it,” Will suddenly said. His gaze snapped back to Gideon’s face, and he was smiling. “We will give Tatiana what she wants, and we will not hurt any animals in the process.”

“We?” said Gideon, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s my plan,” Will said reasonably. “So obviously I’ll be along.”

Despite himself, a smile played at the edges of Gideon’s mouth. That was the one thing he had over Tatiana, after all. He wasn’t alone.

###

The front door of Chiswick House swung open with somewhat more speed than it had two days prior, and Tatiana’s suspicious face appeared. She was wearing the same dress she had been wearing before, to Gideon’s dismay. In her left hand she carried the cleaned skull of some unidentifiable small mammal; Gideon didn’t wish to inquire why.

Tatiana’s glare quickly moved from Gideon to Will, who was bopping up and down nervously behind him. Will had insisted on coming, against Gideon’s better judgment, and only now did he realize the possibility that Tatiana might not even see him if Will was along.

Will, for his part, did his best. “Hullo, Tatiana my love,” he said. “Many greetings of the season! How excellently you’ve kept up the place.”

Tatiana blinked at him, startled out of whatever she had been about to shout. Gideon knew that Will had three good nips of brandy in him, and reckoned that was probably the best way to handle the situation. Meet the unexpected with the unexpected.

“Why have you brought my nemesis to my house?” Tatiana said, in the same tone she might have used if she were asking why Gideon had failed to return a book he’d borrowed.

“Crikey,” said Will. “Nemesis? Tatiana, I bear you no ill will. Have I ever, even once, interfered with your life? With your going about your business?”

“Yes,” said Tatiana. “Twice. Once when you murdered my husband, and once when you murdered my father.”

Will made a choked noise. “I murdered your father because he murdered your husband! And I didn’t murder him, he’d changed into some kind of great serpent.”

“A worm, Will,” said Gideon quietly. “He was a giant worm. Not a serpent.”

“As I remember,” said Will, “it were a great wyrm, from the depths of the Abyss, that we dispatched.”

“It was not,” said Gideon.

“It was my father,” ground out Tatiana, “and I wish to know, Gideon, why you have brought him here? I asked you to perform a task for me.”

“And I have performed it,” Gideon said briskly. “Mr. Herondale was good enough to come along, to help protect me from this most vicious of dogs that you described.”

“It’s actually quite vicious,” Will agreed.

“If you’ll just let us come in,” Gideon said.

Tatiana squinted at both of them as if trying to see through a possible glamour. “Well, come in, then. But you won’t get tea.”

“Tatiana,” Will said with an understanding chuckle. “There’s obviously no way I would ever consume any food or drink at your house.”

This was going rather well, Gideon thought.

Ensconced back in his father’s office, with no tea offered nor taken, Tatiana said, “Well?”

Gideon reached into his jacket and lay a dog’s collar, a weathered length of leather cord, down on the desktop with a flourish.

Tatiana looked at it and then up at him. “What is this?”

“It is the dog’s collar,” Gideon said. “A trophy of our dispatching it.”

She looked at it again. “This tells me nothing. You could simply have taken the collar off of that dog.”

“Madam,” said Will, “if I may? No man could possibly have taken the collar off of that dog. I would advise no man to put their hand within several feet of that dog’s neck, if they wish to retain said hand. Now that that collar is off, no man could ever put it back on.” He spoke in serious tones.

“I need something more,” Tatiana said. “If you killed the dog, you must know where it is. Go back and bring me the dog’s tail, or something.”

“Tatiana,” Gideon began, but Will interrupted.

“If I may again,” he said, “the dog resides on the far side of the very tall and very pointy iron fence that stands between the dog’s property and the road. Climbing over that fence at all is a feat that I would advise only the most well-trained of Shadowhunters to attempt once, and I would recommend they do it empty-handed, rather than carrying some random bit of dog. I’m afraid that the collar will have to suffice.”

Tatiana sat back and shook her head, dissatisfaction wrinkling her mouth. “Proof that you have dispatched the dog,” she said, “and not merely that you have encountered it.”

Gideon waited for Will to jump in again, but Will was silent. He seemed unsure how to proceed. Finally, he said, “Tatiana, give him the papers. Because it’s Christmas.”

“What?” said Gideon in disbelief.

Tatiana looked at Will with loathing. “Mundane holidays are meaningless to me.”

“I should have guessed, yes,” muttered Will.

“Please,” said Gideon, at the end of his rope. “My son—he’s…he’s like your son.” Tatiana stared at him in silence for a moment, so he pressed on. “He’s…he’s very small, and he’s often ill, and we worry about his survival. We worry about when we will put Marks on him. Like you do, with your son.”

Tatiana continued to watch Gideon in silence with a lizard-like stare.

“I know we do not see eye-to-eye on our family history,” he said doggedly, and ignored Will’s quiet hmph! from beside him. “But we are family nevertheless, and we may both have…inherited something. From our father. Something we’ve now passed to our sons. I must look through the papers to see if there is any clue there.”

She stared for a long and agonizing moment, and then she said, “Get out of my house.”

“Tatiana,” he began.

“How dare you compare your son and mine!” she said, her voice rising in volume. “Anyone could guess where the weakness in your son originates, and it is obviously with your decision to mix your blood with the most mundane you could find!” Her voice had risen to a shout.

“Sophie is an Ascended Shadowhunter!” Will shouted back, staunchly, and Gideon realized he was happy that Will was there.

“I don’t care!” Tatiana shouted. “My son is of the blood of two of the oldest of the Shadowhunter families. He is not weak like your son. Go back to your weakness, Gideon. Get out of my sight, get out of my house, and do not darken my door again. I have not missed your company, nor your brother’s, and I am relieved that my child will not grow up under the corrupting influence of either of you.”

Gideon made to stand up, but Will said “Tatiana, if I may yet again,” and he sat back down. Tatiana glowered at him. “I think,” Will went on, in a newly serious tone, “that if you and I could step outside into the hallway for a moment and talk in private—just for a moment. Give me three minutes, that is all. And after that, we will depart and we promise never to return. Right, Gideon?”

Gideon did not much wish to promise never to return to the house he’d grown up in, so he only said, “Whatever you wish.”

Tatiana examined Will’s face carefully, and then said, “You have two minutes, starting from this moment.” She rose from her seat and made for the door.

“Will, what are you—” Gideon began.

Will put the tip of his finger to his lips to quiet Gideon. “Trust me,” he said. “I believe that I can create a Christmas miracle.”

Helplessly Gideon watched his sister and his friend depart and close the door behind them. The seconds ticked by. Two minutes passed, then another two, then three more.

Then Tatiana came back into the room, followed by Will. Gideon tried to read Will’s expression, but it was neutral, nonchalant.

In Tatiana’s hands were two notebooks, packed with loose papers supplementing their own contents. Their covers, and the loose pages, were densely smeared with soot. “The papers of Benedict Lightwood,” she said. “You do not deserve them. And I am not gifting them to you. They are part of the house, and the house is mine, and they are also mine. You shall have them to peruse or copy at your leisure for the term of one week, and if they are not returned by that date, in their original condition, may the Angel have mercy on your souls. Both of you,” she added in Will’s direction.

Will threw up his hands in surrender. “I really just came for the dog-wrestling.”

Wondering, Gideon took the papers from her. He turned to look at Will, who murmured to him, “A Christmas miracle,” with a small smile.

#

“Come now,” Gideon said in the carriage on the way back from Chiswick, “what did you say to Tatiana to make her concede?”

It was snowing, that rare snow with very little wind, so flakes fell in a picturesque fluttering, rather than battering at the carriage like they might have as they made their way through Hammersmith, back in the direction of Central London. Will leaned back in his seat and gazed out the window.

“Well, if you must know,” he said, “I delivered an extremely well-considered speech, touching on the topics of the importance of family, the virtue of forgiveness, the need for all Shadowhunters to be allied in the fight against demons, the smallness of the sacrifice being asked of her, the pointlessness of revenge, and, of course, the giving nature of the season.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” said Will eagerly. “And then, I counted banknotes totalling two hundred British pounds sterling directly into her hand.”

“Will!” said Gideon, shocked.

“I told you,” Will said airily. “Everyone likes money. Even mad revenge-seeking sisters, with the dried blood of their husbands on their frocks, like money.”

Gideon was flummoxed. It was an enormous sum. “You didn’t have to do that, Will,” he said. “She doesn’t deserve the money.”

“What she doesn’t deserve,” Will said hotly, “is the moral victory. It was money well-spent to be gone from that house.”

Gideon opened the journals, marveling at Will Herondale. His financial standing was better than Gideon’s own, surely, but two hundred pounds was an enormous amount of money, well more than Will could throw away on a lark. And yet he’d not hesitated to wield that money for Gideon’s sake, had in fact, Gideon now realized, brought the money with him on purpose.

So strange, Gideon thought with a sidelong look at Will, who continued harrumphing to himself quietly in victory. At this moment this boy he’d despised as a child was more his family than his own actual sister. And he found he was able to accept that. A Christmas miracle indeed.

“I really had better return these to Tatiana in a week,” he said, examining the journals again before he started reading. “Or she’s like to set a demon on me.”

Will chuckled. “Ha. Maybe she would at that.”

Gideon paused. “She might, you know. All jokes aside. It’s a legitimate possibility.”

“It is,” agreed Will, a little more grimly.

Minutes passed, during which Gideon skimmed the papers, frowning. After a time he found himself back at the beginning, and he wrinkled his brow, bemused.

Will turned back from where he had been watching the Bath Road go by. “What is it?” he said.

“There’s nothing here,” Gideon said, frustrated. “Plenty of terrible things, of course. My father was a…a…” He struggled for the right word.

“Monster?” suggested Will.

“Pervert,” said Gideon carefully. He shuffled through the pages until he found one that was only an elaborate diagram his father had made up in pencil and showed it to Will.

Will blinked at it. “Jiminy,” he said.

“But there’s nothing here that would cause weakness or fragility in his descendants,” Gideon went on. “No curses, no hexes, no demon poisons….”

“Only the pox, then,” Will said dryly.

“Yes, but that isn’t hereditary,” Gideon said. “We looked into that years ago for our own sakes.” He shuffled the papers. “All that trouble, and for nothing. Thomas remains frail and I remain unable to do anything for him.”

There was a silence and then Will said, “Gideon, it is Christmastime, and Christmas is a time to tell the truth. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“If you say so,” Gideon said, waving his hand. From his experience Christmas a time to sing in the street and eat a goose, but who knew what strange traditions Will had from his mundane childhood. “In any event, I’d agree you should tell the truth whatever the time of year.”

“Gideon,” Will said, clapping his hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “There is nothing wrong whatsoever with Thomas.”

Gideon sighed. “That’s very kind of you to say, Will, but—”

“But nothing. Thomas is just small. Sometimes children are small. He’s not cursed or hexed.”

“He gets sick,” Gideon pressed. “All the time.”

Will laughed. “Do you have any idea how sick Cecily was as an infant? She was colicky, and then she had fevers…she cried more than she slept, those first few years.”

“And then what?”

Will threw up his hands. “And then nothing! She grew! She fell ill less and less often. That is the way of children. And we did not have terrifying mute telepathic doctors to take care of us. Does Thomas eat? Does he exert himself when he does feel well?”

“Yes,” Gideon admitted.

“Well then,” said Will, leaning back as if his point was made. “Put your mind aside from your supposed cursed family. Tatiana’s son is sickly—does that surprise you, now you’ve seen the house? Now you’ve seen Tatiana? No, of course not.” He looked at Gideon intently. “Thomas’s only trouble,” he said firmly, “is that he is an adorable wee thing.”

Gideon stared at Will. Then he broke into laughter. Will laughed too, his usual hearty chuckle, and Gideon found himself feeling better. He was still worried about Thomas—he would be for a few years, he knew, until the boy had passed the time of worrisome childhood ailments and could be protected with runes—but he felt better nonetheless. He had thought of many ways he might feel on the way back from his sister’s house, but “better” had not been one of them.

“Christmas miracle,” Will whispered gleefully.

Well, thought Gideon. Some kind of miracle, anyway.

[aleniksimmer]

Hi. Thanks again to all the people who left a message in these days. I still can’t believe a week has passed. I miss her every day and I still expect to find her around every time I go out. In the end my family decided to leave her to the hospital (I was the only one wanting to bury her in the garden so the majority won). I’m not happy with it, I don’t know why but I feel wrong leaving her there and not bringing her home. It’s extremely irrational and since she has been my first dog I still can’t explain it, but I feel like acting like this it’s like we aren’t treating her as part of our family, as if she never existed. My mother said we’ve plenty of pictures to remember her and don’t need her phisically here, and rationally speaking is true, but at the same time I wanted something more material to remember her. I even suggested to my mother who spoke to the doctor if they can at least give me a tooth, and she cringed a lot. I explained her that parents usually save their kids teeth when they fall (damn I even have my ombelical cord saved somewhere because she wanted to) but she said it’s not the same. They even refused to send me their pics of her cause they’re “afraid for my mental health” and don’t want to hear me cry again. I don’t know what to do or how to deal with the situation, I know mourning is made of steps, I read how to deal with it in the best way possible, and I’m not crying as much as before and sometimes I can talk about her in a “normal” way, but I still miss her and I don’t know how if I’m doing the right thing. Plus I have this constant inside war of both missing her as herself and missing having a dog, and I feel guilty about it. I am sure I am not trying to replace her, she was unique and no dog can be like her, and if God would give me the choice of a new puppy or her back I would take her in a heartbit, but at the same time I’m missing the love dogs give you. I know I’m taking care of two cats, and I love them to death, but their displays of affection are different. Am I making any sense? Am I a horrible person for wanting another dog in the near future? Not immediatly, I couldn’t deal with it immediatly, I’m still dealing with her loss. Like, in a month or two, is it normal? Am I superficial? I already have regrets about Mandorla, not too many, but there are a couple of things I would have liked to experience with her like taking her out for a walk with her new collar (we only used it to bring her to the vet for the shots), giving her a bath in spring with the new service the pet shop offered, making her reunite with my cat after her convalescience, staying with her during the whole new year “party” cause she’s afraid of fireworks, etc..I didn’t expect her to be gone so suddenly.

Sorry for the long text..I just wanted to give an update but then got caught up...anyway, as you can see from my last post I’ve updated the Ahri set you can download from TSR, I’ve changed the names of the files and the thumbnails to match future sets (they should be gold in CAS). I’ve also uploaded Evelynn set to TSR and it should be available for download on Sunday. (please ignore the very bad pose, I might have lost my touch, and if you find any mistake please contact me. With everything that happened I find very difficult to focus and I had to redo the preview 3 times before I got them right, or at least I hope they are)

Regarding what’s coming next I don’t know. I just found out that Netflix made a series about Winx with real people (I’m trying not to judge but they have been my childhood and the series has Shadowhunters series vibe which I can’t stand due to all the changes they made compared to the original books) and I asked myself “why not trying with that” but I’ve already lost the inspiration and again I don’t know how good something will come out due to my lack of concentration. Like creating is my safe heaven that helps me zoom out from reality but at the same time I get frustrated if I keep making mistakes like it happened with Evelynn previews. As I said before, Miraculous is a no for now, I might continue with KDA popstars but I don’t want to burn it all out again and publish the next set in two years like this one..basically I’m open to suggestions for next creations.

[tlhnetwork]

DECEMBER’s Chain of Gold Flash Fiction by Cassandra Clare

A Lightwood Christmas Carol

PART 2

“So,” Gideon said to Will the next night as they patrolled together in Mayfair, “the whole thing was a wash. I’m not murdering some poor bastard’s dog.”

Patrol with Will was normally a relaxing experience for Gideon. They enjoyed each other’s company, and demons had become so scarce in London that almost all of the time it was only a night stroll with a friend. Will even periodically recommended that they investigate for any suspicious activity in some local public house known to him.

Tonight, of course, there would be no ordering a quick round as a cover story for interrogating, i.e. merrily chatting up, the barstaff; Will was far too full of Christmas spirit. He had insisted on taking them by Trafalgar Square and spent many minutes in admiration of its temporary giant tree, and had stopped—twice!—to admire groups of carolers and applaud them. Gideon was bearing up well, he thought, considering. He even got into the spirit a very tiny amount, which is to say he was willing to eat some of the roast chestnuts Will bought.

Now Tatiana (and the dog news) had deflated Will’s mood, and Gideon felt a little badly about it. Will was frowning thoughtfully. “Why not just offer her money?” he said.

Gideon sighed. “Because Tatiana has plenty of money, all of our family money. And Gabriel and I have only our salaries as Shadowhunters. She doesn’t need money.”

Will looked scornful. “Everybody likes more money.”’

“Normally I would agree with you,” Gideon said, shaking his head, “but you did not see Tatiana’s state of mind. She cannot be approached in the way you would approach a rational person. I must do this task for her, but of course I cannot. Hurt a dog, of all things. I would never. Disgusting.”

Will stood looking past him for a long moment, and eventually Gideon said, “Will?”

“We will take care of it,” Will suddenly said. His gaze snapped back to Gideon’s face, and he was smiling. “We will give Tatiana what she wants, and we will not hurt any animals in the process.”

“We?” said Gideon, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s my plan,” Will said reasonably. “So obviously I’ll be along.”

Despite himself, a smile played at the edges of Gideon’s mouth. That was the one thing he had over Tatiana, after all. He wasn’t alone.

#

The front door of Chiswick House swung open with somewhat more speed than it had two days prior, and Tatiana’s suspicious face appeared. She was wearing the same dress she had been wearing before, to Gideon’s dismay. In her left hand she carried the cleaned skull of some unidentifiable small mammal; Gideon didn’t wish to inquire why.

Tatiana’s glare quickly moved from Gideon to Will, who was bopping up and down nervously behind him. Will had insisted on coming, against Gideon’s better judgment, and only now did he realize the possibility that Tatiana might not even see him if Will was along.

Will, for his part, did his best. “Hullo, Tatiana my love,” he said. “Many greetings of the season! How excellently you’ve kept up the place.”

Tatiana blinked at him, startled out of whatever she had been about to shout. Gideon knew that Will had three good nips of brandy in him, and reckoned that was probably the best way to handle the situation. Meet the unexpected with the unexpected.

“Why have you brought my nemesis to my house?” Tatiana said, in the same tone she might have used if she were asking why Gideon had failed to return a book he’d borrowed.

“Crikey,” said Will. “Nemesis? Tatiana, I bear you no ill will. Have I ever, even once, interfered with your life? With your going about your business?”

“Yes,” said Tatiana. “Twice. Once when you murdered my husband, and once when you murdered my father.”

Will made a choked noise. “I murdered your father because he murdered your husband! And I didn’t murder him, he’d changed into some kind of great serpent.”

“A worm, Will,” said Gideon quietly. “He was a giant worm. Not a serpent.”

“As I remember,” said Will, “it were a great wyrm, from the depths of the Abyss, that we dispatched.”

“It was not,” said Gideon.

“It was my father,” ground out Tatiana, “and I wish to know, Gideon, why you have brought him here? I asked you to perform a task for me.”

“And I have performed it,” Gideon said briskly. “Mr. Herondale was good enough to come along, to help protect me from this most vicious of dogs that you described.”

“It’s actually quite vicious,” Will agreed.

“If you’ll just let us come in,” Gideon said.

Tatiana squinted at both of them as if trying to see through a possible glamour. “Well, come in, then. But you won’t get tea.”

“Tatiana,” Will said with an understanding chuckle. “There’s obviously no way I would ever consume any food or drink at your house.”

This was going rather well, Gideon thought.

Ensconced back in his father’s office, with no tea offered nor taken, Tatiana said, “Well?”

Gideon reached into his jacket and lay a dog’s collar, a weathered length of leather cord, down on the desktop with a flourish.

Tatiana looked at it and then up at him. “What is this?”

“It is the dog’s collar,” Gideon said. “A trophy of our dispatching it.”

She looked at it again. “This tells me nothing. You could simply have taken the collar off of that dog.”

“Madam,” said Will, “if I may? No man could possibly have taken the collar off of that dog. I would advise no man to put their hand within several feet of that dog’s neck, if they wish to retain said hand. Now that that collar is off, no man could ever put it back on.” He spoke in serious tones.

“I need something more,” Tatiana said. “If you killed the dog, you must know where it is. Go back and bring me the dog’s tail, or something.”

“Tatiana,” Gideon began, but Will interrupted.

“If I may again,” he said, “the dog resides on the far side of the very tall and very pointy iron fence that stands between the dog’s property and the road. Climbing over that fence at all is a feat that I would advise only the most well-trained of Shadowhunters to attempt once, and I would recommend they do it empty-handed, rather than carrying some random bit of dog. I’m afraid that the collar will have to suffice.”

Tatiana sat back and shook her head, dissatisfaction wrinkling her mouth. “Proof that you have dispatched the dog,” she said, “and not merely that you have encountered it.”

Gideon waited for Will to jump in again, but Will was silent. He seemed unsure how to proceed. Finally, he said, “Tatiana, give him the papers. Because it’s Christmas.”

“What?” said Gideon in disbelief.

Tatiana looked at Will with loathing. “Mundane holidays are meaningless to me.”

“I should have guessed, yes,” muttered Will.

“Please,” said Gideon, at the end of his rope. “My son—he’s…he’s like your son.” Tatiana stared at him in silence for a moment, so he pressed on. “He’s…he’s very small, and he’s often ill, and we worry about his survival. We worry about when we will put Marks on him. Like you do, with your son.”

Tatiana continued to watch Gideon in silence with a lizard-like stare.

“I know we do not see eye-to-eye on our family history,” he said doggedly, and ignored Will’s quiet hmph! from beside him. “But we are family nevertheless, and we may both have…inherited something. From our father. Something we’ve now passed to our sons. I must look through the papers to see if there is any clue there.”

She stared for a long and agonizing moment, and then she said, “Get out of my house.”

“Tatiana,” he began.

“How dare you compare your son and mine!” she said, her voice rising in volume. “Anyone could guess where the weakness in your son originates, and it is obviously with your decision to mix your blood with the most mundane you could find!” Her voice had risen to a shout.

“Sophie is an Ascended Shadowhunter!” Will shouted back, staunchly, and Gideon realized he was happy that Will was there.

“I don’t care!” Tatiana shouted. “My son is of the blood of two of the oldest of the Shadowhunter families. He is not weak like your son. Go back to your weakness, Gideon. Get out of my sight, get out of my house, and do not darken my door again. I have not missed your company, nor your brother’s, and I am relieved that my child will not grow up under the corrupting influence of either of you.”

Gideon made to stand up, but Will said “Tatiana, if I may yet again,” and he sat back down. Tatiana glowered at him. “I think,” Will went on, in a newly serious tone, “that if you and I could step outside into the hallway for a moment and talk in private—just for a moment. Give me three minutes, that is all. And after that, we will depart and we promise never to return. Right, Gideon?”

Gideon did not much wish to promise never to return to the house he’d grown up in, so he only said, “Whatever you wish.”

Tatiana examined Will’s face carefully, and then said, “You have two minutes, starting from this moment.” She rose from her seat and made for the door.

“Will, what are you—” Gideon began.

Will put the tip of his finger to his lips to quiet Gideon. “Trust me,” he said. “I believe that I can create a Christmas miracle.”

Helplessly Gideon watched his sister and his friend depart and close the door behind them. The seconds ticked by. Two minutes passed, then another two, then three more.

Then Tatiana came back into the room, followed by Will. Gideon tried to read Will’s expression, but it was neutral, nonchalant.

In Tatiana’s hands were two notebooks, packed with loose papers supplementing their own contents. Their covers, and the loose pages, were densely smeared with soot. “The papers of Benedict Lightwood,” she said. “You do not deserve them. And I am not gifting them to you. They are part of the house, and the house is mine, and they are also mine. You shall have them to peruse or copy at your leisure for the term of one week, and if they are not returned by that date, in their original condition, may the Angel have mercy on your souls. Both of you,” she added in Will’s direction.

Will threw up his hands in surrender. “I really just came for the dog-wrestling.”

Wondering, Gideon took the papers from her. He turned to look at Will, who murmured to him, “A Christmas miracle,” with a small smile.

#

“Come now,” Gideon said in the carriage on the way back from Chiswick, “what did you say to Tatiana to make her concede?”

It was snowing, that rare snow with very little wind, so flakes fell in a picturesque fluttering, rather than battering at the carriage like they might have as they made their way through Hammersmith, back in the direction of Central London. Will leaned back in his seat and gazed out the window.

“Well, if you must know,” he said, “I delivered an extremely well-considered speech, touching on the topics of the importance of family, the virtue of forgiveness, the need for all Shadowhunters to be allied in the fight against demons, the smallness of the sacrifice being asked of her, the pointlessness of revenge, and, of course, the giving nature of the season.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” said Will eagerly. “And then, I counted banknotes totalling two hundred British pounds sterling directly into her hand.”

“Will!” said Gideon, shocked.

“I told you,” Will said airily. “Everyone likes money. Even mad revenge-seeking sisters, with the dried blood of their husbands on their frocks, like money.”

Gideon was flummoxed. It was an enormous sum. “You didn’t have to do that, Will,” he said. “She doesn’t deserve the money.”

“What she doesn’t deserve,” Will said hotly, “is the moral victory. It was money well-spent to be gone from that house.”

Gideon opened the journals, marveling at Will Herondale. His financial standing was better than Gideon’s own, surely, but two hundred pounds was an enormous amount of money, well more than Will could throw away on a lark. And yet he’d not hesitated to wield that money for Gideon’s sake, had in fact, Gideon now realized, brought the money with him on purpose.

So strange, Gideon thought with a sidelong look at Will, who continued harrumphing to himself quietly in victory. At this moment this boy he’d despised as a child was more his family than his own actual sister. And he found he was able to accept that. A Christmas miracle indeed.

“I really had better return these to Tatiana in a week,” he said, examining the journals again before he started reading. “Or she’s like to set a demon on me.”

Will chuckled. “Ha. Maybe she would at that.”

Gideon paused. “She might, you know. All jokes aside. It’s a legitimate possibility.”

“It is,” agreed Will, a little more grimly.

Minutes passed, during which Gideon skimmed the papers, frowning. After a time he found himself back at the beginning, and he wrinkled his brow, bemused.

Will turned back from where he had been watching the Bath Road go by. “What is it?” he said.

“There’s nothing here,” Gideon said, frustrated. “Plenty of terrible things, of course. My father was a…a…” He struggled for the right word.

“Monster?” suggested Will.

“Pervert,” said Gideon carefully. He shuffled through the pages until he found one that was only an elaborate diagram his father had made up in pencil and showed it to Will.

Will blinked at it. “Jiminy,” he said.

“But there’s nothing here that would cause weakness or fragility in his descendants,” Gideon went on. “No curses, no hexes, no demon poisons….”

“Only the pox, then,” Will said dryly.

“Yes, but that isn’t hereditary,” Gideon said. “We looked into that years ago for our own sakes.” He shuffled the papers. “All that trouble, and for nothing. Thomas remains frail and I remain unable to do anything for him.”

There was a silence and then Will said, “Gideon, it is Christmastime, and Christmas is a time to tell the truth. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“If you say so,” Gideon said, waving his hand. From his experience Christmas a time to sing in the street and eat a goose, but who knew what strange traditions Will had from his mundane childhood. “In any event, I’d agree you should tell the truth whatever the time of year.”

“Gideon,” Will said, clapping his hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “There is nothing wrong whatsoever with Thomas.”

Gideon sighed. “That’s very kind of you to say, Will, but—”

“But nothing. Thomas is just small. Sometimes children are small. He’s not cursed or hexed.”

“He gets sick,” Gideon pressed. “All the time.”

Will laughed. “Do you have any idea how sick Cecily was as an infant? She was colicky, and then she had fevers…she cried more than she slept, those first few years.”

“And then what?”

Will threw up his hands. “And then nothing! She grew! She fell ill less and less often. That is the way of children. And we did not have terrifying mute telepathic doctors to take care of us. Does Thomas eat? Does he exert himself when he does feel well?”

“Yes,” Gideon admitted.

“Well then,” said Will, leaning back as if his point was made. “Put your mind aside from your supposed cursed family. Tatiana’s son is sickly—does that surprise you, now you’ve seen the house? Now you’ve seen Tatiana? No, of course not.” He looked at Gideon intently. “Thomas’s only trouble,” he said firmly, “is that he is an adorable wee thing.”

Gideon stared at Will. Then he broke into laughter. Will laughed too, his usual hearty chuckle, and Gideon found himself feeling better. He was still worried about Thomas—he would be for a few years, he knew, until the boy had passed the time of worrisome childhood ailments and could be protected with runes—but he felt better nonetheless. He had thought of many ways he might feel on the way back from his sister’s house, but “better” had not been one of them.

“Christmas miracle,” Will whispered gleefully.

Well, thought Gideon. Some kind of miracle, anyway.

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

hey guys! i finally had the time to get this started. here was the first request:

an alice in wonderland au - malec edition

i tried my best, i was kinda young when i read the book so i don’t remember exactly what it was like but this is my attempt !!

requested by @tobeornottobetequila !

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec woke up feeling a little dazed, and with an absolutely thudding headache. He stretched his arm out with his eyes still shut, and accidentally slapped Magnus awake.

“What was that for??”

“Sorry. Stretching.”

Now, Alec usually had great vision. It was part and parcel of being a shadowhunter. But even after he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, it was clear that he was not in Magnus’s apartment. Or in the Institute. Or anywhere he recognised, for that matter. He shook Magnus -who had went back to sleep- to get his attention.

“Alright, stop messing. Where are we?”

“Huh? We’re in my apartment- oh.”

“You see it too?”

They shared a glance and looked around themselves. It was Magnus’s bed, sure, but it was in the middle of nowhere. There was insanely green grass, and the trees- such an odd shape. Alec could even make out a castle in the distance. “So it’s not my headache. Whatever the hell this is is real.”

The place looked like Faerie, but more in a Fairytale fantasy way- like the pair had been sent into a book.

“You know, this place gives me insane Alice in Wonderland vibes. I’m half expecting the Cheshire Cat to pop out of that tree.”

Alec looked extremely terrified. “Is that another of your cats?” he inquired.

Magnus half-laughed, half-sighed. “Remind me to never make a reference towards anything at all with you. Alice in Wonderland is a famous book, my love,” he said, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Things were going great right now- Alec had finally accepted himself and came out, and whilst the reaction wasn’t the best from everyone, he seemed happier. More free. More willing to love Magnus. Despite being in a completely foreign place with no idea how to leave, he didn’t quite want to. It was peaceful here.

“Do you think you can portal out?”

Magnus shrugged and waved his hands- with no avail. Not even any blue sparks came out of his hands.

“I’m afraid, only magic from this dimension works here.”

“This dimension.” Magnus repeated. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Why not?” The voice gained a face, to which Magnus’s eyes widened. “Holy fu-“

“Language!” Alec exclaimed, mock offended.

“Sorry darling. But I need to use it right now. WHY THE HELL IS THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER STANDING IN FRONT OF US?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHO THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER IS!”

“Boys, boys. Calm it down. I’m simply here to tell you that you need to leave as soon as possible. People don’t like your kind here, and I can-“

Suddenly, Alec was angry. “Your kind?! Your kind as in ‘gays’? Well you listen to me, dude. We have every right to exist just like you straight people. There is nothing wrong with me not with my boyfriend and I love him so goddamn much that I’m ready to punch the absolute SHIT out of you if you say that-“

“As I was saying, your kind refers to the fact that you’re from another dimension. I was offering to help you both leave, before the Queen finds out you’re here. Also, where the hell did you get the assumption that I’m straight from? I mean, look at me.” The man gestured at himself, and Alec noticed that he shared a very similar taste in style with Magnus. Now he knew what Simon meant when he greeted Magnus as ‘the Mad Hatter’ all the time. He was still to figure out why Magnus called him ‘Edward’ though.

“Well, I’m sorry. Quite new to being out and happy, so I get defensive.”

“That’s totally understandable! Now, I suggest you two get ready and follow me,” the Mad Hatter said, ducking out of sight. This whole experience was so bizarre.

“That rant was really sexy, by the way.”

Alec flushed. “Shut up.”

“You make gay rights sound even sexier.”

“Why are rights sexy in the first place?”

Magnus rolled his eyes and got out of the bed. “You’re such a buzzkill,” he said, pouting.

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec’s mind wandered yet again to how odd everything was. Where was this place? What was it? Why was there an insane man leading them about?

“Alrighty boys! We’re here!” The ‘Mad Hatter’ gestured toward a portal- guess some things didn’t change. “One thing before you go. You have to take these,” he said, handing Alec a small cake-like item with an ‘eat me’ tag on it, and Magnus a small vial with ‘drink me’ inscribed on the lid. “We give them to everyone who unexpectedly turns up here before they return home.”

Magnus stares at his vial in wonder. “We really are living a fairytale right now,” he muttered, downing the stuff. Alec watched him nervously, swallowing the cake bite whole before he had a chance to taste it.

And of course he started choking.

Magnus slammed his back several times as his skin became increasingly more red from embarrassment. He then stopped, and they brushed themselves off. Magnus of course giggling silently to himself.

“I didn’t quite expect you two to be so desperate to take them- are you in such a rush to go home?” the strange man said, looking sad.

“Well, yes. Plus you did say that-“

“That the Queen would be angry if people not belonging to this dimension were here?” echoed a new voice. A female one.

Magnus spun around. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not you?!”

The Queen of Hearts raised an eyebrow. “Am I truly that bad?”

“You behead people.”

“She beheads people?!”

“Yes, Alec. It’s the- you know what, forget it. We’re in a fairytale, the book I said about. I don’t know what the hell happened or how drunk I got to be able to conjure this shit up. But what I do know is that this is the part where he,” Magnus said, gesturing at the Mad Hatter, “gets arrested, and so do we, and our heads get chopped off.”

Alec did not quite like the sound of that. As Magnus said, sure enough the Queen of Hearts ordered her guards to arrest the other man and take them as well for immediate beheading. “What did we do?” he asked in a small and vulnerable, panicked voice. Magnus’s heart broke that second; he sounded so scared. His Alec, his brave archer boy, made so small. All he wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it would be okay, but all he was capable of doing was brushing his hand against his.

“You trespassed. And this mad man here was helping you leave. He does this all the time- and gets away with it. Well not anymore, I say! Off with all your heads!”

Alec looked as if he was about to pass out.

➰➰➰➰➰

It took surprisingly less time to get to the castle than they thought it would. As soon as they’d arrived, all three had been sent to the dungeon quarters to prepare for execution, each in three separate cells as extra added torture for Magnus and Alec. They were also brought out with hoods over their heads, meaning they couldn’t even see each other.

“Down!” The Queen barked.

The executioners shoved the three down on their knees.

“Prepare!”

Their heads were pressed against the blocks.

“Anyone have any last words?”

“Damn. You know, I really thought they’d be using the guillotine by now. It would’ve been cooler. Imagine dying, going to hell because let’s face it heaven is definitely not for me, and the other ghosts being like ‘How did you die?’ And then you get to go ‘Guillotine’-“

“Shut up, please,” The Queen yelled. Alec laughed to himself; Magnus was never short of something quick witted to say.

“Ready?”

They were hushed, the axes lined up on their necks.

“Aim...”

They were lifted off. The pressure being removed felt odd. Then Alec began to feel sick again. Like he was going to collapse.

Magnus felt so too. Even though they couldn’t communicate properly he could almost feel it in his veins. For a moment, he thought they were both going to die, and silently hoped that they would before the axes met their necks again. It would be less painful that way.

The whoosh of air they felt against themselves as the axes were brought down with force was oddly calming. Even though they were one second away from-

➰➰➰➰➰

Magnus sat up, first of all aware that he couldn’t breathe. He choked on water, coughing endless streams of it up. Once he’d calmed down, he noticed that he was soaking. His hair was dripping in his face.

“Magnus! You’re okay, thank god-“

“Guys Alec isn’t moving-“

“What?” said Magnus. There were too many voices surrounding him. He looked up and was glad to see that the soft voice that first spoke to him was his little biscuit, Clary. He was on the ground in the middle of Central Park with a few other shadowhunters- Jace, Isabelle, and Simon too- and Alec was lying limp beside him. He was extremely pale, deathly so, and he could barely breathe. His chest rattled with each one he took.

“Magnus, what happened? How did you guys fall in there?” Clary asked, concerned.

“Clary, sweetheart, I appreciate your concern but one; I have no idea what just happened and two; Alec?”

He shifted himself over- he could barely move- and tried his magic. He ordered Jace and Isabelle back. The magic shocked Alec awake, but he was too weak to cough the water out himself. The next few seconds were terrifying- Alec spasming and freaking out, Isabelle loudly sobbing in fear, Clary getting worried, and Jace. Jace was silent, expressionless. He couldn’t quite believe it- in fact- he refused to. Alec couldn’t die. Not before him.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Magnus looked at Jace with a kind smile. “No one’s dying tonight. He’s going to be fine- I can remove the water. But he definitely needs to go to the Institute infirmary. And he needs strict bed rest.”

Seeing as he was unable to make a portal because of his weakened strength, he called Catarina to pick them up and take them to the Institute. On the ride there, he was able to talk to Clary.

“So what did actually happen?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “You guys must’ve went for a walk and fallen into the river. We got a fire message from a shadowhunter on patrol of the area saying they saw you drowning- he helped you both to stay afloat whilst help came. Then we arrived.”

Magnus considered asking if she knew how the hell they had even fallen in in the first place, but didn’t. He had too little energy. So was the whole Alice in Wonderland thing fake?

Later in the afternoon, Alec had been taken to the Institute to recover and get cleaned up. Magnus went back home, so that he could clean up too. The whole thing was mad. As he took off his coat, he felt something in his pocket.

A little vial.

The exact one that was in that ‘dream’.

He decided to keep it to show Alec and made his way to the Institute. Isabelle opened the door.

“Magnus! Hey! Alec is a lot better. He kept asking for you. He wants to show you something I think.”

Magnus held the conversation with his boyfriend’s little sister for a few moments before making his way to his room.

“Magnus?”

“I’m here.”

Alec was curled up in his bed. He looked exhausted and freezing. “I feel so cold. I had a hot shower to help but it hasn’t really.”

“It’s okay. Just let me hold you. Your sister said you wanted to show me something?”

Alec shuffled up so that he was sitting against the headboard. Magnus slid on beside him, putting an arm around him and letting his head fall on his shoulder. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Alec’s soft, dark hair. There had been a Herondale once, one that on first sight Magnus thought Alec resembled almost perfectly. The dark hair, stark against pale skin. The deep blue eyes, which held oceans of emotion behind them. And to be fair, Alec was a descendant of him. But after getting to know him, Magnus realised that Alec was not as like Will Herondale as he thought.

“This,” said Alec, snapping Magnus out of his daydream. It was a tag.

A tag that said ‘Eat Me’ on it.

Magnus wordlessly scrambled for his pocket and produced the vial.

“By the Angel. What does this mean? Where were we? What even happened? Were we actually almost killed? What about that other guy-“

“Alec, don’t worry yourself. Everything’s fine. I don’t know either. I don’t even know if we just hardcore dreamt that or if it actually happened. I mean, it’s not every day you just casually fall into a river. And you of all people- a shadowhunter nonetheless- shouldn’t be just falling in.”

Alec sighed. He shuffled back down on the bed and gave Magnus a look that meant he expected him to do so too. So he did. They still held each other tight. Alec took Magnus’s face gently in his hands, like he was precious porcelain. He kissed him, almost relieved that he could. The dream had been so real. His soft skin felt warm on his hands.

“Magnus?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m glad you didn’t get your head cut off.”

The two burst into fits of laughter. This was definitely going to be an inside joke now.

Then someone appeared in the doorway. It was Simon.

“Isabelle sent me here to make sure you guys were okay.”

“Oh, we’re fine. Thank you Edward.”

Simon winked- well, tried to- and left.

Alec turned back to Magnus.

“Where the hell do you get Edward from?!”

(here’s the first of the requests! number two is currently in the making and will be done soon)

[samayla]

An Utterly Impractical Magician

Chapter 3

A Jane Eyre/Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fusion fic.

Also on AO3

Summary: When John Reed burnt Thomas Godbless’ book of magic to spite his cousin, he had no idea how drastically he would alter both her fate and that of English magic.

This is my favorite chapter so far! 

Just because it’s been forever, I’m going to go ahead and tag you folks again: @bookhobbit @wolfinthethorns @kaethe-nicole @warsawmouse@cassandravision @mythopoeticreality@jmlascar @seriouslythoughguys  @isawatreetoday @rude-are-food @the-stars-above28 @the-candor-shadowhunter

Let me know if any of you would like to be added/removed in the tags list.

3 The Little Book Murderer

Gateshead House, December 1804

Her eyes were what caught his attention and held it. Fierce and mismatched, they were flashing dangerously in his direction as she stood in the doorway - though what danger an eight-year-old girl posed to him, John Childermass could not have said. As she stared him down, a great black blot ran across the iris of her grey eye like spilled ink, then was gone. The effect was highly disconcerting, even to Childermass, a man who was used to confronting a great many strange and uncanny things in the course of his work for Mr Norrell.

“What are you doing with my books?” snapped the girl again, bandaged hands held stiffly at her sides. Shiny, half-healed blisters peeked out above the bandages where they ended on her forearms. “You have no business in here, sir.”

Childermass released a breath he had not realized he was holding and chuckled to himself at the absurdity of fearing an overindulged child. “You’d be the little ‘book-murderer’ then? I was warned I might meet you here in the course of the day.”

He did not expect an answer, nor did the girl offer one. She merely moved closer to the table to read the titles he’d pulled out. All seven were books about magic, save Lanchester’s Language of Birds, which was a book of magic. Childermass added a copy of Ormskirk to the stack. Norrell had a copy already, but Childermass was of a mind to rescue as much of this sad little library from its monstrous keepers as he could.

“What are you doing with them?” demanded the girl softly, and Childermass looked up once more. What he saw was not the spoiled child her aunt had led him to expect. The horror evident in her face was a great deal more mature than that. “These are my books,” she whispered.

Childermass set down the edition of Tott’s English Magic he’d been inspecting. “Easy now, little miss,” he soothed, placing a hand atop the stack. “I am buying these from your aunt.”

The girl stepped forward, seized with a sudden bravery. “I am not frightened of you, sir,” she declared, chin raised in defiance. “Even if you should be angry with me for saying so, even if you should turn me into something unnatural for answering back. You will know I am not afraid, nor am I a book-murderer. It was my cousin John Reed who threw my book into the fire.”

“And why should he do that?” asked Childermass. He only permitted himself the slightest smirk at the girl’s assumption that he was a magician, though her courage in the face of it both amused and impressed him greatly. “Any book concerning Thomas Godbless would have been worth a great deal of money to him.”

“He did it because I loved it. I loved my book more than I feared him, and so he burnt it to make me small and scared again.”

Childermass lounged against the shelf behind him. “And did it work, Little Miss? You do not seem so small and scared to me.”

“I may be small, but I am not scared, sir. Not of him, and not of you.”

Childermass could not help the small chuckle that escaped him. Her eyes flashed again, and it was clear once again that these books meant much more to her than some toy she didn’t want to share. “Why did you love that particular book so?” asked Childermass. “Surely it, and these others I have chosen, are somewhat beyond the realm of a young lady?”

“I have read them all,” declared the girl obstinately, “and the book of Thomas Godbless is the best and most beautiful thing I’ve ever read, and I am glad you shan’t have it!” She dashed away a tear with the back of her hand, obviously having forgotten for a moment that it was bandaged. She gasped in pain, but then soldiered on admirably. “If I were big, a woman grown, I should keep you from having any of them at all!”

Childermass chuckled a little sadly. “Little Miss,” he said gently, “I have bought books from low servants and high lords alike. When my master decides he wants a book, he will have it.”

The girl sniffled a little, but raised her chin once more to stare at him in defiance. “The book of Thomas Godbless is mine and mine alone, and neither you nor your master shall ever take it away from me.” With that, she marched to the window seat and sat, staring daggers at Childermass, as if she would compel him to reconsider by the sheer force of her will.

The girl perched there in the same stubborn attitude all the morning, while Childermass chose books - some thirty or forty titles, when all was said and done, some magical, most mundane. It was not until he made his payment to Mrs Reed after a lunch of cold sandwiches - none were brought for the girl, and she refused his offer to share - that she was chased from the library by her aunt, who cringed and shuddered at the very sight of her.

“You have my apologies, sir,” said Mrs Reed, when the library door had closed behind her niece. “The girl is intractably willful. I have done what I can for her following the  death of my dear brother, may he rest in peace, but I am afraid this latest episode, of which we spoke earlier, has been the final straw. I hope she did not give you much trouble.”

Childermass raised an eyebrow but assured the lady in the most polite language that she had not. Indeed, he was feeling worse now that the girl was gone, than he had when she was here: a little dizzy and very faintly ill, as though he’d had one pint too many without eating dinner first. He blamed the feeling on his conscience, and his growing suspicions about how things were done in this odious household.

“Well, I am thankful for that, at least,” said Mrs Reed pleasantly. “I feared some further tantrum. Jane is so unnaturally attached to these books, it will be good to separate her from them and put an end to all the mischief they have caused.”

Childermass made a noncommittal noise, which Mrs Reed took for agreement and left him to pack the books.

But when he moved to begin wrapping his purchases in brown paper for transport, he found that he could not lift a single one from the table, nor so much as open them.  He tried a few little spells from Belasis and one of the less complicated creations of Martin Pale, minor tricks that he’d picked up from his work with Mr Norrell, but nothing he did allowed him to shift the books even half an inch in any direction. They might as well have turned to stone.

Frustrated and cross, for he was feeling more ill by the minute and only wished to be out of this loathsome house, Childermass drew out his Cards of Marseilles.

La Torre, Deux Épées, and l'Impératrice, reversed. Disaster and a potential truce, complicated by a female relative. The aunt, no doubt. Sept Deniers, patience and perseverance are required. And le Bateleur, the Magician. For a moment, it appeared as though the Magician was holding a book, rather than a wand, but a second glance showed it was only a smudge of ash on the paper, likely transferred from one of the books to his hand and then the card.

However, if there was one thing Childermass had learned, it was to respect his cards and his intuition when it came to reading them. It would seem that there was more to the ‘little book-murderer’ than  he’d supposed. He called for one of the servants to fetch her, giving the excuse that he thought she’d like to say goodbye to her favorites. Her aunt had sent her out so that he might work in peace, but she was clearly attached to the books. He would simply not feel right if he did not allow the girl a chance at closure. The servant, a young housemaid, was sympathetic, and went to find the girl.

When she arrived after a few minutes, face reddened by crying, and odd-eyes flashing angrily once more, Childermass thanked the housemaid and dismissed her. He and the girl simply stood there for a few moments, she with ire written in the tension of every muscle, and he leaning casually against the bookshelf, waiting for her to master her emotions before he broached the subject of the immovable books.

Eventually, her eyes drifted away from his to the great stacks of books piled on the table before him, and Childermass felt a shift in the room. It was something nameless and queer, as if he’d suddenly heard the black of ink, or tasted the letter q. He took it for a sort of kinship between the girl and the books. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the books were as distraught at leaving the girl as she was at losing them. The girl stifled a sob, and the shadows cast by the fire took on a strange tinge that was not quite blue, nor precisely lilac, and the dizziness and fatigue Childermass felt doubled in intensity, causing him to stagger sideways. The image of the smudged Magician card flashed in his mind’s eye.

“Did you call me so you could gloat, sir?” the girl asked tightly. She did not look at him.

“I thought you’d like to say goodbye to your favorites, Little Miss,” answered Childermass gently.

It was all the invitation she needed. She cast one wary look at Childermass, now leaning more heavily on the bookshelf, and then she was at the table like a shot. She pulled down one of the topmost books as if it weighed nothing, and Childermass’ suspicions were confirmed: there was magic in the library, and it was tied to the girl.

The girl held each book lovingly, as if she were trying to memorize the press of the embossed letters, every loose string in the binding, the imprecise cut of the pages. Some, she stroked a hand over and then returned to the table after only a moment or two, but others, she hugged tightly to her chest as she whispered to them.

Childermass, who tried casually to shift a book she’d just finished looking at, still could not make the thing move, though he was awarded a stinging paper cut for his trouble.

When the girl had said her goodbyes to them all and stood staring at the laden table as though lost, Childermass knelt down before her and offered a handkerchief. She sniffled and took the square of fabric. “Do not cry anymore, Little Miss,” he said. “This will be a good thing. Your books are going somewhere safer, where no one would ever think to burn them, nor do them the slightest bit of harm. My master has a vast library, where he keeps such books safe, cares for them and loves them, in his way.”

“But I love them,” the girl hiccuped. She ran a finger along the spine of the Language of Birds, looking in that moment every bit an eight-year-old child.

“I know, Little Miss,” he soothed, pulling her into an embrace. She was stiff in his arms at first, clearly as unused to receiving such gestures as Childermass was to offering them. Another suspicion confirmed. “But you cannot keep them safe here.” At that, she collapsed into his arms, like a puppet with its strings cut, and sobbed into his shoulder.

Childermass felt like the cruelest beast in existence, but what he said was true. She could not keep the books safe from her monstrous cousins. It was better for everyone that Mr Norrell should take charge of them.

The girl’s sobbing was loud enough that someone in the house should have heard, but no one came to comfort her, nor would they, he had come to realize. He simply held her as she cried, and slowly his own feeling of illness eased, as did the violence of her sobs.

“Will you help me pack them properly?” he whispered.

She nodded into his shoulder after a moment, and he eased his hold on her. She sniffled miserably but picked up the roll of brown paper Childermass had brought. Together, for Childermass could now move the books as easily as the girl could, they packed the books. She wrapped them carefully in paper, and he stacked them in the iron-bound chest he’d brought to transport them.

The girl did not cry again, but merely asked, as he placed the last book inside the chest and closed the lid, whether he promised to take care of them. Childermass assured her they would receive the utmost care, and when she saw them again, they would be just as she’d left them.

“Will I see them again?” she asked.

Childermass could hear the brittle hope in her voice, though she clearly tried to sound casual. “Of course you will, Little Miss.” He knelt again and wiped a single tear from her cheek, beneath her grey eye. He offered her an encouraging smile. “I don’t think there’s a soul in this world as could stop you.”

[kaitiemakesshit]

I

By The Powers That Be

I spent my Saturdays the way most haggard and weary husbands do; clutching a purse while seated on any available surface I could find, waiting to finally go home. Only I was not a haggard and weary husband, but a haggard and weary bigender babe holding the purses of my two best friends. We were in a local indie clothing store that they knew and I knew we would be leaving empty-handed. But I also knew that it wouldn't stop us (read: them) from spending a minimum of two hours browsing all the clothes and knick-knacks. The inventory rarely changed but we stopped here during every trip downtown regardless. I highly suspected that Marcie had a crush on the hipster girl who ran the cash register.

My only saving grace was my tablet, which I was reading one of over a hundred books on. I was an avid, voracious reader and would usually be reading several books at the same time. In this case I was absorbed in Lord of Shadows, the latest book in my favorite series. I generally preferred the show over the books, but that was because the show was so damn amazing. The books were still greatly enjoyable, even if the older ones weren't that great.

I was just getting to a good part when I sensed a presence next to me. I glanced over to see a woman sitting next to me on the display couch. A double-take revealed that she did, in fact, look exactly like Jane Lynch in a crisp, white linen suit. I was baffled. I didn't know where Jane Lynch lived, but surely she wouldn't be anywhere near a dumpy little suburb like Campbell. Nor did I imagine she would sit next to me and stare at me with a smile that said she had many secrets and I knew none of them.

“Hello,” she said. Her tone was quite friendly, but I was still on edge. This didn't seem right.

“Um, hi.”

She cocked her head and studied me up and down. “Is this really what you're willing to settle for?”

I puzzled. “Excuse me?”

She gestured around at our surroundings. “Do you really want to settle for this...mediocrity?”

“...I don't follow.”

A snort. “I've been watching you for a long time and—“

“That's...really creepy.” I leaned away from her.

She shot me a glare that shut me up. “And I noticed that you have so much potential. You could be so much more than this. Why are you settling?”

Everything about this was unsettling me. “I'm happy with the way things are.” At her incredulous look I added, “...Mostly.”

“Well I'm going to change that,” she said. The smile was back and even more unsettling than before.

I nervously scooted away from her, as far as I could get on the couch, and clutched my friends' purses tighter. “I'd rather you didn't.”

She reached out to touch my cheek, to which I flinched away. “Tough shit, kiddo.”

“I gotta—“

I had started to say that I had to go, but out of nowhere my legs suddenly felt like jelly. I knew I wouldn't be able to stand up without falling flat on my face. I desperately looked around for my best friends in hopes to call them over to rescue me, but they were both occupied. They were separated and were talking to two different people that made me even uneasier. They wore the same white linen suits as Jane.

My attention was taken back to Jane as she stood up. She seemed too tall, much too tall. She took my face in her hands and I whimpered, finding myself unable to pull away. I couldn't move a single muscle.

“I don't want this,” I pleaded, afraid of whatever she was about to do. My mind was flooded with images of knives and guns or whatever else one could commit acts of violence with.

“You'll thank me later,” she said softly, stroking my cheek with her thumb.

“Who are you?”

“You may call me Jane if you wish. The short answer is that I am a member of the Powers That Be. We watch over all the universes. Normally we're not supposed to interfere, but...I think an exception can be made. Just this once.” She winked.

“Bullshit,” I blurted. She made herself sound to be some all-knowing entity, but those didn't exist. I believed in a lot, but this was hard to take.

“You'll believe eventually.”

Before I could respond, a feeling came over me. My skin fizzled with what felt like static electricity, making the hair on my arms and neck stand up on end. My vision went blurry, despite my glasses still being firmly planted on my face. By the time my vision cleared up, it was dark and Jane was gone. I don't know how it got dark so fast, because it had seemed to take only a few seconds. But there was darkness and I...wasn't in the store anymore.

The couch and I were still together, but my friends' purses and the store and Jane were long gone. Instead I was in a smelly alley like I'd never seen before. The jelly feeling in my legs was now gone, so I jumped up and walked out of the alley, clutching my purse like it was my last life line. Which it might very well be.

Glancing around, I found myself in a small commercial district of some kind that I didn't recognize. How did I get here? Where even was here? I tried to ignore the growing dread in my stomach as I looked for anything familiar. Nothing. But...

Suddenly I heard screaming. I nearly jumped out of my skin and looked around for the source. A couple stores down there was a woman on the ground, screaming in terror at the hulking figure above her. They were dressed all in black and had her pinned on the sidewalk. I had my phone out before I could fully comprehend the situation and I was shouting, “HEY!” as I approached. Most attackers and rapists ran at the sight of trouble, and surely they'd see me dialing 911 and run for the hills.

They didn't.

The attacker whipped around to look at me and I froze in my tracks. The owl demon. The owl demon from Shadowhunters. Surely it had to be someone in a cosplay or something. Just so happens that a fan of the show is also a rapist asshole. That theory was quickly disproved when he suddenly appeared in front of me, fast as The Flash. I screamed and took off running away from him. I didn't look back to see if he was chasing me, because quite frankly I didn't want to know. I didn't even look back to see if the woman at least got away.

It was in that moment I wished I wasn't such a lazy slob who spent all day on her ass. All I could think about was how I couldn't run very fast and how I was probably going to trip and fall on my face and die. I never tripped, but I did get knocked off my feet sideways into a wall. It was a brick wall too, so all the air got knocked out of me. As I gasped for breath, the owl demon loomed over me. This was it, this was how I would die. Or get possessed. One of the two.

Just as it reached for me, an arrow suddenly lodged in its shoulder. It let out a loud, angry noise and clutched at the injured shoulder, whipping around to see the offender. I stared in shock at Alec and Isabelle Lightwood as they stood across the street, Alec's bow already notched with another arrow.

“Get away from them!” Alec commanded.

The owl demon growled and zipped over, lunging at them. Isabelle knocked it away with her whip, sending it skidding back on the pavement while Alec sent another arrow flying into its chest. The owl demon, to its credit, yanked the arrow out and quickly disappeared, off to places unknown. As soon as it was out of sight, Alec and Isabelle ran over to where I still sat on the sidewalk against the wall.

“Are you alright?” Isabelle asked me with concern as she knelt down next to me. Alec stayed standing, looking around in case the owl demon came back for another try.

I was dreaming, this had to be a dream. I was still back on the couch in the store, having somehow passed out while waiting for my friends. These thoughts ran through my head as I gazed into Isabelle's deep brown eyes and nodded.

“Just stunned.”

“Come on,” Alec said as he reached down to grab my hand, hauling me to my feet. “We'll take you home.”

“I don't live here,” I blurted before I could entirely think it through.

“Where do you live?” Alec asked.

“California.”

“What are you doing in New York then?” That was Isabelle.

“Good question,” was my reply. They both looked at me like I was insane. Which I very well might be.

“I don't understand.” That was Alec.

“It's a long story. Short version is I'm here against my will. Or I'm dreaming. One of the two.”

“Well...Why don't we take you somewhere safe and you can tell us the full story.”

“I don't...think that's a good idea. You'll think I'm insane.”

Alec and Isabelle shared a look, a look that was meant to convey “We know more than this person”. In reality, I was in on it, in a really weird sense. “Why don't you let us decide that,” Alec said as he and Isabelle led me off.

“Where are we going?” I asked curiously.

“A place called The Institute. Normally your kind isn't allowed in there, but I think for this we can make an exception.” Isabelle explained. I had an unfortunate flashback to Jane. She said she was making an exception for my case as well. I wanted to complain that I shouldn't be allowed in the Institute, but I wasn't sure if I should tip my hand just yet.

“You guys don't have to,” I said sheepishly.

“Where would you even go?” Alec inquired. He took my ensuing silence as answer enough. “Exactly.” He did have me there.

After what felt like hours of walking, but was probably only several minutes, the Institute was in sight. Alec and Isabelle didn't start relaxing until we were walking up the pathway towards the doors. Alec opened the door and ushered Isabelle and I inside. Immediately we were accosted by a Shadowhunter I recognized as the asshole one.

“Who's this?” he said, clearly displeased with what he was witnessing.

“Izzy,” I explained.

He sneered at me before turning back to Isabelle and Alec. “Did you seriously bring a mundane to the Institute?”

Alec could barely contain an eyeroll. “She was being attacked by the owl demon and she has nowhere to go. What did you expect me to do, Raj?”

“Anything but bring it here!”

“Did you just call me an 'it'?”

“Raj,” Alec said warningly.

“I was gonna offer to leave until you called me an 'it'. I have a gender. I have two in fact.”

“What?” was the general consensus from everyone else.

“It's called being bigender. I identify as male and female, so I respond to both male and female pronouns. Just fyi.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone processed this. Then Isabelle spoke. “You owe us a story, if I recall.”

I groaned. “You have to promise not to lock me up after.”

“I think we can handle it,” Isabelle chuckled.

“Right.” I hesitated. “So basically I was sitting in a store waiting on my best friends when this woman who looked exactly like Jane Lynch approached me. She said she was a part of this thing called The Powers That Be and that she was going to help me live up to my potential. She touched my face and next thing I know I'm here in New York and the owl demon is attacking someone.”

“How do you know—“ Alec started.

I held up a finger. “Not finished. Where I come from, all of this—“ I gesture around us. “—is a TV show based on a book series. You guys are Shadowhunters who protect mundanes from the Shadow World which is filled with Downworlders like vampires and werewolves and warlocks. You're Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, you live here with Jace Wayland-slash-Herondale and Clary Fairchild, are friends with Simon Lewis who is a vampire who's dating a werewolf named Maia, and you're currently dealing with attacks by the owl demon who's working for an unidentified greater demon.”

“How do you know all that?” Alec asked me suspiciously.

“TV show, like I said.”

“Right. Do you know who the greater demon is?”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?”

Before I could reply, there was a rumbling from the sky outside despite it being a clear night. “...I don't think I'm at liberty to say.” There was more rumbling, but this sounded almost...pleased.

“So not only is it crazy, it's useless,” Raj snorted.

I glared. “Stop calling me 'it'.” He ignored me.

“Well she's staying here whether you like it or not. It's our job to keep mundanes safe, and that's exactly what we're going to do,” Alec said firmly. There was no arguing with his tone, not even Asshole Raj. He looked decidedly displeased, but remained silent. I stuck my tongue out at him because I am a mature adult.

“Come on, I'll take you to your room,” Isabelle said with a smile, taking my arm and leading me down a long hallway. Eventually we stopped at a door which she opened upon an empty bedroom. It had no signs of anyone staying in it, like a new hotel room. I guess this is where I would be staying until they decided I would be safe to let loose on the streets. “This will be your room.”

“It's nice,” I said appreciatively as I walked inside and looked around. The walls and floor were a dark wood and the lights cast a soft, yellow glow. The bed was made with crisp white sheets and a slate gray comforter.

“We'll figure out the clothes situation in the morning.”

I arched an eyebrow. “I'm not gonna be here that long, am I?”

“Just until the owl demon is dealt with.”

“So an entire season. Fantastic.”

“Get some rest. I have a feeling you'll need it.” And with that ominous warning, Isabelle left.

I sighed, slipping off my shoes and my jacket, climbing into the bed. The Powers That Could Suck My Dick were at least kind enough to alleviate my insomnia, because I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next morning I woke up bright and early, a first for me since my school days. I reluctantly climbed out of bed and slipped my shoes back on when there was suddenly a knock on the door. “Come in,” I called.

It was to my great displeasure that Raj popped his head in. “Alec wants to see you in the library,” he said, sounding even less happy to be talking to me than I was to him.

“I don't know where that is,” I said as if it should be obvious, which it should be.

Raj rolled his eyes. “Come with me, mundane,” he huffed, opening the door wider so I could fit through.

“Wow, I'm not sure if that's better or worse than 'it',” I quipped as I very reluctantly followed him.

“You shouldn't be here.”

“You don't say.”

Raj stopped in his tracks and turned to loom over me, trying to be intimidating. I am angry to admit that it kind of worked. “You don't understand anything, do you? You're just a child bumbling in things you don't understand—“

“Look, asshole. I didn't ask to be here, okay. I was brought here against my will.”

“So you say.”

“What even is the point of this? I'm stuck here for as long as Alec and Isabelle say, so why are you yelling at me as if it'll get me to leave?” I said, waving my arms about angrily. He was really getting my blood boiling and I desperately wanted to punch him.

“Don't touch me, mundane!” Raj growled, recoiling as if he'd be set ablaze at the slightest brusgh.

“I'll do worse than touch you, you little—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” came a familiar voice as a body stepped between me and Raj, the angry, spitting cats. It was Clary, and I was mildly shocked to realize that she was shorter than me. So tiny and yet could so easily kick my ass. “What's going on here?”

“Alec wants to speak with the mundane. He's in the library. You take it,” Raj spat before skulking off. I flipped him off behind his back, though I wouldn't have minded if he'd seen it. My pulse raged through my veins as I turned to Clary, who was now stuck with me, it seemed.

“I would say he's not as bad as he seems, but he really is that bad,” she said sheepishly. My anger ebbed a little, mostly because she was so tiny and cute. Even if she could kill me in seventeen different ways with her pinkie finger alone.

“Yeah, I've gathered that much,” I snorted. Clary turned and started down the hall, motioning for me to follow her, which I did. I wasn't in much position to say no to these folks. They were kindly letting me stay here for safety until the Powers That Be decided to send me home. Which would hopefully be very soon.

“So Alec and Isabelle filled me in on your story,” she said as she walked, passing various other Shadowhunters. I couldn't see her face, but I could tell by her tone that she was dubious at best. I couldn't really blame her. I still wasn't convinced this wasn't a dream or a hallucination.

“I know it sounds super crazy, but I swear it's true. I can prove it.” I jogged to catch up with her at her brisk pace and lowered my voice. “I know about the wish.”

I knocked into her after that, as she stopped suddenly in her tracks, a look of panic on her face. “What wish?”

“The wish to bring Jace back,” I whispered. “But it's okay, I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

She cleared her throat and straightened her back. “Good,” she said, moving again. I fell into step behind her, trailing like a lost puppy relying on someone to guide them. She eventually led me through a large set of double-doors into what I could only assume was the library. It was a giant room full of books, it was a safe assumption.

At the center of the room was Alec and Isabelle, no doubt doing some research on the owl demon or trying to puzzle out who the greater demon was. They both looked up as we approached, and neither looked too shocked to see Clary leading me instead of Raj.

“I was summoned?”

“Yes,” Alec said as he stood up straight. “I had some more questions for you.”

“Fire away.”

“I wanted to get a better idea of what your world is like,” he said.

“Just like this world, only minus everything supernatural,” I said with a shrug.

Alec, Isabelle, and Clary all looked as if that was the weirdest thing they'd ever heard. “Not even magic?” Isabelle said.

“Nope. I mean, there's illusionists, but no real magic. Angels? Probably don't exist. Vampires, werewolves, warlocks? Definitely don't exist. Magic? I wish.”

“So it's nothing but the mundane world?” Alec said incredulously.

I nodded. “Basically.”

“It can't be,” Alec said. “There probably is but you don't see it. Like here. Mundanes are perfectly in the dark about our world.”

“I—“ I paused. What if he was right? What if there was some secret supernatural world that was being kept secret via magic and other suck tricks. I mean, a supposedly all-powerful being just sent me into the world of my favorite TV show (supposedly), maybe such things were common and I was just glamoured against seeing it. I shook my head. “My head hurts.”

Clary, the closest one to me, put a hand on my shoulder. “It's okay. I felt the same way when I learned about the Shadow World for the first time.”

“I'm still not convinced that this isn't some kind of dream or hallucination, but this is just...” I shook my head again. “This just can't be real. It just can't be!”

Alec, Clary, and Isabelle shared a look between them that clearly said they worried for my intelligence/sanity. Alec approached me and gently took my hand...and sliced a knife across my palm.

“Ow!” I yelped, jerking my hand away as blood began spilling from the open wound. Clary hurried to my side to tend to it.

“Alec!” Isabelle scolded. Alec paid her no mind.

“Still think this isn't real?”

“You're a dick!” was my witty reply as Clary searched for something to stop the bleeding. Isabelle walked over with a handkerchief and pressed it against the cut in my palm. I hissed in pain.

“It worked, didn't it?” Alec shrugged, crossing his arms.

“That doesn't make you less of a dick.” He snorted.

Eventually the bleeding stopped and Isabelle and Clary got it bandaged up. I flexed my palm and winced. It stung like hell, and I wanted to slap Alec with it. I know it would probably only hurt more, but it made me feel good on the inside to imagine it.

“We need to take her clothes shopping,” Isabelle said once I was no longer in danger of bleeding to death (thanks Alec).

I piped up before Alec could. “I don't have any money.”

“Why can't she just borrow some from the others here?” Alec asked.

Isabelle gave him a Look. “She's a mundane, Alec, not a Shadowhunter. Shadowhunter clothes are made for fighting. And she needs underwear.”

Alec was clearly done at the mention of underwear. I was done at the mention of underwear. “Alright. I'll grant you guys some funds and you can take her shopping.”

Isabelle smiled pleasantly and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” She turned to Clary and I, the former apparently getting roped into this. She didn't look too put off though. She actually looked like she might enjoy it. I guess even Shadowhunters enjoyed shopping trips. “Come on, let's go. We have a mission to do.”

“Wait, don't you need the money?” Alec called after us as Clary and I trailed after Isabelle, who was walking out of the room.

“No need. I have your credit card,” Isabelle called smugly over her shoulder as she sashayed out of the room.

“Hey!”

[thegreatmercutio]

The Villains of Shadowhunters. Part one.

...thoughts, opinions, reflections, and predictions of past, present, and future villains. I wanted to talk or post about the Shadowhunters’ villains, because heroes are not without villains. So, I dig within the books, myths, lores, and the show’s perspectives. WARNING: Major Books’ spoilers!!!!

I will be discussing about Valentine, Sebastian, Lilith, Lorenzo, and Asmodeus. And how Sebastian is linked to Magnus.

And I do not know what the show will do and how much of the books will make it to season 3...so, it kinda a big rants on the villains and the what ifs.

I do wanna hear from you guys too...on your views on the past, present, and future villains. There will be 2 parts.

Season 1 and 2

Valentine and Circle Members

Valentine and his Crew is introduced to the audience...like the book’s through the eyes of Clary. This is no hate. I read the books and I do like the books and yes, it does have it’s problems but I also think the show has it’s problems too. Nothing is made perfect...stay optimistic. However, it does follow a basic cliché of many young adults genre...a girl, young and naive...going through a transition period and suddenly collide into a new world and there she or he finds out how special she or he is...then add a cute misunderstood bad boy and a nerdy best friend...who is constantly friend zoned. Tales is old as time...to me, Valentine is that kind of villain. The Basic villain. Bear with me. He is there to connect the readers or audience to Clary...who is our eyes...but of course as the world unfolds...the readers and the audience does find their own characters.

Valentine is a purist. He likes it simple and basic. He likes or loves the old world. He does not like changes. He doesn’t want to destroy the world. He wants to protect it but to him...it’s black and white. Think, Lex Luther. Lex’s anti-Alien campaign and how he polluted and even convinced society to be fearful and hateful towards the “aliens” (aka...Superman). The scary thing about him is how relevant his philosophy is to our current society. The idea behind him is to keep his kind pure, which of course is ironic when he was injecting “demon” blood in himself and his kids. He is driven by rage, hate, and jealousy. If you look at it, he is technically upholding the laws. The old laws of the Clave. To him, Shadowhunters is pure and Downworlders are evil. The basics of good vs. evil. Do not forget, Shadowhunters did hunt and kill Downworlders. That’s it. There were no laws or rights. Yes, it makes me laugh how I read comments defending the Shadowhunters. Like, seriously? Downworlders do what they have to do to survive and protect. You know, the Shadowhunters will do the same thing. (What Iris did was fuck up, I am no defending that...the idea here is to see her reason why? Valentine was killing the Warlocks race and he kidnapped/used Madzie). To understand the heroes is to understand the villains.

Bottom line, Valentine is the villain, you see in the real world. That’s scary. He does deals with one of the darkness topic in our world...racism. Valentine’s perspectives are reflection of our society. Just turn on the news. He’s the guy, right winged conservative, against immigration,...etc. He’s basically the Third Reich. Hatred towards an entire group of people, experimented on the Downworlders,...and yes, this was all evil but for me...Valentine is just a start. The introduction. He’s a lot of talk, some walks, but he’s not strong enough. However, the things that he stands for...isn’t going away. Someone else will always take his place.

The real villain is...the hate.

Season 2

Sebastian

Sebastian...Is definitely more “Extra” than Valentine. He’s different than Valentine. Valentine is actually afraid of him. He is Valentine’s shame. The black sheep of the family. Sebastian like Valentine is also tied to Clary’s path. Oooh, the dysfunctional family.

Valentine...he is the villain by choice. He choose his path...while Sebastian was made. Sebastian is the tragic villain. He is the one who wants acceptance and love. Driven to be normal but unfortunately never understood the technicality of it and forgets one important thing...that being normal is overrated. He is the anger within. The child with the prolonged tantrum.

His identity, childhood, and life...all stolen from him. You and I, as the audience can understands and even sympathetic towards him (to a point, yes...the guy is evil). Remember, his whole life was taken and given to someone else (Jace). Serious identity crisis here. And while Clary and Jace was given a family, friends...and an identity. He was given to Edom. Where, he wasn’t wanted either...beside Lilith.

He isn’t Valentine. He is motivated by more personal matters and easily sum up as...vengeance and acceptance or lack of. In the books, he and many other elements and individuals of course...basically starts a war. I will say this...I do not give Sebastian, the credit for the war. Sorry. The war is much bigger than him. The thing is, the war began before Valentine or Sebastian. It has never truly ended. The audience doesn’t know that because you are following new eyes. However, Sebastian does play a critical part to the “new” war’s foundation.

So, in season 3. Sebastian isn’t done. He will be back and he will make them pay. He’s a child with a big tantrum. Here’s is the interesting thing...so desperately to be accepted by his father, mother, sister, and the Shadowhunters...always wearing a mask...pretending to be someone else...but to come to a sad conclusion that he is and will always be unwanted by his own. However, Lilith will give the audience another perspective.

Also, I do see Sebastian as Jace’s villain not Clary. Two adopted sons, life of mistaken identities, two different paths...a nature vs. nurture element.

In the first few episodes of season 3, my prediction is Sebastian will be healing. However, he will be alive and well in Jace’s head. I think, Jace coming back from the dead...opened a door. A dangerous pathway. There’s always consequences when you play with death. But it won’t be Sebastian who is messing with Jace’s head...it would be Lilith or one of her demons. Lilith is very angry. Her son is hurt and Jace is vulnerable enough to be the perfect target..the perfect start. They will tear Jace apart by tearing him away from people he loved the most...starting with Clary than the Lightwoods. Through this process, she will slowly creep into the group’s walls. Learn their names and their vulnerabilities. It is confirmed that the first few episodes will be heavily on relationships. Jace and Clary will be tested. And know, that it’s canonically that Sebastian still wants Clary (to be his queen, literally in the books...sorry...the incest does not end yet) and Lilith being the mother that she is...will give him...what he wants.