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90minsofscreentime · 2 years

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Now that's a Good Omen (I love you, I love you)

Why hello there~~

By golly, I really didn't deliver on the amount of Summer Bingo Prompt Fills I thought I was going to achieve, but here we are! With my Good Omens, Angel/Demon starker AU~

I'm quite proud of this one, truth be told (considering I was rushing to finish this before the deadline), so I hope it's to everyone else's enjoyment also! If you've been mentioned in this post it's because I added you to a taglist of people I'd like to check this story out! Of course, you are under no obligation to read my work if you don't want to, there will be no hard feelings~ <3

Card Below the Cut

Also available on ~ AO3

SFSummerBingo2022 Prompt Fill ~ "Angel/Demon AU" @starkerfestivals

Rating: Explicit

“Hello, Angel.”

Beautiful, golden brown locks flounce as Peter turns his head, his hand halfway through the motion of throwing some feed into the water.

“Oh! Hello there, Anthony!” The bright, melodic ring of Peter’s voice reaches Tony’s ears. It should be annoying - especially after all these years. It isn’t. Tony smiles. “Do you still go by Anthony? I can never be quite sure.”

“You can call me Anthony if you want, Pete,” Tony approaches with his usual swagger, hips swinging from side-to-side. Walking normally is boring - sue him. “But I’ve recently taken a liking to ‘Tony’.”

Peter meets him halfway, a paper bag of duck food clutched in both hands - no doubt fattening the birds they’ve visited for hundreds of years. He’s sporting a very flattering cream sweater with a light brown collared shirt beneath it, tied together with matching cream trousers and smart brown shoes. Ever the picture of immaculate spotlessness. Tony himself is draped with his usual black blazer, t-shirt and skinny jeans - his shades a bold blood-red, just because. Colours are fun, especially when you see the world through them.

“‘Tony’,” Peter turns the name over in his mouth, trying it out, tasting it. Tony hopes it tastes nice - like whiskey and cigar smoke or something (the best flavours). “I like it. It suits you,” Peter starts walking slowly towards a park bench; their bench. “It’s got the same refinement as ‘Anthony’, but with a bit more snark - it’s rather suave, I think,” Peter hums as he sits down, his posture upright and perfect, hands politely clasped in his lap. “Yes… I like it very much.”

“Why thank you, Angel. It’s nice to know I’m still just as suave as I was during that St. James’s Court assembly way back when,” Tony muses, settling into his signature slouch on the cold wood as he recounts the memory, sitting perhaps a bit too close to his holy companion, but it’s been a while, okay? He’s excited to see an old friend, that’s all. That’s all there is to it.

“In 1812?” Peter recalls, turning to look at the demon’s sly grin. Peter, delightfully, smirks back. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that… Sneaking up on me in the middle of a social event… And you weren’t even in the proper attire for an evening ball! People were staring at you! You and your lack of any waistcoat or cravat-”

“And yet I received the most feminine attention out of all the mortal bachelors that evening,” Tony preens, interrupting the perturbed Angel. “Say what you will about ‘high class’ ladies, but they’ll drop any responsibilities or decorum at just a hint of scandal and excitement. Usually in the form of a roguish man. Or another tempting woman.” Tony murmurs, thinking back on his past flings and conquests; all the times he’s seen that unmistakable spark of lust in an innocent human’s eyes - be it towards him, or a fellow human. It’s always so much more deliciously profound when it’s towards a forbidden human too. Well, only forbidden by their earthly standards, but still, it’s one of many reasons why spreading the sin of lust is Tony’s absolute favourite pastime. Peter could use some of that , he thinks. N-Not from him of course, just, y’know, lust in general.

Peter’s lips purse a little at his words, as if he disapproves of them yet can’t help but be charmed by them at the same time. Tony’s been on the receiving end of those pursed lips for centuries now and he still hasn’t bored of seeing them. If only he could do more than just look at those plump-

“Well I don’t blame them if that is the case, the poor things - always forced to conform due to something so inconsequential as gender,” Oh, Peter. Ever the saviour of the masses. If the Angel was given creative control of the Earth, Tony has no doubt that it would be a very different, sunny, equality-ridden safe space. Very healthy. Pretty boring. “But, things are different now, thankfully. What today’s generation lacks in style it certainly makes up for in inclusion and progression.”

“Does it really?” Tony interjects, fighting back a teasing smirk.

“Oh, Anthony, stop being so pessimistic about it all,” Peter rebuts, as petulantly positive as ever.

“C’mon, you can’t honestly look at the world right now and tell me it’s so much more improved compared to what it was when we had the first-”

“Alright, I know it’s not perfect, but I just…” Peter stumbles over his next words, seemingly at a loss. Earth can do that to you; leave you scrambling for justification at its most inexplicable failings and shortcomings. Tony understands. “I… I know what these people are capable of when they are at their very best. Their most kind; their most empathetic. So I… I can’t help but hold out hope for them.” Peter’s expression turns serene, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares down at the shimmering water of the lake. “Anyway… I know I’ve talked about this with you before a-and it doesn’t even really matter in the grand scheme of things what I think so-”

Tony leans forward. Something takes over him, be it Satan or God (hell forbid), and Tony can’t stop himself from pressing an infatuated kiss on Peter’s porcelain, perfectly smooth, oh-my-god-he’s-so-soft cheek. It’s only when Tony realises he’s actively inhaling the Angel’s perfect scent that he comes back to Earth (ha-ha) and pulls away as if burned.

They both freeze.

Shit, shit, shit–

Centuries have gone by where Tony has managed to hold off the temptation (Yikes, how ironic is that?) and this boring, mundane, 21st Century meet-up by their favourite location is what pushes him over the edge? Really?

If only his fellow demons could see him now… Heart thumping, face flushing and throat drying - all at the prospect of a petty kiss on the cheek. He’d be a laughing stock. The most pathetic demon to ever walk the grounds above Hell. A lovelorn idiot, falling for the biblical charms of the most innocent being he’s ever put up with. Fuck… I really do love him, huh…

A delicate hand reaches up slowly to ghost over the spot on Peter’s cheek that Tony can’t stop staring at. The Angel’s wide doe eyes flicker around Tony’s face, presumably searching for whatever emotion caused this unexpected occurrence.

“Wh…” Peter breathes, seemingly at a loss for words. Tony doesn’t blame him. “What… What was that for?” Peter asks genuinely. Innocently. Holding back a delirious chuckle at such guileless sincerity, Tony scrambles for something to say, still avoiding those curious, ethereal eyes.

“I just…” Tony finally glances up, his shades halfway down his nose now, painting just half of the Angel in a rosy tint, while the other half is bathed in the white rays of the midday sun. The once rouge tinged hue of his skin now glowing with purity and goodness and undeniable beauty, as painful as the sun. Tony pushes the frames back over his eyes. “I just really missed you, Angel.” The sincerity of his comment must’ve surprised Peter, his pink lips parting slightly in a silent gasp. Tony holds his breath, waiting for an inevitable slap or rebuttal or perhaps something as simple as Peter walking away until the next Millenia, but neither of them are moving.

Peter’s features slowly shift into an expression of unadulterated fondness, his eyes crinkling delightfully and his mouth smoothing into a gentle smile. Even Tony’s shades can’t disguise Peter’s unsullied brightness and, by proxy, Tony’s contaminated darkness can’t help but smirk in reply. So fucking beautiful.

“I really missed you too…” Tender fingers slip through the gaps between Tony’s, clasping the Demon’s hand in an achingly sincere grasp. “...Tony.” The air between them thickens as they continue to gaze at each other, hands tightening in an affectionate squeeze. They probably look sickening to any outside observer. Tony couldn’t care less.

In a flash, Peter rushes to connect their lips in a chaste peck, instantly drawing straight back before Tony has a chance to respond. Peter’s eyes widen in anticipation and barely concealed eagerness; a very good omen indeed . Tony can see he is being handed the reins, the power, to decide how this progresses. By now they’ve crossed the point of no return and there’s no need to be chaste about his feelings anymore - his desires. Peter is just too delicious to pass up.

Their lips crash in a much more passionate, violent, dangerous slide than before, with Tony pushing and pushing to get his tongue inside that forbidden mouth, prompting a delightful squeal from the scandalised Angel. Christ, he tastes better than anything I could’ve ever imagined… Tony’s much larger hands grasp the sides of Peter’s face with uncontrollable desperation, he has to grip every soft, supple part of this creature that he can reach, he has to kiss these untouched lips like a mortal starved, he has to appreciate - no, worship - every inch of Peter that has been neglected for millenia, he has to, he has to, he has to–

“Ah, Tony!” Peter gasps, disconnecting their mouths with a wet smack – not at all very far, mind you, as Tony is still clutching onto Peter’s flaming cheeks, so they’re basically still sharing air. “I… I–”

“Yeah?” Tony sighs, licking and mouthing at Peter’s lips; the fire inside him well and truly stoked. You’re never getting rid of me now, Angel .

“I-I think we should mmpf–” Tony captures Peter’s mouth and swallows the rest of his words, unable to help himself. The urgent press of their mouths is almost deliriously painful at this point, but judging by the exquisite breathy moan Peter lets out, he probably doesn’t care either. “W-We should… ngh, definitely stop this public display, Tony…” Oh that’s right, they’re still sitting on this damned bench next to those damned ducks in the middle of this godforsaken park.

“I would say fuck ‘em and put on a proper show for them to gawk at–”

“Tony! That’s disgustingly vulgar!”

“-But I’d really love to properly defile you somewhere private… All to myself…” Tony presses another firm kiss on Peter’s gorgeous rosebud lips. This beauty deserves to have rapturous sex away from the greedy public – they don’t have the right to set eyes on such an ethereal creature – that pleasure cannot be wasted on baseless mortal idiots. Peter needs to be taken apart in a bed , naked and glorious, without fear, awkwardness or shame, aided by an experienced demon of lust to really explore all of his… possibilities. Enter: Tony. Whoever said he wasn’t a gentleman? “...So… Your place?”

“Oh, Tony,” Peter’s breath hitches as Tony starts planting kisses all over his cheeks, nose, jaw, neck– “I-I don’t think that’s, hah, such a good idea,”

“No?” Tony pulls back from sucking on Peter’s throat, a grin spreading across his face when the Angel instinctively follows after him, no doubt not wanting the sensation to end. Peter’s eyes flutter as his mouth parts - clearly he’s holding onto the very last threads of protest within himself.

“N-No… I mean yeah, I mean–” Peter clears his throat delicately, his dilated eyes not leaving Tony’s. “We probably shouldn’t…”

“Well, if you say so, Angel,” Tony murmurs, a false air of ease and indifference about the situation, smirk still firmly plastered on his face.

“Y-Yeah, I… yeah.”

“Oh my G–! Uh! Oh my goodness, Tony!” Peter’s soft, plush bed probably feels heavenly to sleep, relax, whatever in, but Tony can attest that it doesn’t provide very good leverage for when one is trying to fuck the brains out of his friend/lover/enemy. Peter himself, however, is probably the most heavenly (haha) thing his cock has ever buried itself into, and for that, Tony can let the infuriating bed slide. He’ll just have to push Peter up against a much firmer surface right after this, and then another after that, and another after that–

“D-Don’t slow down, please, please, please! ” Peter whines, his hands shooting forwards to desperately clutch at any part of Tony he can reach. Tony leans forward and obliges.

“You want me to go faster do you? Harder? Rougher? ” Tony shoves forward in a particularly ruthless thrust in reply, his arms start to shake with the effort of holding himself up over Peter’s squirming form. Somehow they had ended up in missionary position. It almost seemed inevitable what with how they couldn’t stop kissing each other on the way up the stairs, while tearing each other’s clothes and flopping gracelessly onto the bed (although Peter is always graceful, so he probably looked amazing doing it. Tony couldn’t see, obviously. They were kissing. Remember?). They’re still kissing now, and Tony doesn’t think either of them could’ve torn away from the other to discuss an optimal position. It was all so naturally decided – so easy – and somehow it’s the most incredible sex of Tony’s prolonged, never-ending life.

“Oh, G– Oh, Tony, it’s– it’s too much, I-” Peter can barely string his words together with how much the slap of their bodies is knocking the breath from his lungs, causing delicate “ah”s to interrupt almost every word.

“Oh, Angel… Unh, God, does it feel good?” Tony groans, his stomach flaming with impending heat, his thighs burning with exertion and euphoria. He can feel beads of sweat falling onto Peter’s already glistening stomach and can’t stop himself from leaning forward to nuzzle, open-mouthed, at the wetness. God, he’s so fucking delicious.

“I don’t– ngh, it feels, I-I feel…” a despairing keen pushes out of Peter’s throat as Tony buries himself and starts rotating his hips painfully slowly.

“Do you want me to stop?” Tony asks, with great, great effort. Let this be his only good deed for the rest of time — his one in a million exception before he doubles down on his usual mischief. If Peter isn’t comfortable, then giving in to his adorable, oblivious charms simply isn’t worth it. Shit, maybe I am going soft.

“No, no, no, no!” Peter flings his legs up and around Tony’s waist and pulls, somehow shoving Tony even deeper. “Don’t you dare stop!” Okay then, nope, he’s definitely not going soft, in fact, he is still hard (very, very much hard) and primed to burst at a moment’s notice. Jesus, Peter, you’re really gonna make me blow my load like a horned-up mortal teenager, huh?

“Don’t worry, Angel, I’m not gonna stop… Shit, I don’t think you’ll ever get me to stop now,” Peter sighs in delight at Tony’s words, his face scrunched in new, undiscovered ecstasy. And the Angel deserves every second of it.

Tony doesn’t realise his eyes beginning to close or his mouth beginning to gape in unrestrained pleasure, his primary movements being relegated to: thrust, thrust, hold Peter as close as possible, repeat. He can guess that Peter is right there with him, just as lethargic and just as far gone judging by the never ending stream of “unnnhhh” leaving his mouth, made jerky and irregular with every pounding thrust into his body. Tony adores how unintelligible he’s caused his Angel to be, how carnal … Reducing such a holy, virginal creation to an obscene, amorous creature could grant Tony the most unheard of bragging rights in hell – he could be recognised as one of the very few demons in history to tempt and have his way with a forbidden being. But, strangely… the thought is completely reprehensible to him.

Why on Earth would he let anyone else get their dirty hands on something so intimate? Peter isn’t a notch in his centuries-old bedpost. Now that he’s finally been invited to savour the Angel – to guide him through such uncharted pleasure – why would he ever distribute that with anyone else so undeserving? Hell, Tony is nowhere near deserving of everything Peter’s giving him; everything he has to handle with unwavering tenderness, so as to not let the Angel break like porcelain beneath his scarred hands. No one can get anywhere close to breaking Peter. He can’t let them.

A small gasp emits from beneath him, a separate sound to the passionate utterings of their intercourse, so Tony pries his eyes open to investigate. Peter isn’t looking at him, instead he is looking past him, above him and around him with a disbelieving expression of fondness. Tony blinks rapidly and realises the added weight behind his shoulders – something that must’ve appeared so gradually he didn’t notice – and just in the corner of his vision does he spot shining black feathers. My wings are out…

Slowly, but surely, Tony feels his cheeks bleed into an embarrassing shade of pink or red or whatever the hell colour blush is. What the fuck. This is too much, Peter surely knows just how far gone he is by now, and it’s probably fucking everything up.

“Hah, uhhh sorry about that,” Tony breathes, still in disbelief that he lost so much control over himself to stop concealing his wings. “I-I’ll put them away,” He hasn’t done anything like that since he was first created, and even then it quickly became second nature to hide the large span of his wings unless absolutely necessary. What kind of pathetic demon have I become?

“No!” Peter exclaims loudly, surprising himself as well as Tony with his urgency. “N-No, don’t do that…” the Angel repeats, gentler this time. Delicately, Peter begins to lift himself up and off of his back, legs still wrapped around Tony; their bodies still connected at the crotch. Tony reaches to help pull him up and hold his back for security and balance. Tony feels… nervous. Exposed. He feels inexplicably… human. Waiting for a rejection or a confirmation that seems life changing in its importance, when really it’s just another occurrence in a universe full of events that couldn’t be more meaningless. But… it feels…

Peter’s eyes gaze at Tony’s, his hair ravaged and his face sweaty, still the most beautiful person Tony’s ever laid eyes on. Their heartbeats throb in ferocious tandem together, so uncertain, yet so undeniably full of… something. Something indescribably universal that even two weary spirits can feel it so deeply.

An astonished sound punches out of Tony’s chest when he sees two magnificent wings emerge from Peter’s shoulders, stretching out to their full glory behind him, so incredibly grand and opulent; so exquisitely white. Tony reaches up and feels, and a shuddering moan escapes Peter as he rushes to touch Tony’s wings in reply, both of their hands tentative and full of wonder. Liquid heat lustfully rushes to every inch of Tony’s form, causing his hips to jerk and Peter to quiver at the sensation.

It doesn’t take long for them to start humping against each other urgently, still sitting upright, and still clutching onto each others’ wings. Huffs and pants and groans fill the air around them – too desperate to be restrained – and Tony is barely holding back from his climax, his entire lower body straining with the tension needed to thrust, stay upright and clutch onto Peter. It’s a monumental task he is willing to perform for Millenia if it means Peter gets to experience the crest, the peak , of his pleasure a hundred times before himself. God, he can’t wait for Peter to cum.

Neither can Peter, it seems. The Angel’s grip on Tony’s wing and shoulder, respectively, tightens and tightens until the Demon is certain there will be scratches on his flesh and loose feathers all over the bed – a thought that leaves Tony absolutely gleeful.

“Woah, I–” Peter gasps in surprise at something and tips his head back before looking down at where their bodies are connected, squirming restlessly in Tony’s lap. “ Ah! Oh my– Tony, I feel, something’s–” Oh fuck yes, he’s getting close. Tony immediately speeds up his hips.

“ Yes, do you feel it, Angel? That heat inside of you?” Tony purrs, eyes glued to Peter’s helpless expression. He’s not missing one second of this.

“I do, I feel it– Oh my G– Tony it’s coming! It’s getting– Ah! ” Peter yelps as his whole body begins to shake delightfully, his back arching dramatically until his head hovers just above the mattress, an irresistibly erotic picture. Fuck, I love him so much. Wait. Shit.

… Love?

Tony whimpers and keeps thrusting forward, trying to ignore the echo of that word in his head, but looking down at Peter, at one of his hands smoothing across the miles of ivory skin laid out in front of him, the feeling of his other supporting hand – holding the skin right in between those silky, white feathers – he can’t help but repeat the thought. Again and again. Fuck it, I do love you, I love you, I love everything about you, I want to see you cum for me, I want to feel your pleasure squeeze me when you climax, I love you, I love how you feel, I want to cum inside you and never pull out, ever, I love you, I adore you, I need you–

“ Tony! ” Peter wails desperately, scrambling for purchase, pulling Tony on top of him as he lets himself go and falls back onto the sheets, his moans rising in pitch, volume and urgency. “I-I’m going to– I! I need– Ah, fuck, Anthony! ” Tony feels the exact moment when Peter cums, the tightness that immediately follows, accompanied by an lascivious scream. It’s heaven.

His thrusts become violent, ardent and needy, making sure to hit that sweet spot inside Peter every single time so that the Angel’s elation can last that much longer. Tony’s stomach flames with a familiar intensity and he lunges forward to kiss Peter ferociously, needing to taste and feel every inch of him as the heat rises and rises and rises inside of him, before finally, exquisitely, coming to a crest. There is about half a second of stillness. And then . Liquid pleasure floods Tony’s entire body, shooting up from the tip of his toes to the highest point of his temple, intensive, extreme, it’s too much. It’s perfect .

“Unhhhh, fuck ,” Tony groans, exhausted, sinking on top of Peter just carefully enough to not completely crush him or his wings. Tony’s black feathers stretch and flex before coming to curl around his and Peter’s quivering forms. The quiet is comfortable and natural, filled with only their tired breaths and the occasional smack of lips against skin whenever one of them feels like blindly kissing whatever they could reach. Tony has never felt so content.

“I love you too.”

Shit, never mind.

Tony’s eyes snap open at the whispered confession, his heart rate starting to pick up once more. For a moment he is confused… Unsure. ‘ I love you too?’. But then he remembers. ‘ Fuck it, I do love you, I love you, I love everything about you–’, Fuuuuuck.

Did he… Did he really say all of that out loud?

“Did I really say all of that out loud?” Tony quips, still not daring to move and have Peter see his face. There’s a rustle of fabric and Tony can just tell that Peter has turned to look at his face, turned to the side as it is.

“Did you not mean it?” Peters murmurs at length, his voice quieter and insecure. Dammnit, you’re messing it up, Tony.

“No, no, no. I mean yes! I mean,” Tony huffs and shifts his position, coming to lay on his side facing Peter, rather than lay on top of him. Stop being a coward. “I… I did mean it – I do – I just… didn’t think I was saying it all out loud,” He chuckles, braving a glance at Peter’s face. The Angel looks amused.

“Well, you did,” Peter affirms, a playful grin beginning to spread. “And I enjoyed hearing it very much,” Peter purrs, seductively. Holy shit, Tony’s created a monster. And he couldn’t be more perfect.

Let’s just say that Tony continues to tell Peter he loves him for the rest of the night, again and again and again until his voice is hoarse (and thoroughly used) and Peter responds just as excitedly to every utterance of the phrase. They’re still saying it by the time morning arrives and Tony can hazard a guess that – after 13.7 billion years of waiting – neither of them are going to stop making the other scream it anytime soon.

taglist: @helaisthequeen, @starkerforlife6969, @darker-soft-starker, @gayspacesprinkles, @starkwub, @tinytintina, @monster-cock69, @jordanparker, @the-mad-starker, @vaguekiwi, @thegreenmetblue, @starkly, @sinditia, @muse-of-gods, @lanyakea-universe, @longlivestarker, @nerdylocksandthethreebears, @awesomestarker, @starkerhead, @starkrpro, @shivanessa, @anonoite, @ursafootprints, @starkerhowlter, @starkerscoop, @khalixascorner , @obligatorynasty

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kaz-identified · 8 months

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Hey! I know I just talked about this but, I do have a ko-fi! I'm trying to add some exclusive fics to there, starting with a stupid little Uldren x YW fic I wrote set around the time of House of Wolves. So, if you like that ship or just like how I write, make check it out! And maybe consider tossing some money at me or ordering a commission when you do! My prices are jaw-droppingly cheap, but it is pay what you want. it's cause my stuff is of wildly inconsistent quality and take forever to produce

Anyways, check it out! Uldren x Guardian Drabble - Field Patch

#ALSO I OPENED KOFI TO FORMAT THE FIC AND SAW JEM OF SPARTAN-LOCKE FAME IS FOLLOWING ME NOW???? WHY ARE YOU OVER THERE.#anyways yeah i have severe brainrot rn #uldren x guardian #destiny fanfic #self promo #destiny 2 #destiny the game #uldren sov #the young wolf

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savventeen · 10 months

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omg savv i ALSO absolutely hate fireworks. they give me sensory overload 😭i’ve been on tumblr to distract myself when i saw this so i’ll ask for a prompt that’s the opposite — quiet 🫶🏼

tysm jem 😭💜 here's to distracting ourselves from all the noise 🥲 (also since u didn't give me a member i went ahead and went with dk hope that's ok)

[dk + quiet]

Quiet is not a word usually used to describe Seokmin.

But tonight, cuddled up on a blanket, bathed in starry moonlight, it fits perfectly.

Like his hand fits perfectly around yours, like your lips press perfectly into his.

The night, your soul, the love of your life — they all lay quiet.

[send me a svt member and a one-word prompt and i will write you something 50 words or less]

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astriefer · 2 years

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And One Taught Me Pain

I wished I had something for all days of Alastember, but here I am popping at the very end of it to give you some hurt (and a little comfort).

This is an au where Sona died when the Carstairs siblings were young. Alastair had no one but Risa to help with Elias's addiction - but once he and Cordelia grew and had enough, the thought of running away was what they whisper about in the middle of the night.

CW: parental neglect, addiction, mentions of drinking, bullying (tell me if there are more)

@alastair-appreciation-month

"I'll be there in thirty," Jem spoke through the phone. Metal clattered together on the other side of the phone as if his cousin was rummaging through his keys. He imagined he walked out of the comfort of his house in the countryside near London in a rush, thanks to Alastair's out-of-the-blue phone call in the middle of the night.

Alastair clutched the phone firmly to his ear. "Thank you," he mumbled numbly.

He resented Jem. He was beyond grateful for this, too. His emotions were spluttered all over the floor and bare for anyone. Yet, once the blinding rage had faded, he couldn't feel anything at all. He was so bewildered, not to mention frightened beyond words. Nothing was certain anymore, and Alastair doubted it would ever feel otherwise. No. No, actually, that wasn't true. there was one thing the half-Persian boy was sure about: he wasn't returning back home.

Was it a home? Cornwall Gardens in south Kensington was where he, his sister Cordelia and their father had lived for the past few months. Since Elias came back from rehab, he turned a new leaf to be there for his children. At least this is the story the family told with a strained smile if it was ever brought up.

The truth was far more disheartening.

Having nothing else to say, Alastair turned to finish the call. His cousin wasn't done yet, though.

"How is Cordelia?" Jem asked. The younger boy heard the sound of the engine turning on. He tensed and started to tap on the kitchen marble table. "You said she's not with you. Is she still at home?"

His breath went out of his lungs involuntarily while the thought of it filled him with unimaginable dread. Layla alone with Father, having to bear his demands and his moods, and his recklessness. Layla watching the person she used to look up to with bright eyes in the past now with chagrin while he couldn't stand on his own. It almost shattered whatever small pieces were left of his heart.

"No," Alastair informed. He yielded the tapping to a stop, pressing his fingers to his thigh. He kept any emotion away from his voice, keeping it from wavering and choking. He can't be weak, not now. Not ever. "She is sleeping over at Lucie's."

"Oh," he could hear the confusion in his older cousin's voice. There was a pause.

Truth be told, he knew the Herondales wouldn't harm Cordelia. He didn't like James much, but he knew they were a respectable and kind-hearted family, and they loved her. Alastair, on the other hand? He bullied their son, he threw shade at their friends, and although he started to heal and deem himself worth forgiveness, he couldn't feel safe enough there to tell them the truth. So he left Cordelia on the steps of the Herondales' house – despite her stubborn protests of him staying with her - with her bag of clothes. When Lucie opened the door to greet her best friend and usher her in, he spiraled into the darkness of the night. It was better this way for all of them.

He expected Jem to ask why Alastair didn’t stay with the Herondales and was convinced he would question his ways. The half-Chinese man never did.

"Alright," Jem said, not probing further. That irked Alastair anyway, albeit mixed with surprise. He swallowed it – when his father was away and they lived with their aunt, through her stories he learned about how much his late mother cared for curtsey. She probably wouldn't be proud of the vast variety of swears he uttered thoughtlessly all the time, but he hoped she at least appreciated the effort to be mundane with his cousin.

"I will not tell them unless you want me to. But I recommend you speak with Cordelia, I'm sure she's worried about you. And maybe give a call to your aunt, as well." The dark-haired boy felt like he was being chided.

"And Alastair?" Jem added, a bit softer.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you called me."

He hung up, and Alastair stared at the phone as the silence settled around him.

Alastair had two options. To seethe or to cry. It wasn't all that surprising he chose the former.

When he left Cordelia with the Herondales, he had no clear vision of where he would stay the night. Sleeping under the moonlight on a bench was the main option, but he was widely aware there were dangers in the night. He could try and sneak to Kamla's house. But although they were fast friends, she had no idea about… anything. His father, Cordelia, the debts.

Could he have trusted her with this? She would've gotten into a lot of trouble had she offered him shelter, so he dismissed the idea as soon as it formed in his mind. He didn't believe he would get any sleep at all, whatever he had done.

So he let himself walk. Which was an awful idea.

As adrenaline left his veins, and he had time to rewind in his mind the latest events in his life, it left him exhausted. And so, so angry.

The dark-eyed boy managed to walk along the moonlit Thames, stepping near street lamps that shone like fire on his skin, as he went up the river skimming the rail. It was getting colder, and he needed to find shelter from the approaching storm soon.

His fingers creased the ceremonial dagger gently in his jumper's pocket. His father owned a sword in his youth, Cortana, which Cordelia inherited. His sister took it with her when they left Cornwall Gardens in hurry earlier, the sword one of her most treasured items. It was a family heirloom - a reminder they were warriors, heroes - that passed down generations of Carstairs. It'd been said to bestow fortuity along great pain on its bearer, which Alastair had always thought quite contradictory. Besides, who wishes their ancestors to live through great pain? He had enough of it his whole life.

Cordelia took Cortana with her while Alastair took a Persian dagger Aunt Risa gifted him for Nowruz, Persian New Year, ages back when they lived in Italy. Risa was the only member of the Jahansha family to keep in touch with them after the death of their mother. Some of his relatives sent them the occasional postcard, but when they left Iran, Risa was the one who put her life on hold and join them.

There were many stories of how Sona Carstairs, eldest daughter of one of the community's strongest families lost her life – some verses claimed she had an abortion and died from complications. Others gossiped it was the heartbreak of losing a child. Others speculated she was pulled to the other world by her late previous husband, Theodore Verlac, to reunite or to demand revenge. The most popular tale, though, was that she was poisoned, just like she poisoned her previous husband.

None of those fabricated stories affected their aunt or her loyalty to her sister. Even when they were ten, two years after Sona's death, she helped to keep the house afloat in her frequent visits. Years later, when Elias was sent to rehab and Cordelia learned what his illness truly was, Risa moved in temporarily and helped them settle in London.

After he lived a somewhat normal life without Elias, he couldn't return to the hell his old ones were. Not again.

This day wasn't supposed to be any different from the new routine they had since Elias's return. It filled him with rage the way Elias treated them when they returned from school, asking them to clean and cook. Most days he claimed to suffer from a headache due to work, while he stunk from the alcohol he downed in a nearby bar. The things the half-Persian boy had done to keep his sister safe from the cruel truth, all the pieces of himself he lost in attempts to hide his broken life. It was too much to recall or think about. It merely left him feeling hollow and bitter.

He didn't get farther into the sulking. A very tall man interrupted his contemplating. He didn't pay attention and lost his footing, wide-eyed, barely regaining his balance. Large hands shot forward to steady the both of them.

The dark-skinned man's head jolted upright swiftly. His body tensed up and he placed himself in a defensive position out of instinct. One good thing his useless father did was to teach them self-defense and attack patterns to ward off any threats. Nevertheless, the person that called his name was not a threat. Not a physical one, at least.

"Thomas?" Alastair asked in amazement.

"What are you doing here?" Thomas asked, his voice stiff. He glanced at the dagger in the older boy's hand, just a fraction of nervousness passing his features. "And do you mind putting down the pointy knife?"

Alastair glanced down and realized that as he tried to keep himself standing he pulled his arm out of the jumper. Oh. He lowered the weapon, trying to stop a snide remark to leave his lips. But he always had a loose tongue when he was angry. Which seemed to be almost all the time. "It’s a dagger." Alastair spit. "And I can ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

It managed to shut Alastair up. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. There was a fraction less heat in his words when he asked, "What?"

"It's a personal favor for you sister, who's been trying to call you for hours, by the way," Thomas said coolly.

Alastair's heart dropped to the floor, but he kept his chin high. His phone had no battery once he left the Herondales' house. Had his sister called while he was out? She must have had if she called her friends and asked them to search London to find him in the middle of the night.

Still, something else sparked his interest. His hope.

"Do you realize," Alastair said slowly instead. "That it's a very daft idea to stroll by yourself in the night?"

Lightning appeared in the sky. Seconds later the loud rolling laugh of thunder was heard across London. It was Thomas's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Well, I can ask you."

"I am on my way to a friend," he lied. He preferred better that the hazel-eyed boy didn't know that when Alastair racked his brain to where he could stay the night, none of the options were very pleasant. Alastair had no friends. Unless he counted Charles – which he did not. "And anyhow, I considered you the least stupidity–inclined of that group of friends you have."

"Really," Thomas retorted dryly.

"Obviously, yes." Alastair huffed, trying to compose himself. "Please, no offense, but I wouldn't have followed someone all night to make sure they're safe, having no protection of my own. It'd be stupid." If it weren't for people close to him, he wouldn’t have bothered. And he didn’t think it was right to describe the relationship as close, exactly.

"I had no such expectations," Thomas assured him, crossing his arms. He was still glaring at him with such sharpness he had the urge to flinch, but Alastair was prideful and stubborn just as much.

It kept like that for a long, awkward silence. Thomas broke eye contact first. "Why?"

Alastair blinked in confusion. There was a pause, in which none of them seemed to know what to do or say.

"I-" Alastair has no idea what Thomas asked 'why' about. Why did he take a night trip in London with no appropriate clothing in an impending storm? Why didn't he make sure to charge his phone? Why was he there, having an eye contest with Thomas Lightwood? "I don't know what you mean."

"You know what I mean," anger tinted Thomas's voice now, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Why-"

Alastair was not having it. He answered the question with his own.

"Why would you come search for me?"

After all, You hate me.

Thomas scoffed. "What do you mean? Cordelia asked me to help. I wouldn't have come on my own accord."

"You went out of your way to search for a person you despise?" Alastair tried to clarify. "Why go through the trouble? Why not pretend you already went to sleep, or that you are helping with your mother's café. Anything, really?" He sounded almost desperate in the ending. Thomas must have hallucinated it.

Thomas was excellent at reading people, Alastair especially. The Lightwood boy assumed Alastair wasn't accustomed to someone understanding him, knowing his heart as easily as it is to know his own. When Thomas looked at his unreadable face, visible in the moon's soft glow, he knew that Alastair couldn't understand why.

"Because I'm not heartless, unlike you," he answered. A half-truth. He watched as Alastair gritted his teeth.

"I tried to apologize." Alastair countered, "I know what I did was - unacceptable. That it hurt you. I regret the path I've taken. But when your father is the advisor of the president and part of the British parliament, you cannot possibly pretend people don't gossip."

"You are not just people," Thomas said, a tad bit too fast and too harshly. He shut his mouth tightly as he registered what he blurted out.

Alastair did too, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "What exactly," he exclaimed, slowly, "do you mean by that?"

Thomas took a deep breath. "I mean," Thomas said sternly, avoiding his eyes. "That you knew James, still you decided to pick on him. You humiliated people. You had no reason to be cruel to us. I know the world hasn't always been there for you, but you could've chosen to be kinder."

Alastair restrained a disbelieving snort. He wanted to say, Thomas, by the love of the Angel, there's so much worse that could have happened to you lot.

What did come out of his mouth was, "What do you know?"

Thomas's gaze shot to him in shock. He opened his mouth, but Alastair cut him off with a violent shake of his hand.

"What do you know," Alastair repeated, enraged. "About my life, about what I had to do? You say I had an option, but I did not." His fingers itched, so turned them into fists and shot his hardest look at Thomas. "You whine because I spread a rumor once, when I was, what, thirteen? Try hearing everyone laugh at you all your life because you have only a father, and that's an overstatement!" He smiled then, a crooked smile that broke Thomas's heart. "Try being kind, Thomas, when the world has only ever been merciless."

He literally spat the last words. And now that he has begun, Alastair found it impossible to stop. He wanted to be heard, for once. He wanted something to take off the pain that never seemed to leave him alone. Thomas, on his part, looked mortified. "And you know why I'm not worried about walking alone at night? I've done that since I was a kid. When I did works a child shouldn't do. When I never had a shoulder I could lean on, unlike you and your family and friends. The world has never proven to me it could be anything but tedious." Alastair had no idea when the tears started, neither he knew about the rain that poured around them. But when he felt something wet on his cheeks, he realized streams of tears had constructed on his face.

He breathed a long, profound breath that stabilized him enough to continue. "So don’t assume I should be grateful that you sacrificed your pride to come search for me," He stepped closer to Thomas, poking his finger in his chest. Thomas blushed faintly. "That you were so kind as to speak to me. I might l-" he paused. It was then that he looked away from Thomas, averting his eyes. "I try to do better. To be better. And you can despise me all you want, but you don't get the tell me I should have been kinder." Alastair's throat felt dry all of a sudden. He poked Thomas's chest weakly once again. "You do not."

Thomas gawked at Alastair. He knew there was no way to answer this correctly, and he doubted he needed to. Alastair didn't say this to make him pity him. The said man moved to keep a distance between them, as Thomas found himself saying: "I don't hate you."

Alastair lifted his gaze to look at his eyes, glassy dark eyes – dark as the sky above them, that started to seriously gather clouds by now. "I tried. To think of you as a monster, to loathe you. But I can't, " Thomas whispered, looking to keep Alastair's eyes. He didn't understand all of what Alastair has said. But it was enough for him to connect the dots. "Cordelia suddenly dropped off at Lucie. You wander the city at night…" he trailed off.

They weren't close, they weren't even on friendly terms anymore. Thomas busy himself trying to convince himself the man in front of him had no heart. But he couldn't have been more misguided. He felt ashamed, all of a sudden. He was a complete fool, wasn't he?

"I…" Something shut off behind Alastair's eyes. It looked like the spirit he had moments ago abandoned him, and Thomas first took notice of the dark circles around the older boy's eyes. The way every strand wasn't perfectly in place, so unlike Alastair. What startled him the most was the look of defeat in his eyes. "I have nowhere else to go."

What does that mean?

Before Thomas had a chance to ask, a loud HONK! Startled the both of them. A car skidded to a stop next to them. As the window rolled down, Thomas gasped in astonishment.

Alastair squinted, trying to recall the name of the man in front of him. Then it clicked. "Gideon Lightwood?"

"What are you doing out, my boy?" He quizzed Thomas. His eyes reflected his curiously, with slight alarm. "Alastair Carstairs?"

Alastair nodded, not sure what to say.

"We…" Thomas thought of something to say. He looked at Alastair. What excuse could they make, when they wear bone-deep soaked in rainwater, far away from both their homes?

"Nevermind that. Get inside first, before you'll catch a cold." Thomas obliged and rushed to slide inside the back seat. He was dripping water, which his mother wouldn't be pleased about. Both for the car and himself.

"What are you doing, standing there like a statue? Get inside." Gideon told Alastair, who blinked with surprise. Gideon gave him an encouraging honk, and Alastair started to think he just really liked to blow the car's horn.

It gave Alastair a startle. This man was worried for him. It was odd and, he suspected, very much like Gideon Lightwood, because Thomas hadn’t seemed to be surprised by his father's concerned face.

Hesitantly, Alastair entered the car. He sat on the back seat, near Thomas. After he fastened the belt, he straightened his back and stiffly thanked Gideon.

"Anytime," Gideon Lightwood, the man Alastair slandered in his youth, smiled brightly at him. Something inside him twisted. "Shall we take you home, Alastair?"

Thomas glanced at Alastair as he stiffened. I have nowhere else to go.

"It's the route you take every day to work, right, Pa?" Thomas asked. "We're closer to our house. And we're both soaked. I think we should get home and change to some fresh, dry clothes."

Gideon frowned. "Is it okay with your father, Alastair?"

"Yes," Alastair answered, his voice steady and closed off, composed. It was Alastair Carstairs, the untouchable, cold, and stony persona he wore anywhere else but when it was just himself. "He doesn't mind."

Thomas couldn't stop gazing at Alastair. Gideon seemed to trust Alastair's word, so he started the car toward home.

The hidden, grateful eyes of Alastair had not gone unnoticed by Thomas. Maybe Alastair wasn't so bad. Maybe Thomas misunderstood it all. But he knew one thing: he wanted to be there for him. So he had.

Taglist: (which is very old, so please tell me if you don't wanna be here)

@life-through-the-eyes-of @rainingpouringetc @takethetrain @ary-es @justanormaldemon @tessherongraystairs

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marislittlethings · 8 months

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fics from my notes app that I will probably never write:

New Testament AU: I feel like this speaks for itself. maybe some things don't need to be created

everything i've lost on you: golden trio era hp fic, horcrux hunt, Pansy/Hermione as the main ship, lots of angst and road tripping vibes, Dumbledore bashing galore ofc. mostly i think im too lazy to do it justice

untitled court drama: a very experimental drarry fic, centered around Draco's trial at the end of the war, canon divergent but you only find out how it deviates as its brought up in court proceedings. i actually might write this one, but there are other things i want to write more so idk if i'll ever get to it

untitled Infernal Devices fic: a dream will/jem/tessa ot3 fic with emma & julian level parabatai plotline, lots of angst but very satisfying conclusion. i'd have to do so much rereading in order to write this that i kind of don't want to even bother

#fanfic #fanfiction #writing #harry potter #pansy parkinson #hermione granger #hermione x pansy #draco malfoy #draco x harry #drarry #the infernal devices #will herondale #jem carstairs #tessa gray #shadowhunters #will x tessa x jem

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amchara · 2 years

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Effortless Ch. 6: New York, Demons and Secrets Revealed

One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven (completed fic)

(Completed fic at Ao3, posting to tumblr with a few minor edits)

Summary: After moving to England to live with Tessa and Jem, Kit ends up attending a local sixth form college alongside his Shadowhunter training.

Featuring- a charming but slightly broken Kit, typical teen drama, mundane friendships, pop culture references, Carstairs-Gray family moments, a rotating cast of our favourite Shadowhunters as guest tutors and of course, some unacknowledged pining for one Ty Blackthorn.

Wordcount: 7,975 words for this chapter

Rating: Teen, cw this chapter: canon typical violence

CHAPTER SIX: NEW YORK, DEMONS AND SECRETS REVEALED

December 2014-January 2015

The reveal that Kit was a descendant of the First Heir didn’t go how he pictured it in his head.

“Oh- yeah, we know,” Jace said, from where he sat sprawled across a wide sofa. “We figured it out a while ago.”

“Had our suspicions,” Clary corrected, at the head of the sofa. “Magnus confirmed them. But we thought we should wait until you felt comfortable telling us about it.”

Kit looked between them, Magnus and Alec, and Izzy and Simon, all of them sitting or perching on the comfortable seating in Jace’s office. All of whom shrugged and nodded.

He felt relief but also a flash of fear; he threw a glance over to see Jem and Tessa also looking disquieted.

Alec caught it and he moved to dispel their worries. “I doubt it’s gone beyond anywhere in this room,” he said, holding his hands out in a reassuring gesture. “As Consul, I get a lot of intelligence passing through my hands and I haven’t seen any hint of it mentioned.”

His eyes scanned over Kit, assessing and Kit knew that as much as Alec was the same quiet, comforting presence he had been in the London Institute or at Cirenworth, he was also the Consul, which meant he also had to think strategically. And Kit, like it or not- was a potential weapon for the Nephilim. Or, could be- if he wasn’t broken and actually knew how to use his powers.

But that was a question for another time, as the discussion moved on to wider talk about recent news about the Seelie and Unseelie Courts and the latest updates on the breakaway Cohort Shadowhunters in Idris.

“Hey,” Jace said, as he led Kit back towards the training room. He stopped in front of the door and Kit paused. “I uh- I know what it’s like to be different from other Shadowhunters… if you ever need any advice,” Jace trailed off.

“Yeah…” Kit said. “But you also have an extra dose of angel blood. All I have is ‘dirty faerie blood’.”

He remembered the slurs Mark Blackthorn had faced from the Centurions and the Cohort. He wasn’t looking forward to it, even though it would happen eventually.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jace said fiercely. “And even when it does come out more widely, you know we’ll have your back, right? And those who matter won’t care about it," he said. "But I also understand wanting the space to figure it out,” he paused. “Also- it’s much more effective to wow your opponents when you come back to the fight, all trained and buff- make it look effortless when you beat their asses, okay?”

Kit nodded. “Yeah, exactly! Those were my thoughts too…” he said.

Jace’s gold eyes took in Kit and his grin had a wicked edge. “Right- shall we go in and show them what Herondales are made of?” He swung the door open to reveal the training room where Beatriz was putting a couple Academy graduates through their paces.

In the last days leading up to Christmas, Kit spent most of his time there, eager to see how he matched up against Shadowhunters his own age. To his surprise he fared fairly well, particularly in the hand-to-hand combat (he thanked Jem’s insistence that they always end their training sessions with a short bout of martial arts practice) and short-range weapons. Long range weapons on the other hand... Kit knew he had to improve there, as Isabelle Lightwood dodged an ill-fated throw and glared at him, the look in her eyes almost as sharp as his poorly thrown dagger. The other two teens - Darren Penhallow and Sarah Yardshead - for their part, were distantly friendly but often watched Kit with wariness, particularly when Jace infrequently appeared and Kit could hear their murmurs around ‘Herondales.’

When he wasn’t training, Kit shadowed Jace around, taking in the bustle of an actual working Institute and its routines. There was a lot more paperwork than he would have thought, Kit mused.

Then it was Christmas Eve and the Institute cleared out of all but the core group, and Kit managed to relax into the routines of the holiday season. He received some especially good presents on Christmas Day - a dark blue bomber jacket with a sheepskin-lined fleece from Jem and Tessa, a set of throwing knives from Jace and Clary, and a couple of books on Faerie lore from Magnus and Alec.

Still, after a few days of watching bad Christmas television and eating leftovers, Kit was intrigued when Jace appeared in gear and gestured mysteriously to him. He slipped a sleepy Mina out of his lap and over to Tessa. He followed Jace out of the warm room to find Clary and Simon in the corridor, also in gear and carrying weapons.

“We’re going on patrol,” Clary said, her green eyes assessing him. “Are you interested?”

“Hell yeah!” Kit said with enthusiasm, and he raced off to change.

They ran into a pack of Raum demons in the shadowy base of Brooklyn Bridge and Kit could feel his blood singing and adrenaline rushing through as he swung his seraph blade alongside the others, dispatching demon after demon.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jace moving with a swiftness that almost looked like dancing, his body a blur of movement and deadly grace.

Afterwards, he looked over at Kit, with a questioning look and Kit grinned at him. “That was fun- where are the rest?” he said. Simon stopped short as he walked up to them and heard Kit's reply. “Great- now we have not one but TWO Herondales to deal with,” he said, with a mock groan.

“You love us,” Jace said, with a wink at Kit.

Kit joined several more patrols before the end of the visit- sometimes with a small group, sometimes just him and Jace.

It was their last night before heading back to Devon, and he and Jace were perched on the parapet of a high rise building overlooking Central Park. Kit almost didn’t mind the height. Almost.

“What’s your plan after the spring?” Jace asked him casually.

“Hmm?” Kit was concentrating on not looking down but scanning the dark line of trees for movement.

“I know you’re planning to finish out your mundane school,” Jace said. “But after that- you’ll be eighteen, right?”

“Yeah,” Kit said. He had only a vague idea of what he was going to do… the deadline for UCAS was shortly after they returned but Kit knew instinctively he wasn’t going to be applying for any universities. But he hadn’t really made any other plans.

“A lot of Shadowhunters do travel years when they reach that age,” Jace replied. “Get experience in different institutes.”

“Oh, yeah I guess,” Kit said.

Jace cleared his throat, and Kit looked over. It almost looked like Jace was nervous. “I’ve been watching you- you’re really good, Kit. If you want, you could come to New York for some of your travel year. You can learn more on the ground- and we can help you figure this whole First Heir thing out,” he said. “I’d like that- I know Clary and the others would too.”

Kit stared at him. He’d miss Devon, and Tessa and Jem and Mina of course but... it hadn’t seemed real, Shadowhunter life. But Kit suddenly imagined what it could be like, living in New York, going on patrols, being more involved in what was his legacy.

“I’d like that- a lot,” he said slowly. “Yeah, let’s do it,” he said, more enthusiastically.

“Awesome,” Jace said, a relieved look crossing his face. He straightened up- “Oh- demon at your ten o’clock,” he said, and he stepped off the four story building without hesitation. Kit shook his head and prepared to follow.

–

Jace’s words echoed in Kit’s head and when they returned from New York Kit started stalking the local papers and local residents’ forums for any hint of unusual activity that might indicate demonic activity. Daily patrols would probably be better but given he was pretty sure he was the only active Shadowhunter in the Southwest of England, he had to be targeted in his approach. Plus, he still had papers to write for English Literature, and his final Film Studies project to work on…

But he couldn’t ignore it. He was a Shadowhunter, right? And practicing for demon hunting was probably more relevant to his future than a literary analysis of The Great Gatsby.

He debated bringing up his investigations to Jem and Tessa. “I noticed something odd,” Kit said, as they ate dinner one night in late January. Tessa looked up, and Jem paused in his daily wrestle with Mina to clean her face. Kit cleared his throat. “I think there’s some demonic activity near Torquay,” he said, and he quickly outlined his research.

Both Jem and Tessa were quiet after Kit finished and from the looks on their faces, he wasn’t sure they were convinced.

“When Magnus and I set up wards and checkpoints for unusual flares of magic across the county, it was for all kinds,” Tessa said. “Which would include demon attacks. I haven’t seen them flag anything in months.”

“Perhaps it’s still worth checking,” Jem said diplomatically. “We can visit the area on the weekend- if it is a demon it doesn’t sound like it’s moved yet to attack humans. You mentioned it was a mutilated cow carcass?”

Kit felt a sigh building internally. “Okay, fine,” he said.

“I know it must seem a bit dull after New York to come back to sleepy Devon,” Tessa said, her face full of sympathy. “But your time to patrol and save lives is coming, Kit.”

He agreed. But he had a nagging feeling there was something he had missed and the next evening, he slipped out with the excuse of working on his Film Studies project with Ellie. Kit slipped on his new bomber jacket - had to keep appearances. But in his backpack he had packed a change of gear, along with a selection of seraph blades, shuriken, and short throwing daggers. Along his arms, he inked fresh Equilibrium, Agility and Night Vision Marks.

It was probably nothing. But just in case, he could do some recon work ahead of him and Jem checking it out. He ignored the small internal voice warning about Faerie assassins - there hadn’t been anything to worry about since that time in November, plus he had the additional glamour protecting him now, he told himself.

The drive to Torquay was about half an hour from Cirenworth, and Kit put on some Bon Jovi for moral fortitude.

He parked his car outside the Kent Prehistoric Caverns, where he first had seen the clue on the local Devon Live website. The January air was cold and biting, particularly this close to the shore, and Kit kept his jacket on over his gear.

He carefully made his way through the caverns, sweeping his witchlight over the brown-red limestone walls and lightly made his way down the now-closed visitor trail, ducking under the rope separating the rest of the cave from the lit pathway. He wrapped his fist around the witchlight, dimming it as he headed in the dark, his skin still prickling with slight claustrophobia.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several ghostly fires and figures huddled around them- the ghosts of this cavern were ancient- from around 10,000 years ago, from what Kit remembered when he had visited it earlier in the summer with Jem and Mina. Ghosts that old were more like faint imprints than proper spectral projections, and they didn’t disturb him as he methodically searched for clues of recent demonic presence.

Soon enough, his search paid off, He found scratch marks and blood spatters on the walls near the end of the cavern’s reach. It wasn’t definitive proof but it was something. Kit threw finger guns at the sabretooth tiger statue guarding the cave’s entrance as he left. “I’ll be back,” he said.

The next night, this time dressed in gear, Kit found more proof in the darkest depths of the caves - a bundle of foul black rags that looked like they had been dipped in ink that had dried. It wasn’t the nest but he was increasingly excited that he knew what he was dealing with. Kit had never been the best student when it came to Shadowhunter lore and he much preferred the physical training over learning demonic languages that sounded like a garbage disposal trying to mate with a lawnmower. But after his patrols with Jace, he had reviewed the different classifications of demons; he was sure this was a Harpyia demon- a birdlike demon that had wings made from rags instead of feathers.

Kit held his breath as he placed the rags into the bag he had brought. As he made his way back to the carpark, he paused. He knew he should bring the evidence back and show Jem… but he’d also have to explain why he had been out patrolling without a partner. Maybe… if he could track down the Harpyia down to its recent hunting grounds that would be the easier way to direct Jem to the hunt.

Kit drew the intricate Tracking rune on his left hand, connecting it to his evidence bag. Despite its messiness he could start to see the rune take effect, feeling the tug towards the Harpyia. He ran back to the car, and quickly reversed away and back out to the country road, eager to get underway.

–

His breath hanging in the air like grey smoke, Kit quietly closed the car door and carefully hopped up onto the low stone wall overlooking a dark field just outside of Torquay town limits. He had dropped the bag with the bloody rags onto the passenger seat, and in his left hand he held an unlit seraph blade. In his right, he held the silver Herondale dagger. With his Night Vision, he could see a herd of cows standing peacefully in the field, unaware of the large figure circling vulture-like over them. Bingo.

Kit slipped down, making his way back to the car. He started to lay his weapons down on the seat beside him; the seraph blade slipped down between the handbrake and the gearstick and Kit overbalanced as he grabbed at it. The car horn blared out into the silent night air and he gritted his teeth. Picking up the blade, he quickly looked out the window- shit, the demon was no longer in his eyeline. Kit sat, breathing silently as he dared and his eyes darted around to see if he could spot where it had gone. He couldn’t.

Blood rushing in his ears, Kit grabbed his stele, pushing up his sleeve. With only slightly trembling hands, he quickly inked a couple new Marks on his left forearm, knowing he’d need any help he could get. He had just finished the Talent rune when the car was suddenly rocked by a heavy weight landing on the roof, and Kit was thrown sideways across the seat. He scrambled over the back seat, and opened one of the doors, half-falling out onto the hard road. Ahead of him, he could see the large bulk of the Harpyia perched over the hood of his car. It hadn’t yet spotted that he had escaped from the vehicle, its beak pecking viciously at the front windshield.

Slipping his stele into his coat pocket, Kit transferred the seraph blade to his right hand, and named it. “Eriel,” he said, and it lit up, its heavenly light blazing in the dark night. The Harpyia turned and for the first time, Kit could see its large poison-yellow eyes, and rows of white teeth in its beak. Knowing he’d have a better advantage if he attacked first, he pressed forward, leaping onto the back of the car with one lunge and then the roof in the second, sweeping his blade forward.

The Harpyia screeched as it leaped backwards, its wings like a force of nature as they slammed into Kit. He was knocked off the car and as he landed heavily on his feet, he could feel a crack in his ankle and corresponding pain blossoming from the spot. But he couldn’t think about that now, as the Harpyia was over him, stabbing at him with its beak.

Kit rolled and ducked under its wings, and he directed the seraph blade into the meat of the Harpyia’s chest, hoping to connect with its vital organs. Black ichor spilled out, burning his fingers but the demon’s shriek sounded weaker and Kit went again for the same spot, then whipped around, wincing as he spun on his injured ankle, and tried for a head blow. It worked, to Kit’s relief, and the Harpyia shriveled up and disappeared into dust, just as his seraph blade sputtered and went out suddenly, leaving Kit in the dark. He slumped against the car door, breathing heavily, as if he’d run a mile sprint.

–

Kit eased himself into the back of the car, putting his injured ankle up onto the seat. From the brightness of the car’s interior light, he thought it looked puffy. He reached in his pocket for his stele to draw an iratze but his fingers closed on air. Kit cursed as he realised it must have fallen out while he was fighting. He went back outside, hopping on the other foot as he swept both his phone light and witchlight around an attempt to spot where it had gone. It wasn’t easily in sight and Kit could hear the small murmurings from the ditch where he suspected there was a small brook - likely it had been swept away.

He turned back to the car - luckily there were only a few scratches and small dents from the attack so Kit was fairly sure he could drive it back to Cirenworth where he could grab his other stele to heal his foot. He’d explain the whole situation in the morning to Jem, he thought, although he was still not looking forward to the situation. But there was only one problem, he realised - it was a manual car with two pedals, and there was no way he was going to be able to drive back safely, given his ankle.

Kit sat there, imagining Jem’s disappointment when he pulled up and he made his choice. He pulled out his phone and texted Ade. u up, mate?

It was just before eleven, so Kit thought that it was likely. He would’ve considered Ellie but he suspected she’d asked too many questions. Also, he knew Ade had first aid training so he was probably better for the situation, given his ankle was now really hurting.

There was no reply. Kit sighed and decided he’d bite the bullet. He texted Ellie, expecting the near instantaneous response that he usually got. Nothing.

Kit frowned and dialled her number.

“Kit?” It was Ade replying. “Mate, you have bad timing-” Ah- Kit suddenly realised the situation. He could hear Ellie in the background asking who it was.

“Sorry- I wouldn’t normally but I’m in a bit of a situation,” he said. Ellie’s voice said something and Ade came back to him. “Not gonna pretend I understand this- but is it a pizza situation?”

Kit sighed. “Yeah, it is.”

Ade looked up from where he was crouching down by Kit’s side. “You’ve properly fucked this ankle.”

Kit winced. “I know.”

“You should probably get it seen in urgent care,” Ade said, closing his first aid kit. “I can wrap it and we can drop you off there.”

“No, just- can you drop me off at my place?” Kit knew he’d be fine if he could just get to his spare stele.

“Mmm, you should probably-” Ade looked at him doubtfully but then relented when he saw Kit’s expression. “Okay, sure.”

“Hold on, we’re not going anywhere until you explain what the hell you were doing out here, dressed like an extra from Mission Impossible-” Ellie said, her eyes taking in Kit’s gear. He had thrown all of his weapons into the trunk before they had arrived.

“Cow wrestling? Extreme Parkour? Night photography?” Kit threw out suggestions. Damn, he should have gone with that last one as it sounded almost plausible.

Ellie gave him a look, and beyond her he could see Ade also looking distinctly unimpressed.

Ade stood. “Well- whatever it is, I’m cold and need to be up early for college, so here’s the plan- Ellie will drive your car back and I’ll follow, okay?”

Kit could just imagine the grilling he would get from Ellie on the way back, but he knew there was no other way. He’d just have to think fast. “Sure.”

Kit glanced over at Ellie, watching as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove. He leaned forward to turn the radio on to cover the awkward silence. Her hand shot out and she stopped him, pushing up his sleeve in the process. Kit could see Ellie’s eyes dart briefly to his freshly drawn Marks and he felt his heart sink.

“What’re those?” she asked flatly. “They’re new.”

“They’re just- I’ve had them-” Kit knew he was floundering.

“No. Stop- stop fucking gaslighting me, Kit,” Ellie said. Her voice was tight with anger. “I thought we’re supposed to be friends. I know there’s something you’re not telling me- and you can’t keep expecting me to not notice.”

Kit took a deep breath but then he noticed a dark shape flying towards them in the sky, getting closer. His eyes widened and he shouted- but it was too late. The second Harpyia demon slammed into the windshield, and Kit felt his seatbelt constrict against his chest and his head slam back, as the car skidded off the road.

Fighting back after a few seconds of dazed confusion, Kit’s instincts kicked in and he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, kicking open the door as he looked over at Ellie. She was groaning and he could see a small cut on her face from the shattered glass of the windshield. But her eyes were fluttering open and Kit took that as a sign she wasn’t badly hurt.

He scrambled out and ran around to the trunk, yanking it open and frantically grabbed several seraph blades and shuriken, attaching them to his weapons belt while keeping an eye overhead for the demon. He could see it circling in for another pass.

“Kit!” Ade jogged up to him, and Kit could see that he had parked his car a few feet behind him. His face was confused and worried as he took in the car and Kit’s frantic actions. “What the hell is happening?”

“Get down- go check on Ellie,” Kit yelled, and pushed Ade towards the other side of the car. “I’ll deal with this.”

“What the fuck is this?” Ade said, his voice growing louder with anger, and Kit remembered that he probably couldn’t see the Harpyia.

Problems to deal with later as he could see it coming towards them, its massive claws outreached. “Michael,” Kit named the blade, and he could feel his muscles straining as he engaged with the demon. He was so focused on keeping it away and the heat of the battle, that he almost forgot he had hurt his ankle. Unfortunately, it had not gone away and stabs of pain distracted him as he hurried the Harpyia, trying to get a good angle. He threw several shuriken with his free hand but as it was his non-dominant hand they landed at the far edges of the creature’s wings, barely wounding it.

Talons swiped at his face, and Kit could feel them briefly connect with a stinging pass. He took a step back, jarring his ankle again as he stumbled on the uneven ground. The Harpyia screeched, rearing up for another strike at him.

Then suddenly it whipped around, and Kit could see a small figure standing just behind it. Ellie, holding one of Kit’s rapiers; she looked scared but furious. A few feet behind her, he could see Ade holding a large rock in his hand, his face set grimly. Kit’s heart was in his mouth and he struggled to his feet, propping himself up on a knee.

He needed to get to his friends. There was no way they could stand against it. Ellie was holding the sword in a classic stage-fighting pose as the Harpyia edged closer to her. It looked like it was about to strike. Kit hobbled forward, seraph blade outstretched.

But he was too late. It struck, lightning-fast, like a rattlesnake and Ellie screamed.

Kit’s training and adrenaline took over, and he slashed and parried, managing to drive the Harpyia back, squawking as it flew off. Kit knew it would be back but that was unimportant right now. He ran.

He and Ade reached Ellie’s crumpled form at the same time. Ade moved her gently onto her back, Kit helping him. His hands were suddenly slick with liquid, and he could see her torn shirt glistening in the moonlight with blood, and there were other areas that looked like torn up muscle… and other stuff. Kit wanted to throw up.

“Ellie, Ellie-” Kit said, helplessly- he held her hands. She looked up at him, confusion on her face and he could see her struggling to breathe, a frothy sound coming from her throat.

“You’ve gotta- Ellie, love- just breathe,” Ade’s voice was low and calm, beside Kit. He pulled off his jacket and balled it up, pressing it up against her stomach tightly. He looked over and Kit could see the fear in his eyes. “We need to get her to a hospital now.”

Kit could hear it in Ade’s voice: Ellie was going to die if they didn’t move. She still might. And there was a demon coming around for another pass at them. “Hold this-” Ade moved Kit’s hands down roughly to the balled up jacket on Ellie’s stomach, as he pulled out his phone.

Kit felt a sensation building in him, similar to the time he was on the battlefield in Idris. His Talent rune began to burn, almost like a brand on his arm. But this time, instead of cold fire, he could feel warm, golden heat building in his veins. It started pooling down towards his hands and he could see a golden glow begin to emanate from them. Suddenly, the feeling rocketed, and he could see the glow pulse and pass from his hand down through Ade’s jacket. Ade paused, his phone halfway out.

A large shriek echoed overhead, and Kit looked up, seeing the Harpyia almost upon them. With instinct, Kit threw one of his hands up, as if to ward it off, and there was a sudden burst of golden light shooting from his hand. The Harpyia exploded, a shower of stinking rags and black ichor suddenly raining down on them.

The scene in front of him started swimming in front of his eyes, and Kit held desperately onto consciousness. He fell onto his knees, beside Ellie, and he could feel Ade gripping his shoulders. “I’m fine…” Kit pushed him away.

“WHAT was that?!” He could hear Ellie’s voice in the background. He looked up to see her pushing away a hovering Ade. The jacket covering her fell away and he could see Ade frown, as he lifted up Ellie’s blood-stained shirt. The previously-torn skin was now a smooth, gleaming surface, like it had never been touched. Ade sat back, dumbfounded and he looked over at Kit.

“You!” Ellie’s eyes were shining, as she pointed at Kit. “You’re- a fucking wizard, Kit!” She looked triumphant. “I knew there was something strange about you. I KNEW it.”

–

They ended up taking Ade’s car back to Cirenworth, Kit’s Ford being completely totalled from the attack. Kit sat in the back, feeling utterly drained. He put off the inevitable questions by telling Ellie and Ade that he’d explain everything when they got back- Ellie looked prepared to argue until Ade pulled her aside and whispered something and she looked over at Kit and nodded.

His whole body ached- including the now-pulsating pain from his ankle. As they pulled into Cirenworth’s driveway, Kit could feel the anxiety ball in his stomach coalesce into a cold, pulling sensation and he swallowed hard, imagining Jem and Tessa’s reactions. He had texted them briefly, so they would be up. He knew he had absolutely fucked up tonight, and he knew they had all been very lucky to survive the encounter with the demon.

They were both waiting in the doorway, as Kit slowly limped up, his arm around Ade’s shoulder. Tessa and Jem took in his torn clothes and bloody arms, and Ellie’s blood-stained clothes, even though she was absolutely fine now from whatever Faerie healing magic Kit had done.

It was dark and Kit couldn’t read their expressions well. “Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on,” Tessa said, putting her arms around Ellie, as Jem came to help Ade with Kit.

Both Ade and Ellie watched with fascination as Jem carefully unwrapped Kit’s ankle and examined it, then drew an iratze just above, on his calf. “It’s broken in a couple places,” he told Kit. “The iratze can only heal so much. You’ll still need to keep weight off it for a couple days.” His face was as calm and tranquil as always but Kit thought he could see a flash of emotion passing through his eyes. He’s furious, Kit thought, miserably. He nodded at Jem, not trusting himself to speak. Jem moved to look at the ichor burns on his hands, cleaning out the cuts with a clean cloth, and taking out a salve to rub into the burns.

Ade looked like he wanted to ask Jem some questions, his eyes flicking down to the iratze but at that point Tessa came back into the parlour, with a tray filled with tea and biscuits. She set it down and took a seat in the armchair across, her sharp eyes quickly assessing the situation.

“Anyone else hurt, other than Kit?” Jem asked.

Both his friends shook their heads. “But Ellie was before Kit healed her,” Ade said. “It was absolutely mental- she had major blood loss and her stomach and chest were torn up. I think she had punctured a lung.”

Both Jem and Tessa swung their gaze to Kit. “Yeah- I uh-was able to heal her with my power,” Kit said.

“Plus, he made the creature attacking us explode,” Ellie interjected.

“It was very fortunate that Kit was able to summon the ability to do so,” Jem said gravely. “Otherwise, it could’ve been much worse.” Kit could feel Tessa’s gaze burning into him.

Kit quickly filled in the rest of the night’s events for Jem and Tessa, Ellie occasionally adding in a comment, while Ade stayed quiet.

When he finished, there was silence until Ellie spoke. “Okay, so… spill the tea,” she said. “What kind of wizards are you- you’re wizards, right? Or has J.K. Rowling led us wrong all these years?” Ade’s gaze kept darting back and forth between them all, and Kit couldn’t read his expression completely but thought he looked nervous.

Despite the serious situation, Tessa’s lips twitched with amusement while as always, Jem looked absolutely lost at the pop culture references. “Actually- I’m a warlock,” she said. “But I think we should let Kit explain- we’ll fill in when necessary.”

And so Kit gave a brief summary of Shadowhunting history, the Downworld, and a very heavily edited version of his own history, with Jem and Tessa chiming in occasionally. He didn’t mention the First Heir stuff but did mention that he was laying low from the Downworld, due to his family’s history.

There was silence after he finished. “Wow-” Ellie said. Ade again didn’t say anything, just continued to sip his drink, his dark brown eyes assessing the situation. His continued silence made Kit feel worse.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Tessa said. “I think it’s best that you both stay overnight here, get out of your bloodstained clothes and we can figure out what story to tell your parents in the morning.”

“Does this mean that you’re not going to erase our memories?” Ellie asked hopefully. “I totally thought that’s what you were going to do.”

“If that was the case, El, why would they have given us an explanation?” Ade said logically.

“Point-” Ellie said. She looked over at Kit. “We have so much to go over, Kit Herondale.”

Kit nodded. It seemed like they both were taking their near-death situation - alongside the knowledge that their friend was a hunter of demons - better than he had thought they would.

As Tessa led them out to the guest bedrooms, Kit started to hoist himself up but was stopped by Jem. “Let me get you a cane so you don’t put weight on your ankle,” he said.

By the time Jem returned, Kit had worked himself up into a state, imagining that Jem was about to yell at him. But that wasn’t Jem’s style, Kit reminded himself.

And it wasn’t - but it was much worse. Jem handed him the cane, and then sat across from him, face mostly unreadable. They sat there in silence, Kit staring at the floor. He was about to get up and go to bed when Jem spoke, his voice carefully neutral. “I’m disappointed in your judgment, Kit. I don’t know what you were thinking going out alone- and then calling your friends, instead of us. Harpyia always hunt in pairs.”

“I know, I know- I was so stupid, Jem- I’m sorry,” Kit said, the words tumbling out.

An emotion that Kit couldn’t read flashed over Jem’s face. He sighed, dropping his head briefly. “As Tessa said- best to pick this up in the morning.”

Kit nodded. He slowly made his way to his room. All the way up, and during the brief shower and then lying down on his bed, his heart thudded painfully in time with the words running in his head. Screw up, idiot, waste of space, they hate you, they won’t want you now

Early the next morning, he shuffled down to the kitchen and set the kettle boiling. He grabbed the biggest mug they had and spooned in a tablespoon of the instant coffee that Tessa always had to hand, and added in four teaspoons of sugar. The kitchen was quiet and peaceful, with no one else around. He pulled out his phone - six am. He sat at the table, and started to scroll mindlessly through social media, sipping at the sugar, caffeine-rich coffee. He had barely slept and his stomach was churning at the prospect of the conversations he was going to have to have later in the day - with Jem, with Tessa, with Ade, with Ellie....

There was a noise in the doorway, and Kit could see Jem standing there, a shadow in a green and blue striped bathrobe.

He came over to the table, and sat down with deliberation, his dark eyes watching Kit. He made an abortive move as if to speak but then thought better of it.

Kit braced himself. He knew Jem had a kind soul and was likely having trouble telling him the necessary plans that he and Tessa had made. “I’m sorry. Go ahead- let me know what I need to do or if, if- I uh, I need to leave. I know I betrayed yours and Tessa’s trust and I screwed up and nearly got my friends killed…” To Kit’s horror, he could feel his voice crack and the world in front of him blurred as tears started falling onto the table.

He could hear the kitchen chair creak as Jem leapt up and came to kneel by Kit’s chair. “Kit, Kit- look up, please,” he said. Kit brushed tears back and looked at Jem. “Listen to me- you’re not leaving- that never crossed my mind. Or Tessa’s. There’s absolutely nothing in the world you could do, that would stop me caring about you. That would stop me from loving you. You’re my-” Jem’s voice cracked with emotion. “You’re my son, and I love you, will love you, no matter what.”

He held Kit tightly as Kit’s tears continued to fall, hot and fast onto Jem’s shoulder, his body still shaking slightly as he tried to calm it down and focus on Jem’s words. Eventually, the shaking eased and he started to relax. “You were upset with me,” he whispered, barely able to believe Jem- but somehow he did.

“I was- because it was an incredibly ill-thought out plan but also... when you came in, covered in blood-” Jem told him, his voice muffled. “I was so scared. I can count on one hand the times that I had felt like that.” He leaned back from Kit, a wry smile crossing his face. “Tessa says it’s partly because I haven’t raised a teenager before.”

“I’m sorry,” Kit said again. “I know I keep saying it but I really am.”

“I know,” Jem replied. “I also want it to be known though, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will set Church as your twenty four hour bodyguard, and he will report to me and you’ll be responsible for cleaning out his litter basket for the rest of his natural life.”

Kit frowned. “Isn’t he functionally immortal?”

“Yes.” Jem was firm.

Kit took a deep, shuddering breath. “Totally fair. And it won’t happen again.”

There was a faint cry from Mina’s nursery and Jem started to turn. He paused but Kit nodded at him to go. “I’m okay.”

“We still have a lot to discuss-” Jem said. “Namely, the reappearance of your magic.” Kit nodded again.

–

Ade and Ellie came down shortly afterwards, Ellie wearing a borrowed dress of Tessa’s and Ade mostly in the same clothes, except for a borrowed hoodie of Kit’s. Ade shook his head at the offer of tea or food. “I’m gonna head back home- I think I could probably sneak back in without my parents noticing and it’ll cut down on the awkward questions.”

“Okay,” Kit said, trying to assess Ade’s reactions.

“Relax, mate-” Ade saw him looking. “We’re good. I’m not about to rat you out to the wizard cops or whatever,” he grinned. “Come around to the shed after classes though, yeah? I still have questions.” Kit quickly agreed, and Ade leaned over to Ellie and gave her a kiss before leaving.

“I’m not going anywhere yet,” she told Kit. “We have stuff to talk about.” Ellie sat down across from him. “You saved my life,” she said.

Kit winced. “Technically I also put your life in danger.”

She waved that away. “Semantics. I’m less upset about last night, although it was a rollercoaster of a night. I will probably have nightmares for a year,” she said, pausing dramatically. Ellie looked at him directly. “What I do have a problem with is you lying to me practically since we met.”

“You’re right, I did,” Kit said. “But also and this doesn’t make it right- not an excuse - but I kind of wasn’t supposed to mention any of this stuff to mundanes? But now you know, so no more lying, promise.” He crossed his heart and Ellie smiled.

“Okay, well... we can discuss what you can do to make it up to me,” she replied. She eyed the kettle. “After tea and breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kit scrambled up to re-boil the kettle. Over several pieces of toast, Ellie asked questions at such a rapid-fire pace that Kit started feeling overwhelmed himself.

“So how come I can always see your tattoos?” she eventually asked. “I asked Ade about it, and he barely notices them.”

“I think you have something called the Sight,” Kit told her. “It’s an ability that allows you to see through Shadowhunter and Downworld glamour magic. Among other things.”

She sat up in excitement, nearly spilling her mug of tea. “What?? I’m not a full muggle?”

“Mundane,” Kit corrected. “Mmm, no- probably not. Somewhere in your ancestry, you have some Shadowhunter or Faerie blood.”

“Cool…” Ellie breathed. She pointed at Kit’s Marks, which were on full display, twining up his arms. “So I could wear those?” She held out an arm. “Draw one on me!”

“Ahh, no,” Kit said with alarm. He pushed her hand back down. “If I drew a rune on you, there’s a good chance you’ll end up as a sort of zombie, or die horribly screaming from internal combustion.”

Ellie’s eyes went large. “Oooh, right.” She went silent for a minute. “How do you become one, a Shadowhunter?” she asked. “Is it a bit like the muggleborns at Hogwarts? You have to go to a special school?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Kit told her. “There’s an Academy. But afterwards there’s an extra step- you have to drink from this artifact called the Mortal Cup, and then you Ascend. Not everyone makes it though,” he added.

“What happens to them?”

Kit wasn’t entirely sure. “I don’t know. But they die. Probably from burning up. Raziel, that’s the Angel who gave the Shadowhunters their runes and magic, seems to be a ‘set things on holy fire’ type of guy.”

“Jeez, that’s grim,” Ellie said. “And they let teenagers choose to do that?”

“Yeah but they find it an acceptable loss,” Kit said. “I was only kind of lying when I said it was like a cult. It’s a- I didn’t grow up knowing I was a Shadowhunter. So a lot of things still shock me too.”

“Huh,” Ellie said. “I have more questions around that but let’s switch to a more interesting topic." She swirled her remaining tea, and drained it and gave Kit an intent look. “So… what hot Shadowhunter boy broke your heart in L.A.?”

Kit stiffened but he met her eyes with a challenge. “Who said-” and then he realised, actually maybe he did want to talk about Ty.

“Ty. Tiberius Blackthorn,” he said, in a low voice.

“Tiberius- wow, that’s a super YA fantasy novel name,” Ellie said, her eyes sparkling. She leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

“What’s very YA fantasy?” Tessa said, as she came into the kitchen with a yawn.

“Kit’s life,” Ellie said, with satisfaction. “It’s great.” She mouthed at him, later.

“Indeed, he does have adventures that would fit well within a YA novel,” Tessa said, ruffling Kit’s hair. Her voice was a mix of fondness and exasperation but after his conversation with Jem, Kit was no longer as scared as he had been. He leaned back, letting his mind wander as Tessa and Ellie started to debate the merits of a series called ‘A Court of Thorns and Roses’.

Luckily, Ade had fewer questions than Ellie. He looked up as Kit limped into the home gym and his easy smile also set Kit at ease.

“Hey, wizard boy,” he teased.

“Please, I am Mr Shadowhunter to you,” Kit said. “Sorry for almost killing you and Ellie by the way," he added quickly. "That hunt went south way too quickly but I should never have called you in the first place.”

Ade shook his head. “Mate, I was so sure when I woke up this morning that I had dreamed the whole thing.”

“Nope,” Kit said. “Sorry to burst that bubble. But Tessa did say that if you wanted… she can cast a memory spell so you’d forget or think you’d dreamed it.” He didn’t mention that she was still waiting outside for another five minutes in case he needed her.

“Nahh, I’m good, I’m good,” Ade said hastily.

“So… you said you had more questions?”

Ade nodded. Unlike Ellie, his questions were primarily about demons, how many there were, what kinds, did he have to worry about his family and friends with them? Kit was able to reassure him that demon attacks were rare and they generally happened in cities- but also, that Shadowhunters were usually patrolling in those cities. Ade nodded.

Then he asked: “Can I see them? Those tattoos that Ellie keeps talking about?”

Kit nodded, he had expected something like that, and he hadn’t bothered refreshing the glamours. He sat down on the nearest bench and pulled off his shirt. Ade came up and circled around him, taking in with a clinical eye Kit’s fresh, black runes, and the fading scars that even after only two years were already prominent on Kit’s torso.

He whistled. “You must do a lot more training than what we do here.”

“Yeah,” Kit admitted. “I train a lot with Jem. And sometimes others.”

“That’s a relief- I thought I was just crap at it,” Ade said, with a small smile. He gestured towards Kit’s Marks. “And these, they help you fight?”

Kit nodded, and started naming the different ones he had inked on his body and what they did.

Ade lingered on the iratzes, his gaze almost envious. “With those ones you must not have to go to the doctor very often.”

“I’ve never been,” Kit told him honestly. “Or not that I can remember.”

Ade was quiet for a minute. Kit assumed the questions were over and he pulled his shirt back on.

“Kit… you’re not going to uni, are you?” It was barely a question.

“No,” Kit said quietly. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll even get to finish my A-levels or stay at Cirenworth… things in the Downworld, in my life, are kinda in flux and I might have to leave suddenly.”

Ade nodded. “Yeah, I kind of thought that might be the case.” He looked over at Kit. “But look- even if you have to go off and be a big damn hero, don’t just disappear, okay? Keep in touch. I’d like to know we’re both out there, saving lives- me as a medic and you as a demon hunter.” He smiled but there was a sad cast to it.

Kit nudged him. “I’m not gone yet, mate.” He pointed to the set of weights. “You wanna do some sets?”

“God no,” Ade said. “After last night’s adventure, I could barely make it through classes today. Let’s go back inside and play some Ghost Recon.”

When Kit arrived back at Cirenworth, having been dropped off by Ade, his energy was flagging and he decided he would just head straight up to his room, feeling justified by the last day’s efforts.

But Tessa stopped him as he passed through the kitchen, and handed him something. “This came in the post today.”

Kit looked down and saw the heavy envelope with his name written in a spikey scrawl. His heart started pounding, as he realised what it was. A letter from Ty.

He stammered out a quick excuse to Tessa and raced up the stairs as quick as the cane and his ankle would allow. Once inside his room, he sat down on the bed, turning the letter over.

But suddenly, Kit was aware of another sensation - a warm feeling on his forearm, where his Talent rune was. He pushed his sleeve up and stared. The rune had turned a deep golden colour and he could see tendrils of the same colour running under his skin towards his hands, like his veins were filled with gold. From deep within his chest, Kit felt a peaceful, ancient power emanating out slowly and he could see the same golden colour gather in his palm, like a cold, unburning flame.

He yelled down. “TESSA, JEM.” They flew into the room, Jem holding a startled Mina.

And Kit just pointed at his hand. “Look!”

#tsc fanfiction #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #jace herondale #clary fray #tessa gray #jem carstairs #teenage angst #teenage rebellion #found family #slow burn #my fanfic #effortless #alicantenet #secrets of blackthorn hall

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mariahrozzie · 2 years

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What if Tessa had opened the institute doors in CA?

Does anyone remember that moment in clockwork angel when Tessa and Jem were running away from the automatons and got to the institute gates and Tessa was already reaching to open them (jem was out by then), but then she remembered Will telling her only people with shadowhunter blood are able to open the gates, so she stopped and rang the bell? like what would have happened if she hadn’t remembered that and actually opened the doors? what effect would that have on the storyline - people knowing Tessa had at least some nephilim inside?

I’d write it myself but don’t know how and haven’t got the imagination for it, soo.... please someone do it for me! I’ll love you forever!

30 notes · View notes

chewriting · 2 years

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First Birthday

"Relationships": Kit Herondale x Ty Blackthorn, Kit Herondale & Ty Blackthorn, Kit Herondale & Livvy Blackthorn

Word Count: 7.5k+

Read it on Ao3

Summary: Kit knew he didn’t have a normal childhood, but it wasn’t until he was put in a functional family did he realize all of the things he actually missed out on. Family trips to the beach, waving to your parents in the audience of your school-mandated concert, staying up late with siblings to with the New Years’ ball drop, and a sturdy shoulder to cry on when your middle school crush starts dating someone else. Oh, and birthdays. Kit never celebrated his birthday before turning sixteen.

Kit didn’t have the opportunity to meet many kids his age at the Market, so seeing another head at his own height was enough to still him.

The kid stood out between the throngs of torsos and legs passing by his dad’s stall; his pale blonde hair reflected the bright July sun, his smile a thousand watts. He openly gawked at all the wares he could see at his level, barely contained by the grip a woman kept on his hand. It was open wonder; no doubt an expression Kit also shared the first time he stepped into the market with his dad. But that’s not necessarily what drew Kit’s eyes to the random kid, it was the large blue button pinned to his t-shirt with IT’S MY BIRTHDAY printed in large yellow letters. Kit was vaguely aware of birthdays, he’s seen birthday parties on tv—with all their bright balloons, sparkly presents, and tiered cakes—but wasn’t sure of their purpose. Everyone always seemed really happy during any scenes accented with standard birthday fare and Kit had really liked cake in the few times he’d eaten it.

The pair didn’t pause by Kit’s dad’s stall, his business contoured towards adults anyways. But Kit watched from behind the table as they continued down the street until they turned the corner and disappeared. He risked a quick glance at his dad, who was carefully watching the streams of people making their way between vendors. His dad was the one who taught Kit his ever-improving skill of assessment, and Kit recognized the sharp look in his eyes as they dragged across the crowd. Even in a crowd this large, with people only passing by the stall for a few seconds, Kit’s dad could pick out people who were more likely to listen to his well-practiced pitch. Los Angeles was full of way to wealthy people who were practically looking for places to throw their money away, and his dad offered that space under the guise of realty. Kit knew his dad noticed the same pair Kit did but didn’t share the same interest. But while he was looking for people to slowly con, Kit was sneaking out of the booth and down the street.

It took Kit a few minutes to find the pair again. The market was notoriously confusing in its design but Kit had spent years learning which stalls he could squeeze through and which streets led to dead ends. After several minutes of weaving between legs and poles alike, and getting momentarily distracted by the sweet-savory smell of isaw skewers, he found them standing in front of a stall selling small, pocket-sized crystals. Kit tucked himself behind a crate of vegetables to watch. Jess, the vendor, twirled a lock of pitch-black hair around her finger as they perused. Kit knew her practice through what his dad knew. All of her crystals were fake. Nothing more than cut and polished pieces of colored glass. She kept her stall open as the man who owned the market was easily swayed to look the other way for a cut of profits beneath the table. Kit’s dad stayed open in a similar way, though he had to give a smaller percent due to their ‘connections’. He never explained to Kit what these ‘connections’ were, but they were strong enough to reduce his dad’s payments to nearly nothing.

The boy was grinning wide, clutching a bright blue shard in his fist to watch the colored light it cast on the ground. His mother dragged just the tips of her fingers over some of the bigger pieces, though one of her hands was still wrapped around her son’s wrist to keep him from going far. Kit could see Jess impatiently tapping her fingers, her numerous rings glittering in the sunlight, waiting for them to eventually buy something or leave.

“Momma!” the boy cried, reaching up as far he could to show off the glass. “I want this one!”

The woman smiled. “Of course baby, anything for your birthday.” She plucked the glass from his hand and handed it off to Jess across the table. Kit was stunned. The boy had just asked for something and got it without question. All because it was his birthday? There was nothing that Kit could ask his father for without having to answer a dozen questions as to why he deserved it. Anything he wanted, that was deemed not a necessity, had to be explicitly earned or plucked from the pockets of someone who earned it.

Jess tapped a few buttons on her IPad screen. “Will that be everything?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“That will be fifteen dollars.” The woman’s face pinched. The price was higher than Kit has ever heard Jess put on a piece that small. With her business, nearly everything on her table was selling at a high profit due to the cheap way she made them. It made it easier for her to keep prices low enough to not cause suspicion. But clearly, the woman was second-guessing. Kit knew the song-and-dance well. This was the time to add something, a fake discount or a free item at no cost to Jess, to make the deal seem like an offer that couldn’t be passed up.

Deep down, Kit felt a little bad that they were getting ripped off. Parents were the easiest to weasel a few extra dollars out of as exhausted ones would do anything to prevent their children from having a public tantrum and doting ones bent like flower stems to their kids every whim. Not everyone at the market knew the delicate in-and-outs of the con, but those weren’t people Kit’s dad associated with; and thus, they weren’t people Kit knew. But it was the only life Kit had ever known and any guilt he felt about watching his dad set up another appointment with a client was trumped by the knowledge that some people were just dumb enough to fall for the easiest traps.

“Usually I charge twenty, due to the clarity of that crystal being harder to find. But I cut the price down for the birthday boy.” Jess said, sending a tight-lipped smile down to the boy. Though he didn’t acknowledge her and kept his eyes on the crystals still on display. The woman’s shoulders relaxed slightly and she gave Jess a twenty. Jess didn’t put the crystal in a bag, instead just passed it around the table back to the boy. She gave back the change and the pair disappeared into the crowd again. Kit’s interest in them followed suit.

He took his time ducking beneath people’s arms and around people’s bags as he went back to his dad’s stall. He still couldn’t believe that that boy asked and received. So easily. It felt like Kit had to jump through hoops to even get his dad to notice him some days, let alone buy him a new game to keep him occupied once a year. On the way, Kit passed by a truck advertising homemade rock candy in an assortment of flavors, and he got an idea. Usually, he’d nick the needed amount from coat pockets or purses, or used the excuse that he had already used up his meager spending money on something for his mom and just wanted a snack so a susceptible stranger would fork over the change. Too many people were weak to a pair of big, blue eyes and a trembling bottom lip. Maybe he’d been missing out on the birthday trick.

Slipping back into the stall, Kit made sure there was no one at the table before asking his dad. “Johnny? Can I get some rock candy? It’s my birthday.”

Kit’s dad was never dad at the market. It was a shift Kit didn’t know why he had to stay conscious of, but he knew there were severe consequences if he slipped up. He never wanted to spend so much alone time in the basement ever again.

His dad only turned his head to give Kit a scathing look. It wasn’t necessarily angry, but definitely pointed.

“It’s not your birthday.” He said, before turning back to the crowd. Kit huffed.

“Yes, it is.” Kit protested. “I would know, wouldn’t I?”

“No, you wouldn’t. You don’t have a birthday.”

“I don’t? That boy had one.” Kit looked over the table as if the mother and son would materialize simply to prove his point.

“You are not that boy. Now get down.” His dad spat and despite Kit’s growing frustration, he obeyed without thought. The day was bright, like most summer days were in Los Angeles, so underneath the table was cast in a deep purple light from the cloth his dad used as a cover. Kit loved that a cloth could change the color of light but it never made any sense as to why, and he always forgot about his intrigue by the time they got home to actually look it up. Despite how pretty it was underneath the table, it was boring. Extended periods listening to his dad convince people to look through his zones and previous projects got old quickly when Kit knew the whole script by heart. It gave him time to think, though. How did that boy get a birthday when Kit didn’t? Was it another thing he had to earn? Kit didn’t really want to think about the things he’d have to do to earn a day where he could get whatever he wanted. There were a lot of lessons that his dad repeated frequently, hoping they’d nail into Kit’s skull, and the fact that there were things that were not worth the price to receive them was a major one.

As soon the customer was gone, his dad reshuffling papers on the table, he knew it was safe to poke his head out. Though he kept the majority of his body still underneath the table, just in case he needed to vanish quickly again.

“Why don’t I have a birthday?” Kit asked and he watched his dad let out a heavy sigh. If there was anyone who knew just about everything, it was Kit’s dad. He had an answer to just about every question Kit asked him but there was a limit. If Kit questioned things for too long, his dad would get that line between his eyebrows and he’d flex his fingers like he was working off tension. Kit knew to back off then and give his dad space because while he had never hit Kit, the sound of his palm against their wood dinner table could echo in Kit’s ears for hours.

And there were questions he refused to answer. Like why Kit had to hide in the basement anytime he had guests over, or why he didn’t get to go to school like kids did on tv, or just about anything regarding his mom. Those were questions that immediately brought his dad’s guard up and Kit learned to just stop asking them.

“You weren’t given one.” He ducked down to say firmly to Kit’s face, his voice still light enough that Kit wasn’t too worried. Though it wasn’t often that Kit’s dad would get down on his level to talk and a shallow crease was forming between his eyebrows.

“Do you have a birthday?”

“I do.”

“How did you get it?”

“My parents gave it to me.”

“Why did you not give me one?”

“You don’t need one.” His tone was dipping into scolding territory, a place Kit never liked to be. “Birthdays are pointless, just a marker for how much time has passed since you were born that people make into bigger deals than they are.”

Kit looked down. He knew it was time to stop lest he wanted to be reprimanded. The last thing he wanted was to be banned from his only chance at getting out of the house. When another person approached the stall, Kit ducked back down without his dad’s prompt. He couldn’t help that unworthy feeling from creeping up his chest. What did that boy have that let him overcome the conceived ‘pointlessness’ of birthdays that Kit didn’t? Kit carefully scooted hed knees up to his chest and rested his forehead in the divot they created. There wasn’t much Kit could do without making his presence known; his dad was continuously conscious of how much space Kit took up and made Kit very anxious about every minute movement he made. Though with all of the things he was teaching Kit to do, it was probably best for Kit to be extra aware of his body at all times.

He wasn’t expecting his dad to talk to him again and Kit didn’t exactly plan on coming out from underneath the table until it was time to leave. But, after a few minutes of silence passed, Kit’s dad lifted the table covering to look at him. “I put a quarter in my jacket. I want you to get it out without me noticing.”

Kit beamed at the chance to impress. There was nothing that made his dad as clearly proud as Kit improving on the skills he was being taught. Each time Kit could pick a lock faster, or pickpocket a coin in fewer tries, his dad would get that brief warmth in his eyes that Kit would tuck away when he needed to convince himself that his dad did like him the same way the parents on tv did. Sometimes, if Kit was doing especially well, his dad would rub an affectionate hand in Kit’s hair that would leave his scalp tingling for hours. It didn’t matter that that was really some of the only times Kit could get affection from his dad, what mattered was that they were there and Kit knew how to pull them out.

It took Kit only four tries to find and take the quarter; two fewer tries than the last practice.

It honestly wasn’t an issue while Kit was a kid. There was a period when all Kit could think about was what he would do if he had a birthday, and what kind of things he’d want. But from a young age Kit knew about the futility of wishes without action so he gave it up. Though, even as he got older, sometimes he’d pause and think about his birthday. Had it already passed? Or was he still waiting to age another year? He did agree with his dad that using a single day to mark how long you’d been alive seemed pretty pointless, but that didn’t stop him from staying up each year to watch the fireworks that cemented each incoming year and whisper his new age into the rainbow-lit sky.

But outside of his few moments of weakness, it wasn’t an issue. He still went through each year, getting older without celebration, and was fine. Not much changed as he got older, though he eventually got big enough that he couldn’t hide under the table anymore. But what came with that was his dad now trusting him to wander the market without supervision. So, while his dad was hustling people at his stall, Kit could slip his fingers into people’s coats. As he got older, he didn’t even need to ask his dad for things he wanted. He could pay for them himself with bills he filched or from the money he earned by his dad pawning anything else he could get his hands on.

It didn’t become a problem until his dad died, he was put into foster care, and the workers there didn’t have any proof Kit existed. Other than the fact that Kit was sitting in front of them, there was nothing that said that Kit was a person. No birth certificate, no social security, no school records. At first, they assumed he was an illegal immigrant that his father had taken under his wing, but there was no trace of Kit anywhere outside the U.S. either. So his file ended up being the name Kit gave them, trusting it was right—even though it technically didn’t matter as the only person who ever called him by his name was now dead so Kit could really call himself whatever he wanted—and his physical description.

The home Kit was placed into tried to get him to just pick a day to celebrate, even if it wasn’t accurate. He protested enough that they eventually gave up completely. He didn’t end up staying long enough for it to matter anyway.

It really became a problem when Tessa and Jem eventually adopted him and were met with closed door after closed door when they tried to enroll him in school. Without proper proof of citizenship, he wasn’t allowed to attend public school. Even though Kit insisted that he would be fine, he’s taught himself enough to get by, both Tessa and Jem were adamant that Kit get to socialize with other teenagers and experience at least a little bit of normal teenage life. Kit had no idea how they did it, but they eventually were able to convince officials of Kit’s ‘unique circumstance’ and he was given an identity as Christopher Johnathan Gray-Carstairs. It was like Christopher Rook didn’t exist at all.

The birth certificate was a blank slate for a while as Tessa and Jem wanted Kit to pick a day himself. But Kit remembered how his dad said that parents pick birthdays for their kids; though of course, he knows that’s not how it works now, it still felt like a bit of sentimentality that Kit could afford. If his biological parents weren’t going to give him a birthday, then his adoptive parents could. Tessa and Jem tried to take it mildly, but Kit could see Tessa’s eyes grow misty when he insisted they choose something.

So, according to the U.S. government, Kit’s birthday was April 8th, 1997. A few weeks after the official paperwork came in, Kit was enrolled in incoming freshman year at Venice Senior High School.

Finally going to school, was a cacophony of things he didn’t understand. People shouting in the hallways, couples standing way too close at their lockers, and even the occasional fight between periods. It was exactly and nothing like what Kit saw in the movie and tv shows he learned from. Sure, people stuck to their little groups of safety. But it wasn’t unheard of for people to break off and talk to other sects. And there weren’t a few girls that were so popular that they practically ran everything. The closest thing his school had to that was Addison Taylor and her two friends Abby and Maddison, who were all cheerleaders but also on the honor roll. From what Kit heard they were pretty, smart, and actually nice. It was kind of a disappointment.

What did translate though, was how people revered birthdays. Kids walked down the cramped hallways with balloons attached to their backpacks, carrying numerous gift bags from their friends, and blasting music from speakers shoved in their backpacks despite how teachers demanded them to turn it down. Once, Kit saw a girl hauling around a bear nearly the size of her torso. It was all so incredibly performative. Though Kit has no idea how they can balance the desperate need for attention with all the work they have to get done each night. He might be the outlier struggling with classwork as most kids probably get through the new concepts easily, while Kit has to spend hours researching preliminary topics he would have learned in elementary and middle school if he had attended. All the work he had to do to even be allowed to enroll seemed to be for not; why was there so much intermediate math from elementary school to high school?

In almost a direct contrast to Kit’s rapidly decreasing opinion of birthdays, Livvy loves them. If her near-constant discussion of her little sister’s surprise birthday party is anything to go by.

Livvy was the first actual friend Kit made. She was in his English class and practically shot her hand in the air when Mrs. Mitchell asked if anyone would volunteer to be his seat partner. She didn’t flinch at Kit’s carefully worded barbs to get her to leave him alone, because Kit was not used to being the center of attention for so long, and she helped Kit with certain math problems beneath their desks during independent reading when she saw Kit struggling. It didn’t take long for Kit to warm up to her, and after a few weeks, she introduced him to Ty. And then two became three.

Indirectly, Kit has been involved in every detail of a party for a girl he doesn’t know from the decorations to the invitation list. Though Kit hasn’t put his actual opinion in anything, just allowing himself to be a neutral party for Livvy to bounce ideas off of until something sticks out. He doesn’t actually mind as long as he’s able to stay laying down in the small bit of shade provided by the tree they’ve claimed as their after-school spot.

Livvy and Ty actually live close enough to school that they walk, but once Livvy learned that Kit waits around twenty minutes after the final bell for either Jem or Tessa to pick him up, she said they’d all wait together. Kit was a little hesitant, not used to friends simply for friend's sake, but acquiesced once Livvy insisted that it wasn’t out of the way. Ty ended up being relatively easy to convince as well.

That’s their formation as Livvy is talking into the open air about her plans. Kit is propped against the base of the tree, eyes closed to steal some semblance of rest before he has to slave over algebra, and Ty is sat crisscrossed on the grass reading in the receding daylight. It’s honestly surprising how Ty listens with his headphones on and clearly immersed in any of the eight novels Kit’s seen him cycle through. But he replies to every question Livvy directs at him and knows every time someone calls his name.

“Kit. I need to ask you your opinion.” Livvy says, the sound of grass shifting indication she’s turned towards him. Though Kit can’t find the energy to open his eyes, he lifts his eyebrows to show he’s listening. “If you were really into classic horror, would you want zombie or bat decorations?”

It’s a futile question. Kit knows that Livvy has already cut out bat shapes from black construction paper and threaded them through equally black string. She had FaceTimed him while she did it because she wanted company and Kit wanted a distraction from his English essay about Of Mice and Men.

“Bats. Can’t have horror without bats. Zombies are too limited to specific movies.”

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Good point.” Kit can practically hear Livvy’s smile in her voice. Sometimes, she just needed to be reassured that she was doing a good job, and Kit was happy to supply some encouragement even though he knows literally nothing about Livvy’s sister besides the fact that she loves horror movies and wears a lot of black. Two traits he can’t fault someone on.

Kit starts to drift off as Livvy continues discussing details with Ty. The afternoon is warm even though with each passing day Kit can feel the air getting colder as winter approaches. This might be one of the last days where they can comfortably sit outside in short-sleeved shirts until Spring and Kit plans to revel in it. Maybe he’ll put off his homework until after dinner and convince Jem and Tessa to spend some time at the beach. Kit knows that Tessa has been dealing with a little bit of cabin fever as she’s in the later stages of her pregnancy and is out on maternity leave.

“Hey, I know I’ve been talking about birthdays for the past two weeks, but it’s made me realize we don’t know your birthday Kit,” Livvy says. He almost smiles at Livvy’s use of ‘we’, as if it was a topic she and Ty had actually discussed. Then his face warms at the thought of Ty finding him interesting enough to talk about when he wasn’t around. But the need to actually answer drains all feelings of content right out of Kit’s body. He purposefully avoided any and all conversation about his life before Jem and Tessa because it was private and he hasn’t been sure if he can trust Ty and Livvy yet. Though in their time together, Kit can say he feels more comfortable around them than any of the acquaintances he ever made at the market.

So, he lets a little bit of truth out. “I don’t know either.”

Livvy is silent and Kit doesn’t dare open his eyes now. He wouldn’t be able to stand to see the same pitying look on her face that he’s seen on social workers and police officers since his dad died. It’s like all the excitement gets sucked out of the air. Kit hates that he’s just brought the mood down by answering honestly. He should have just lied.

“How do you not know?” Livvy asks.

“My parents never signed a birth certificate and I’ve never celebrated my birthday so I don’t know when I was born.” The assumption was that somehow Kit’s mom was able to give birth with a midwife who didn’t care that she and his dad didn’t want to sign a piece of paper tying their son to them. It’s a flimsy explanation, filled with holes and basically see-through. But it’s probably the best Kit will ever get.

“Is that legal?” Ty asks, which Kit is internally thankful for because he doesn’t want to have to explain this twice.

“Nope. It’s a felony. But my dad wasn’t a straight-and-narrow guy to begin with and my mom took off before it was ever really her problem. By the time the police learned about it, my dad was dead and my mom’s in the wind.”

Kit lets them stew in it. He’s had years to come to terms with the fact that he’s missed out on a pretty fundamental part of growing up for fifteen years; he’ll give them a few minutes. It does still feel weird to admit it though. It had always been a conversation that he and his dad never really talked about, like all of the other things he robbed Kit of experiencing. Some kids know the exact minute they were born, and Kit doesn’t even know the season. It must be difficult for the twins to wrap their heads around.

Luckily, it’s at this moment that his phone vibrates. Tessa. Kit thanks any deity can for the excuse to get the fuck out of here.

“That’s Tessa. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Kit slings his backpack over his shoulder, only huffing slightly at the strain, and speed walks towards the pick-up line.

“Wait! Jesus Kit, you can’t just say something like that and leave!” Livvy calls from behind him. Kit contemplates turning around and ultimately decides to be brave and face her.

“It’s not that big of a deal. Please don’t make it one.” Kit pleads. He really can’t deal with the twins feelings bad for him as they’re the only people who have ever made him feel like a normal teenager. Like he can forget he knows how to pick his way through dozens of brands of locks and that most of the video games he’s collected were paid for with stolen money. Kit will never be normal but sometimes he wants to pretend he is. And he can do that around Livvy and Ty.

It’s like Livvy can hear everything he leaves unsaid and takes a cautious step back. Behind her, still sitting, Ty watches the both of them with his book closed in his lap. Kit gives Livvy a weak smile and scurries off to Tessa’s car to finally get out of this situation.

It’s late into the night when Kit gets a text from Ty. He’s been working on his English essay, progressively getting more stressed about getting it done in time, and is grateful for the excuse to do something else.

Ty: If you don’t have a birth certificate, how are you enrolled in school?

Kit can’t help the smile that creeps up his face. Of course, Ty would look into the legalities of Kit’s predicament.

You: When Tessa and Jem adopted me, I think the foster system helped them arrange to get me a birth certificate. It was a really long process but I do have one now. Social security number too

You: I’m officially a U.S. citizen :)

Ty: How did you choose your birthday?

You: I had Jem and Tessa just pick a date

Ty: What did they choose?

You: April 8th. Why?

Ty: Livvy still wants to know.

Kit taps his pencil against his desk. Livvy was a schemer and combined with Ty’s attention to detail, they could be kind of dangerous. He doesn’t want to think about what exactly she wants his birthday for. But then Kit has to remind himself that this is just something friends know about each other, no hidden objectives.

You: What’s your and Livvy’s birthday?

Ty: June 11th.

Twins born under the twin sign, classic. Ty doesn’t send another message and Kit doesn’t feel compelled to keep the conversation going either. It was one of the nicer things about talking with Ty, he never felt like had to fill any silences with pointless chatter because he knew that Ty didn’t mind the spaces that form naturally. Kit feels comfortable just existing in the same space as Ty sometimes, which is a luxury he’s never felt with someone before. He’s a little nervous about how quickly he’s become so attached but it can likely be attributed to him actually having friends for the first time. Sure he’ll latch on fast. Ty’s pretty wonderful anyway.

Kit pushes that thought aside before it can pick up steam. He has to focus on his essay if he wants to get this section done before midnight. An unrealistic goal, but one he’ll stick to for the time being.

🎈

Eventually, Kit’s ‘birthday’ comes around. Kit made Tessa and Jem promise that any celebration they wanted to do would stay small and just between them. He still felt the day approaching like a thunderstorm on the horizon. The night before he couldn’t sleep. Is this how people always feel before their birthdays? Or is this just another thing he’s needlessly fucked up about?

Per his request, Kit’s morning is just about the same as it always is. Aside from a slightly longer hug from Jem as he’s leaving and Tessa whispering happy birthday into Kit’s scalp after her kiss goodbye, nothing changes. There’s no big exclamation when he gets to school. Kit goes through his classes without a second glance from any of his peers. Blessedly, even Livvy doesn’t give him any extra attention excluding the knowing elbow she poked into his side during class. It feels nice, normal. The last thing Kit wants is the people in his life trying to make this birthday the best as it’s his first.

The days have shifted from the mellow Spring warmth to the beginnings of oppressive Summer heat in April. All three of them seek refuge in the shade of their tree because while there is a light breeze, the sun beats down on anything brave enough to stay in direct sight. Even though final exams creep closer day by day, Kit appreciates the little pocket of peace he’s in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ty leans over to Livvy. He can hardly hear what they’re saying to each other, but keeps himself out of it in case it’s familial and not his business. But then, Ty taps his knee gently.

When Kit looks up, Ty has a fairly large, wrapped gift on the ground in front of him, and Livvy’s holding a smaller bag.

“What the fuck?” He whispers.

“I know you said to not do anything big for your birthday, but you never said anything about gifts. And I think you should be happy that I was able to hold out until now.” Livvy grins, plopping the bag down by Kit’s feet. It feels like something dislodges in Kit’s chest and rattles down his ribs.

“Livvy-” Kit protests but she cuts him off with a hand.

“You’re our friend, and friends give gifts on birthdays. Don’t make it bigger than it needs to be.”

Kit doesn’t appreciate her throwing his own words back at him, but he picks up the bag anyways. It’s light and easy to see where the actual gift is wrapped with tissue paper underneath the simply decorative bunches. Livvy stops him from reaching inside.

“Okay, I’ll give you a pass this one time. But, when you get a gift you have to read the card first.” Kit sends her a bored look, but she just shrugs. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just follow them. And now as a member of society with a birthday, you have to as well.”

Kit rolls his eyes but digs around the bag for the card. The envelope is the same deep blue as the bag and luckily Livvy just folded the flap inside the pocket instead of sealing it and requiring Kit to tear it all open. Actually reading the card inside, Kit lets out an exasperated breath.

Printed in cartoonish letters across the top is HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY with a picture of a baby boy. There’s a small blurb about many more to come but Kit just skims over it. He is barely restraining himself from flinging at Livvy’s face like a throwing star.

“Happy first birthday!” She snickers. Ty chuckles and Kit tries really hard on keeping up the charade of being angry.

“Get out, it’s not even a funny joke.” But Kit’s already laughing. Which sets Livvy off fully and Ty isn’t far behind. They all crack up until Kit’s struggling to breathe and tears are streaking down Livvy’s cheeks. It’s really not funny and yet Kit feels like he might asphyxiate.

“Okay, okay, but you can actually open it now.” Livvy somehow gets out between her heaving breaths. He gets through the tissue paper with much less fanfare. It’s a DVD box set. All of the Superman movies from Superman to Superman Returns. All packaged in a sturdy tin with the Superman logo pressed into the front.

“Livvy.” Kit starts, but he can’t get himself to finish. He can’t believe she remembered the times he told her about loving Superman. When he was still living with Johnny, they didn’t have any streaming subscriptions so Kit could really only watch the movies on cable. Which ended up being a lot of old superhero movies, including the original Superman from 1978.

“You don’t have to say thank you. I know.”

“Were these a lot?”

“One, you don’t have to worry about it because they’re a gift. Two, no because they’re all super old movies.” Kit traces his finger over the outside of the Superman diamond. He feels like he could cry.

“And we’ll have to watch The Man of Steel when it comes out next year!” Livvy says, causing Kit to laugh again.

“Sure. But we’ll have to watch all of these first.”

“Movie marathon then.”

Never before being adopted did Kit ever expect to get a gift, let alone one that feels so personal. Johnny did give him things, but never with extra fanfare of wrapping paper and ribbons. It was always practicality first and he never really got Kit something unless it was explicitly requested. Surprises weren’t an occurrence. Most of the time, Kit tries not to think about all of the little things he missed out on with Johnny keeping him hidden for so long. It can usually send Kit into a spiral that’s hard to recover from. So he just tucks the box back into its bag and sets it aside before it can reduce him to tears.

Ty, of course, is sitting patiently for Kit and Livvy to finish. Something about Ty’s gift makes Kit’s inside squirm relentlessly in his stomach. It’s definitely bigger than Livvy’s but the main problem is that Kit’s mind whirs with all of the things Ty could possibly attribute to a good gift. Slowly, Ty pushes the package across the grass for Kit to take.

When Kit still hesitates, Ty speaks. “You can open it at home if you want.”

“You got it for me. I should open it in front of you, right?”

Ty looks up for a moment, considering. “Only if you want. It might be best anyway because I don’t want it to get dirty.”

Kit nods and pushes it off to the side to open later. Ty doesn’t look offended.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.” Kit says, finding his words thickening with emotion.

“Yeah, but we wanted to. Happy birthday, Kit.” Livvy grins brightly.

“Happy birthday.” Ty echos, already going back to the book he set at his side. It feels like Kit’s heart is too big for his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs and spray red all across the grass. There was so much he’s got to do in the short time that he’s been under Jem and Tessa's care. He has real friends now, parents who ask him about his day even when it doesn’t really matter, and the chance to be a big brother. That was the biggest change, but also what Kit treasures the most. He loves to just hold Mina because he’s never actually carried another human being before, let alone one so small. The day she was born Kit was a nervous wreck but getting to see her wrapped in pink and cradled against Tessa’s chest was like an otherworldly experience. Never in his life has he immediately fallen in love with someone. She’s not even six months old and yet Kit knows that will do anything and everything to protect her.

The three of them stay silent after that; Ty reading, Livvy taking out some of her history homework, and Kit just sitting there, reveling. It all felt too good sometimes like he’ll wake up one morning and find himself in his old basement again.

His phone buzzes as a text from Jem comes through; he’s here. Kit collects his things and tried to pick up Ty’s gift, but can’t. It’s heavy, like really heavy.

“Ty, what the fuck is this?” He asks, setting Livvy’s gift back on the ground to try to commit all his efforts to picking up Ty’s.

“You have to open it,” Ty replies, only looking up from his book when he hears Kit struggling.

“Why is it so heavy?” Kit gets it off the ground, but the strain in his biceps is fierce. He doesn’t know how he’ll get it to the car.

“I can’t tell you that either.” Ty pauses, just watching Kit try to get a comfortable grip. “Do you want help?”

“You know what, yes please.”

Ty gets up and easily takes the gift from Kit’s arms. He doesn’t even flinch. Kit has never been so envious. But instead of dwelling on it, Kit snatches Livvy’s gift off the ground, bids her a quick goodbye, and walks to Jem’s car trusting Ty is just behind him. Since Kit is not petty enough to let Ty struggle, he opens the back door for him to set in the backseat without strain.

“I could barely carry that thing. How did you lug it around all day?”

“It’s not that heavy. It’s fifteen pounds.”

“That can’t be fifteen pounds.” Kit looks into the car at the package. “Can I not lift fifteen pounds?”

“I guess not.” Kit goes to give Ty a glare but can’t when he sees Ty has the smallest smile on his face. All of Kit’s organs melt into a warm slush, sending a hot flush up his body. He doesn’t even want to begin to dissect it.

“You know what, it’s my birthday and I don’t deserve this.” Kit opens the passenger door to throw his back on the leg space. Fully ignoring Jem for the moment, who is very patiently waiting for Kit to stop talking to Ty so they can go home. He turns back to Ty briefly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Ty gives him a small wave close to his torso and walks back to Livvy. Who he can see whip around to pretend like she wasn’t just watching them. Kit rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger seat.

“Did they get you gifts for your birthday?” Jem asks, pulling out once Kit got his seatbelt on. The warm and gushy feeling fills Kit’s chest again as he sinks down into his seat.

“Yes.” He says, not even trying to contain his smile. Jem doesn’t say anything else, allowing Kit to stew in the fact that he has friends that really care about him, enough to give him nice gifts on his very first birthday.

Kit doesn’t get a chance to open Ty’s gift until later at night.

As soon as he got home, he saw the banner put above the entrance to the kitchen and the balloons tied to his chair. It was small, just like asked, but more than he expected. They eat pizza for dinner and Kit gets to blow out birthday candles on the cake Tessa made for the first time in his life. He didn’t know what to wish for, and how serious birthday wishes have to be, so just asks for a lot more birthdays.

After, Kit gets to open a few more presents from Jem and Tessa. The next three issues of Spiderman comics from the “Brand New Day” storyline and a scratch-off movie poster. Kit did his best not to cry and just barely managed to succeed. Though both Jem and Tessa saw right through him and hugged him so tight Kit was worried they cracked a rib or two.

But eventually, Mina had to be put to bed, and Kit needed to see if he could get some homework done. Though, as soon as Kit saw Ty’s gift sitting on his bed, all thoughts of homework go right out the window.

Despite its size, it has quite some give when Kit presses his palms against the wrapping paper. It crinkles pleasantly but Kit has no idea what it could be. He flips it over and carefully pulls off the tape securing the flaps, allowing him to undo all of Ty’s careful folding without ripping any of the paper. The gift practically glows in Kit’s dark bedroom.

A blanket. It’s a blanket covered in bright, yellow sunflowers. Kit runs his hand over the fabric and is astounded at how soft it is. He unfolds the blanket from the packaging, nearly forgetting how heavy it is. The other side is completely yellow, the same yellow at the petals practically covering the entire white background on the front. All out, it’s much easier to hold than when it was tightly packed in the paper. Kit pulls out his phone to text Ty.

You: You got me a weighted blanket?

While he waits for Ty to reply, which can usually range between a few minutes to a few days, Kit strips his bed of its comforter and lays Ty’s blanket out. It’s the perfect size, which Kit has no idea how Ty managed as he’s never been in Kit’s room and Kit’s pretty he never told either of the twins his mattress size. He runs his hands across the fabric again. His phone vibrates.

Ty: I made it. You said that you sometimes have trouble falling asleep and I have a weighted blanket to help me with the same issue.

You: You made it????

Kit flops back onto his bed, staring at his phone. Ty made him a birthday present. Ty made him a gift to help with Kit’s insomnia. His heart starts to beat wildly in his chest. And embarrassingly he has the urge to burrow his face into his pillows and scream.

Ty: It wasn’t hard, I just had to find the right fabric and buy filling. Learning how to sew wasn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be. Emma’s friend Christina knows to sew too so I asked for her help when I needed it.

You: It’s so hard to convey this with text, but Ty, thank you so much. This is so thoughtful.

Ty: You’re welcome.

Kit barely resists the to resist the urge to take a picture of it draped over his comforter. There is no way he is going to get any work done tonight, with all the butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach and the way his hands are shaking as he types. As a whole, he’s been keeping up well with his homework so one night of nothing won’t ruin everything.

So Kit gets ready for bed, practically buzzing to get to see how Ty’s blanket works.

#kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kit x ty #livvy blackthorn #dru blackthorn #jem carstairs #tessa grey #mina carstairs #the wicked powers #TWP #the dark artifices #TDA #the shadowhunter chronicles #TSC #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #series: the sparks and the flame #chewrites

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