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itswildwinters · 4 years

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Hello lovelies and welcome to my October 2020 fic recs. These are the fics that I read these last few months. The main pairing is Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles.

This is also an appreciation post to all writers out there. Thank you for contributing so much to the fandom, for making all these incredible pieces of work for us all to read!

I’m wishing you all a happy Halloween in advance!

If you check out any of those incredible fics below, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!

From What I’ve Tasted of Desire by @evilovesyou

When Louis moves to the small Scottish town of Fortrose to spend some time with his father, he thinks he's come to terms with the fact that the next two years of his life will be rainy and dull. That changes when he meets the ever-elusive Harry Styles in his Biology class and he makes it his goal to find out the big secret surrounding him and his family. Louis unexpectedly finds himself in the eye of a storm of secrecy, age-old myths, friendship and romance.

Twilight AU / Vampires / Werewolves / Slow Burn / Highschool & College AU

eyes off you by @soldouthaz

“Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us all safe while we’re in there,” Liam says.

Through the crack in the door, Louis can just barely make out the broad curve of Harry’s back, the slope of his curls as they tumble down all sleep-soft and lazy, and the sharp twist of his arm - all leading down to where he’s got his pointer and middle finger crossed over each other behind his back.

“I promise,” he tells Liam firmly, “I promise.”

or; a charlie’s angels inspired fic where louis is the brains, harry is the charm, liam is the muscle, and niall drives the getaway car - and zayn is there, too. sometimes.

Action / Pining / Assassins (kill bad people)

Walls by Travis_Crux

Following his line of sight, he frowned and shook his head, "What's wrong?"

"Wasn't your timer on your ring finger?" Liam asked, at that the Alpha immediately swapped the tumbler and looked down at his finger which sported a string of tiny blue flowers on the underside of his ring finger.

The two of them looked at one another.

"You could've touched nearly fifty people by the time you grew delirious," Liam advocated, always the voice of reason. "Comrades, nurses, doctors."

Sighing, he turned away and continued drinking the water. Literally, the only fucking thing remaining in the middle of a fucking war.

Harry has his soulmate timer stuck at zero from the beginning of time but suddenly the fates show mercy and a lovely forget-me-not takes the place of his timer. In between finding his soulmate in a war camp and solving the puzzle of the charismatic doctor who is treating him, all he can hope for is to live.

ABO / World War I / Soulmates / Angst / Hurt-Comfort

works like a charm by @falsegoodnight

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

Harry Potter Setting / Porn With Plot / Enemies to Lovers

(quiet like a fight) fingers laced together by @letthemkissyou

It’s a thin hope, frail and as thin as the silver strands of a spider web, desperate in the way Louis keeps clinging onto it even when he’s already expecting and preparing for the worst. Maybe one day, he’ll have a home, a place where he can feel safe and sound, tucked away safely from the world that has the tendency to treat him horribly and then even worse, that maybe there will be someone in his life who cares for him, even if in the smallest of ways, and does not just use him for whatever they tend to need at the moment.

Or, the one where Harry is gifted a hybrid and it's a whole new world for the both of them.

Hybrid Louis / Past Abuse / Fluff / Angst

We’ll Cast Some Light (You’ll Be Alright) by fondleeds

There’s tense silence, the whole room completely hushed. The other teams on surrounding tables look between each other. Then, Louis pushes himself away from the table noisily, chair scraping. His face is angered and crumpled, red at the ears. The door slams behind him as he rushes out. The surrounding teams look at Harry simultaneously.

“God, Simon is going to kill us if we don’t die on this mission first,” Niall moans into his hands.

There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.

Demons / Enemies to Lovers / Violence / Angst / Fluff / Demon Hunters / Smut

Three Days in February by @mercurial-madhouse

“We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet. “And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted to the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.” “What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?” Confusion slid over Louis's features. “Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.” The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Angst / Action / Adventure / Magical Realism / Hurt-Comfort / Slow Burn

Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Explicit Sexual Content / Vampires / Incubus / Dubious Consent / Blood / Violence

The Compulsion to Find Love by Toomanytears

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

ABO / Omega Louis / Alpha Harry / Worldbuilding / Slow Burn / Fluff / Angst

Just a bit of work by missyoutoosweetscheeks

It was quite painfully pathetic, really. Twenty five, stable job, stable flat, stable mind (well, quite), a painfully non-existent love life with an even more painfully intact virginity.

Marcel didn't think his life was going to get better with his painfully aparent sociopathic tendencies to block anyone who showed interest in him.

Until, of course, he became Louis Tomlinson's next prey.

In which Marcel is a virgin, and becomes his office's amorous co-worker's next big conquest.

Top Harry / Bottom Louis / Office Sex / Dubious Consent / Porn Without Plot

Fuck U Betta by @jacaranda-bloom

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

Porn Without Plot / Light BDSM / Top Harry / Bottom Louis

push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly

Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

College/University AU / medical student Harry / Fashion student Louis / Strangers to Lovers / Pining / fluff / slight angst / Hut-Comfort / Anger Management

might we be stardust stories by ryanreynolds

"It was easier being at war."

In which werewolves and vampires have been fighting each other for a century, and Harry and Louis' marriage is what's gonna bring peace to the realm. Hopefully.

Werewolves / Vampires / Arranged Marriage / Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Pining / Fantasy

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

ABO / Fake-Pretend Relationship

until this blood runs cold by @soldouthaz

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

Vampire Harry / Frottage / Blood Drinking

call you mine by @falsegoodnight

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

Or, Louis’ curious about how it feels to be bitten. Harry’s going to need more than just one bite.

Plot What Porn / Vampire Harry / Bottom Louis

your biggest fan by @soldouthaz

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.

And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

Top Harry / Bottom Louis / Porn What Plot / Nerd Louis / Jock Harry

give me love by @falsegoodnight & @soldouthaz

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

ABO / Alpha Harry / Omega Louis / Bottom Louis / Past Relationship Trauma / Slow Burn / Angst / Fluff

The Stars Look Very Different Today by @kingsofeverything

For Harry Styles, child genius turned glorified spaceship mechanic, rescuing lost or broken down ships is a fairly common occurrence.

There’s nothing common about his latest mission, the ship, or that ship’s captain.

The last thing he expects to find in a distant galaxy is the one thing he’s been missing on Earth.

Space / Time-Travel / Science Fiction & Fantasy / Enemies to Lovers

The cat is out of the bag by 28sunflowers

Harry somehow gets himself stuck as a black cat on Halloween and needs help from Louis to change back into his human form.

The problem is: Louis doesn’t even know witches exist, much less that Harry is one. And there’s also the fact he thinks Harry is ghosting him after they had sex for the first time.

So the situations isn’t ideal. But it’s okay. Harry will figure something out.

Light angst / Witch Harry / Potions Accident / Fluff and Humour

#fic recs #october 2020 #larry stylinson

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travelonlinetipsofficial · 3 years

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What are the best things to do for free in New York?

New Post has been published on https://www.travelonlinetips.com/what-are-the-best-things-to-do-for-free-in-new-york/

What are the best things to do for free in New York?

Sure, you could–drop a bunch of coin to go to the top of the Empire State Building, eat at the fanciest restaurants or walk around on the grounds of the Statue of Liberty. But what if we told you that you could take a boat ride right past Lady Liberty without spending a dime? It’s a possibility and thousands of New Yorkers who ride the Staten Island Ferry do it every day.

New York is chock full of free gems like these ones, but to find them, the secret is connecting with a local who knows all the tricks. Luckily for you, we’re spilling our beans and dishing up the best free spots to enjoy in New York City.

From long, luxurious walks through the city’s parks, including the elevated High Line, to the weird, wacky and wonderful sights at Coney Island, this list curates the best of New York’s offerings into a tidy little package.–

So, no matter how small – or non-existent- your budget is, you’re still capable of having a great time in the Big Apple. Now, without further ado, allow us to present to you the 10Best list of New York City’s free things to do.–

Photo courtesy of Luna Park

Coney Island is home to New York’s alternative side. From the yearly mermaid parade to the nationally televised hot dog eating contest, this beachy outreach of the city feels a million miles away. If you can’t make it for an event (though you really should try!), you’ll still find plenty to do once you arrive. Take your chances on a ride at the amusement park, Luna Park, or if you’re able to drop a few bucks, gain admittance into the Coney Island Circus Sideshow. We won’t ruin the surprises but this freak show will have you scratching your head – or in some cases, hiding your eyes.

Recommended for Free Things to Do because: Coney Island is grimy, weird and unforgettable experience. For free.

Andrea’s expert tip: Check the schedule and try to go when an annual event, such as the summertime Mermaid Parade, is in full swing.

Read more about The High Line →

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#Destinations

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ballerinascribbles · 6 years

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“The Tate Modern? Ah, you can skip it.”

This is what a native British gentleman and engineer says to me, a starving artist visiting from the States. Having never met ballet’s ideal standards for beauty, age, weight, or race, I am defensively inclined to give the Tate Modern a chance. Plus, it sounds like a dare, so I go twice in two days.

The Tate is an institution boasting the United Kingdom’s collection of British art, international contemporary, and modern art. Its mission is to amplify the public’s accessibility to, enjoyment and understanding of art through its four magnificent galleries: The original Tate Britain, Tate Liverpool, Tate St Ives, and Tate Modern. Together, these sites house nearly 70,000 artworks of unimaginable variety.

The Tate Modern is my favorite. To get to the Tate Modern, I recommend taking the Tube and hopping off the Central Line at St Paul’s. You could, of course, get closer, faster, but hopping off here gives you a gorgeous fifteen minute walk past St Paul’s Cathedral, over the River Thames stretching under the Millennium Bridge, just brushing shoulders with Shakespeare’s Old Globe theater before embracing the monolith we know as the Tate Modern. This is the world’s favorite modern art museum, the fifth most visited museum, the youngest and most popular branch of the Tate group. Upon its opening in 2000, the Tate Modern attracted 5.25 million visitors - more than twice the amount of visitors from the other three Tate sites combined! When it became abundantly clear that this museum would remain among the world’s heavy-hitters in way of record high attendance, plans for expanding the Tate Modern were promptly announced. As it stands, the building is a dazzling, dizzying, thought-provoking piece in itself.

Now, let’s pretend you took my advice. You do stroll from beholding the classical beauty of St Paul’s Cathedral to confront the perhaps imposing but nonetheless iconic combination of steel, brick, and glass pictured above. If this is mildly shocking and slightly, secretly disappointing, don’t worry. This doesn’t make you a bad person.

Let’s take that stroll together from Old World beauty to contemporary reflection. Let’s slow over Millennium Bridge to look back, St Paul’s Cathedral framed in blue glass and sky.

Let’s pause outside the intimidating brick facade and wonder together if we’re shallow or simple-minded for not instantly appreciating the significance of the Tate Modern. Let’s allow for the possibility that our first impressions may be disproven, and let’s stride right inside.

We’ve stepped over the threshold to the First Floor River Entrance. We glance over the life-sized map on the wall to our right or we take to wandering, which I prefer. The Tate Modern may be thought of in terms of three separate pillars under one roof: The main Turbine Hall in the center, the Boiler House to the north, and the Blavatnik Building to the south. Let’s push past light, quiet crowds to peer over the first floor balcony or bridge stretching over the striped ground floor. We’ll see an immense pendulum swinging side to side along the seam of the Turbine Hall. We’ll watch children and adults alike chase the moving metal sphere, sprinting and craning up to see a glimpse of themselves in the orb above. We wonder together whether this was meant to illustrate the push and pull between childlike playfulness and existential profundity, or if our wild imaginations are working overtime. We keep walking.

Were we to scuttle downstairs to Level 0, we would stumble across three enormous underground oil tanks known un-mysteriously as The Tanks: One serves simply as a utility space while the other two showcase performance art and installations, earning the description as “the world’s first museum galleries permanently dedicated to live art.” Level 1 contains the Terrace Bookshop and gift shop. Levels 2, 3, and 4 provide the breathtaking public space packed with free displays because like all UK national galleries (and unlike many museums in the United States), the Tate Modern grants general admission free of charge. Only special exhibits require an additional fee, but we ought to feel very free exploring the ever-changing collections of Levels 2, 3, and 4. Each floor is separated into east and west wings, breaking tradition for organising the artworks not chronologically, but thematically: Artist and Society, In the Studio, Between Object and Architecture, Performer and Participant, Materials and Objects, Media Networks, and Living Cities. Let’s start at the Start Display, an introduction to basic ideas of modern art.

Level 5 buzzes with open-ended questions for being home to the Tate Exchange, a place devoted to engaging, communal conversation, collaboration, and discovery of new ideas and perspectives on life through art; the Tate Exchange is free and open to all. The Blavatnik Building runs a tall ten stories, each floor after Level 5 featuring places of varying exclusivity indelibly designed for contemplation. If we’re not buying Tate membership today, I recommend the top floor open viewing terrace, which is free and accessible to all (just be sure to use the dedicated elevator from Level 0). We can eat and drink at any one of the cafes and restaurants located on Levels 1, 3, 6, 9 or 10, but let’s be sure to end up on Level 10 to steal a spectacular 360-degree view of the London skyline.

That’s the long and short of the Tate Modern’s floor plan. Now let’s talk about its contents.

Maybe you’re enlightened enough to immediately understand every piece in the Tate Modern, all contemporary and modern art. But maybe you’re like me, and this doesn’t come naturally. The Tate Modern’s collection will be challenging. Bear in mind and rest assured: Reckoning with modern art is meant to be difficult.

I am a classical ballet dancer, through and through. Classical ballet is, like the architecture of St Paul’s Cathedral, classical for being built in a restrained Baroque style. This style of architecture and art was born of the Renaissance, the rejuvenation of classical antiquity and Greek thought within the then modern world, a style characterised by grandeur, exuberance, richness, and drama. My British gentleman from the beginning of this tale thought I might as well skip the Tate Modern because I more instinctively belong to the Baroque, to environments like the National Gallery with its sumptuous color schemes and ornate ceilings. I, of all people, am trained, programmed, and paid to adore and support classicism, idyllic lines and art and architecture. I am spoiled for clarity and a tad demanding for easy understanding. I encourage you to walk with me, past St Paul’s renowned and widely accepted beauty, over the hallmark of the Millennium Bridge to the edge of our comfort zone, onto the brink of the Southbank and into something new - the Tate Modern mindset.

Architects Herzog and de Meuron made light work of converting the old Bankside power station, rendering a truly contemporary public space which is deftly integrated with the existing historical structure. The lines are blurred between what is new and what is old within the Tate Modern, the minimalist, urban character of the building only enhanced by the non-obnoxious, thoughtful way. The effect is focused, undistracted, but still welcoming. Its halls feel unperformative, expansive and symbolic, but matter of fact. This is refreshing, when you open your mind and allow it to be.

There is a certain gilded fanfare to which I am accustomed. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever seen a theatre with red velvet curtains, plush seats, gold leafing, and satin pointe shoes. A theatre is akin to the National Gallery in the sense that both are stages for classical art delivered in a traditional way. The ballet audience receives and applauds only the beautiful finished product onstage. The audience is, however, never privy to the work poured into our pristine and polished presentation of ballet because we would never allow them to see the sweat put into our practice. That would break the illusion of grace and ease! It is the ballerina’s responsibility is to master her breath, mind, and body. There’s no room for quivering, faltering, or falling onstage. That is what rehearsal is for.

The Tate Modern is important to me because it wakes me up and makes me think. To me it feels like a ballet studio, a productive, experimental, progressive, rehearsal space with plain walls devoid of pretension, costumes, and dramatic lighting. It’s about the work. Our experience at the Tate Modern differs from our experience at places like the National Gallery because there’s more work to be done. The art here doesn’t play easy on you! You have to ponder, weigh out and decide what pieces mean to you, and in turn wonder what those conclusions mean about you. We become scientists and philosophers immersed in the museum rather than mere spectators separated from art, tasked with revealing meaning unique to our individual experiences as we wander along walls with Dali, Warhol, Picasso, Rothko, and more. The wooden floors of the Tate Modern are left unsealed so as to show the natural wear of life, the grit and lack of glamor left under our crisscrossing footsteps. You begin to feel at home. You begin to find the work rewarding. You begin to appreciate that you are never entitled to understand the world and the people wandering these halls with you, and you begin to work harder to earn the privilege of elevated understanding and tolerance.

And you begin to remember what you’ve always known: Our humanity is not just what we package up prettily, perfectly, and put onstage for the world to see. Our humanity requires work, activity, trying, failing, honesty, respect, and courage to listen to and uplift one another.

Let’s not skip the Tate Modern. Let’s go twice.

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lgbt-malec · 7 years

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for @warlockragnors prompt: idk ngl i could get behind a post 2.18 thing where to seal the rift magnus has to summon asmodeus to help and then has to give up the thing he cares most about (because REASONS) to seal it and so magnus gives up his memories of alec to save him and everything else happens kinda the same so alec still feels jace die and magnus for some reason can't stand to watch this random shadowhunter in pain aND LIKE THE OMAMORI CHARM CAN GIVE HIM FEELS TOO and somehow this ends happy. this really got away from me

(forgive me i dont know much about asmodeus okay so if this is shit then just lmk and i’ll write something else okay) ((also it’s so long it’s like 2k words sjfjdjf)

Magnus had been pacing in his living room for nearly two hours, yet he still hadn’t reached a decision yet. He knew the consequences of this, and that it would not turn out well for him, but after Alec had come by this morning asking for him to shut the rift, he knew he had to go to desperate measures. He finally sat down in the blue, velvet chair that was next to his glass coffee table and summoned a glass of some mixed drink to him with a snap of his fingers. He brought the glass to his lips and took a long drink, his eyes shut as he drank nearly half of the glass in just a few seconds. He set the glass down onto a coaster on the glass table and took a deep breath before he stood up once more. He walked out of the living room and into his office, which was rather large. It was maybe a square foot or two smaller than his living area, but it was where he met most of his clients so it needed to be rather large to fit everything he needed.

He walked to the middle of the room, a pentagram already drawn out from earlier when he originally was going to do this. He had moved most of the breakable things away from the center of the room, apart from the chandelier hanging down from the ceiling over the pentagram. Magnus rubbed his hands against each other, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he muttered some words under his breath, his eyes squeezed shut as he moved his hands about in a slow manner, beginning the summoning ritual. He spent a few moments doing this, not wanting to rush anything, but he said the last words of the ritual loudly, so loud that they rang throughout the entire apartment. “I summon thee, Asmodeus, a Greater Demon and Prince of Hell.” With those final words, the lights in his apartment flickered and turned off completely for a minute or two, and Magnus felt the presence of the demon, of his father. The lights in his apartment turned back on, and he felt chills down his spine when he saw Asmodeus in front of him.

“Son. Thought you’d never call. Though, if you would have just asked me to come, I would have. No need for,” with a wave of Asmodeus’ hand, he broke the pentagram and sent Magnus backwards, so that the warlock’s back was pressed against the wall, “this mess. You should have known better, however. Summoning me means that you need something.” Asmodeus’ words were cold, no warmth available anywhere in his tone, and his eyes were nearly black. His suit was a dark black, with red lining on the cuffs and the collar, a red tie matching the small detailed lining. His button up shirt underneath was a dark grey, with red buttons, bringing the whole look together. He had a clean shaven face, apart from a smooth, even beard lining his jaw and his chin. His hair was gelled up, in a similar style to Magnus’, but not as long, the sides weren’t shaven either, they were the same length as the top, but gelled down. His hair also wasn’t pure black, like Magnus’ natural hair, instead it was black with grey highlights in it, not enough to age him too much, but making him appear more mature.

He stepped over to where Magnus was still pressed against the wall and brought his hand up to his son’s face, gripping his jaw as he turned Magnus’ head side to side, taking in how his son looked. His face lacked emotion, but he let out a dry laugh as he let go of both Magnus’ jaw and the way he was using his demon power to hold Magnus against the wall. Magnus nearly fell to the floor but held himself up, not daring to look at Asmodeus yet.

“You’re.. Different. Who came into your life and changed you?” Asmodeus walked around the office, running his fingers over some surfaces, humming while he awaited a response.

“That isn’t what I called you here to speak about. I need your help.” The second half of his sentence was soft, nearly a whisper. Magnus knew the consequences of asking for help, but he couldn’t just let asmodei keep coming into the mortal world. It wasn’t fair to any mundanes or even the Shadowhunters. Or any Downworlders who would be affected.

Asmodeus grinned slyly, turning to face Magnus, a devilish glint in his eyes. “You know what I’ll require. It’s the same thing I required the last time we spoke.”

Magnus’ strong facade faltered. “I-” He took a deep breath, shaking his head before he spoke again. “Okay. Let’s do this then.”

“Magnus!” “Magnus!” Alec was running towards Magnus, who’s back was still turned to him while he was sealing the rift between Edom and the mundane world. Magnus had been ignoring Alec since this morning, and while it hurt Alec greatly, he couldn’t blame him. He’d lied to Magnus. But now he was really in danger, this asmodei was flying towards him and he was terrified. “Magnus!”

Magnus couldn’t figure out why this Shadowhunter kept screaming his name, but right as he was nearly finished with sealing the rift, he heard his name screamed again, but this time it brought out a feeling in him and without even thinking twice, he turned and used the red magic in his hands to smite the demon coming towards the Shadowhunter, then turned to finally finish sealing the rift. He collapsed to the ground; the magic that he had used had been a combination of his and the power his father had given him, and he was exhausted. He laid there for a few moments, then felt a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off, looking incredulously at the Shadowhunter who looked, if he wasn’t mistaken, concerned.

Alec sighed in relief when Magnus looked at him again, but couldn’t stop the hurt look crossing his features when Magnus shrugged his hand off of his shoulder. He mumbled an apology, chewing on his lower lip as he stood up and looked around. There wasn’t an asmodei in sight and it looked like Magnus had successfully sealed the rift. “Thank you, Magnus. Now we’ve got one less thing to worry about.” His tone wasn’t cold, he knew Magnus was angry, but he still loved Magnus and he wanted his words to portray that if he couldn’t do it with his actions.

“Odd for a Shadowhunter to thank a Downworlder, especially coming from a Lightwood.” Magnus couldn’t help but see the actual hurt on the Shadowhunter’s face, how there were tears welling up in the light, hazel eyes of the tall man, and he felt a pang in his own heart. It brought on confusion, because he didn’t know this Shadowhunter, he didn’t like Nephilim, yet he felt hurt by the pain on this man’s face. He turned and saw a hurt expression on the female’s face as well as anger, yet he brushed it off and opened a portal for the three of them and he was the first to step through.

Magnus stood in front of one of the screens in the Institute, and he was still so confused on why the Nephilim here were being so friendly to him, he didn’t know any of them, and the ones he did know, he had never been friendly with them. He stood in his spot, confusion clouding his thoughts as he read over the reports from the damage that the asmodei did. He briefly heard both Shadowhunters he was with at the beach earlier speaking about something, mentioning someone named Jace and then Clary. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you mention Clary? As in Clary Fairchild? Why is she in Idris?” Magnus automatically recognized the odd looks that both of the Nephilim in front of him gave him but before either could answer, the taller of the two doubled over in pain, a loud yelp escaping his lips.

“Alec! What’s wrong?” Isabelle rushed to Alec’s side, kneeling down as he’d fallen on the floor, a pained expression on his face. He was hunched over in pain, his eyes squeezed shut, and all he could muster was a quick, mumbled word before he slouched against Isabelle, yelling out in pain.

“It’s- ah!” He held his side, where his parabatai rune was, and he had flashbacks of everything he and Jace had ever done together, every mission, every emotion he’d ever felt, how he loved his brother, how his brother loved him, and when he was brought back to the present, he breathed out the rest of his sentence, his heart aching in his chest. “It’s Jace. He’s dead.”

Hearing those words, and the way that the Shadowhunter- Alec- had said them, brought a pain to Magnus’ heart again. He didn’t know what else to do but drop to his knees next to Alec and rest his hand on his shoulder. What he wasn’t expecting was for Alec to reach up with one of his own hands and grip Magnus’ hand, and he wasn’t expecting for the Nephilim to look at him with so much pain but also so much love. He was taken aback and he didn’t know what else to do but to whisper soothing words to the Shadowhunter. He didn’t know why, he didn’t care for Shadowhunters like this, but he felt the need to comfort this man in front of him. “Hey, it’s alright. It’ll be okay. I don’t- you’re okay. We’ll fix this. I promise.” He let the Shadowhunter’s grip on his hand tighten, and when tears started falling down Alec’s face, he couldn’t resist himself when he brought his free hand up to wipe away the tears that were leaving trails on the man's face.

Magnus paced back and forth in his office, the events of the day bringing so much damn confusion, but he needed to figure it out. He’d been invited to a party at the Hunter’s Moon tonight and he knew all of the downworlders that were going, but Alec had invited him, and he didn’t even RECOGNIZE the man. He felt something in his pocket, and when he looked down, it was practically GLOWING. He reached his hand into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around a small object, and he pulled it out. He felt like a brick wall had hit him in the face when he pulled the object out to look at it. A thousand memories came at him at one hundred miles an hour, and he heard a voice in the back of his head. It was Alexander’s voice.

“Seventeen? That’s not- wait. Seventeen… hundred?” “Seventeen thousand?”

“I couldn’t ever have what I wanted. Until you came along.”

“I hear relationships take effort.” “Well, I’m all for effort.”

“Magnus- I- I love you.” “I love you too, Alexander.”

“This is the fourth morning I’ve woken up to an empty bed.”

“There is nothing ugly about you.”

“Magnus, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

“The key to having no fear is having nothing to lose.” “And then I met you.”

Magnus felt tears falling down his face, his grip tight on the omamori charm in his hand, and he collapsed on the floor. The tears were tears of happiness. He was thrilled he could actually remember. He couldn’t imagine a life where he never met Alexander. How could he have ever forgotten his Alexander?

#I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT #and it's really long as it is #but here ya go #mickey tag #warlockragnors #liz's prompt party #my writing #malec #malec fic #shadowhunters #i hope this lives up to what you requested?#hsdrhf #it ended kinda happy #magnus got his memories back!!!#idk how #if i continue this maybe i'll explain how?

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mylinlondon · 7 years

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Finding New Selves in Budapest, Vienna and Prague

When I left New York 8 months ago, I did so with a satisfaction that my relationship with the city had expired. I was still enamoured with the energy, the diversity, the setting sun on the West Side Highway, the spontaneous and fleeting subway kinships, the snare-like drum beat that pushes the city forward, but along with it came the constant thrum of aggression, the spiky skin I’d developed to protect myself against the self-doubt, the lurking male figure on the street corner, the indifference and anonymity necessary to survive in a city with 8.5 million people in half the space of London.

It makes my discovery and relationship with these girls that much more special.

I have a deep belief that those who have like-minded Souls have a way of gravitating to each other. Our apparent backgrounds could not be more different, our passions only tangentially overlapping, but our aspirations, our values, our curiosity were magnetic. Somehow, in one of the most densely populated cities in the world, a rare friendship emerged.

FIRST STOP: PRAGUE

Where we stayed: Stare Mesto, on the way up to Prague Castle

Why we came:

To climb the oldest Astronomical Clock in the world and take in the dusty orange rooftops

To hike up to the Strahov Monastery and sample local beer, cheaper than water, tastier than your supermarket spread, carefully crafted and prized in a region where beer is God

To take in a Vivaldi’s Four Seasons at the Klementinum, touristy but also the original site of many historical performances, including the working organ Mozart first played on his visits to Prague

To sample amazing cocktails at Cash Only, explore local bookstores and cafes in the Praha 7 neighbourhood and chat existential questions with locals (do you believe in Aliens?)

A year ago on a murky spring evening, we were sullenly sipping margaritas and chomping down free chips and salsa at Hotel Tortuga in Gramercy. We were all on a cusp, reeling from recent emotional and mental trauma – about to jump, looking at the vast unknown ahead, half unsure whether we were skirting back from the edge out of fear or to take a running start. It was that night we decided we liked being labelled a Pistol.

Fast forward, and we crackled into a dusty courtyard halfway up the cobbled hill to the Prague Castle. A salesman peddling painted canvases of the Charles Bridge eyed us eagerly as we passed his stand, and then curiously as we, giant weekender bags made awkward, found keys and swung the enormous door to the Airbnb open. Ceilings high, vaulted and faded yellow, identifiably Ikea adorned. We were in Eastern Europe, and we were sleepy.

“We can swing by the Lennon Wall, and then check out the bridge,” my thumbs are trying to place us on google maps, the Czech network patchy on my British service.

Mishearing me, Sam whispers reverently to herself, “The lemon wall…”

I can only imagine what she thought it was when she misheard me. The Lennon Wall is the source of inspiration for the young Czech Velvet revolution after the USSR occupation in then Czechoslovakia, and today it continues to be covered in resistance art, as well as the occasional obscene scribble. When we arrived, the majority of young people promptly turned their back on the art, posing, friends designated as the photographer of the photoshoot, the graffiti nothing more than a colourful edgy backdrop to the subject of Me. The sad irony was not lost.

My opinion of Prague is cemented further my second time visiting – this is a city optimized to experience gritty East Europe. Most of the city’s features are backwards looking, celebrating its colourful and fluctuating past. The setting is firmly Czech, with its uniformly gritty orange roofs and sooty stucco walls, a beautiful, dusty maze of cobblestone and unexpected corners. All modern architecture looks ill-fitted and distasteful. It was the perfect first stop to get us emotionally and mentally detached for our journey.

SECOND STOP: VIENNA

Where we stayed: Just outside the center ring, five minutes between the Naschmarkt and the Karlskirche

Why we came:

To spend lazy afternoons reading in a café, the official national pastime of the Austrians. Notable places include:

Ulrich, for local vibes, charcuterie, ice cold Viennese wine for afternoon lazing

Vollpension, for Austrian brunch in the chicest assembly of your grandparents’ furniture

Naschmarkt, for Italian, Turkish, East Asian, and Austrian spices, deli stands,

Wurstelstandes for local street sausages, especially one that oozes cheese in the middle

To sample Wiener Schnitzel and the famous Sacher Torte, both institutions in their own right

To see an Opera at the heart of European culture

Wander between an endless beauty of castles, gardens, museums, and libraries, all flowing into each other seamlessly

Pristine, cultured, a bit snobby, Vienna has reason to be proud. Arguably the capital of artistic and intellectual Europe for centuries, Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, and Freud all called Vienna home and produced their best works as residents. Compared to Prague and Budapest, Vienna was spacious, white-washed, impeccably clean, and thoughtfully designed from the architecture to the colour of tulips in the local park, nary a loose stone or chipped street in sight.

We would spend Vienna wandering bookshops and vintage clothing stores, commenting on how airy and intentional the city felt. “It would be an easy place to live,” we commented, but also felt more firmly Outside here than we did in any other place. We couldn’t get into the library without a citizen’s card, nor did we know how to pick Opera box seats when time came to purchase tickets. A waiter teased us for our American inflections, and others politely indifferent to us altogether. And so we moved on, to a city that could not be more different.

FINAL STOP: BUDAPEST

Where we stayed: District 7 on the Pest side

Why we came:

To immerse ourselves into Ruin Bars and Restaurants – you cannot miss this. Must go places include:

Mazel Tov – Israeli restaurant, a favorite of Hollywood visitors and this particular crew, who went twice, conveniently located across the street from our Airbnb

Szimpla Kert – one of the best Ruin bars in the city, it’s a cross between if 1) all the junk in Budapest was whisked away and then carefully/carelessly curated inside a hidden-in-clear-sight ruin and if 2) the Weasely’s The Burrow was converted into a garden bar

Bar Pharma for custom cocktails in a single bartop establishment tucked between two large restaurant “villages”

Soak in enormous Turkish baths pumped with natural water with hundreds of other people

Take in the city by boat, or take the furnicular up to Buda castle, or simply stroll along the Pest waterline up to the Parliament

If Vienna was homogeneously pristine, Buda and Pest were a mosaic of socio-economic and cultural history stitched loosely together by proud and distinctive local people. Just two hours away from and sharing a central river Danube with Vienna upstream, Buda and Pest were originally two cities with its own governing bodies and historical relics. As Sam noted, it felt “like going down a rabbit hole; you never knew what you would stumble upon next”. Here, you could find a bit of everything: a polished high street with brand names sandwiched along million dollar homes with sleek heeled women strolling through; a few blocks away, a crumbling, narrow maze of markets and cafes, tucked behind chipped and sooted facades; a bit further along, Europe’s largest synagogue and a series of local designer shops.

At night the city came alive with young people from all over - we didn’t know it then, but this city is known for Hen and Stag Do’s (bachelor/bachelorette parties), and there are plenty of clubs, lounges, bars, and outdoor gardens for everyone, and we certainly ran into every type. A group of costumed guys from Brighton, two students from Amsterdam, a chic French couple, plenty of Americans, and on our way home, conversation with two locals - one a true-blooded Hungarian, and the other a Transylvanian. I’d read about the sad yet confident history of Budapest on the train over from VIenna, and these two young men were eager to share more - how Hungary has never been fully recovered by Hungarians, particularly in recent centuries. You could see it too - the shoes left on the Danube in remembrance of the massacre of Hungarian Jews during the Occupation; the house of TERROR, a museum that shares both sides of the WWII story, and even in the buildings, still pockmarked by bullet holes and shrapnel from the war. This was a city that had lived, and continued living - unlike Prague, it looked forward and celebrated the gritty present, and unlike Vienna, it was a veritable quilt of scarred history and people and architecture, made tangible in the tastes and sights and experiences of the city.

We spent our last night at Szimpla Kert, the best Ruin bar we’d come upon. I straddled a beat up gymnastics pommel horse, balancing a $2 beer in hand, and on top of our heads a projector screen cranked a film reel of Hungary from the 50′s in faded technicolor. All around us, an eclectic collection of seemingly junk, though each served purpose and style, given new life in this strange space. We leaned against an upstairs window, a cool Spring breeze flowing through, sharing ideas and stories about our lives - how much credit our mothers deserve and often don’t get, who we aspired to be, past loves for better or worse, and what we actually do now in our lives that gives us energy.

Leaving was somber - even though we were returning to London, which for them was technically the last leg of their journey, there was a foreboding that the escape we’d felt for the last week was a temporary effect, that we’d return and find our lives unchanged.

That, of course, is untrue. We travel and may take home a souvenir or two - a coaster, a mug - but the places we go have a permanent effect on the way we view life, and of course on the way we view each other. I know, for instance, that it’s rare to have compatriots who you can travel with for weeks and have heartfelt conversations every day, who listen and empathize and build and disagree thoughtfully. Who can watch Disney movies and feminist comedy or aspire to a lifestyle of wellness and also great cocktails and savour them all without reserve or judgement.

We all enjoyed Budapest most, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. We view our lives through the same lens - in full flavor, in all its pockmarked glory, in all the people who come through who are wonderfully different and yet part of the fabric of what makes us so strange and colorful. And like the city, though we may become weary, or life takes its momentary blows, we move forward with energy and focus, building treasure out of what’s left over.

#travel #travel blog #budapest #vienna #prague #europe

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leavesofgrass-stark · 8 years

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About Eurus, Sherlock and Mycroft, and the theory of the evil twin

“It’s never twins John”

I’ve been thinking for very long how these three relate to each other (apart from the obvious). My brain is still trying to catch my fingers, so bear with me if something doesn’t make sense. I’ll try to edit as much as possible.

So I think it is safe to assume that part of what Sherlock has been through it has been because of Eurus. I mean, am I the only one that thinks that she killed Carl Powers and kept the trainers as a trophy? (Thank you Criminal Minds). She was a psychopath when she was younger, that it is typically when serial killers start to kill.

But why Redbeard? Why all this years-long plot? Why?

Here is my answer: she loved Sherlock and she despised Mycroft.

Explanation:

Due to the age gap between Sherlock and Mycroft, we can guess that Eurus is the middle child, probably closer to Sherlock’s age. In fact, Sherlock and Eurus might have been fraternal twins for all that we know. We know that Moffatt and Gattiss love the parallelisms. Did you notice that when Sherlock is with John in BS, Sherlock has his right eye blue and the left one dark because of the blood coagulation? When John is with Eurus, she takes out the right contact, looking at him with one blue eye, and one dark eye. My money is on fraternal twins, which would make even more sense.

Here is an example of what their childhood was like: Mycroft is old, and Mum and Dad told him that he was going to have two little siblings to look after. These twins came to the world. And Mycroft is in the position of taking care of two people, and potentially caring for two people, which he does. Being twins, Eurus and Sherlock would presumably be thick as thieves, playing together, doing everything as one. But something happened along the way. Maybe Mycroft cared more about Sherlock because he was more like him, or maybe because he was an ill child, or maybe because Sherlock counterpart was from the fairer sex. Or maybe she started displaying psychopathic tendencies that he would have discovered because he was already older than them. The point is, that whatever happened, Mycroft started showing more interest and protection towards Sherlock. Sherlock wouldn’t care, wouldn’t mind, because he was still playing and caring about his sister. But her? She would be left behind. And that would be a vicious circle. She would start small, with birds, cats, mice. And she liked it.

Add to that a beautiful dog as a gift from a couple of unaware parents to their children. Mycroft wouldn’t pay attention to it because he above that nonsense (and because two small kids is twice as many people as he wanted to care about), but the other two (probably 6-7 years old?) did. The dog, being a dog, takes an immediate liking for Sherlock, so now Eurus has to share her play mate with a dog. And she starts developing this love/hate relationship with Sherlock. She hates that she wants his approbation, she hates that he is the one everyone loves (including Mycroft) without even trying, she hates that he has replaced her with a dog. She wants to be the only person Sherlock needs, she wants things to be as they were before the dog came. So she does it, she kills Redbeard, and Sherlock sees it. Probably he repressed the memory (that does happen with traumatised kids), and she got locked away.

So they continued with their lives. Mycroft protecting Sherlock, probably because Eurus was locked in a low-security institution (in here I imagine a parallelism between Moriarty and Eurus. While locked, Eurus would write “SHERLOCK” all over the place, because she wants her brother, she misses him and she hates him with the same enthusiasm). She escapes, and Mycroft tries to cover it somehow (the why, I don’t know). She plans all this Game, as the ultimate play-date she would have with her dear brother, the only person she ever loved, before she kills him (and probably kill herself, if the hint of the gun is anything to go by).

Cut to the point where my theory started forming: the river walk. She wants to do this, not only because she is giving him a case, but also because deep down, deep down, she stills loves him, she wants to be with him, he is her, they shared a womb. And I think she was halfway expecting the warded person he is when he is able to keep his facade in place, the cold, harsh person. But the high!Sherlock, that is uninhibited, carefree, honest, broken, is totally different. That’s why she has that sad face when she says “You are nicer”. Because she thought that if he were the person she had grown to hate, the person everyone thought he was, killing him would be easier. But this person before her reminded her so much to her brother, that a part of her started rethinking about the whole thing.

But then, he goes to her house, he sees her, and he doesn’t recognise her. Is this the big, bad consulting detective that can’t even recognise a face? And did you see the hate in her features at the end of the episode? She was angry. More than angry, she was furious. How could Sherlock not remember her? She was his twin! And he didn’t acknowledge her, he forgot about her. She decides then, that her brothers deserve all the pain she can give: Mycroft for not defending her, Sherlock for not remembering her.

#sherlock #sherlock meta #tld meta #tld spoilers #tld #tfp #tfp meta #eurus holmes #sherlock holmes #Mycroft Holmes #holmes siblings #shelock theory

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